#it’s like. slightly more than I’d usually pack for leftovers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lynnythepynny · 1 year

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neighborhood heart-throb

tw/cw : smut || fem!reader || oral sex (fem!receiving) || praise kink || mentions of alcohol || pining || pornwplot || awkward-ish plot || joel is giving single divorced dad vibes

he’s gorgeous.

god how does he not know it?

when you first moved in he was the first to offer his help. him and his brother came over first thing the next morning. both of them were exceptionally sweet, but you were captivated by him. those big strong arms carrying your vanity all the way to your bedroom without complaint. the veins that ran from his knuckles up to elbows. and that greying, short, fluffy hair that jus covered his forehead and kinda curled around his neck and ears.

after a long day of squeezing furniture through your front door, joel and tommy, though exhausted, had kindly refused any kind of payment except for a bit of spaghetti that you’d neatly packaged up for them both to take home. though you may have put a little more care into joel’s.

after that joel would wave to you as he packed his truck for work or when he would take a break from mowing the lawn. he bore a kind smile on his usually stern face every time, asking how you were settling in if your window was open. sometimes you would slip in a small issue just to pique his interest.

“my sink just ain’t draining right mr. miller. could ya fix it for me?”

“that storm last night just happened to take out a bit of my siding mr. miller.”

“mr. miller could you install this new shower head for me?”

of course, you could most likely figure all of those issues out yourself with your own toolbox. hell that shower head came with package instructions. he didn’t have to know that though.

for now you’d use all the excuses possible to get him to come over. plumbing issues, renovations, even leftover dinner (which he oddly always declined). and this was no different today as you gazed out into your neighbor’s backyard. the window was open and you could just barely hear the birds singing, their beautiful trill sadly overwhelmed by the hum of that old mower. summer was certainly here in texas. the brutal sun had burnt you plenty of times over already and the grass between joel’s house and yours was growing faster than ever.

your hands are busy in the sink, scrubbing away at a wine glass from days prior, but your eyes are busy watching his back as he pushes the lawnmower. the steaming hot water on the back of your hand brings you back to your own reality. you rinse the glass out, place it on the drying rack, and pick up a small whiskey glass in it’s place.

tonight you’d planned on making something to cool you down. popsicles were freezing for dessert and you’d already made a batch of lemonade, but you really have absolutely no idea what to make for dinner.

the hum of the mower grows louder as joel comes up on your window. he kicks the old machine off and grins up into your window.

“how’re you doin tonight miss?” his sultry accent slides right off his tongue and suddenly your stomach flutters slightly. you smile and wave.

“i’m doing just fine mr. miller, how about yourself?”

he runs a hand through his sweat-slicked hair and chuckles. “tommy’s got me workin horrible hours. had’ta beg him for a day off.” with one hand on his hip he gestures out to his finished yard, clearly exhausted, “an even then, the work never truly stops.”

you nod along sympathetically, truly upset to see the poor man so tired. you could only imagine how hard it must be, being a single dad and working for so long.

an idea sparks in your brain.

“mr. miller,” you hum, leaning up against the window sill, “how ‘bout you come over for dinner tonight?”

his face drops and both his hands come up in front of his chest, “oh no miss, i’d hate to impose-”

“you’re not imposin’, for the millionth time.” you roll your eyes dramatically, earning a small chuckle from joel, “just come on over after you put sarah to bed. i’ll make dinner and you can relax.”

joel seems to contemplate the idea for a moment, scratching his scruffy cheeks in thought. you watch, your hands white knuckling the whiskey glass, fearful that you'll receive another polite rejection.

a puff of air blows from between his lips as he finally relents.

“alright, i s’pose i’ll be over tonight.”

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giddy didn't even begin to explain your current feelings. you were ecstatic, over the moon, befuddled, but also, simply anxious as many people are when they host a dinner at their home, especially for somebody they admire.

you stand in front of your fridge a few hours later, robe wrapped tight around your waist with a towel still on your head. joel still hasn't text back telling you what he wants to eat.

he didn’t look like much of a soup or stew man. you think maybe he would be a griller. all dads are right? and he had told you he was a hunter before. but you don't have a grill and the only meat you currently have is a package of chicken breasts anyways, which you can't see yourself doing much with if you did even own a grill.

*ping*

your eyes catch the message on your screen before it fades

i’ll eat whatever you make. i liked your pasta.

perfect.

you grab the chicken, a package of frozen noodles, and the ingredients you’d need for a sauce and get to work.

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

dinner is still in the works when your doorbell rings. you jump a slight bit, wooden spoon falling to the ground with a harsh clatter.

“just a moment!” you call out even though you know very well who it is.

you quickly pick up the spoon and cover the cooking pasta with a lid. once you get to the door you take a deep, slow breath and reassure yourself.

this isn’t a date. you’re just trying to get him out of his house. into your house. to get to know him better. it’s a win - win situation for you both really. nothing bad will happen.

you swing the door open with a small smile. low and behold joel is standing on your front porch, a large bowl held gently in his hands. your eyes rake over him before you can tell yourself to be subtle.

his peppery hair is freshly washed and pushed back in a neat style. a few stubborn strands fall astray here and there but it all seems to add to his cool and stubborn charm. you can tell by the strong smell of his aftershave that his beard has been trimmed and seemingly brushed over. the hairs definitely weren’t that neat when you last saw him. your eyes stray a little lower and you can’t help but gaze at his chest in that tight black shirt he’s wearing. the red flannel layered over it doesn’t do much to cover the muscle he’s built over the years.

“what have you got there?” you ask, blinking rapidly to try and clear your mind.

“it’s just ah,” he avoids eye contact, his fingers thrumming against the sides of the bowl, “just a salad. i figured i’d bring over somethin’ so you didn’t have to do all the cookin’.”

you smile appreciatively and step to the side. “thank you joel. you can just set it on the dinin’ table.” he nods as he walks past you into your kitchen. looking at your ingredient cluttered counter, you suddenly wished you’d picked up a little.

as you try and stuff down your insecurity, and make sure that dinner is still coming along, joel has a peek around your home. with absolutely no cares about how unkempt your kitchen appears, he wanders through the threshold and into the lounge, his hands now stuffed comfortably into his jean pockets. you watch him from a ways back for a moment, simply taking in the way he strides around so comfortably.

he saunters up to your fireplace, gazing at your family photos, and picks up a picture of you and your older brother.

“boyfriend?” he asks, not-so-subtly trying to make the question seem casual. when you almost burst out laughing, catching yourself with a hand slapped over your mouth, his face morphs into some befuddled expression.

“no,” your words come out breathy as you recover, taking the photo from joel and settling it back into it’s place, “that’s my older brother. nice guess though.”

a moment of silence passes between you two as joel processes this information. you hold a shit-eating grin on your face as you continue to hold back sudden bouts of laughter.

“so no boyfriend?” his brow cocks slightly in your direction. you give the same curious look and cross your arms over your chest.

“why’re you so curious mr. miller?”

joel bites the inside of his cheek, his exhausted eyes meeting your lively ones. he takes in your features, admiring the soft look of your skin and the gentle curl of your lips as you break into a smile. “no reason.” he spits the words out confidently, his own arms coming up to cross below his chest. “i was just curious. i don’t wanna make the same mistake with a picture of you n’ your cousin.”

you roll your eyes and let your arms drop. “okayy.”

as you walk past him to take dinner off the stove, you wonder if you’d read that conversation right. he was definitely asking to make sure you were single. right? or maybe he really was just asking out of curtesy. like how older relatives always pry at the younger ones' love lives around the holidays.

you were terrified to flirt too confidently, fearful you would say something wrong or make joel uncomfortable. he was quite a bit older than you after all and was most likely much more adept in conversation, something you had always struggled to get a real grasp on. his 46th birthday had just come around a few months ago.

fuck he was literally old enough to be your dad.

you push those thoughts to the back of your head and try to focus on plating your chicken fettuccine. you set the table, one plate on either side, and uncover joel’s salad that sits in the middle of the table.

you pop the fridge open and call out to your guest. “do you want lemonade or wine, joel?”

“depends what kinda wine you’ve got in there miss.” he walks back into the kitchen and watches as you pull a rounded bottle from the fridge door.

“ah, it’s a red semi-sweet,” you hum, “shiraz i think?”

"sounds good to me.” he’d always been a bit more of a beer guy, they were easier on his body, but he’d never turn away a good red wine if anyone offered. so while you were busy popping the bottle open, he was busy preparing two of your recently washed wine glasses, still setting on the drying rack.

he takes a rag he presumes is clean enough and wipes the outsides of the glasses down carefully, then sets them next to you. with slightly shaky hands you fill each glass just about 3/4 of the way full.

“easy tiger, i gotta know where my front door is when i leave here.” joel teases, picking up both glasses and carefully setting them next to each of your plates. you follow closely behind with the wine bottle and scoff.

“if you can’t find it i’d be more than happy to help you.”

“that’s real kind of you. and so is all this.” he makes a grand gesture to the table, smiling at you over the salad bowl, “thank you for dinner tonight.” joel fishes the salad tongs out of the dish itself and settles a healthy helping of lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers on the side of your plate. once satisfied with your portion he moves on to his own plate.

“oh it’s no trouble at all really. you look as if you could use a night away.” you reassure him eagerly before digging into your plate.

“you’re right about that.” he chuckles, taking a slow sip of his wine, “i got tommy lookin’ after sarah tonight. figured i better not eat n run.”

“you are just such a kind soul.” you tease, reaching for your wine to wash down the thick fettuccine sauce.

this was nice, you think. it was nice to have someone to share a sense of humor with, someone who could not only tease you, but enjoyed when you shot back with the same attitude. joel just made conversation seem so smooth and easy.

joel tucks in to his own plate of pasta, wrapping the noodle around his fork so he didn’t have to slurp like a true gentleman. as he goes to push the food into his mouth though, the noodle slips and he slurps it up so fast that the end whacks him on the tip of his nose.

sauce dots joel’s nose bridge and stains his mustache. normally he’d be a bit irritated by the failure of his first bite but the way you laugh at his fuck up and those first few sips of wine have his heart feeling a lot lighter tonight.

joel glides his tongue over his mustache, collecting the leftover sauce that he can reach all while making eye contact with you over the table. you watch him do so and shift a little in your seat.

suddenly your face feels hot.

“so,” you avert your gaze and pick up another noodle, “what do you actually do for work?”

“mmm,” joel nods, currently wiping at his face with a napkin, “me n’ tommy are carpenters. flooring, framing, building walls, you name it.” he takes another small bite and put a hand over his mouth to speak. “tommy’s been talkin’ bout starting his own contracting business though. wants me to join him.”

you nod along eagerly, brows raising at what you can only assume is good news. “you should. you guys would be good at it. especially with all the practice i’ve given you over here.”

joel’s eyes crinkle as he laughs and raises his glass to his lips. the red wine goes down smooth and he finds himself subconsciously taking bigger and bigger swigs each time. “what about you miss? what are you doin’ for work?”

“i’m workin’ from home right now. i specialize in graphic design for companies.” you judge his expression as approval, maybe even surprise, and continue with your explanation. “i’ve got a trip comin’ up soon. they’re flying me out to new york city for it.”

“we’ll have to celebrate before you go then.” joel offers, “dinner can be my treat this time.”

“that sounds wonderful.” you agree, cleaning your plate of the remnants of chicken and salad.

joel pushes his chair back and stands, taking his empty plate and silverware in his hand. "finished?' he asks, leaning down to be able to look you in the eyes. you gaze up at him, almost feeling stupid as you nod wordlessly. you manage to slip in a quick "thank you joel" as he turns away.

a gentle hum is all you get in response. joel is busy spraying down the plates in the sink.

you stand up as well, pushing in both of your chairs and gathering your wine glass in your hands. "so," you take a small sip of wine, "if you don't wanna eat n run, what do you s'pose we do?" joel chuckles to himself as he joins you, his own wineglass in hand.

"i s'pose we see if that fireplace of yours works." he nudges you with his elbow as he walks past, a grin lining his wine-reddened lips. you follow quickly behind and settle yourself on the cushy sofa.

"have you burned it before?"

"ah, not yet. There should be some wood inside but i was 'fraid i'd burn the house down." you respond, finishing off your glass of wine in one big swing.

the fireplace wasn't really anything fancy. it held your tv atop it, serving more as a decorative piece rather than something you'd use often. rusted wrought iron doors kept stray pieces of cloth, paper, or string from catching light. dark oak that matched the rest of your home made up the rest of structure, encasing your tv in a box with a mantle above it.

joel crouches down in front of it with a stiff groan, you can even hear his knees crack, and eases the iron doors open. "i'm sure we'll be just fine." he tugs a lighter from his jean pocket and clicks it on. using the small flame joel lets a smaller twig catch fire before tossing it on the logs. "we'll see how we get along with that."

It's not long before the fire is practically roaring in your lounge. All the times you'd curled up in a blanket because it was too cold in the house and you seriously could have just lit a fire with a spare lighter and been sweating in minutes.

you really don't know if the wine or the fire has contributed to the warmth on your face more. all you know is that the way joel is sitting on your sofa, his legs spread slightly, one large hand resting on his thigh and the other currently pouring you another glass of wine, is making you want to slide closer. you can still smell his after shave. the musky smell wafts off him and you wonder if he seriously got this ready just to see you.

"watcha lookin' at, hm?"

"huh?" your head snaps up and your mouth hangs agape a bit, completely caught off guard.

joel chuckles, his smile wide enough that you can see his teeth this time. "you just zoned out a lil' there." he lays a hand on your shoulder, slowly dragging it down towards your elbow.

a shiver races up your spine at the feeling of his callused hands on your skin and you blurt, "oh, i was just thinking."

joel must be really feeling the wine too because suddenly he's very invested in your thoughts. "what about?" he prods, letting his fingers continue to linger on your arm. you find yourself leaning into his touch and even scooting a little closer to the older man on the couch.

"nothin' important." you hum, simply staring back at him.

joel does the same, his green eyes flitting over your features as if he's drinking you in. finally, they land on your lips. plush, soft, and stained red from your consistent sipping of the wine. his fingers twitch restlessly against your arm and you think you see something change in his eyes.

before you can pinpoint his expression joel is setting his wine to the side and leaning in closer, his now free hand hovering close to your cheek. a moment of silence passes between the two of you as joel searches for words. blood seems to roar in your ears as you anticipate the question you know he'll ask.

"can i kiss you?"

you've never been more sure about anything as you briskly nod your head and the both of you lean in.

his lips are warm and a little rough but you melt into the kiss nonetheless. joel holds a hand on the back of your head, the other pulling you closer and closer until you end up on his lap. not knowing what to do, your hands find a home against his chest. your heart is racing and your stomach is fluttering. all of your past experience seems to fly out the window and you're not even sure if you're doing things right.

the seam of his jeans catches against your covered clit as joel adjusts his hips a bit, though you know it's on purpose. your sharp nails dig into the smooth cloth of his t-shirt, earning a little groan from joel's lips in return. the sound is a gruff vibrato that rumbles from his chest. you can only imagine how his moans sound. your mind begins to run wild and the feeling in your belly rises, thighs tightening around his hips in an effort to feel something.

joel's large hands roam over your body. from your shoulders to your hips, your ass to your thighs. he gropes and squeezes every supple expanse of flesh he can find but makes a valiant attempt to make his touches at least a bit more gentle. as his lips pull away from yours, significantly puffier and shiner, you notice how they puff out with the effort of huffing for air.

he smiles and grabs one of your hands. "how're you feelin' sweet pea?"

a giddy feeling runs through your body at the new nickname. no more of the uncomfortable "miss". it almost felt like a promotion. "i feel good." you tell him, running your thumb gently over his knuckles.

"yeah?" he stares at you adoringly, pushing your hair out of your face, "do you wanna keep goin'? maybe move on to your room?"

"god, yes." you sigh heavily, your hand tightening slightly around his.

"alright." joel laughs heartily at your reaction, his cheeks going bright red. he grips your thighs and pulls you closer to his stomach. "put your arms around me, pretty." of course you do as he tells you to, arms interlocking at the nape of his neck. once you're secure, joel pushes himself up from the couch cushions and sets off towards your bedroom. the skin on his neck is warm and inviting, smelling heavily of that same damn enticing aftershave. you kiss along his collarbone, over his shoulder, and up his neck.

joel kicks your door open gently with the toe of his boot and crosses the threshold into your bedroom. his heel taps the door shut. you start to get a little more nervous, the hazy buzz of the wine starting to wear off, and as joel lays you down on the edge of your bed he seems to catch on.

his thumb caresses your cheek as he hums, "we can stop anytime you want sweet heart. we can stop right now if you want to okay? just say the word." you nod briskly, lips shut tight in embarrassment. "use your words, tell me if you wanna stop."

"no, i wanna keep going." you tell him, tugging on his flannel collar, "i'm just a little nervous."

joel smiles warmly and nods. "i understand. we'll just take it slow, okay?"

"okay." you breathe.

his hands run down your hips and over your belly. he slides them up under your back and urges you to move up to the headboard where you'd undoubtedly be more comfortable. there's a soft *puff* as your head sinks into the cloud like pillows that he had unknowingly picked out for you when you first moved in. joel kicks off his boots and then crawls after you, fully on his hands and knees, his pupils blown up with lust.

you lean upwards, capturing his lips with yours, and drag him back down with you with a hand on his cheek. joel hums against your mouth, almost giggling into the kiss like a teenage boy. the action is contagious and soon the both of you are separated and laughing softly.

once the both of you were calmed down, joel begins toying with the hem of your t-shirt. "can i take this off sweet pea?"

"of course." you murmur, freely allowing his warm hands to slide up under your shirt, exploring your the soft skin on your belly. once he reaches your ribcage, he pushes the fabric up and over your head revealing your breasts to the cool air in your room.

"shit." he huffs, eyes raking over your body. "you are so pretty sweet heart." joel continues where he left off with you, first placing a kiss on your lips, then your cheek, your jaw, and gradually beginning to travel lower. his lips roam across your neck slowly, stopping every now and then when he finds a particularly sensitive spot that causes you to squirm underneath him. hickeys begin to line your collar bones and, as he continues to go even farther south, the tops of your breasts.

he brings a hand up to test the waters, gently massaging your flesh. your head falls back a bit and you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. "does that feel good, hm?" he rumbles.

"yes." the response is airy, your head feeling cloudy as he continues to practically make you melt into the mattress. the only thoughts in your head right now are about him. you are completely, utterly, totally, focused on him.

joel kisses down your sternum, his beard scratching against your skin. "good," he hums quietly, almost grumbling against your belly, "that's what i like to hear." he continues to lay wet kisses along the top of your abdomen. his fingers tease at your waist band, tugging on the stretchy fabric just far enough to allow his mouth to place a gentle kiss beneath.

"joel," you whine, shifting your hips, "please."

his fingers dip below the waistband of your pants yet again, this time toying with the top of your underwear in the process. joel's eyes meet yours, sweet and soft under his thick brows. "can i take these off?" a brisk nod is all he needs to continue, popping the button on your slacks and tugging them down along with your underwear.

you gaze up at him and, when his eyes meet yours, he smiles warmly. "doin' okay?"

"i'm doin' great." you respond, fingers tingling in anticipation as he sinks down between your legs, the muscles in his broad shoulders almost rippling. joel hums in approval, taking his time to kiss his way up your thighs. his teeth nip here and there, leaving purple and red bruises all along your flesh. when he finally reaches your cunt, he blows cool air over pushes sopping folds, chuckling at your surprised hiss. joel swipes his tongue over his lips before finally leaning in.

you gasp at the surprisingly warm feeling of his tongue on your slit, your hips pressing into the mattress.

"ah, ah, don't run." joel murmurs, holding your hips with his arms as he fully digs in. the arch of his nose bumps against your throbbing clit as joel pushes his tongue past your entrance. his tongue curls and pulls, pressing right against that spongey spot that makes your toes curl. hot pleasure runs down your legs and you squeeze your thighs tight around his head. joel chuckles in response, only pulling you closer with his muscular arms.

a rather loud moan of his name falls past your lips and you grab hold of the man's hair, tugging as your arms tense up with the pleasure. the soft tip of his tongue traces a figure eight over your clit repeatedly, the sensation making your knees quake.

"that's right sweetheart," joel encourages you with a muffled groan, his scraggly beard scraping wondrously over the soft plush of your thighs, "cum on my tongue. it's okay." you're entire body trembles, a feeling like no other running up your spine and out through your arms and legs. your chest feels full as you huff and puff, trying to keep yourself quiet.

one of your legs rests over his shoulder, encased in his grip and trembling harshly against his clothes, while the other is left to lay free on the mattress. joel runs his palm along your skin, soothing you, keeping you grounded as you practically lose your mind.

you're right on the precipice, moans slipping out unabashedly at this point. with one more rough scrape of his beard, his tongue lauving up your folds and over your clit, you finally cum.

your chin tilts up and your eyes squeeze shut. joel grunts as your grip on his short hair tightens dramatically, but he doesn't pull away. instead he works you through your orgasm, keeping your hips pressed down, his tongue still lapping gently at your sore clit. you whimper pathetically at the feeling of his wet beard still grazing over your folds. the sharp bristles stick to his lips and cheeks, completely saturated with your cum.

joel raises his head when you've finished and the sight of him makes your head spin.

his eyes are dazed, lips puffy, wet, and red, and his beard is soaked to a deep brown. "you did such a good job sweet pea." joel's hands rub over your thighs and up to your stomach.

"thank you." you huff, smiling up at him as you recover. one of your hands grabs his collar and tugs the man down to your level. you place a sloppy, wet kiss on his lips, tasting your own release on his tongue.

when you release his collar, joel pulls away with heavy breaths. his eyes are completely blown up now, almost black, with desire. his hips slot between your own, replacing his face with rough denim, strained against his hard cock. desperate to get him in the same situation as yourself, you begin to push his flannel down his arms.

"steady now," joel laughs, helping you to get his t shirt off, "there's no need to rush sweet heart." as he tosses the fabric to the floor, his lips meet yours for a brief kiss. as much as you want to pull him back in for more, but the aching need for his cock outweighs the need for his lips.

joel pops the button on his jeans and shimmies out of them, kicking the denim off the bed into the pile of both your already discarded clothes. you gaze, completely enamored, at his body. his torso is lightly covered in scars from work. though he's well built, you can't find his abs. there's just a bit of fat layered over what you know is strong muscle. you reach out and joel let's your palms wander over his body, feeling all the way up to his chest.

gently, joel takes both your hands and settles them on your own belly. "keep em there. " he commands, thumbs hooking into his boxers. you swallow harshly, throat going dry as he pulls the tight fabric down his legs.

his cock bobs, head flushed and dripping with pre-cum. he was average in length, but god was he thick.

you stare up at joel, wringing your hands on your stomach while seriously contemplating if he would fit. "that won't-" you begin to gush your thoughts, but he shushes you.

"we'll go slow." he promises, kissing your forehead, "you can take it, i know you can." joel sits back on his knees and spits into his hand. you watch as he works his cock slightly, wetting it down to make it as painless as possible.

once he's satisfied, he leans over your body and presses his lips to your cheek. you can feel the wetness from his beard transferring onto your skin. "ready?" he hums.

you nod in response, grabbing at his bicep to prepare yourself.

joel lines himself up with your soaked entrance, running his head through your folds, teasing you just a bit. the feeling makes you want to cry, pathetic desperation running through your veins. you needed him so bad, and he was messing with you?

"joel, please." you spread your legs for him and dig your nails into his arm.

"oh, what a good girl fer me." he mutters, southern accent thickening immensely, "keep 'em just like that pretty."

slowly, joel sinks his hips forward. the head of his cock presses past your hole easily, and you swear you feel every ridge running along your walls. he watches as your nose scrunches and your eyes fall shut. your lips press into a thin line as he thrusts forward gently, pushing in just an inch more.

every pulsing vein catches on your gummy walls. you almost feel too full when he continues, pushing himself forward inch by inch, keeping his promise to go slow and be gentle. your legs are trembling, nails just about to draw blood from his strained bicep, as he finally bottoms out.

the both of you gasp, hot, heavy breaths hitting each other's faces as joel rests his forehead on yours. it's intimate, the way the arch of his nose settles against yours, the way you can feel his breath gently brushing against your lips. you tilt your head just slightly, catching his lips in a kiss that joel readily replies too. his mouth is hot, lips plush and soft as he kisses you back passionately. you gasp against his lips as joel pulls his hips back slowly, till just his tip rests inside of you.

your hands grapple at his shoulders, clawing and scraping as joel thrusts back into you in one fluid motion. he keeps his movements gentle for the moment, still pressing kisses to your lips, but as the pace picks up, the tip of his cock nudging at your gspot, you lose the energy to kiss him back.

joel watches your face through hooded eyes, your chin tilted and cheeks a bright rouge. your eyes were practically closed, just your pupil's peeking out between your lashes as you gaze back up at him. your hair was ruffled across your damp forehead, some strands sticking to your skin while others stuck straight up.

to him, you were possibly the prettiest mess he had ever seen. what he would give to be able to see this perfect portrait of you every night. your beautiful body spread out, though this time on his sheets, while he fucked you stupid.

staring back down at your fucked out expression, joel chuckles. "you feelin' good pretty baby?" he asks.

"mhm." the sound barely comes out past your quiet whimpers and moans. your brain felt numb, like it was melting into mush, and thoughts no longer swam around your mind. the only thing you even wanted to think of was the heavy drag of his cock along your quivering walls, punishing your cunt with the rough yet steady pace he had set.

"use your words sweet pea," he uses his hand to brush the hair from your forehead.

"yes, fuck, yes joel." you cry to him, your sharp nails digging through the skin on his shoulders all the way down to his waist.

"atta girl," joel growls, his teeth gritting at the burning pleasure that now runs all the way down his back. your cunt squeezes him at the gravelly sound of his voice. he whimpers, voice cracking, as he asks, "gonna cum on my cock, huh?"

"yeah," you puff, "yeahyeahyeah-" you lose track of how many times you tell him yes. you only know the burning hot pleasure that's building in your belly. joel keeps his forehead pressed to yours, his free hand cupping your jaw gently.

"look at me baby," he demands, very carefully nudging your jaw upwards, "just let it go," he's kissing the tense parts of your face, shushing you as you whimper and cry out that it's all too much, "it's okay sweet girl, i've got you."

that's when the pressure in your belly finally overflows. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close so that you can bury your face in his neck. you chant his name like a prayer, right next to his ear just to make sure he can hear.

joel's thrusts become sloppy, his hips canting wildly forward, and his breathing starts to grow shallow. you feel his cock twitch inside of you, but just before joel finishes he pulls out completely. he groans, his nose scrunching, fists squeezing the pillow behind you, as his release lands across your belly.

for a moment all that's heard is the quick breaths between the two of you. a warm feeling grows in your chest as joel presses his face into your neck, sighing heavily.

and then you laugh a little.

"what?" joel picks himself up and looks at you, puzzled.

"nothing," you hum, still dazed, and cup his face, "we should clean up."

"right." he agrees, staring back into your eyes for a second before kissing your forehead. "c'mon then, i'll run you a bath."

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the-iceni-bitch · 3 years

Text

I Long to Be

Pairing: Mr Freezy x hit woman!reader (kitten), Officer Bill x hit woman!reader (PG only for now)

Words: ~2.1k

Summary: Your new dynamic has Bobby ready to explode.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, over the pants hand job, dry humping, mentions of oral and penetrative sex), emotional manipulation, reader is a massive bitch, slightly subby Bobby (what?!?!), cheating adjacent, domestic violence as foreplay, inappropriate behavior at a funeral, gossipy neighbors, SMUT!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: This is mostly just setting the stage for the next arc I’m gonna do with our murderers but whoo boy are you sluts in for a treat! Sorry for inflicting the stache on you, but I’m just gonna lean into it.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!!!

You moaned softly when Bobby pulled you back against his chest, the hand that wasn’t digging into your tit buried knuckle deep in your cunt from behind as he stroked your walls slowly.

“No marks.” You ordered when you felt his teeth scrape over your pulse, ignoring the snarl he shot you through the mirror before settling for licking a thick stripe up the side of your neck. “Don’t fucking pout at me, pretty sure even those dumb fucks out there would notice if I walked out there with a hickey. Control yourself.”

“You need to quit being a fucking bitch.” He growled when you squeezed his cock before starting to stroke it through his slacks again. “It’s been five days, if I don’t feel that warm snatch wrapped around me soon, I’m gonna fucking kill someone.”

“Then you’ll just have to wait even longer, Bobby. I told you, we’re gonna drill some fucking self control into you.” You rolled your hips into his hand when his palm ground into your clit, dropping your head back against his shoulder and purring when you felt his cock throbbing under your palm. “Plus, I’m still pissed at you for the unbelievable pile of bull shit I had to dig you out of.”

“But… fuck, kitten.” He buried his face in your hair to cover his groan when you squeezed him again, bucking his hips into your grip and tugging softly at your nipple as you brought him towards his peak. “I fucking need it. You can just suck on the tip a little, just tide me over, I’m fucking dying.”

“You’re fucking dramatic, I’m still letting you come, so quit being a bitch.” You felt warmth bloom under your hand and smirked at him, your pussy sucking on his fingers as he started fucking them into you harder until you came with a broken sob.

“You goddamn cunt.” He looked furious when you pulled away from him, growling when you wrenched out of his grip to straighten your dress out. “I swear to god, you keep fucking holding out on me and I’m gonna split you in half in front of those cunts until you’re bleeding and begging me to stop.”

“No you’re not.” You shoved your tits back into your dress and did up the buttons. “You’re gonna play the grieving husband and father for as long as I tell you, and once I feel like the fucking heat has died down enough, maybe then you can get your dick wet. But until that happens, you’ll just have to settle for hands and dry humping. Now shut up and try to look wrecked.”

He didn’t have to try, he was wrecked. Dealing with your constant teasing without being able to actually fuck you had him feeling like his nerves were frayed to the limit, and topping that off with having to play the tormented widower was testing the self control you were adamant he exercise. There hadn’t even been any jobs for him to redirect his pent up rage, so he was stuck settling for furiously jerking himself every night as he longed for your perfect, warm cunt.

You gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before opening the door and heading back out to the wake, not bothering to fix your face as it fit the narrative that Bobby had been comforting you while you cried yourself out. With how haggard he was, your stupid cunt neighbors had no problem accepting when you told them that you and Bobby had been supporting each other through this tough time.

Bobby’s jaw was clenched tight as he stood at the edge of his living room, barely paying attention to the twats who kept coming up to him to tell him how sorry they were for his loss while he watched you act like the perfect grieving friend. You shot him a glare when he tried to move closer to you, hiding your smirk behind your drink and leaning against the wall when he accepted another unwanted embrace like a good little widower.

“Hi, Suzy?” You had to act quick to school your face when you turned and found the fucking cop who had flirted with you at the damn crime scene standing there, you had not expected to see him again.

“Officer Bill!” You caught Bobby start out of the corner of your eye, shooting him a glance to settle him before turning back to your surprising visitor. “Robert’s just over there, did you need to talk to him about something? I thought everything was closed.”

“It is, and please just call me Bill.” He gave you a nervous smile and stepped a little closer to you, fidgeting with his hands as he struggled with what to say to you. “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I know these things tend to put all the focus on the family but I wanted to make sure you were ok? Since she was your best friend, I’m sure things are hard.”

Oh shit. Your flirting had worked a little too well, this boy was sweet on you. It took some doing for you to fight the pleased smile that tried to spread across your face, especially when you caught Bobby glaring at you over the cop’s shoulder when the man reached and gave your arm a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s been so hard.” You gave a small sob and could have laughed when he drew you into his chest, burying your face in the warm planes of muscle as he did his best to comfort you. “I feel so alone now. I’d usually talk to Mary about this, but now I have no one. Maybe I could talk to Robert but he’s suffering so much worse than me, I don’t want to burden him any more.”

“God, you’re so sweet, honey.” You managed to disguise your snort as another sob, pressing your body close to his and trying not to grin when he settled his hands at the small of your back, “You can talk to me, Suzy.”

“Bill, you just met me.” This was working out great for you; a dumb cop who was already wrapped around your finger and a new way to piss off Bobby, what could be better? “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Baby, no, never.” He gave you a soft smile when you lifted your head to meet his gaze, cupping your face in one massive palm and gently brushing his thumb over the curve of your cheek in an effort to soothe you. “I just wanna help, but we don’t have to do anything you don’t want, ok?”

“Okay.” You leaned into his cheek and sighed softly as you batted your eyelashes at him, it had been a while since you had played this game, but seems like you were still a fucking pro. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, darlin’.” You let him give your waist a squeeze before stepping back, your eyes finding Bobby’s and narrowing at the look of unbridled rage you found there until he was cowed. “There’s a little bakery near here if you wanna have some privacy.”

He nodded towards the gaggle of housewives that was watching you with interest while the rest of your neighbors started filtering home and you sighed, accepting his hand and letting him lead you towards the front door while you gave Bobby one more warning glance to keep him from doing something stupid. As soon as the door closed behind you the busybodies went crazy, whisper shouting at each other as they tried to keep some semblance of decorum while they packed up all the leftovers and helped Bobby clean up, or rather, did all the cleaning while Bobby started downing scorch like it was his job.

Thirty minutes later and he was finally alone, exhausted from all the unwanted hugs and sympathies he had to endure and wanting nothing more than to lose himself in you. But he couldn’t because you were still out with that fucking cop. He sulked in the chair at the front window, watching your house as he slowly drained the bottle of scotch and tried to keep himself from imagining what you might be doing with that fucker.

By the time the bastard’s car finally pulled up in front of your house an hour later, the bottle was empty, Bobby wallowing in a pool of self pity that he never would have admitted to and growling when he watched the officer help you out of the car and lead you to your front door with an arm around your waist. When he watched him give you a peck on the cheek he almost lost it, dropping the bottle and cursing when he heard it smash against the floor. At least you didn’t invite him inside, sending him on his way with a little wave before strolling into your house without a second glance.

Bobby waited a few minutes after the cocksucker pulled away before storming over to your place, barely keeping himself together until he was able to knock on your front door.

“Hey there, Bobby.” You gave him a wicked grin when you opened the door, stepping aside and letting him in.

“The fucking cop?” He was itching to slap you, or maybe choke you, he was absolutely furious.

“Bobby, Bobby, Bobby.” You shoved him a little and snorted when he stumbled slightly. “Drunk again. What the fuck am I gonna do with you?”

“Fuck me.” He was so drunk he didn’t even care anymore, grabbing you by the back of your neck and dragging your face to his until his lips were devouring yours.

“Jesus, did I fucking break you, Bobby?” You chuckled when he growled in response and shoved you against the wall, grinding his hardened cock into your hip as he tried to wrap his hands around your throat. “No fucking marks! God, still haven’t learned, have you?”

Your slap sent him reeling, the only thing that kept him upright being your tight grip on his collar as you watched him with mock concern. He tried to snarl at you when you gripped his jaw in one hand, shaking his head with a demeaning tut before leaning forward to bite at his lips.

“You need to dump that fucking cop, kitten.” He purred into your mouth when you wound one leg around his hip and dragged him into you, letting him rock against you slowly with a low moan as his dick twitched in his pants.

“And you still need to fucking control yourself, instead of charging over to your single neighbor’s house like a bat out of hell right after your wife’s funeral when you know every fucking busybody in the neighborhood is gonna be watching us like a bunch of hawks.” You let him lift your other leg to wrap around him, pressing you into the wall and moaning into your neck as he ground right against your clit. “I’ll make you a deal Bobby; you manage to keep that temper of yours reined in and the neighbors off our backs for a whole month while I make that sweet, dumb cop fall in love with me, and I’ll let you do whatever he does to me, so you don’t combust.”

“You’re such a bitch.” His breath against your neck was desperate, the rhythm of his hips writhing against you growing frantic as you both neared your ends. “You let him fuck you and I don’t care, kitten, I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Aww, don’t worry baby, it’ll just be the tip.” You laughed when he snarled into your throat, forcing himself to pull back before he sank his teeth into you so you didn’t decide to torture him even more. “Look at you being so good, and I didn’t even mention your reward.”

“What is it?” Christ, you were just whipping men left and right today.

“Once I get that moron to give me his whole heart, I’ll let you help me break it.” He hit you at the perfect angle and you shuddered with bliss, your release soaking the front of his slacks as his own filled his briefs. “But in a way that keeps him wrapped around my little finger so we can use him if we need to.”

“Ugh, fuck. Fine.” He sighed defeatedly into your neck. “But if I haven’t had my dick sucked once by this time in two weeks, I’m getting a fucking toy.”

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yoshkeii · 3 years

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𝟽𝚖𝚒𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

Part One(?)

࿐ character: Sukuna Ryomen, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru

࿐ genre: light-nsfw, just suggestive things

࿐ type: headcanons (hcs)

࿐ requested by: my simpy friend

⌦ just spicy midnight hcs

⌦ 7mih = 7 minutes in heaven

⌦ slight spoilers w/ geto’s.

A/N: pretty short n simple than my usual headcanons but i wanted to do more characters for this post- my friend is just feeding ya’ll. (maybe ooc geto? still getting hang of his personality.)

𝚂𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊:

》 honestly has no idea how tf he ended up in the closet.. with you. Yuji’s most likely knocked for whatever reason in the meantime-

》 but finding the slight interest with you of tolerating him for a couple of months or so while hanging around w/ Yuji and the others.. he’d thought this would be a perfect opportunity to know your limits.

》 being the greedy fucker this man is... he will always have his hands wandering your body. tracing the outline before motioning inwards of your stomach, back, chest. absolutely anywhere. he’s so handsy.

》 his kisses are definitely passionate and rough, one hand softly gripping your face to keep your lips connected to his. after few long moments he loosened his grasp watching you pant heavily from the heated kiss, your dazed eyes accompanied with the delighted blush across your face. the submissive look made him just stare.

》 soon as you catch a steady breath, Sukuna’s nipping at your neck, chin, ears, again- anywhere his mouth can possibly reach while clearly hearing your pitched moans and mewls from your mouth. littering your once clean skin with bites, hickeys and bruises.

》 he’s at least left one bite that broke through your skin, making you flinch at the intense pain of his canines sinking deeper than intended. trying to grab something for closure you lift up your hands to his clothes, but Sukuna’s hand gripped over your wrist tightly before you could catch a grasp. feeling you slightly squirm before giving up, hearing the hitch in your voice and sudden twitch throughout your body as he dragged his tongue over the bite. licking up any excess blood. (very very sadistic man.)

》 before things get heated, the time was up. the embarrassment rushing into you as you stepped out of the locked closet, trying to cover up any of the seeable marks leftover. hearing Sukuna just laugh teasingly behind you.

》 ever since then Sukuna often has explicit thoughts of you- whenever he’s not in control (and in his own space.) he will never admit it even if Yuji has his sneaking suspicions.

𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘:

》 as soon you both were in closet, the space was surely tight knowing how tall this man is. body practically pressed together with some space for movement, not a lot but just some for maybe arm movements.

》 he definitely knows what 7mih was and he knew what he would do with you. since you were one of the few colleagues he was close with, you and him had a quite smaller bond than he intended. Knowing he had to take care and supervise the 1st years he brought, and you being another sorcerer in the school... you probably had your own business. But despite the differences he would always use his time interacting with constant teases.

》 and that’s what he was doing now, but on a whole another level. you keeping your anxious gaze low and away, a sudden breath brushing your ear “we’re pretty packed up in here huh?” jumping lightly at the action only earned a soft laugh from the much taller male, his forearms pressed on both sides of your heads as he leaned over. “so tensed~ need help winding down?”

》 after the constant teases, you slowly feel a hand creeping up your shirt. then another on your back. all you could really do is just shift around in the little space Gojo provided you.

》 similar to Sukuna, he’s obviously handsy. it honestly matches well with his playfulness he has, his hands are allover you. usually finding their place on your stomach, back, waist and possibly thighs. he’s just curious on what your boundaries is... in the most teasing way of course.

》 his kisses are godly breathtaking. one hand softly lifting your head so your lips can meet his. he has his blindfold off beforehand, watching your cute expressions before motioning his hand to cup one side of your face. his freehand tangled on your hair from the back.

》 he would tug on your hair slightly receiving a muffled noise from your mouth, deepening the fucking kiss whenever he can.

》 as time comes to a close, it doesn’t escalate fast from just those kisses leaving you absolutely breathless.

》 but your ruffled clothes of an unbutton shirt and possibly pants- shows that both of you wasted no time. with the slight sight of marks on your shoulder under your shirt.

𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘:

》 note, this isn’t shaman geto since it wouldn’t make sense- i think.

》 probably ended up doing 7mih bc the other fucking curses and cursed users advised for fun- he surprisingly agreed when he heard your name among the participants.

》 in my opinion- I’d say he’s about the same height as Gojo (why are you so tall too man) bc of some manga panels i’ve seen them together in. stepping into that closet, being locked in, definitely tight space. maybe even tighter since he’s built differently than Gojo himself-

》 his body slightly leaned over your body, his hair slowly dipped down from his shoulders. he may be calm, aloof and honestly composed but he will not waste a single second. already pressing his lips with yours as he arms n hands found support on the wall behind you.

》 the sight is godly to see, his hair messily tied in a hurried just to get back to your embrace.

》 breaking away from the kiss for a quick second, quickly tying his long hair into a messy bun before continuing his pursuit on you.

》 god, for a calm and composed person you wouldn’t expect this reaction.

》 being just a human who had the possibility to see curses, you were taken under the wing (similarly to Mimiko.) he had grown attached to you as your time was spent within his group, and oh you were so dense about it. he actually found that cute too- he will use this short 7 minutes to show his interests about you.

》 marks discreetly left and hidden in the most random places. but Geto had at least left two obvious marks seen for everyone else who was keen on you.

》 he honestly lost track of time before hearing the door unlocked and open, a whistle coming from the person who opened it. before teases came showered on both of you.

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the-huntress · 3 years

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Little Moth - Chapter 1 - The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning

[Hi guys, welcome to my fanfiction. This is a Resident Evil inspired fanfiction, I wanted to incorporate a number of my favourite characters, and especially our beloved Magnet Daddy. Slow burn, soft smut impending, beyond that who knows… But to be safe I will say that this is for 18+ years of age only. Let me know if you’d liked to be on a tag list for future chapters. Masterlist is pinned. Thank you to everyone that has read so far. <3]

Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: Mention of menstruation, swearing.

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg [18+]

Summary:

Your lifelong friend, Leon Kennedy, has mysteriously gone missing two years after the events of Racoon City. You make a discovery that could lead to his whereabouts; dare you enter the Village?

[Photos are my own] You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking at for a moment, arching your back forwards over the desk in the dimly lit room, the glare from the laptop the only source of light. Several windows had been left open on the screen, and despite the turmoil that Leon’s apartment had been left in, this was what had really grabbed your attention.

The most notable of which was a photo, the resolution was grainy, a scan from a black and white film photo, it looked almost like a foetus, but you couldn’t be sure. Was somebody pregnant? It was almost akin to the sort of photograph that expecting parents would show at a baby shower, but this was… different. You had a feeling of impending doom just by looking at this thing.

Next, another very grainy photo of a town, it almost looked like some of the places from back home in England; a church steeple, a castle or maybe a mansion in the distance? A quaint looking village in the snow. And lastly, a very cryptic email;

10/10/2000

Leon,

Know not what I have done, but what I believe must be done now.

Half of the results of good intentions are evil; half of the results of an evil intention are good.

You have the information that you need, please make haste.

A friend.

Well, that’s ambiguous as fuck. You thought to yourself, pushing the chair back and pulling the lighter from the little band on the side of your cap. You reached to your shoulder and cursed. That’s right, you’d given up, “for health reasons”. Putting the lighter back you reached instead for your camera, a notepad and a pen. You’d been tempted to just take the laptop and the scattered papers, but after several years in the police you knew it was beneficial to leave things as they were. Your eyes flitted from paper to paper, taking notes of numbers, flights, times, place names, anything that you could until you’d filled a couple of pages. One page for practical info, and one page, now that you looked at it almost sounded like a fairy tale;

A village, four kings, four lords, and a mysterious ‘Mother Miranda’. You bit the end of the pen and pondered. It was like nothing you’d ever heard of before, what had he got himself into…

Several days ago you had received a text from the man himself;

‘Y/N I am going to be out of

town for a while, something has

come up. Please don’t worry,

will explain soon. Leon. X

P.S. I’ve left Timesplitters in

your mail box, play you again

when I get back! :] ’

And now here you were. You scoffed knowing he’d have had to pay double to send that one, but he was mad to think that you wouldn’t worry, he was like a brother to you, hell, the only family that you had. After a childhood growing up in rural England you had moved to the states with your father and stepmother when you were in those vulnerable years of your teens during the early 90s, but were lucky enough to have met Leon in school. The two of you had become best friends quickly, and even graduated from the same police academy. It was Leon that saved your butt two years ago when all hell broke loose in Racoon City, him and Claire.

You shifted on the collapsible chair in front of the usually neatly tidied desk which was now strewn with various papers and articles. Your thoughts of Claire continued, and you pulled out your Nokia, opened a message and then faltered. It was late. Later than late you realised, seeing the time; 02:08 AM. What am I doing? You didn’t want to wake her, so you put the phone back into the pocket on your belt.

You swept a strand of your hair behind your ear, the outgrown bangs jumping back in the way and you blew at them irritated. You heard a grumble and moaned, looking down at your stomach. Padding across the shiny, tiled floor you left the desk and headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge where you knew there would be left-over pizza. Sure, it was from over a week ago when you were last here hanging out, but hey, it’s pizza, right?

‘Ugh dude, always with the anchovies, why?’ you mumbled, flinging a small fish into the bin and mentally backhanding the back of Leon’s head. Of course, it was his side of the pizza that was left over, probably trying to stay in shape in case he bumped into ‘Ada’ again. You weren’t keen, but then, you didn’t trust her. You looked at your phone again, left on the desk besides the laptop, Leon would be much better off with Claire, but sadly you felt perhaps that ship had set sail long ago.

You went to sit yourself back down at the desk. CRUNCH “Shit!” Your eyes darted to your right knee. “Fuck… you’re not giving me a break are you.” Letting out a sigh you closed your eyes for a moment. Since you were a child your knee had given you problems. A few dislocations, hospital visits, insteps, braces and physiotherapy. You’d had to grit your teeth hard through every physical training session during academy, but you’d made it. Fortunately for you it wasn’t something that many people would be able to notice or spot. You could run for miles with no problem; it was the recovery time in the days that followed that was tough. You knew it was getting worse, and had been reading about how much longer you might have before you’d need a full replacement, but you knew that it could jeopardise your job, you knew you’d likely not get put on the jobs that you wanted, and the thought of being put into the office answering calls made your heart sink.

And then you spotted it, the corner of another window was sticking out from under the others, exposing the corner of a third photograph. Instantly recognising the symbol you felt as though you were falling.

“What…”

Dragging the window and clicking it to full screen you could see this photograph clearly; some kind of mural, was it in stone? It looked as though there were four crests, family crests maybe. And at the centre; “Umbrella.” You breathed. You stared at it for several minutes and quickly took a photo of the screen on your camera, no point trying to get that old thing to work, you thought, looking at the printer at the other end of the desk. You couldn’t help but smirk, memories of Leon trying to print page after page of game walk throughs, whilst trying to find all the secrets in your favourite action/ adventure game, and laughing your head off at him, mouthful of noodles spilling back out into the carton as a hundred pages shot out at him, flying all over the room with cheat codes for a scantily dressed version of the playable character.

You looked at the clock again, time to go. If you were going to do this, you needed sleep and to get going as soon as you could the next day. It might drain your bank account, but it would be worth it. You didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, and more often than not, your gut instincts were right. Grabbing your R.P.D jacket at the door, you took one last glance at the room. It really did look like a whirlwind had hit it, not like Leon when he was in a better mental state at all. You knew that when he wasn’t his best he’d reach a for a drink and then some, but you could see that nothing was broken, and it was mostly clothes scattered, some bits of equipment and where he’d clearly got the luggage bag down from on top of the wardrobe. Nothing to worry about in regard to kidnap or a break in at least; as if that was enough to stop you from worrying about whatever lay ahead in this ‘Village’.

It started to rain just as you got into your apartment building, and you smiled. You’d always liked the rain. Stopping to quickly check your pigeon-hole for mail and seeing nothing you felt something press up against you calf, rubbing itself against the tops of your boots. You looked down and grinned, scooping up a slender, black cat in one hand and kissing the top of her head. “I’m going to miss you Boo, keep an eye on my mail for me while I’m gone, you know how crammed that thing gets.” You winked at her as you set her back down outside Mrs. Little’s door and fished a sandwich bag full of the leftover pizza anchovies out of your R.P.D. bag. “You didn’t think I’d forget you, did you?” Leaving Boo hastily munching into her treats you jogged up the stairs, your knee twinged, but it wasn’t too bad. It just had its moments.

Your apartment was pretty standard for this part of the city; both you and Leon had left Racoon city some time ago, though it wasn’t far from here. It had been destroyed and bordered off and that was all there was too it. You had to tell it to yourself that way to cope. Leon’s apartment was slightly swankier, but then again, he did like his gadgets and liked to keep things tidy, when his thoughts weren’t somewhere else. You on the other hand were happy to know that while everything had its place, sometimes that place would be on the floor… next to the thingy and nestled safely under a cereal box; and that was okay! You picked up the thingy, and looked at it fondly, before folding it up and putting it away with the others.

Stretching and yawning you looked around you, making a mental note of what needed to be done; pack, shower, sleep. You’d get the tickets the next day, and some money too, you’d have to stop off at the currency exchange. What currency did they even use there? Equipment, keep it simple; knives, pistol, rounds, lighter, fluid, compass, torch, camera, medi-kit. A couple of spare pairs of clothes, and you had your light armour that also fit into the case. You knew the contents would raise suspicion, but you had your badge, at the end of the day another cop had gone missing, and your team knew too.

You whipped off the remainder of your uniform and jumped in the shower, the bathroom filling up with steam and bubbles quickly and you sang along to a few songs on the radio. Wiping the mirror to see yourself more clearly you felt all your insecurities flood to you at once, as well as seeing yourself for the natural beauty that you were. You pursed your lips, staring into your own eyes and promised you’d find him safe and bring him back. He’d yell at you for going in the first place, but you knew this wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right. Traipsing out from the bathroom, you felt the cool air attack your flushed skin. You liked it, you were always a window open kind of person, no matter the weather, the fresh air just soothed you. Of course, that meant the odd moth now and again, like now as you heard the tiny body plummet time and time again against the spherical glass shade of the dim lamp besides your bed. Snuggling up into the loose blankets you smiled at the little creature and pulled the cord on the lamp, smiling again as you felt the moth settle on the side of your head.

After that you actually fell to sleep very quickly. It had been a long day after all; a 6AM start, patrol, arresting some juvies for petty crimes, followed by yet another zombie scare, (false alarm thank God), before filing up all the paper work and heading to Leon’s. Sleep fell like a veil of cool clouds, taking you in and raising you up into the inky blue skies of the night. The next thing you knew, you were butt naked in a dark green forest, dew drops shining on moss like a trillion tiny emeralds. Mist hung thick in the air, and thousands of tiny moths flew up from the ground? No. From you. You were raising your arms up to the skies, the moss covered forest floor moist under your bare feet and between your toes. Behind you the silhouette of a deer… antlers, but much, much taller. In front of you a pair of cold silver-gold eyes in the dark. You felt drawn, ever so drawn, taking one step forward, and then another, your arms coming down now, hands outstretched in caring caress, your heart swelled, your lips bloomed, taking in a short breath, and then; blood. Gushes of it, soaking into the moss, reddening Earth’s green carpet, and dripping down the trunks of the trees, the moths falling from the air around you, their wings sticking and stopping in the thick, red mess.

“Shit!” You fell back down onto your bed, several items around you also crashing down. Hand to your head, you looked wildly about. It happened again. Whatever had fallen this time had been heavy. You turned to see half the cutlery that had been lying on the kitchen tops now on the floor, and the knives and pistol that you’d placed earlier on top of the luggage bag were now in the middle of the floor. A sudden feeling of loneliness washed over you. The same dream, but longer, and this time with blood. “Shit” again, you put a hand to your pants, pulled the covers back and saw red. “Well, that’s one more thing I need to bring with me.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes, and throwing yourself back onto the bed.

Song Suggestion: ‘The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning’ by The Smashing Pumpkins

#resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #resident evil 2 #resident evil village #leon kennedy #Karl Heisenberg #mother miranda #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg fluff

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some-dr-writings · 4 years

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Nekomaru, Kazuichi and Gundham’s Tsundere S/O got into a fight

Nekomaru Nidai:

· “Y/N!?” “Ah, it’s you. I’m surprised I didn’t hear you already. Surprised you weren’t talking as you always are.” You huffed, glancing away from your boyfriend, wiping blood off the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. You sat on the ground, leaning against the back wall of the building. Your face was covered in bruises, and your clothes were completely disheveled, scuffed, slightly torn, with smudges of dirt smeared across it. Nekomaru kneeled before you, gently yet firmly he held your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, just barely tilting our head. “Sloppy, how did they get this kind of damage on you? Did you lose focus?” “Tch, you should see the other guy. I still got in a few hits. Good ones too.” “… Hmm, come. I’ll patch you up and we’ll strategize! I’ll even give you a special variation of ‘IT’!”

· “It’s not like you to get into fights like this.” You simply watched; eyes unwavering from Nekomaru as he wrapped a small ice pack around one of your many bruises that littered your body. “Are you feeling ill? Even the smallest of bugs can affect an athletes’ judgement! Even sleeping in slightly later can be a sign! Though… I don’t see anything wrong with you.” Then his gaze met yours. “It’s mental.” You glanced away signaling to Nekomaru that he had hit the nail on the head. You were speaking a lot less than usual, just a few snarky comments. Before he could get a read on what it was you mumbled something. “What? If you’re going to say something, say it with conviction! No holding back!” He then roared, likely being heard for miles around as evidenced by your ringing ears and the sight of many flocks of birds suddenly taking flight, far beyond the window and even the walls that surrounded the school. “Those assholes were talking shit about you! Spewing insults and rumors they had no idea of!” “So, they took your temper to their advantage, no wonder you’re so beaten up.” “I’m not a fighter so it doesn’t fuckin’ matter anyway!”

· Standing up Nekomaru smiled, placing the supplies back into the first-aid kit. You flinched, feeling the heat raising to your cheeks. “I-it wasn’t for your sake, dumb butt! As if I’d let some trash speak poorly on anything related to me. As if I’d date anyone less than perfection.” Then your cheeks completely flushed red as you froze for a moment before suddenly abruptly standing up. “A-any way! I’m… Going… somewhere! T-TO TOWN! TRAINING, PARKOUR! DON’T WAIT UP!” Before you could dash out the room you felt a hand place itself on your shoulder, his other hand cupping your cheek, turning you to face him. He then smirked, leaning his forehead against yours. “I love you too. But!” He then took a step back. “If you’re going out to sweat out your emotions, you’ll need your manager there, so I’m coming along too!” “O-okay, fine whatever, you can come along, I guess…”

· Nekomaru couldn’t help but adore seeing that ever darkening blush, as you tried hiding your face, concealing that wobbly smile, even if you were absolutely failing to do so at this point. No matter what, he’s was going to be by your side, supporting you however he could, whether you wanted it or not! You were his partner, and he was determined for you to keep being amazing, to surpass him in every way!

Kazuichi Soda:

· “Hmm? Two thirteen!? Where did the time go!?” Kazuichi nervously ran a hand through his hair, seeing how early it was, meaning he had worked nonstop through the night. He quickly set about packing his tools and other supplies, fretting about upsetting you by messing up his sleep schedule… again. He especially felt guilty for how much effort you put into helping him live a little healthier and not spend so much of his time tinkering that he keels over from malnutrition or lack of sunlight.

· Rushing to the house he tripped over himself when dashing out of his workshop, crashing into a wall in the process. It was… a rather chaotic crash, hearing a deep, resonating crack through his head. He winced feeling his nose in great pain, something cascade from his nostrils. He also noticed how he suddenly couldn’t smell anything; not the rain, or metal, not even motor oil though he had gone nose blind to it long ago. “Oh, shoot.” The guilt only piling on, now he was going to worry you senseless. This was just… fan-freaking-tastict.

· The very least he could do was not wake you so early in the morning. Though trying to hide this would only worry you more so he’d tell you about what happened after you had woken up. As quietly as he could Kazuichi slinked through the house, tiptoeing into the master bathroom.

· Suddenly a pair of ear splitting screams pierced through the air. “Kazu-baby!?” “Babe!? WHY ARE YOU BLOODY!?” “WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE YOUR FACE WAS RAN OVER BY A TRUCK!?” The last thing Kazuichi expected to see when turning on the bathroom light was you in the room when it was dark. You both were panicking, you holding Kazuichi’s face, examining his bloodied nose, as Kazuichi held your face noticing how strangely your nose matched his with that red gushing from it. You also had a lot of cuts and bruises riddled in your flesh to match it.

· After fretting over one another, making sure any and all wounds were patched up, you and he sat side by side on the end of the bed. “What happened to you!?” “Well…” You sighed, your features seeming to grow heaver at the mere thought of whatever happened, sending a deep pain to shoot through your husband’s heart. “I was out for my nightly jog. On my way back home though I was mugged. I managed to escape but this person thought it was a good idea to just keep going after me, so I kept just jogging for a while, even after I thought I lost them, I… didn’t want to lead them home so I just kept going and going, and… I… had been through enough tonight and I didn’t want to deal with the police so I… I skipped going to the hospital. But I didn’t want to wake you up, so I decided to try patching myself up with the lights off.” “Y/N!” You hated seeing the worry in Kazuichi expression, so you immediately took his hands, squeezing them tightly, interlacing your fingers together. “B-but I’m okay! I swear! But what about you? I thought you’d be in bed by now.” “… Uh… I was working, realized how late it was and tripped into a wall when rushing back into the house-“ “Oh. My. Goodness. I’ve married an idiot!” “But what you went through was more important! How are you feeling? Are you sure you’re alright? Are you hurt anywhere else?” “No, no, I’m fine! But Kazu-baby, you need sleep if you smashed into a wall with enough force to break your nose! Come on, let’s just get to bed.”

· Neither of you got to bed that night, too worried about the other to do so. “Hey, Babe… Want to just cuddle and watch a movie? I…” “… I could really use that tonight. And maybe we could just have a cat nap in the day.” “Heh, yeah. A day lazing around with you sounds fantastic.” So gently he kissed your temples, scared of hurting you, but needing to show you in even a small way how much he cared.

Gundham Tanaka:

· With a groan Gundham stirred from his rest, realizing his phone vibrated so much it had fallen off the bedside table, screen side up, lighting up the whole room to which Gundham hissed, shielding himself behind the quilt and sheets. Slowly he crept out, reaching his hand over the bed, patting the ground till his fingers felt that smooth device. Squinting his eyes, he saw he had gotten many messages from you, but the last one simply said ‘never mind. You better not wake up because of this.’ Well… too late for that. Almost every message was a variation of ‘please pick me up’, but then the last few realizing that because you were texting him to pick you up because the buses didn’t run this late, Gundham would probably be asleep by now. Stiffly he sat up, lightly stretching before going to the closet.

· Walking into the rain, that soft pitter-patter that surrounding him caused him to wonder if by chance it was raining where you were… Just in case he brought a second umbrella, keeping it tucked under his arm… It was also rather chilly out so he brought an extra coat… He also wasn’t sure if you had brought any shoes suited for rain and puddles, so he brought a pair… And from the texts it seems you have been up for a while so perhaps you’d be hungry, so he also brought some leftovers in a small container with him… And maybe- Gundham abruptly shook his head at his own behavior. He needed to get going, not constantly going and in and out for something else… But maybe- “No! Enough of this!” With renewed conviction he strode down the sidewalk, not looking back.

· It was a rather long walk to be sure, it’d take an hour by train or bus so Gundham jogged along, occasionally checking his phone to make sure he was heading the right way. The Devas huddled in the scarf, snuggled into Gundham, concealing themselves in that warmth, a few occasionally chattering. “I agree, this is entirely too strange, but that’s exactly why we must make haste.” The splashes of his feet against the puddles rippled and warped the reflection of those bight city lights that were drawing ever nearer as Gundham dashed past.

· Once at the edge, where the streets and towering buildings met Gundham had looked down for but a moment, checking the apartment address when two of his Devas poked their heads out of the scarf, sniffing the air as one lightly nipped his neck. “Huh? My love is…” With a firm nod he began to follow their directions and dropped the phone into his pocket.

· “Y/N…” You didn’t move, simply glancing at him for a moment. “I told you not to wake up.” Your voice was so horse, so quiet, that even the softest patter of the rain drowned your voice out, Gundham had only understood your words being your Soul’s mate, having been with you for so long he could have predicted it should he have tried too. There you laid, curled up into a ball, hugging your knees to your chest on a bench in the park, under the dead light of a lamp pole. Gundham kneeled before you, holding out the umbrella, himself getting out from under it’s protection in the process before opening the second one for the Devas and himself. You sighed, sitting up. “Since you’re here anyway, I suppose I’ll accept your company. Not that I needed it, I, I’m fine… Just… forgot the time is all.”

· That little blush that dusted your cheeks suddenly flared up feeling the warmth of the coat that surrounded you and seeing the small container of chicken teriyaki held out before you. “T-the hell did you bring this for?” “Nourishment is a necessity for building up strength, and we have quite a ways to traverse before we’ll return to our domains.” With trembling hands you took the container. You took a bite, slowly chewing it, taking in all the flavors… You tried holding it back, but quickly those tears mixed in with the rain that dripped down your cheeks. “it’s not good cold…”

· The tears that came pouring out, through hiccups and sobs you shoveled in bite after bite, all the while, Gundham taking off his coat and scarf, draping them over you. “Why, W-why do I even try anymore? I do everything they want, and they STILL blow up in my face! Why does mom always take their side!? I try to get along with her new partner, but they just never will try with me! AT LEAST I’M TRYING TO MAKE FATHER’S DEATH EASY ON HER, SO WHY DO THEY HAVE TO MAKE THINGS SO DIFFICULT!? WHY IS MOM WITH SUCH A JACK ASS!? WHY… why can’t I have my mom back? Why does she have to glom onto that fucking jerk!? Can’t she see they’re just taking advantage of her!? I… why? W-why.” Even as you hugged yourself, leaning forward, he didn’t dare move as you rested your head against his shoulder.

· Not saying a word you sat up, only now noticing the rain boots that were placed before you. As you placed them on, Gundham closed one of the umbrellas. He stood closely beside you as the pair of you walked along. “… you didn’t have to come.” “I know.” “It must have been a real pain to get up so late.” “It was.” “And to walk all the way out here.” “Jog.” “That’s even worse.” “It certainly was.” “… thank you.” “…” A light pink dusted his cheeks as he took a step closer to you, now shoulder to shoulder. Though exhausted and feeling like you were on the edge of both blowing up and collapsing, the gesture pulled at the corner of your lips, drawing a soft smile from you.

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sneakerdoodle · 3 years

Text

"(Not) Alone", Chapter 3

Rated: K

HELLO here are some FEELINGS

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General warnings: trouble breathing; (states resembling) panic attacks; depression; familial tension, difficult parental relationships

You just wish there was still a place for you in the world.

If only the overarching symphony could accommodate the grating, pained sounds brewing in everything that is left of you. If only your song still belonged.

Even if you were still able to sound your heart, what is your lonely voice against the boundless dark around you? What is it without the crackling metal, without the thunderous echo, without the chorus of adoration pushing you forward, against the overwhelming threat of the cosmos?

Was it them who were a part of your song or were you a part of theirs?.. It seems to matter less now. You just wish it still held you up, anchored you; you wish it was still there to make your approach thick with gravity, pulling everything close. You wish you were still irreplaceable, front and center, the very rhythm of the march.

You wish desperately for the same security, promise of importance, to never, ever be left alone again. Just don't leave me alone again. Don't make me one of the many, forgettable, dispensable, easy to toss aside.

Not alone. Anything but alone.

Eya played a funny little joke on you, didn't she. Hilarious.

What an offer it was, to be given a chance on safety, to dig your feet firmly into the ground that had no choice but to cave. To be able to tighten your grip around the world, to hold onto your place in it as fiercely as your body would allow.

Why would you ever say no? Your every wish fulfilled so plentifully, all the comfort you had ever yearned for handed right to you, how could you ever stop? How could you possibly keep yourself from longing for more, for this to never be over?

Once the world started singing a new song, each heart alight, all equal, yours stood no chance. For the first time in your long, fearful life, it had the choice of control. It would never be able to change its tune in time.

The world made you scared. The world made you shake with the thought of the vast expanse of land, then sea, then bottomless skies, all profoundly indifferent to your pathetic little fate. The world never paid you much mind when you were stumbling through it, still just a kid, bruising yourself at every turn, giving your very best - yet never becoming special enough to draw another into your orbit, to be helped, to be loved.

The world seemed to have redeemed itself, by finally giving you every single thing you deserved. Guidance. Purpose. Adoration. It took you into its arms as the most incredible thing it had ever held within itself.

It took advantage of your every deep desire.

It threw you away with no hesitation once your part no longer served the whole. It branded your heart rotten for daring to want what it offered. It infected you with the bone-deep itch to matter, then flinched away in disgust once you tried.

You despise it with every fiber of your being. You hate everything that is alive and moving.

Your hatred is venom, and life rejects it. Life rejects you.

You wish to tear your bleeding, poisoned heart right out.

***

- Oh-hoh! Down already, muffin!

Kiwi lingers on the last step of the stairs, hand on the rails, an exhausted smile faint on their lips. They nod to Mom, then to Baron sitting in the big chair they watched him drag out of the bedroom and dust off just the day before. The mechanical morning greeting is dry and laboured, like their long-suffering neck has rusted through.

- Thought I'd have to go pester you more to get you out of bed, - Mom laughs, setting a teapot in the middle of the table. - Well, come help, since you're here!

Bard nods again, letting their mother's off-handed remark sink into the pit of their stomach – like swallowing an ice cube - and wordlessly makes their way over to the kitchen counter. Baron stirs and follows promptly, hulking behind his two family members. Bard feels incredibly awkward trying to maintain the appropriate amount of eye contact while handing him plates of porridge, which Baron accepts with another silent nod. Overworking one’s neck joints seems to be the most popular method of communication in the household these days.

Baron lumbers over to the table, and Kiwi follows, a bread basket filled with sugar buns and a little bowl of home-made jam in tow. They wince slightly at the sight of it. Rhubarb.

Mom places a round-bellied steaming teapot in the middle of the table and looks over it with a satisfied little hum.

- Don't let it all go cold, now!

Silently consuming the laid-out meal as Mom chatters over it is about the only experience Kiwi and their... dad can find any sort of solidarity in. Now and then, they exchange a wordless look, Kiwi reluctantly spreading jam on a sliced bun, Baron sending a spoonful of oatmeal behind his cheek. Although Baron's awkward silence has a distinct shade of guilt to it. That makes Bard wonder if they should feel worse about not engaging, too.

Mom watches them reach for another pastry and shakes her head with a laugh that is probably supposed to be affectionate.

- You're so hard to cook for, muffin!

Kiwi tries to mold their face into a noncommittal expression, but can feel it scrunch up around their tensely neutral smile as if they'd just bit down on a lemon. They glare at the bowl in Baron's hands with a weird mixture of resistance and jealousy. Not for the contents, for sure, they're more than comfortable with their preferences, but perhaps... for the freedom to casually share a meal.

Baron seems to intercept that look and puts the bowl down. The ceramic bottom taps against the table, a sound like a punctuation mark. He clears his throat.

- So...

Bard looks up at him, all but horrified. Mom throws a quizzical curious glance over the cup of tea she's holding up to her lips.

During the two weeks Kiwi has been staying at their parents' house, they have barely heard Baron utter more than a word, safe for the extremely awkward welcome the next morning after their arrival. Baron seems to be aware of that, too, shifting in his seat for a couple of seconds before continuing.

- I'm sitting in on some workshops and the community meeting at the Fa...- he stops and covers his slip up with a delayed cough, - the center.

He turns to Kiwi, full-body, brushing against the table in the process and causing the cutlery to clatter. Kiwi feels incredibly small.

- I thought that maybe, uh... - Baron rubs his knees, drying his palms. He looks about as nervous as Bard, if that is at all possible, -...you'd want to come as well.

Bard feels like choking, on food or tea, but there is none in their mouth at the moment. So instead they just glare, feeling their own hands become sweatier and sweatier. Spending a whole... day? With their wayward father, of all people?

- Oh-ho-ho, how wonderful! - Mom chimes in cheerfully. Of course, she does.

Kiwi barely has the bandwidth to ruminate on just how shamefully potent their annoyance is. They never voice it, but the sheer power of it still feels impudent, somehow. And they are growing more and more irritable, lately.

- A great day to go out, isn't it? - Mom continues, not helping at all. - It's about time you left the house, too, muffin!

Bard never even gets to reply. Mom moves on to packing the leftover pastries for the two to take with them, and urges Kiwi to have one more with his tea. Kiwi has trouble conceiving of eating anything at all, his stomach in the process of tying itself into several tight knots. He mumbles excuses inarticulately, speaking mostly with his hands that are held up in front of him in a politely defensive gesture. From time to time, he dares to throw a glance at Baron. The latter is stubbornly cleaning his glasses, bushy eyebrows lowered, obscuring his eyes in the lenses’ place.

This is going to be... a day.

Bard doesn't know what to do with their hands as they are walking down the street next to their... dad. Every usual gesture suddenly feels incredibly childish, and for some inexplicable reason, that feels... wrong. Far too... vulnerable? Is this how Miriam feels most of the time?..

Mom's not wrong, it... has been a while since they've been outside. Which makes her remark only more uncomfortable.

The first few days Kiwi diligently tried to engage. They checked in on all the neighbours; hung around the grocery store, sprawled over the counter as Tanya was detailing the stock on the large board behind it; took part in a cooking class at Beth and Katya's; clapped along to the live performances at the Pub. As their visit continued, however, staying in and endlessly re-reading old diary entries was becoming more and more of an easier choice. It got too wearing, desperately trying to enjoy Chismest's new, friendlier face despite the underlying sense of dread that greeted them every morning.

Now, walking down the streets in Baron's company, they smiled awkwardly at every surprised look or forced casual expression. People have been asking Mom if they had left already, Bard knows they have. Mom didn't fail to mention that.

The two walk in silence, neither of them really knowing how to even start to approach a conversation with the other. But Baron has apparently discovered an unsettling amount of gut to try nonetheless.

He clears his throat once again, and Kiwi feels their stomach drop at the prospect of having to handle small-talk.

- So... - Baron seems to be weighing his words in his mind, judging which ones would be best to follow with. Eventually, he sighs in resignation, the same low rustling sound from the other side of the wall. - Do you... like it here?

Bard is... at an utter loss of words. Does she “like it”?..

She likes what Chismest has become. She likes that every familiar face is now healthier, and happier. She likes that everyone is closer now, and caring. She likes that the children can play outside, without choking on poisonous smog.

Do they like being here? Do they like shutting themself in their room, glumly listening to the sound of snowball fights breaking out right under their window? Do they like the unexplainable, persistent sense of... being left behind...

Kiwi gulps down the sick feeling rising from their gut as all the dream sensations attack their body once again, and shakes their head in an attempt to snap out of it.

Baron seems to take that for their reply. His eyebrows move up a degree, and – weirdly – he seems smaller, for just a moment. The thought of letting a single person, let alone Baron, suspect they are the odd one out, fills Bard with panic. They leap into the energetic equivalent of a 180-degree turn and start emphatically nodding instead, trying to emphasize, somehow, that this is their chosen answer.

Baron seems incredibly confused as to what to make of it. He turns away and rubs the back of his neck before carefully, tentatively continuing:

- Y-yeah. Me as well. - He looks up ahead, wistfully, and adds quietly, barely audible: - Strange to think I'd kept myself from this for so long...

Bard shoots a look at Baron's face, conflicted. Are the two of them... relating? Is Baron just as conflicted over the sight of Chismest's thriving?.. They guess it would only make sense for him to be, given everything, but...

But... something.

Whatever the “something” is, it makes the poorly suppressed flurry of emotions within them intensify. They will not explore that. They are not going down that path.

Bard squeezes as polite of a smile as they can out of themself and turns away, looking right ahead. They seem to be approaching the grocery store.

Tanya sees the weird duo pass by the window and waves, bringing both of them to a stop. Soon, she is coming through the door, a little jar in her hands.

- Well hey there, - she seems to greet Kiwi specifically, only sparing Baron a wary side-glance. He does not waver under it. The step back he takes is almost demonstratively polite.

Tanya turns her full attention back to Bard.

- Haven't seen you around in a while, have I?

Kiwi shrugs with an awkward smile. Tanya shakes her head.

- Now, now, I ain't ragging on you. Just couldn't find a good time to give you this.

She extends her hand holding the small jar. Bard takes it into their palms, confused. The contents of it are beaming bright orange. The word “Marmalade“ is written in cursive on the brown label.

- Special delivery! - Tanya smiles warmly; her particular but welcoming demeanor is something Kiwi has grown to appreciate. - Got a whole crate of those, actually, but those pirate friends of yours insisted I keep one safe for you. No idea how they'd caught the wind of you staying here, - she shrugs, - but either way you're getting something sweet outta it.

Kiwi looks at the jar they are carefully holding in their hands, overcome. They suddenly find themself so tired and so fragile, the unexpected wave of gratitude and warmth make their eyes sting with the promise of tears. They look back up at Tanya, their smile for once genuine and heartfelt.

- Thank you 🎶, - they sing softly, struggling to find more words to express how much this is turning out to mean to them. Tanya interrupts it.

- Don't go thanking me, I'm just passing on. - She does the closest thing available to ruffling their hair: patting and flattening their hat with a similar hand motion. - Be good, hon.

She smiles one more time before heading back into the store. Kiwi squeezes their eyes shut, trying to covertly blink the budding tears away, then turns back to where Baron is standing. He seems to have been studying the paving for the last couple of minutes.

Bard takes a reluctant step towards the ex-factory building to signify they are ready to move on. Baron follows, looking at the jar of marmalade they are still clutching in their hands and attempting a slight smile.

- You have many... interesting friends.

Kiwi tries to smile with the same amount of genuine affection they'd just felt at the unexpected gift, but it comes out awkward and sour. They are suddenly very aware of not having said a single articulate word to their dad the entire morning. They clear their throat.

- Yeah!.. 🎶

Her voice is small, quiet, but it's... something, at least. It is bewildering to think about her recent encounter with Baron, the first one in years. It was so easy to challenge him, back when Kiwi had no idea who he was. Now, the overwhelming discomfort and confusion of having to interact with her long-forgotten... father... render her basically incapable of any solid verbal exchange.

They ascend the steps leading up to the entrance into the intimidating building that now houses the Community Center. Kiwi glances over the schedule as they pass it. Workshops, consortium meetings, training, public discussions... Chismest's busy schedule is a constant, at least.

Once inside the building, Kiwi and Baron take the stairs to the second floor of the factory, away from the narrow, menacing hallway leading into the ground. There is no low rumble echoing through it: the production lines are only brought to life to order these days. Bard tries their best to not feel like they are walking above the lair of a sleeping beast.

The two take their seats in a once-spacious conference room, seating rearranged and reimagined in a way that tiptoes along the thin line between ingeniously efficient and absurdly cramped. The room is gradually filling with people who recognize Baron, some giving reserved nods, few – more enthusiastic waves.

A tall dark figure leans into the space between them for a more conspiratorial greeting, murmuring something to Baron in low tones. Baron chuckles and pats the person's shoulder heavily, then turns to Bard. He is smiling; there is uncharacteristic and... frankly unsettling vivacity in that.

- You have met Vlad…,- Baron assumes, only somewhat sure, and Kiwi can finally recognize the tall person as the Clockwork Pub's bartender. They give a sheepish smile and a nod, and Vlad returns the latter, accompanied by a somewhat wistful look.

The sudden weight of a large, heavy palm on their shoulder, along with the pure emotional shock at this distinctly fatherly gesture, almost knock Kiwi's ghost out of them.

- This is my, – there is only a fraction of a beat before the final word drops, - kid.

Bard stares at Baron's face with enough dumbfounded intensity to notice the subtle signs of nervousness: the furrowing brows, the dry lips firmly pressed together. There is some relief in knowing he feels about as uneasy actually saying this.

Vlad nods, slowly, reflectively.

- I should have noticed the semblance, - he draws out, and, barely giving Kiwi time to recover from that, adds: - Good to have you back, young Bard.

Vlad takes an empty seat a few rows away, leaving Kiwi and Baron to sweat in the aftershock of the sudden f a m i l y m o m e n t. The weight of Baron's hand disappearing hardly registers. Kiwi mindlessly stares at the wooden desk in front of him. Vlad's “back” echoes in his mind, dressing in more and more foreboding tones with every encore. Is this it? Are they... staying?.. The thought makes their stomach churn.

They purposefully shift their attention to the people seated around them in an attempt to fight the sickness. There are at least a dozen conversations happening at the table at the same time, from confidential murmurs to loud exchanges interlaced with laughter. The room is bustling with sound and action, even with everyone sitting still.

A single voice rises above the neighbourly commotion, drawing it to a single focus.

- Hello, everyone.

Bard's eyes follow in tandem with everyone else's, and they shrivel up in their chair, wishing to make their body as small as humanly possible. At the center of the room and everyone's attention, there is Elara – the very person Bard has been avoiding since even before his self-imposed confinement. They hunch behind the desk, hoping to not draw her eye.

Elara glances around the room. Her eyes travel from one face to another, eventually meeting Kiwi's. He succumbs to agony as Elara gives him the same plain, honest look, accompanied by a subtle steady smile, before moving on.

- Thank you for coming. - There is a pause as the head astronomer and now community organizer considers what to say next, apparently less confident single-handedly orchestrating a public discussion. She turns to Elmer and gives him a quiet nod.

Elmer, fully in his element, clears his throat, preparing to project.

- Agenda for the day, - he shrieks out, enunciating: - updates on Chismest's research program; the public library initiative, session 1; trade and barter year plan; sustainability panel, session 3.

Elara throws another look around the conference room.

- Unless anybody has any last-minute pitches, - a second-long pause, - let us begin.

The public discussion turns out to be... draining. The many-voiced conversation ebbs and flows: one moment it is overwhelming with everyone’s impatience, people barely managing to not talk over each other; then it is tedious, the consortium mulling over the routine detail of the town's day-to-day functioning.

The worst part is that Kiwi can actually sense the rhythm of it, the rise and the fall; they recognize a skipping shifting rhapsody in the chain of interlinking exclamations, one prompting another; they feel the steady vital rhythm of cross-referenced numbers and well-practiced schedules. They feel the song of the moment.

It is like sensing the vague outline of a repeating dream, recognizing something that used to be vivid in their mind in a completely different state of it. Some part of them longs to join in, crush into the stream of collective life, move with it, be carried by it, naturally dissolving into the overarching symphony. But it is alien, it is a song they do not share with the rest. If there was a time when they knew how to join someone else’s celebration, – and they believe there was, even though it sounds like something from another life - it seems to have passed. Irrevocably.

Kiwi is pulled into the tidal wave only once, without any initiative on their part, as the sky-mapping project is being discussed. Elara's eyes stay on them, thoughtful, trying to puzzle them out, as she asks:

- Are there any news from Delphi? If you wouldn't mind sharing.

Kiwi thinks back to the letter entombed in the drawer of their bedside table, out of sight, yet still burning in her mind daily and making her shrivel up with guilt, then plunge herself into avoidance. They vividly re-live the sensation of crumpling yet another sheet of colorful paper up, failing to find the words for their reply. Their decision to stay (for a while? ...indefinitely? no, no, surely not) is already obvious. Why do they dread the idea of actually announcing it to Miriam so much?

Bard shakes the thought off, returning to the present moment, to the concerned, questioning looks of everyone who has just watched them zone out, lost in their own mind. They smile pitifully as they shake their head again, more emphatically. Elara nods, slowly, her eyebrows softly knitting together, and Bard makes a mental note to leave the room as soon as the meeting is over, sneak away with the crowd before they can be stopped and questioned further.

The conversation moves on, and Bard is left outside of it, rocked by irregular waves, thrown in this and that direction like old, soggy driftwood. She cannot follow the flow of the discussion, she cannot focus on the words bouncing from one end of the overcrowded room to another, and the unsteady rhythm she cannot keep up with leaves her queasy. She just wants to crawl back under her blanket, let it muffle all the sounds apart from her own breathing - and try not to think too hard about the latter, the tightness in her non-existent chest that haunts her every dream, the persistent pull somewhere out of cosmos--

Okay. She needs something to center herself. One single thing to focus on, to ignore the surrounding chorus.

Kiwi barely gets to think before their eyes stop on Baron's face – arguably, the worst possible subject for them to try to ground themself with half-through their unraveling. But Baron seems to feel out of place in the general harmony as well, and that provides Kiwi with a weird, uncomfortable sort of solidarity, another’s experience forcing itself on them through the sheer familiarity of it. At the back of their mind, they note how this feels sort of like being possessed by a ghost (again), but also… as if they are doing the possession at the same time?.. They could compare it to their nightmares. But they won’t. They are not thinking about those.

The chorus of the consortium is spontaneous, unpracticed, noisy. Kiwi thinks back to the rhythmic thumping of factory machinery, the unified movement of workers, in at nine, out at five. Up until recently, Baron hadn't heard anything but that steady march for more than twenty years. No wonder this is weird for him, too.

There is this specific hesitation to him, as well: how he frowns at something he feels the need to dispute, opens his mouth - but stops before producing any sound. He seems to be marking his thoughts on a piece of paper, but that hardly satisfies him, and he is left shifting in his seat restlessly, exhaling sharply through his nostrils.

All this fidgeting is much less subtle than he probably thinks. His immediate neighbours keep throwing looks in his and Bard's direction, some of them questioning, some incredulous. Associating with their father is not something Bard is generally excited about, but here, in the troughs of difficult history and unresolved hurt, the discomfort is all the more intense.

At one point, Baron leans on the desk with his entire lumbering frame, making it creak, and lets out a loud jingling sigh. The room goes quiet.

Heads turn.

People are looking at the imposing figure with overwhelmingly guarded expressions. Baron notices the kind of attention he has drawn to himself and fixes his gaze in front of him, visibly tense. Next to him, Kiwi is trying to slide under the desk undetected.

They think back to Tanya, to the look in her eyes when she saw Baron. They are suddenly acutely aware of how much of a pressuring, entitled presence Baron must be to many people in Chismest. Even those ready to give him a second chance must feel threatened when the person who once dictated their entire way of life tries to affect it once again, even as an equal.

Baron seems to be aware of this, too. He is demonstratively silent, barely even breathing when he raises his eyes, but there is a weird air of defiance to it. He looks around defensively, as if the room has just collectively reached for pitchforks.

For a moment, Bard sees him again the way they did some months ago, for the first time in many, many years. Prideful, self-righteous, towering over the rest of the world that simply does not know what is best for it.

Back then, that hardly had any effect on them, outside of Chismest's general depressing atmosphere. Now, knowing that this was their father, the very mythical looming presence at the back of their mind, casting its shadow onto every little misstep and every instance of rejection, a constant reminder of their insignificance... The thought makes Kiwi shudder. Nothing scares them more than the idea of this cold, dismissive look inevitably turning to them, saying everything that has previously only been implied.

Kiwi is sitting next to the scariest person this side of a life-sucking void outside of time and space, and all the eyes are on the two of them, and the rest of the word makes no difference between Baron and his lost, odd child, both of them glaringly out of place.

The longest few seconds of their life – not counting the world's impending end, they suppose - pass in deafening silence stretched so thin KIwi is scared it's going to burst any moment. Then the conversation slowly picks up, flows once more, avoiding the now isolated island of Baron's seat. Kiwi dares to look around from where they are half-hidden behind the desk. Have their neighbours to the right and to the left moved just a little bit further away?..

Elara's eyes linger on Baron's face just a fraction of a second longer, with some hint of rapport. Her chin moves ever so slightly in a secret nod intended only for him, before she turns back to the indignant speaker interrupted by Baron's display of frustration.

Baron himself spends the rest of their time in the conference room stone-still. Bard tries to mimic, hoping any further attention slides off of her if she blends into the background. Under the desk, though, her sweating hands are desperately clutching the marmalade jar.

When Elmer calls a break and Baron stands up, intending to leave, Bard all but deflates with relief. They do not have to follow him around, they know it. But, however deeply rattling it is to be around him, especially now, they feel a strange sense of obligation. Like the plan sprung on them over breakfast means both they and their parent are supposed to fulfill a certain quota before either is released from this weird, strained attempt on father-child bonding time.

Kiwi doesn't like this feeling. It's been a long time since they had to be someone's child, and they cannot remember the last time they were their father's. It was hard enough to balance their dreams and desires alongside Mom's off-handed but insistent expressions of all the regrets she quite openly held, about Kiwi's passions, their chosen path in life, their decision to leave and the lack of visits. This new, sudden and alien responsibility for yet another familial relationship feels only heavier with the weight of all the years Kiwi didn't have to bother with it, outside of the sleepless nights by the window or picking at their being in search of apparent faults.

Bard feels his fists clench at his sides as he sinks into a dark, glum state of low-burning anger. It was never his decision to put the two of them into this situation. Why must he feel any responsibility--

He is yanked right out of his thoughts as Elara's voice cuts through the background noise of moving benches and discordant steps.

- Oh, Baron. Good day. I was just about to find you.

Kiwi freezes, for just a second, then chooses cowardice. They look around, hurriedly, and slip behind Baron's wide back, trying to get lost in the crowd against all odds, pulling the glaring beacon that is their red feather hat off their head. Maybe it's their restless imagination, maybe it is the proverbial sixth sense, but they feel two pairs of eyes follow them to the exit. No one calls out, however, leaving them to their expeditious escape.

Outside of the conference room, Kiwi leans against the wall and lets out a long sigh, half-exhausted, half-relieved. The general commotion of the many groups of people moving up and down the hallways, of doors opening and slamming shut, is still hard on their frazzled nerves. They want to go home. They don't want “home” to be their mother’s.

They're not sure how long they stand there for until Baron exits as well, looking thoughtful, scratching his chin. He seems almost surprised to see Bard right next to the door and takes a moment to recollect himself. He clears his throat and attempts to... look cheerful?.. That does not quite work out, and eventually Baron gives up and simply sighs, despondent.

- I will not be staying around for the second half, - he announces with a glum expression. - You're welcome to, if you...

Bard shakes their head, and Baron nods, slowly, processing.

- Well... - he sighs again, then makes his way down the hallway, - this means I'm free to join a couple of workshops. - He looks at Bard, contemplative, then forces out: - Why don't you... try out any? See if there is anything you'd like.

Kiwi weighs her options. They need space, desperately. They do not want to aimlessly wander the streets, prompting polite conversations and letting the cold air freeze them all the way through. They would not be able to deal with the meaningful look in Mom's eyes right now, and it is coming if they return home so early, making their way straight to their room.

They just need a quiet corner.

They find it at the back of a room where a small-voiced, timid-looking person is delivering a lecture in low, unimposing tones. Kiwi leans against the wall, cradling their knee, feeling their eyelids droop with the weight of the past weeks of poor sleep, poor mood and general nervous exhaustion. They let themself node off, the incoherent scribblings on the board slowly blurring into even more meaningless shapes.

They sway on the very cusp of sleep and wakefulness, safe from the disarray of life and the cold thick terror of nightmares. There is an unsettling amount of comfort to be found in not having to deal with existing.

Bard places the marmalade jar on top of the bedside table. Their eyes linger on the handle of the drawer just below the board. Hesitantly, they curl their fingers around it and pull the drawer open.

Miriam's letter rests on top of a chaotic pile of paper and various craft supplies. It isn't folded, and the familiar words call out to them once again.

“Bard,

Kiwi,

Hey, you

Uh. Hi.”

A weak smile tugs at their mouth.

The rest of the letter burns with long-overdue, not very well-concealed urgency, kindling the background sense of guilt that is now pretty much constant.

“...haul boards around on my broom like a mule while everyone is hovering and asking me questions and RUSHING ME. There's a lot of people and

We're holding off 'till you're here anyway, so like, hurry up?? I don't... know what to do with all of THEM wanting something from me all the time, and Saphy's no dang help!!! I don't know why she expects me to... UGH, whatever.”

The haunting vision of Miriam shutting further and further down under the pressure, knowing Bard was supposed to be there next to her, feeling abandoned and alone, starts turning Kiwi's guts inside out once again. But still, there is a bitter sort of comfort in reading this hesitant message from their best friend, examining the familiar antsy corners of her handwriting. Kiwi reaches for it, fingertips hovering just above the surface of the paper. Their eyes linger on the last line, scribbled on rashly, almost like an afterthought. Which means she really meant it.

“...Miss you.”

There is a shout from down the stairs. Bard's hand jolts back.

- Don't take too long, muffin! - Mom draws out, rushing him to take his place at the dinner table. Bard throws one final glance at Miriam's name at the bottom of the page before leaving the room.

He will write back today. Totally! Probably.

It's hard to make their dinner go down when Baron keeps throwing heavy glances in Kiwi's direction. They try their best not to notice, but the unspoken tension pumps their body full of adrenaline. Bard wants to shift and fidget and move their limbs to shake out the pinpricks of restless nervous energy, but hesitates, not wanting to draw even more attention. She is stuck sending one spoonful of veggie stew into her mouth after another in a mechanical, almost robotic motion, only occasionally nervously glancing over to where Baron keeps staring with the air of inexplicable dread.

Once the table is cleared and the unspokenly mandated fifteen to thirty minutes of quality family time begin, things escalate.

Bard is absent-mindedly picking at the stray threads of the couch's armrest when a cough up above calls for their attention. Baron is towering over them, looking sulking and miserable.

Oh no.

Kiwi's head snaps in the other direction, grasping at the last straw of Mom's presence, only to see her thoughtfully leave the room. Of course. Of course.

As Bard feverishly ponders whether Ira's usual lack of consideration is reserved for turning their life into quiet misery, Baron sits down, a full seat over. Kiwi feels the couch sag under his weight and grabs the armrest, scared of getting pulled into this sudden gravity well. They are staring at their knees, desperately hoping this isn't going where this is certainly, absolutely, one hundred percent going.

- So...

Kiwi is now staring holes in the floor, hoping to compel it to open on command and mercifully swallow her whole.

Baron sighs, and out of the corner of her eyes, Kiwi sees his shoulders fall into a tired, resigned posture.

She keeps begging Eya to let her disappear.

When Baron speaks again, the words come out on the exhale, heavy, weary, bare.

- You saw me out there. I... - a pause, as he searches for words, while Bard prays for them to never, ever come, - I... made a great mess of things. Too many mistakes, for too long.

He lets the thought sink in, a silent acknowledgment of the weight of it. He wants Bard to know he means it. He thinks this is better. This is so, so much worse.

Baron continues, eventually.

- Now no one... really knows what to do with me. Myself included.

There's a mirthless chuckle, and Kiwi dares to throw a single glance at Baron's face, a bitter smile cutting hard lines into it.

Bard is silent.

Baron sighs once again, heavier.

- Despite that, what you did... what all of you did, and what you played a large part in... it brought me here, like everyone else. I don't quite know how to move on. But the world has decided it was…, - he hesitates for a second, - better off with me in it. I can't pretend to understand why, but it has.

The last sentence barely reaches Bard's ears through the sounds of blood pounding in them. He is suddenly flooded with panic, his body locking up, leaving him short of breath. No. No, don't make him think of that.

Oblivious to the fact that his child is suffocating, choked by terror, right next to him, Baron continues.

- I've hurt people. In more ways than I can ever hope to make up for. But I'm still... here. And it seems that the only right thing to do is to try, still.

Don't think. Don't think of the implication. Don't consider the fact that the world is trying to force you out of itself every single night. Don't think about what it means, that the man next to you, the one that had haunted the bigger part of your life with unspoken judgment, the one that terrifies you with just how easily he could destroy any semblance of peace you might've managed to gather, just might deserve a place in this universe much more than you ever did.

Is this really how it works? Their father, who spent decades hurting others out of the self-serving notion that he knew what people needed better than them, gets to stay with those he had wronged, while Kiwi is tortured with nightly reminders of what it would be like, to be left eternally alone, for daring to not have had an immediate, magical change of heart. They clench their fists in their lap, trying their best not to shake.

Baron notices, finally. There are a few seconds of silence as he staggers, obviously unsure how to proceed. Out of the corner of their watering eyes (no, no, no, this only makes this worse...), Bard sees him take his glasses off.

Baron rubs his eyes, wearily, then places a heavy hand on Kiwi's shoulder. They shrivel up and look over, sheepishly.

Baron meets their gaze. One would expect his eyes to be a piercing cold blue, to match the white in his hair and his general demeanor, inexplicably reminiscent of frost. Instead, they are brown. Dulled, shadowed by his furrowed brows, yet still... warm.

- Kiwi.

If only there were words in any human language capable of explaining why his father calling him by his name has just made Kiwi so disorientingly sick.

- Things are changing.

Please don't say that. Please.

- I would like to change with them, if I can.

Bard turns away from the eyes that look unsettlingly like their own and chokes down a laugh, too afraid it will come out as a sob. It gargles in their throat, weird and vague and embarrassing. The hand on their shoulder tightens in an attempt to comfort, and Kiwi wants to run miles away from themself.

- I know I have... hurt you. More than anyone else, perhaps.

He should stop. Can he please stop. Can't he see how hard Bard is trying to not think about-

- You don't owe me patience, or forgiveness. But I'm here. ...If there is anything at all that you need from me.

Silence hangs heavy over them, threatening to crash Bard's stiff, trembling body. This is the part where they are supposed to say something. “I understand”, or “I will never forgive you”, or “Why did you do it?”, or “Did you ever miss me at all?”. Instead, they can barely push a single gulp of air down into their lungs. They stopped trying to sing when they discovered it is barely possible to get a spoken word out in their family's presence. How come being under this roof always renders them voiceless?

Baron waits. Patiently. It is terrifying, to think that he will continue waiting, always ready for Kiwi to walk in through this very door, announcing she is ready to mend their ill phantom of a relationship.

He is waiting for an answer. Any answer. Give him something, anything at all, just make it stop.

Bard nods, slowly, shakily, praying that this faint acknowledgment gets them off the hook. He could not possibly want more. He does not get to ask for more.

Baron's hand lingers on their shoulder another second, before finally releasing. Kiwi deflates in relief and immediately jumps off the couch, their legs wobbly, knees weak. Their eyes slide past Baron's lost expression. Without looking at him, they give another frantic nod and tear off towards the stairs, grabbing onto the handrails for dear life.

Her room is swaying softly before her. Kiwi takes one unsteady step away from the door, eyes wandering aimlessly. They catch the open drawer with the letter inside it, and Kiwi feels like she is about to crumble. She grabs the handle with a weak shaking hand and shuts it in a jerky motion.

The marmalade jar rocks with the bedside table, then tips over and hits the floor. The thick glass thuds loudly against the wooden boards. It rolls into the corner.

Bard lowers themself to the floor next to their bed, shaken, nauseous. They pull their hat off and do their best to breathe.

The ceiling light overhead is swinging slightly from the momentum of the door slamming shut just a few seconds ago. Bard's shadow is shifting, the outline vague and blurred. It looks little like themself.

For a second, they could swear they recognize the shape of a long scarf obscuring the line of their neck.

#wandersong #kiwi wandersong #the bard wandersong #baron wandersong #my writing #(not) alone #it's been a whileeeeee i've been. busy >:3c #if you enjoy it do let me know 😌

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set-phasers-to-whump · 3 years

Text

the rhythm of the rain keeps time

prompt: storms

whumpee: neal caffrey

fandom: white collar

i feel like it’s been a hot minute since i’ve written wc and i can’t believe how much i missed writing these guys! this was a lot of fun to write and i hope that it’s alright to read! (title from jet pack blues by fall out boy, which has been sitting on my list of song lyrics to use as fic titles since i was like, 15)

Not even a minute after Neal has left his house, a boom of thunder rolls across the evening sky and a heavy rain begins to pour down. Neal keeps walking anyway, despite the storm, pulling his hat a bit lower on his head in an attempt to keep some of the rain off his face.

The only thought on his mind is the Burkes. While turning around and going back inside, back into the warm, dry air, does sound pretty damn good, he knows he needs to get to their house above all else. He doesn’t know why, exactly. All he knows is that he feels bad, achy and hot with a pounding head, and Peter and El are usually good at fixing things. Ergo, he needs to go see them.

Neal continues walking through the heavy rain, wrapping his arms around his torso in a rather useless attempt to stay warm. Truthfully, he’s pretty sure he’d been shivering even before it started raining, but if he’d been shivering then, he’s positively trembling now. He doesn’t think he has ever been this cold in his entire life. It feels as though the cold rain has soaked right through his skin and into his bones, like it’s freezing him from the inside out. He tries to walk faster to escape it, but only trips over his own feet, scraping his palms red and raw against the sidewalk when he falls.

Neal pushes himself back up, wavering on his feet as a sudden rush of dizziness overtakes him. It passes eventually, and he continues walking, determined that he must make it to the Burkes’ house. As soon as he gets there, he knows that everything is going to be okay. He just has to keep walking.

So he does. He walks, and walks, and walks, and wonders whether the Burkes’ house has always been this far away. At some point, he’s stopped really registering the cold. He wonders whether that might not be such a good thing, but can’t bring himself to care.

He’s still shaking, and his footsteps take him all over the sidewalk and occasionally cause him to step off of it and down onto the edge of the road. He trips and falls at least three more times, though he’s not really keeping count. He thinks maybe there are holes in the knees of his pants now, which is a shame, since he’d really liked this suit. His shoes, too, have got to be ruined. He’s stepped in several ankle-deep puddles and can feel the water sloshing around inside them, but doesn’t have the strength or dexterity to get them off and get the water out.

After an eternity of walking and stumbling and freezing and still feeling bad underneath it all, finally Neal sees the Burkes’ house. The lights are on, glowing invitingly, and he hastens his pace, nearly plowing down an old woman who is stepping into a taxi.

“S-sorry,” he manages to stutter out through his chattering teeth, but the word is so quiet he doubts that the woman had heard it at all.

Going up the steps is one of the hardest parts of his entire journey, which up until now has not taken him on any great changes of elevation. His legs are trembling beneath him, and with every step he takes, he manages to bang his shoes into the stairs. He almost falls more than once, but manages to save himself by gripping onto the railing for all he’s worth.

He’s fairly exhausted by the time he reaches the top step, and for a second he simply leans on the door and tries to catch his breath. He’s here. And Peter is here, and so is El, and Satchmo, and maybe there’s a fire in the fireplace, or maybe they had something warm for dinner and there are leftovers, or -

The door opens, and suddenly he’s falling over the threshold, and all he thinks is not again, but before he can hit the ground, someone’s arms are wrapped around him, pulling him back up.

“Neal?”

“H...hey, Peter.”

---

When a shadow appears on the doorstep shortly after eight, Peter’s a little cautious. Who on Earth would be showing up to his house in the middle of a thunderstorm without advance notice?

He opens the door slowly, a look through the peephole not revealing much in the dark of the late evening, and promptly is reminded of the one person who is the most likely culprit to show up at his house in the middle of a thunderstorm without advance notice.

He catches Neal’s soaking, freezing, shaking form before he can fall to the floor, quickly pulling the door shut behind him. “Neal?”

“H...hey, Peter,” Neal whispers, and Peter can hear his teeth chattering. He has about a million questions running through his head, and no idea which one to ask first, so for the moment, he forgoes any kind of conversation at all and simply shuttles Neal to the bathroom. “You wait here,” he instructs, settling Neal down onto the lid of the toilet. Neal complies easily, looking slightly lost but mostly relieved.

“What’s going on?” El asks, as soon as Peter steps out of the bathroom. She looks past him, and is then immediately stepping around him and into the bathroom. “Neal, sweetie, are you okay?”

Peter looks on as Neal nods. “Jus’...needed t-to get here,” he says. “Knew I’d be...be okay then.”

El turns to look at him then, a soft expression on her face. “Peter -”

“Towels,” Peter replies, and El nods.

After a quick trip upstairs to their bedroom and the linen closet, Peter makes his way back to the bathroom with a stack of towels in his arms. Sitting atop them is one of his old Academy t-shirts and a pair of flannel pajama pants, both of which he is hoping will fit Neal well enough.

Peter pauses in the bathroom doorway with the towels and clothes in his arms. El is in the middle of bandaging scrapes on Neal’s palms that Peter hadn’t even noticed. Neal seems to barely register anything, but he does smile at El gratefully when she finishes. Peter takes that as his cue to enter the bathroom, setting the stack down onto the counter and looking at Neal questioningly.

“I...I got it,” Neal says, sounding about as determined as he can given his current state. Peter elects to believe him, and he and El clear out of the bathroom to let Neal extricate himself from his soaking-wet suit.

“Do you think he walked here?” El asks, as she and Peter lean against opposite sides of the bathroom door to wait for Neal.

A particularly loud clap of thunder rattles the windows as Peter says, “I wouldn’t doubt it. The way he looked...how badly he was shaking...he had to have been out in the rain for a while.”

El shakes her head. “He said he needed to get here.”

“I know,” Peter replies. “I just don’t know why.”

A few minutes later, Neal emerges from the bathroom. He looks a little out-of-place in pajamas, and his hair is sticking up in several different directions. This, frankly, worries Peter. He’s never known Neal to let his hair get messed up, even on the worst of days.

“How do you feel?” El asks, as she and Peter each wrap an arm around Neal’s shoulders and guide him to the couch.

Neal shrugs. “Not as cold,” he says, though he’s still shaking. “Still bad.”

“What do you mean, ‘still bad’?” Peter asks. He and El let Neal sink down onto the couch, and he grabs the blanket draped over one of the armrests, draping it over Neal’s shoulders.

“I felt bad, before. ‘S why I came,” Neal explains.

“Bad how?” El asks.

“Just bad. Achy and hot and my head felt funny. ‘M not that hot anymore but everything else...” Neal trails off.

“You’re probably sick,” Peter says, feeling slightly exasperated that Neal had put himself through the ordeal of walking to his house in a storm because he felt bad. Did he not realize that he had a phone?

“I guess,” is Neal’s reply. “Knew you could help.”

El and Peter turn to each other at the same time, both wearing similarly fond - if exasperated - looks.

“Of course we can help,” Peter says. “But, you know, you could have just called me.”

Neal raises his eyebrows and says, “oh,” as though the thought is just now occurring to him. “Are you mad?”

El sinks down on the couch next to him. “Of course we’re not mad,” she says. Neal turns his head to look at Peter, who moves to sit on Neal’s other side.

“Of course not,” Peter echoes. “You’re always welcome here, and I’m glad you came to us for help instead of suffering on your own. Even if you did end up causing yourself more suffering in the process.”

Neal nods, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He’s almost stopped shaking, Peter notices, which he takes as a sign that he and El can move from unfreezing Neal to getting him some help with his sickness. From what Neal had said, it’s most likely just a fever, which is a relief, because making it better does not require a trip to the drugstore in this weather.

Peter and El both stand up at nearly the same moment. “We’ll be back,” El promises, and Neal nods, the rather forlorn look on his face brightening up considerably when Satchmo comes down the stairs with a cheerful jangling noise and promptly curls up at his feet.

Peter and El head into the kitchen, where Peter grabs some tylenol and a thermometer, and El makes a cup of peppermint tea. They return to the living room with their items to find Neal nearly asleep, still sitting up on the couch. Peter gently shakes his shoulder, and Neal opens his eyes. “I was gonna sleep,” he says, rather petulantly.

“You can sleep in about two minutes,” Peter promises. “But you came here because you’re sick, so we’d like to help you out with that before you crash on our couch.”

“Okay,” Neal agrees, keeping his eyes open. Peter presses the thermometer to his forehead.

“101.3,” Peter reports. “Nothing worrying, but it’s probably a bit higher since you’re still a little wet.” He hands Neal the tylenol, and El passes over the cup of tea. Neal swallows the pills dry, makes a face, then cautiously takes a sip of the tea, his hands wrapped firmly around the mug to absorb its warmth.

Neal makes it about halfway through the tea before setting the cup back down onto the table, lying down curled on his side, pulling the blanket securely over himself in his new position, and promptly falling asleep. El and Peter share another look, all fondness this time, before turning off the living room lights and retreating to the dining room table, where they can sit and watch the storm rage outside, have some tea themselves, and talk about the conman-turned-something-like-family that is currently asleep on their couch.

thanks so much for reading this fic! fun fact it is my 100th fic posted to ao3 :) it’s somewhere around like my 140th on here which is not exciting but yeah. cannot believe how much stuff i have written? insane. anyway i hope you enjoyed! love y’all!

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump7 #storms #white collar #neal caffrey #wet #cold #fever #my writing #i say things #oughhh i am so soft for these 3...

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burning-the-write-oil · 3 years

Text

Dame un beso

Summary: Reader finally gets to visit Javier and have some much needed time together.

Characters: Javier Peña/F!Reader

Words: 1.7k

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Warnings: explicit sexual references, swearing, established relationship, dirty talk, oral (f)

A/N: So this is very random and I literally got the idea the other day and wrote it all today. Thank me watching The Mandalorian, Narcos, and thirsting over Pedro Pascal. I get the hype now lol. I hope this isn’t too bad and it’s maybe half as hot as it was in my head. Enjoy! And please like, reblog, and comment!

Side note: Requests are open and I’m now accepting requests for Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) and Javier Peña (Narcos).

Masterlist

You glanced over your shoulder towards the bedroom behind you, the door open just enough that you could still see the man draped in the white, cotton sheets still asleep. His chest rose and fell steadily and you couldn’t stop the small smile that spread across your lips, before returning to your previous task.

You’d woken up before Javier and decided to make you both some breakfast; something you both usually didn’t get around to if you stayed in bed too long. And you figured he wouldn’t be up for at least a little while longer, considering the hour you both finally tired and fell asleep. The delicious ache could still be felt at the apex of your thighs, only further extending the sated feeling in your body.

You returned your attention back to the stove in front of you, cooking together some of the vegetables you found leftover in Javi’s fridge and a few eggs. The A/C in the small apartment wasn’t the best, leaving you in a clean pair of underwear and the button-down you had carelessly helped him take off last night, the shirt open and barely covering your breasts. You barely heard the sound of footsteps across the hardwood floor before a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

“I’m a little hurt that I woke up to an empty bed,” Javi mumbled behind you, pressing your back to his bare chest as he leaned down to press kisses along the side of your face.

You hummed in agreement, continuing to mix the food together as the kisses began to move to your jaw.

“Thought I’d make us some breakfast since I was up.” You smiled, turning your head ever so slightly to meet his warm, brown eyes.

“I was planning on eating something else.” He gently bit at the skin on the side of your neck before soothing the spot with a kiss.

You’d be lying if you didn’t feel heat start to pool at your center and you scoffed with a smirk.

“Well, I at least made coffee that I know you won’t turn down.” You gestured towards the small dining table across the room that had two mugs of coffee on it.

“You’re an angel.” He leaves one more kiss on your neck before releasing you to go take a drink of the coffee.

You finish cooking up breakfast and turn off the burner before you turn around fully to face him, your eyes widening slightly to see him only in a pair of jeans. Unbuttoned. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before meeting his eyes. You’ve barely been up an hour and you already want to jump his bones again.

“What time is your flight?” You hear him ask as you walk over to grab your own cup of coffee to take a drink.

Your flight. That was the last thing you wanted to think about right now. Leaving Javi. Going back to work in Medellin. 8 hours too long to see each other every day like you’d prefer.

“Eight.” You answered shortly, setting your cup back on the table after taking a drink of the hot beverage.

“Plenty of time.” He teases half-heartedly, trying to lighten the mood with a small smile.

You nod and return the expression, walking back over to the stove to grab two plates from the cabinet.

“Hey.”

You turn around to look at him at the sound of his voice, closing the cabinet.

“Dame un beso.” He looks at you expectedly with a smug smirk.

“What was that? Sorry no hablo español.” You tease him with a playful grin.

He raised a brow, challenging you to deny him.

“Dame. Un. Beso.”

You grin, walking over to him and immediately pressing your lips to his. You pull away a moment later, looking up to him.

“Come back to bed, cariño…” His voice lowers and you shiver at his words and the intent behind them.

“No tienes hambre?” You ask, feeling your resolve beginning to slip by the second. You were ready to leave the food where it was and do whatever he pleased.

“Hambriento.” He growls, slowly moving a hand down your stomach and under the band of your underwear, fingers brushing along your folds.

You exhale shakily, leaning back into him as he teases you for a moment before pulling his hand away and taking your hand to pull you along with him back to the bedroom. You follow him without hesitation, entering the room and giggling as he immediately presses his lips to yours before gently pushing you back onto the bed and climbing over you. You lay back on the soft duvet, your hands finding Javi’s thick, dark hair and carding through it. You gasp as he starts kissing down your chest, softly brushing his lips over the tops of your breasts as he slowly opens his shirt you were wearing until you were completely exposed to him.

“Te quiero.” He groans as his lips encase one of your swollen nipples and his tongue flicks at the bud. “Eres tan hermoso.”

You bite your lip, arching your back towards him as your fingers pull his head closer to you. He gives the same treatment to your other breast before teasingly tracing his fingers across your lower stomach.

“Javi, please…” You breathe, your eyes flickering open to glance down at him.

He moves up your body, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and dragging his tongue along your lower lip.

“I want to taste you, cariño.” Your eyes meet his and you nod as the anticipation builds of what’s to come.

He moves back down your body to grip the sides of your underwear, his eyes carefully watching your expression as he pulls them down your legs and tosses them to the side. His hand lifts your left leg, trailing kisses from your ankle and up your inner thigh as your heart rate continues to increase. He does the same with your other leg before his hands move towards your center, his thumbs parting your swollen lips. It’s more than obvious that you’re wet.

“Fuck, Javi.” You whimper as he brings a hand up to move your hands to his hair again one by one before his tongue licks a line along your slit.

Your moans only increase in volume as he alternates with soft licks and suction around your clit, his eyes intently watching your expressions and occasionally closing as he groans at your taste. He would occasionally pull back, licking his lips and telling you how beautiful you were before continuing his assault. It’s not long before you can feel pressure building and your breathing turn to gasps. He notices your moans increase and slowly moves away from your center, placing one more soft kiss on your clit before sitting back up. You can see your wetness all over his chin and on his mustache. You pull him down to you and press your lips to his roughly, tasting yourself on his lips.

“Fuck me…” You whimper in his ear , pushing him to the other side of the bed so you can straddle him.

He watches you with a smirk, breathing heavily as you pull his jeans down and off his legs. You kiss down his chest, your eyes drifting up to his as you kissed along the hair at his lower stomach to his hardened length.

“Stop teasing, baby.” He mumbles lowly, his eyes fluttering shut.

You kiss back up his chest, straddling him as you reach over to the bedside table to grab a condom. Opening the packet, you slide the latex over his length before shifting to position him at your entrance. You slowly lower your hips as he pushes into you, your mouth falling open as he releases a low groan. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes focused on him and to not shut them. Once your hips meet his, you begin to teasingly grind your hips, occasionally lifting them up and down until his hands roughly grip your waist. He helps move you up and down on his length, thrusting his hips up to meet yours. Your moans increase in volume as you ride him, your hands resting on his chest to help give you some leverage and he leans up to encase his lips around one of your nipples.

“You’re so good, hermosa. So fucking beautiful. I love your pussy.” You whimper as he pulls you close to his chest, thrusting his hips up to yours as hard as he can, the sound of skin hitting skin even more apparent.

He carefully helps you move off of him, sitting up and moving to kneel behind you. He kneels between your spread legs, taking his length in his hand and thrusting into you a moment later, his hands gripping your hips and your hand reaching to pull his head towards you. If it weren’t for his tight grip on your hips, you’d fall forward as his hips continue to roughly smack against your ass. You try to move your hips back to meet his thrusts as you turn your head to the side to roughly press your lips to his.

“You going to come for me?” He grunts, continuing to pull your hips back to meet his thrusts as your hand tightly grips the back of his neck.

You feel your walls clench as you nod quickly, “You feel so good Javi, fuck.”

After a few more thrusts, you feel your walls tighten and you let out a loud gasp as you come. He feels his own release hit him a few moments later, coming into the condom with a few loud grunts and mumbles of your name.

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek before gripping the base of the condom and pulling out of you. He helps you lay down on the bed before getting up to clean up in the bathroom. It’s not long before he returns with a warm washcloth to clean your center and inner thighs.

“Thank you.” You smile softly, stretching your arms and enjoying the sated feeling that fills your body again.

“Por supuesto.” He kisses your thigh before setting the rag to the side and getting into bed beside you. He reaches over to grab his pack of cigarettes, bringing one to his lips before lighting it.

You glance up at the ceiling with a sigh before quietly watching the man beside you. You hated goodbyes.

#my writing #pedro pascal #narcos #javier peña #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal fic #smut #fluff

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orangeseoks · 4 years

Text

Trouble Maker // j.jk

part one - part two here

[ disclaimer! ]

this is of pure fiction and is NOT to be taken seriously!

genre ;; fluff, smut, angst | hybrid au

pairing ;; jungkook x reader, hybrid!jk x reader, (kinda) namjoon x reader.

notes ;; jungkook is a horny mf, reader is a virgin *cOuGh*, mentions of abuse, a few fights happen here and there, namjoon is a complete dork, (y/n) and namjoon are besties uwu, eventual smut, jk randomly finds porn, masterbation, (y/n) fights with her family + daddy issues, highschool is hard, jk has a virgin kink, surprise heats, jk has wet dreams (ovo; ).

warning ;; there may be quite a bit of fob in here, idk

[ unedited ]

"Wake up will you," a voice blares from beside me. I quickly jolt awake and look around me, "y-yes?" Rubbing the sleepiness from my eyes I stretch in my spot and sigh, glancing at the workbook I'd dumped so carelessly onto the floor. "You're such an idiot, why do I even bother with you?" Namjoon answers with a laugh.

"Namjoon, seriously? I'd only passed out, geez." Rubbing my temple, I stand up, a slight giggle passing my lips as I start collecting the few items I'd scattered around me. I'm normally at home around this time, not often do I sleep during studies at Namjoon's.

I gently pack my things into my bag and make my way to the front door, slipping my shoes on. "Do you want a ride home?" He asks, tucking his car keys into the pocket of his pants.

Shaking my head I give Namjoon a soft smile, "I'll walk, it's okay."

"You sure? It's almost half past eleven," I merely nod and open the door. "If anything I'll take the bus home, see you!" Waving the older male goodbye, I run outside of his small house and down the street.

Namjoon, he's a lot older than me, like a lot. He's an adult and I'm still a student, many would think he's my tutor or something - but he's just a long time friend. Weird?

Humming to myself, I kick a stone on the pavement before I turn down an alleyway between two houses. This was my usual route home from Namjoon's place, it was a neat shortcut. It was always the best way to avoid a long walk, sometimes even people, I guess it’s just a fast escape. When I see the road come into view my smile widens, just across the street was a small corner store and I was dying to eat something.

Crossing the silent street, I make my way towards the store, accidentally inhaling the cigarette smoke from the group of males outside the laundromat. Coughing, I enter and begin to roam the few isles they had, grabbing a few snacks here and there. The smell of cigarette smoke still lingered in the air but it wasn't as strong as it was outside.

"Is this all?" The cashier asks me, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Yep," is all I respond with, taking out my wallet to pay for everything. "Which school do you go to?" The woman suddenly asks me whilst she packs everything into a re-usable bag, "oh um.. that school just down the street, I forgot the name." I let out a faint chuckle, my cheeks growing a faint pink.

"Ah, my daughter goes there too." With a warm smile the woman hands me everything, "be careful walking home it's cold out."

"Thank you," bowing slightly I exit the store, that disgusting smell hitting me like a truck. Scoffing, I cover my nose and cross the street in a hurry.

A little before I got home, I'd decided to stop at the bus stop just a house away from mine. And now here I am, sitting there as I eat the sandwich I'd purchased. Watching the few cars that pass by me, "are you jumping busses too?" Flinching, I turn around to face the voice - swallowing my mouthful in a hurry. "N-No, I'm just sitting here to eat." Smiling shyly I fold the parchment paper that once was wrapped around my sandwich, lowering my gaze to the concrete below my feet.

"At midnight? That's new," the voice adds. Nodding I shift awkwardly in my spot, "I'm not going to hurt you, I'm only waiting for the bus."

"S-Sorry, I'm not used to this sort of thing."

"Me, social interaction or bus jumping?" The voice asks playfully, a small laugh passing through their words. "All of them I guess," embarrassed with myself I mentally facepalm - slouching in my spot. "Don't be, I'm only dressed differently." Confused as to why they've pointed that out, I glance up at them, noticing how they really are dressed differently. They're wearing a hat, baggy clothes and a .. collar? Or maybe it's a choker?

I clear my throat and nod, "not really. I mean, other people dress like that."

"Yeah well I'm not like other people," the voice answers, headlights hitting the both of us. My eyes widen when I see a glimpse of the persons face, they're beautiful. "Here's my bus," they finish - standing and entering the large vehicle. Leaving me and my lonesome once more, shaking my head I stand also, grabbing both my bags and walking the remainder of my way home.

Sighing, I look up at my steep driveway, never getting over how tiring it is to walk up it. "I'm home," I mutter sarcastically. A fake smile painting my features as I walk up it. When I reach the top of my driveway, I begin shaking open my gate, not failing to notice the obvious movement in the bushes behind my fishpond.

Furrowing my eyebrows together, I walk toward the bushes closing the front gate behind me and then pushing open an entrance for me, so I’m able to pass through the crowded greenery. "..Hello?" I ask the darkness of night, sighing at my actions I look around the area and see nothing. That is until I spot two perky ears twitching. "Oh-" Kneeling down, I move the rock the animal is hiding behind, spotting the small thing and frowning at its appearance.

"Poor thing, let's get you inside." I gently pick up the bunny and cradle it in my arms despite the constant thrashing it makes. I hum at this, rubbing gently behind its ears whilst I take out my keys, I unlock the unit house I'm living in and switch on the lights, placing the animal onto my kitchen table to examine it.

The poor bunny was coated in thick mud, a deep slash in one of their back legs, along with a few other cuts on them. “Lets clean you up, yeah?” With a gentle smile, I pick the bunny up and walk over to the kitchen - filling the sink with warm water.

“You’re safe now little bunny,” I affirm, turning the tap off and placing the tiny animal into the shallow pool of water. A small chuckle leaves my lips, watching as it squirms slightly when coming in contact with the warm liquid. Smiling, I get myself a cup and collect a bit of water to pour over the top of the bunny. Combing my fingers through its slightly over grown locks, I untangle a few of the knots in its fur before beginning to scrub the mud away.

I let out a faint laugh when the little bunny presses itself into the palm of my hand, “do you like me washing your fur?” As if it understands me, their ear twitches and they hop into my free palm. Smiling, I wet its ears, softly massaging the fur with my fingers, being sure not to apply too much pressure knowing how sensitive rabbit ears can be.

“I’m almost finished little bunny,” giggling, I wash away any extra muck before transferring the small animal to a clean tea towel, wrapping it neatly around the bunny’s small frame and returning to the kitchen table to dry it. Humming, I eventually finish drying the bunny and run my hands along its damp fur, “sit tight I’ll be right back.”

And I was, I’d left and come back in the span of only three minutes. A first aid kit in hand, sitting in front of the bunny I notice how it awakes from what I’m assuming was their sleep. “I’m going to treat your leg alright, it may hurt so I’m sorry in advanced.” With a concentrated sigh, I look at the injured leg, feeling somewhat relieved to see it looking better now that its been cleaned of whatever gunk was in it.

I apply a bit of an ointment onto the little bunny’s leg before wrapping it in a bandage, “jang! All done!” Clapping my hands together, I let a grin fall onto my lips whilst I pick the bunny up, pulling it into my chest for hug. “You’re such a good little bunny! I’m so proud of you!”

With a giggle I glance at the clock next to the tv, instantly frowning when I notice how late it is. I should be sleeping, but instead I’m cuddling with a stray rabbit. Sighing, I comb my bangs back and make my way to my bedroom, turning the lounge light off behind me.

“You can sleep with me tonight hun,” crawling into bed I place the small bunny into the arms of one of my teddy bears, smiling when it curls into the plush toy. Yawning I bid the bunny goodnight and fall asleep myself.

As sunlight passed through the bedroom curtains, I feel myself begin to stir in my sleep, groaning I turn towards my wall. A giggle leaving my lips as a tiny tongue flicks along my neck, licking at my skin, with a shaky laugh I open my eyes - a familiar little bunny coming into view. Smiling, I pick the rabbit up, rolling onto my back and holding it in the air.

“I think I might keep you, call you mine.”

Chuckling, I sit up and place the bunny into my lap, petting the small creature. “I’m (Y/n), and you’re..” Pausing for a moment I look around my room for a name idea, then it hits me. “You’re Jungkook!”

I watch as Jungkook jumps up, pawing at my shirt, “someones excited!” I exclaim happily, picking Jungkook up and checking the bunny for a split second. “You’re a boy Jungkook!” I yell, clearly as excited as him.

ding!

Cutting myself and Jungkook from our moment, I listen to my phone go off beside me, sighing I unlock it and read my messages with a frown. A deep groan falls from my lips, tossing my phone onto the floor carelessly - as if it’ll relieve my irritation.

“Namjoon’s coming over, Jungkook, he’s a friend of mine. He’s going to help me finish my leftover work,” smiling I cradle the tiny male bunny in my arms. Running my hand gently along his back, watching his small tail twitch. Giggling I grab his tail between two fingers and massage the area around it.

“Come on, I need to change, help me pick out my outfit.”

Jumping out of bed, I make it quickly, rearranging my soft toys and such. I then take out a few things from the set of drawers I have sitting in the corner of the room.

“Which one? Twitch either your left or right ear to tell me,” I utter holding up both the chosen pieces of clothes.

The bunny’s head only tilts to the side, his right ear twitching, grinning I nod and make a hurry to take off the shirt I was sleeping in, pulling on the large sweater and shorts.

“Ta-da!” I do a little twirl, laughing when Jungkook jumps in his spot, his large doe eyes glistening in the natural light. Scoffing, I shake my head, a wide smile still plastered on my face when I open my curtains and windows.

Turning to Jungkook, I watch as he jumps down from my bed, landing on his side with a small squeak. I let out a snicker watching in awe at the clumsy bunny. His little legs working hard as he runs over to me, snuggling himself into my ankle. “Come on bub,” I murmur picking Jungkook up and walking into the kitchen to boil the jug as-well-as place a few pieces of bread into the toaster.

“What should you have for breakfast?” Looking down at Jungkook, I smile, shuffling over to the fridge - tearing a leaf of lettuce away from its body and grabbing an apple to go with the green he’s going to eat, “sorry if you don’t like it. I’ll try and buy you bunny food on Thursday, hm?” Chuckling, I jump a little with every step I take; rocking Jungkook like an infant in my arms.

“I’ll cut your lettuce and apple so its easier for you to eat,” pressing a chast kiss to Jungkook’s fur, I place him on the bench beside me whilst I cut the lettuce into strips. The faint sound of rain hitting the roof filling my ears, I sigh at this and place the shredded lettuce onto a small plate. Moving onto his apple, I begin to cut that too, eventually finishing that and placing the tiny chunks onto the plate also - moving onto my breakfast once I’ve placed his food onto the table.

Placing a couple slices of bread into the toaster, I take out the butter along with the jam as I wait for my toast to pop up.

I jump when my toast is ready, laughing at myself for being oblivious to it. Humming a song to myself, I butter my toast - blah blah. And then walk over to the table, giggling when I see Jungkook face first in his food; his cheeks stuffed with his breakfast.

“Cute,” I mutter, taking a bite of my toast and listening to the pelting rain hit the roof of my home. “I hope Namjoon doesn’t catch a cold, he’s probably drenched.”

Speaking of the devil.

My eyebrows raise as my front door slides open, Namjoon rushing inside and tossing his keys onto the shoe shelf beside him, he sighs and removes his wet coat - draping it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Unlock your door next time,” he complains, sitting down and combing back his dripping bangs.

“Sorry,” I say, “I didn’t expect you over so early. Its only ten,” Namjoon nods in response. His eyes shifting from me to Jungkook - too immersed in his feasting to notice the male in the room. “You bought a rabbit..?” He asks, examining the animal with his eyes, “no.” Is all I respond with, finishing off the last of my toast.

“I found his last night, his leg was injured so I took him in.”

Namjoon sighs, “what is it has some type of disease and you catch it?”

“I won’t, he’s healthy, a little beaten is all.” I smile sadly, moving my hand to pet Jungkook as he eats. “Do you plan on telling your dad?” He asks, plucking an untouched chunk of apple from Jungkook’s plate and tossing into his mouth.

I scoff, “no. Like he’s going to find out, he’ll only make me pay for everything myself, not to mention my sisters.” I find myself shivering at my own words, “if my sisters find out I have a rabbit in my house, they’ll smother the poor thing.”

Laughing, Namjoon nods, “I get it.”

I don’t say a word, only hum and allow Jungkook to hop into my open hand, “how much of the work did I need to finish?”

“Right!” Namjoon starts, placing the small bag he has with his atop of the table, “if I remember correctly you only have to finish your slide for history.” I instantly grin, history is one of my favourite subjects. I so adore history, I’ve always been a fan of the dark and interesting histories and wonders of the world.

According to my friends and mutuals at school I’m a, quote on quote; history whore.

“Salem Witch Trials, right?” Namjoon asks, cutting me from my thoughts, “yeah, that’s it.” He nods, taking out his notebook as well as a few sheets of paper littered with words and images. “I’ve got some articles printed for you to use as reference.”

Thanking him, I run off to grab my laptop, returning moments later and sitting in my original spot. “I think you only have two slides left to make,” he murmurs, writing a few things into his notebook. I hum, opening my slides and quickly looking through my current work.

One slide left, I think to myself, glancing at the papers given to me. This is going to be interesting.

Groaning, I flop lifelessly onto my sofa, ignoring the grumbling coming from Namjoon. “(Y/n)-”

“Don’t you dare make me work any further, I’ve finished everything.” I retort, not letting Namjoon finish his sentence, he knows how stubborn I can be and decides to leave things at that. “Movie?” He asks, switching the tv on, “no - game.”

Chuckling, Namjoon stands to grab the two controllers sitting in a drawer before handing me one and starting up a multiplayer game so the two of us can play. “Are you ready to lose?” I chime cockily, knowing how he sucks at this specific video game. “Ha ha, very funny,” he retorts.

I smile at his sarcasm, focusing my attention on the game about to take place, “loser.” I say, mashing furiously at my controller, knocking down Namjoon’s character with a simple punch. The male beside me huffs, puffing his cheeks out, “I’m no loser.”

And he wasn’t lying when he said that, I’d only blinked and my character had been knocked down with a booming k.o! I was shocked; he’d literally just beaten me, me!

“Kim Namjoon!” I whine, throwing the small device in my hands onto the armchair across from the two of us, instantly jumping onto the broad male - tackling him into the cushioning.

He lets out a low squeak, squirming beneath me with a roaring laugh. He knows how competitive I can get, so why would he make me lose?

“(Y/n)!” He laughs, his hands unconsciously finding my waist as I resume tickling him. “St-Stop!” Furrowing my eyebrows, I pinch his waist before stopping and glaring at him, “thank you.” He pants, rolling over slightly and glancing at a certain spot on the floor.

“Oh hey little guy,” Namjoon spurs, smiling fondly at Jungkook. I notice this and turn my head to face my curious bunny, “come on!” I cheer, kneeling beside the couch and watching as he scrambles over to me. Burying his face into my hands the second he comes up to me.

I can’t help but grin at how cute he is, bringing the small animal towards my chest and cradling him. “He’s so cute Namjoon.”

“Are you going to keep him?” He asks, sitting up after tidying his tussled hair. “Mhm, I decided to keep him once I woke up. There’s no way he’s going back out there, poor thing must’ve been beaten before running off.”

“There’s actually been cases popping up recently of animal abusers, the authorities are trying to find out who exactly is doing this and whether its a group or just individuals, they’re also speculating that its breeder or maybe a owner of sorts.”

He pauses, wetting his lips before continuing;

“Oh- there’s also cases of people seeing .. well other people, but with animal ears and tails. No one has been able to prove if these sightings are true or not, but I guess that’s off topic.”

Shrugging, I continue to gaze at the now sleeping bunny in my arms, a wide smile gracing my lips. “Should we go shopping?” I ask the bunny snuggled into me, knowing it obviously won’t answer me. “Now?” Namjoon questions, walking around me and into my room.

“Yeah,” is all I say as I climb to my feet and place Jungkook onto the couch to retrieve my shoes from my room - a coat hitting me directly in the face upon my entering. “Put that on, it’ll be cold outside.”

“I know,” I say. “I know.”

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wherevermyway · 3 years

Text

can’t wait for you (to shut me up) // binsung // oneshot // 18+

pairing: seo changbin x han jisung rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: smut, food kink, roommates, spicy (literally), dacryphilia, don’t try this at home, explicit sexual content word count: 5,475 also on AO3

originally posted: 14 december 2020

Han Jisung doesn’t turn down a dare. Ever. His roommate and occasional fuckbuddy, Seo Changbin, however, makes Jisung regret being so cocky and arrogant after he gets his hands on some capsaicin extract.

Alternatively: fuck bruh moments, Jisung has an Icarus moment.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

Saturday nights always proved to be bizarre. Jisung’s friend and roommate, Changbin, was quiet and reserved six out of seven days of the week, only completely opening up as he got drunk and played some stupid multiplayer game every Saturday evening. As the night went on and Changbin’s friends logged off, the two of them would usually split a twelve pack of cheap beer together, take a break from their class projects, and do stupid things that usually involved drunken dares.

Jisung was never one to turn down a dare. He had an arrogant nature that would likely prove to be a fatal flaw one day. “You’re gonna regret that,” Changbin would tut, shaking his head after Jisung would accept a dare without hearing it out. Usually, it was something stupid or mindless, like licking honey off of Changbin’s foot, or walking through the library with a vibrating butt plug for as long as the upperclassman deemed necessary.

They weren’t dating — at least, not officially; this was something they constantly stressed with each other and their friends. Their relationship was just an eclectic, liberal interpretation on the boundaries of friendship. Friends could fuck each other after all, right? Honestly, the sex was too good between them to really bother with dating other people, but they did agree that they weren’t exclusive, even if it had been a year and a half of the same strange dynamic.

“You stupid motherfucker!” Jisung could hear Changbin shouting at the television all the way down the dorm hallway. The anthropology student was generally mellow and calm, until he had a couple beers in his system and joined a gaming session with his friend Chan.

The younger blond shook his head with a smirk as he ripped his lanyard out of his pocket, shuffling around to get the correct key to their dorm in between his fingers. The four single-serve shots Jisung snuck into the library for his study session were having an effect on his ability to smoothly rifle through the keys, but not enough to actually affect his cognition. Jisung slid the key into the lock and turned it.

When he opened the door, he expected to see Changbin, but he didn’t expect to see him in a loose, torn tank top and basketball shorts, especially not in the dead of winter. Toronto was cold, even indoors, and Changbin was sometimes nothing short of a madman. The older man was too busy yelling banter into his headset to notice Jisung standing in the doorway with his eyebrows comically raised and his jaw hanging open a bit.

Jisung tried to regain his composure before Changbin realized that his roommate was home, but, as he brought his bottle of beer up to his lips, the older man turned his head slightly, and they made eye contact. A bit of lager splashed up against Changbin’s face; he recoiled and quickly wiped his chin off. Jisung darted his eyes away, nearly forgetting to remove his key from the lock as he shut the door behind him and awkwardly mumbled some sort of greeting.

There was tinny chatter coming from Changbin’s headset, knocked slightly askew, and the older man scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he rolled his eyes and offered a polite wave with his fingers as he stared at the television, mashing some buttons on the controller in his hand. He set the near-empty bottle down on the table and raised his voice a bit. “If these motherfuckers would stop spawning missile launchers and aiming them solely at me, maybe I’d be able to help better.”

Jisung set his bag down on the kitchenette countertop, then opened the fridge and grabbed two beers from the door. He scanned the contents of the fridge, hoping that there was still leftovers from a couple nights prior. However, his face fell to a slight frown as nothing but a half-empty carton of whole milk and seven bottles of beer stared back at him. It was late, and Changbin probably figured Jisung would eat while he was out.

He wasn’t incorrect, but Jisung really looked forward to stealing one of the cold slices of leftover pizza when he got home; it always went well with the Molson Changbin would get for the weekend after class on Fridays. It was a mediocre beer at best, but it was good for mindless drinking. “Bummer,” Jisung muttered under his breath, grabbing a couple of the bottles from the shelf. He closed the door to the fridge and took the magnetic bottle opener off of the door. He popped the caps off of the beer bottles, leaving the bent metal on the countertop as he made his way over to the cheap, scratchy couch, languidly flopping down next to Changbin, putting an amber bottle down on the table next to his other beer bottle.

The older man grunted as thanks, focusing on the enemy in his sights on the screen, his tongue between his teeth and eyes squinting in concentration. This week’s gaming session with Chan featured Grand Theft Auto V, Jisung recognized the map. Changbin had mentioned something about a double XP event, and that he and Chan were trying to get their crew’s ranking higher up the list. It was all some inane bullshit that went in one ear and out the other to Jisung, but he enjoyed listening to it, regardless, since Changbin’s face would light up as he passionately explained just how renowned their crew had gotten.

This also meant that Jisung could get away with being a little handsy with Changbin, especially since he started drinking a little sooner than normal for a Saturday night. He took a long swig from his beer, then set the bottle down on the table, scooting closer to the older man. Changbin didn’t notice, still leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. Jisung crawled his fingertips up Changbin’s thigh, causing the upperclassman to involuntarily flex for a moment, his head twitching to the side but unable to break his gaze away from his match.

Jisung’s fingers kept creeping closer and closer to the inside of Changbin’s thighs, which parted further and further away with each little movement. After Jisung’s fingers landed over the stretched fabric above Changbin’s pelvis, the older man lifted his arm and leaned back a bit. He nodded once, silently granting Jisung permission to continue. The younger man bit his lip in excitement as he slipped down to the floor on his knees.

There were a lot of nice, strange little oddities about their relationship that Jisung loved. About a year ago, when things started to shift from stupid drinking dares to more sexually explicit dares, Changbin had drunkenly dared Jisung to suck him off while he was on voice chat, gaming with Chan and a couple of his friends. “Don’t look away from my face,” he had demanded with a bit of an ironic quiver to his voice. “I wanna look down and see you staring up at me.”

“That sounds like fun,” Jisung giggled as he accepted the dare. “You sure you can stay quiet enough for your friend to not notice, though?”

Changbin flushed, looking away from Jisung as he gritted his teeth. “You don’t hear me in my room late at night; Chan won’t hear anything. Besides,” he rolled his eyes and sighed, “Chan’s heard me get off over voice before, and he doesn’t care; actually probably finds it hot, knowing him. Wouldn’t shock him, really.”

It still wouldn’t shock him a year later, but now he’d give Changbin shit for roping his roommate into it, instead of just handling it himself. None of their friends knew that they were more than roommates, but Jisung’s friend Felix had suspected something was happening when Jisung agreed to be roommates with Changbin again for his junior year of university. Likewise, Chan had made some choice quips about how Changbin should have moved out and gotten a real apartment, not an apartment-style dorm that was ultimately owned by the university.

For this odd dynamic, some things were worth sacrificing.

Jisung worked in a calculated fashion as he offered small licks and nibbles up and down Changbin’s cock. The main objective wasn’t to get him off, just riled up enough to cause a bit of tension. Changbin slowly started to become more and more disheveled the longer Jisung teased him, the final nail in the coffin was when Jisung kept tonguing at his frenulum with progressively lighter and lighter licks.

“I’m done, man,” Changbin growled into his mic, grabbing Jisung by the hair and roughly pulling him back. There was a pause as they stared at each other, the younger man smiling and showing off his teeth with a wide, proud grin. “It’ll be fine, dude,” Changbin continued with a hint of a whine, pressing a couple of buttons on his controller. “We can deal with it tomorrow. I’ve got more important things to deal with.” The older man motioned for Jisung to get up and rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Chan. You’re just jealous. Night.”

Changbin practically tossed the controller across the room after he turned his system off. “You’re trouble, distracting me like that when you knew it was a big weekend for Chan and me,” he tsked, standing up and tucking his dick back into his shorts. “I hope you’re ready for a hell of a dare.” He padded off to the kitchen and Jisung smacked his hands against the coffee table to a loose rhythm.

“I’ll take whatever you throw at me,” the blond smirked. “Favourite part about the weekend.”

The elder shook his head. “You’re not going to think that after tonight.”

Jisung watched Changbin rifle through the cupboards of the kitchen and he tucked his head into his hands. “Come on,” he drawled out with a whine, “all of the stuff you’ve dared me to do has been mild and pretty boring so far. Unless you’re gonna have me walk around naked, blindfolded, and in high heels with nipple clamps down the hallway, I don’t think you can really shock me at this point.”

Changbin paused. The mental image of Jisung’s words must have danced around in his thoughts, because he was frozen for at least half of a minute, letting out a stifled shudder as he turned around. “Not quite that, but it won’t be mild, to say the least.”

“So get on with it. What’s the dare you’ve got in store, Binbin?”

“The first part is simple,” Changbin smirked and leaned back up against the counter, folding his arms. “Let me suck you off.”

Jisung’s eyes lit up, and Changbin already knew this was going to end up poorly. “Hell yeah!” The blond shimmied his shoulders and nodded his head. “I’m already down for whatever you’ve got in store.”

A simple shake of the head is all that Changbin offered in response. He untucked his right hand, showing off a tiny vial with a small, viscous liquid inside of it. “You didn’t even hear the whole dare.”

“When have I ever said no to your dares?” Jisung had a point: a year of dares every Saturday, and he never once declined. It was stupid, though, because he never heard the entire thing through. Changbin would bait him with a good idea, then throw in the crazy idea afterwards. It had always worked out, but tonight’s dare could easily go sour very quickly.

“This isn’t like the others,” Changbin’s smile faded and he shook the bottle between his fingertips. “I know you get really eager over these dares, but this one is gonna hurt. It’s high time you learned to stop being so overzealous, Sungie.”

Jisung scoffed and rolled his eyes, slapping his hands down on the table. “Whatever, whatever, man. What’s the last half of the dare?”

Changbin gritted his teeth and pulled his lips into a straight line. “This isn’t something you can really say ‘no’ to after you actually ingest it.”

“Drugs?”

“I mean, technically? It’s a chemical.”

A confused frown grew on Jisung’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You wonder why I’ve been ordering spicy takeout all week?” He sets the vial down behind him and tucks his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Jisung shrugs his shoulders and makes a noncommittal grunt in response. “I’ve been gauging your tolerance level to see if you could handle an intense dare.”

Jisung rolled his eyes again. “Spice challenges are boring, dude,” he pouted as he looked at Changbin. “We killed that one at Roma’s last week—”

“Twelve million scoville units.” Changbin cuts off the excited junior. Jisung quickly loses the arrogance in his demeanour and sinks into himself a bit as his eyes grow wide. “Yeah, I thought so. Don’t worry, it’d only be two drops from this vial. You consume two drops of this hellfire oil, and I’ll distract you by sucking you off. Still interested?”

There’s a long, uncomfortable pause that hangs in the air as Jisung weighs his options.

Changbin curses something unintelligible under his breath. “I’ve got other, less potent ideas,” he offers, biting his lip as he watches Jisung think.

“Sure, I’ll still do it,” the younger man says with a shrug, like it didn’t really matter to him at all.

“Sungie,” Changbin brings his knuckles to his forehead, shaking his head as he sighs with disappointment, yet still smirks to himself. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Jisung stared at the plate in front of him, with two neon red spicy cheetos set in the middle, one on top of the other. It almost looked like a photo he had seen in one of his art history books, so captivating by its simplicity. He had eaten these MSG-laden salt bombs several times. Adding a couple drops of oil infused with the epitome of lava would be fine, right? Temporary discomfort. Temporary.

“Sungie,” Changbin grabbed Jisung’s shoulder, softly shaking him. “Did you hear what I just said?”

The blond shook his head. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“This is a really stupid idea,” the older man sighed, “like, I really don’t think we should do this.”

Jisung knitted his brows together and scoffed. “I’m not turning this down. We’re doing this, dude.”

There was an irritated groan that came from Changbin as he gritted his teeth and tucked his head into his hand. He stared at Jisung and frowned. “I’m going to regret challenging you to do this more than you’re going to regret accepting this dare, I just know it.”

“That’s on you,” the younger man arrogantly quipped, running a hand through his hair with fake confidence. He grabbed the bottle of beer that was next to the small plate and chugged the last of it, slamming it down on to the table. “Anything to get you to get me off.”

“You know, you can just ask me.”

“Yeah, but dude, where’s the fun in that? That’s so… domestic, like actual couples do that.” Jisung rolled his eyes and smirked. “Anyway, let’s get this over with. Hey, we could film it and go viral or some shit, too, that could be fun.” Changbin deadpanned and scowled, causing Jisung to wave a hand nervously. “It was a joke, man.”

The older man shook his head and grabbed the tiny glass vial, staring into the oil as it lazily sank down the sides of the bottle. He continued to scowl, squeezing the dropper and unscrewing the lid from the glass. “You don’t have to do this,” he repeated, yet still brought the dropper over the red snacks.

“Shut up,” Jisung folded his arms and sighed. “If you really didn’t want to do this, you wouldn’t be going through with it. Just admit you wanna watch me sweat and cry and suffer and call it a day. You’re such a sadist.”

A flush crept up on Changbin’s face. He said nothing, just shook his head and dropped a single, quick drop of oil on each nuclear red corn puff. As he hovered his hand over the plate, Changbin nervously looked up at Jisung and opened his mouth to say something.

“Nope,” Jisung grumbled, shaking his head. “I’m not backing out of this, so don’t say anything.”

The older man rolled his eyes, then screwed the cap back on to the vial. “Fine,” he muttered, standing up and making his way into the kitchen. “Then I’ll just tell you that, again, you’re an idiot for accepting this.”

“You’re an idiot for suggesting this!” Jisung shouted and let his jaw hang agape for a moment, hands thrown up in the air in disbelief.

Changbin spun around on his heel and pointed a finger in Jisung’s direction. “You need to stop accepting dumb things without hearing the whole thing first!”

Jisung pouted and dropped his hands, recoiling a bit. “I only accept these things from you because I trust you, Binbin.”

The way Jisung’s voice went from an irritated shout to a soft whine caused Changbin to visibly wince. “Sungie,” he started, bringing his palm to his face with a heavy sigh. “That was harsh of me, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I guess,” the blond mumbled. “Just grab the stupid milk and get back over here. The whole point of this was so you’d suck my dick and distract me anyways.”

Changbin did as requested, but the air in the room was different now. He set the carton of milk down on the table and tugged his tank top down, playing with the hem of his shirt as he sat down on the couch. “You gonna be okay?”

Jisung took in a deep breath, looking away from the plate in front of him, turning his head to look at Changbin. They stared at each other for a moment, and then nervousness behind the blond’s eyes faded as he arrogantly smirked. “I’ll feel a lot better once you’re between my legs and doing your best to distract me.”

The older man couldn’t help but deadpan again, rubbing his temples with his middle finger and thumb. “You’re something else, Jisung,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, but you like that about me.”

“It’s true,” Changbin shrugged, dropping his hand to his lap. “You ready?”

Jisung turned to look at the plate and he nodded once. “This is a dumb idea, but fuck it.” He reached his hand out to the hellish crisps, fingers twitching a bit as he grabbed both of them off of the plate. He turned to look at Changbin, whose eyes were wide as he swallowed with anticipation.

“You sure about this?”

“Shut up, Changbin.” Jisung rolled his eyes, then shakily put the food into his mouth.

He chewed for a couple of seconds, nothing really happening. Maybe the oil that Changbin got from his friend Hyunjin was a dud. Then, he swallowed and everything started to fall apart. Rapidly.

Jisung’s eyes went wide as he coughed and shook his head a second later. “Oh my god!” He panicked, hands flailing and fanning his head as his face reddened. “Jesus fucking Christ, that’s—” he choked on his own saliva, coughing up a fit. Changbin’s face contorted in reactionary terror, reaching out to the carton of milk, offering it to Jisung as the younger man shook.

“This was a horrible idea, why the fuck did you go along with this?”

Jisung ignored Changbin’s comment, practically drowning himself in milk as he choked down the liquid, trying to swallow it and breathe at the same time. “Hot,” garbled up from his throat, some of the white liquid sputtered up into the air as he spoke, some dribbling down his chin. “Changbin,” Jisung whined, his eyes teary, glistening as much as his face was as it started to sweat, some visibly beaded up on his forehead. “Distract me,” he managed to pant out between gasps, wiping his face off with one hand and motioning towards his lap with the other.

“You’re a madman,” Changbin licked his lips, biting at the inside of his cheek as he watched Jisung unravel into a sweaty, teary mess. If Jisung could focus on anything other than the stinging, stabbing pain in his mouth, he would have noticed that Changbin was enjoying this a bit too much. Instead, he wanted to rip his tongue out of his mouth and forget he ever existed.

He decided, right then and there, that he was never going to take on a dare like this again.

Changbin stumbled to the floor, too busy watching Jisung writhe and sweat to pay close attention to undoing the button and zipper to the younger man’s jeans. The blond leaned back into the couch, chest rapidly rising and falling as he panted and whined, letting out strings of profanity as he suffered. Sweat, tears, and saliva dripped down his face, making Jisung’s face shimmer in the bluish white light of their dorm.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jisung loudly whined, shakily reaching a hand up Changbin’s head, curling his clammy fingers in his hair, “distract me, come on.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Changbin apologized, tilting his head down to focus on getting Jisung’s cock to spring free from the confines of his jeans and boxers. Surprisingly, it was already half-hard, causing Changbin to lift one of his eyebrows and offer a quip. “Excited over this, huh?”

Jisung groaned, rolling his head back and pushing Changbin’s head down. “Not distracting me,” a long, drawn out whine interrupted his sentence, “like you promised.”

Changbin chose not to say anything, instead he dug his elbows into the couch as he worked Jisung’s cock into his mouth. He gently pressed the tip of his tongue against the base, eliciting a small squeal from the younger man, who twitched and whimpered in response.

“More, please.” Jisung rolled his shoulder blades up against the back of the couch, furrowing his brows and wiping his forehead haphazardly with his free hand. “Wanna fuck your mouth, wanna come all over that pretty face of yours.”

The older man curled his lips in a devious smile. “I just said I’d suck you off,” he pulled back a bit, looking up at Jisung with a bit of snark, “not that I’d get you off.” Changbin flashed his teeth with an evil grin, until Jisung lifted his head and wildly stared down at him.

“If I didn’t feel like my face was about to fucking melt off,” Jisung hissed through his teeth, trying to stay relatively composed, “I swear to god I—” Changbin firmly gripped the base of Jisung’s cock and wrapped his lips around the head, sucking at it hard enough to cause the blond to stutter over his words. “Distracted, yeah,” he weakly moaned out, letting his head lull back.

There was an audible pop as Changbin pulled his lips off of Jisung’s head. “Distraction and sucking your dick was what the deal was.” He continued to grin, letting his hand continue to work Jisung’s shaft as he watched the younger man’s face contort in reaction. “Maybe once everything’s settled and you stop crying over a little pain, I’ll give you what you really want.”

Tears continued to stream down Jisung’s face no matter how much he tried to mop them up with the back of his hands. There was a fair amount of runny mucous dripping from his nose, too, rendering him into a sloppy, sticky mess.

Admittedly, it was a bit gross, but Changbin found it more disturbing that seeing his junior fall apart made him painfully hard. The way his tears shined on his pink cheeks, the way he whimpered and mewled in discomfort, all of it was strangely arousing to him. “Maybe we should shower first,” Changbin laughed to himself as he moved back down and wrapped his lips around Jisung’s cock.

“Maybe you should,” Jisung panted heavily, looking down to the older man, gasping as he spoke, “should go fuck yourself.”

Changbin looked up at the underclassman and flipped him off with a free hand. He hummed a laugh, the vibrations causing Jisung’s eyes to cross. The younger man threw his head back and rolled his hips up into Changbin’s face, causing the upperclassman to choke a bit, not expecting to feel Jisung’s cock hit the back of his throat.

Jisung pulled his shirt up and off as Changbin continued to bob his head up and down, circling his tongue around the length in his mouth. “Fuck,” the younger man whimpered, hastily wiping his face with his shirt as if it were a kitchen towel. He continued to let out a few strangled curses as he ran a hand through his hair.

Changbin offered a few more tongue flicks against Jisung’s cock before pulling away and standing up. “Come on,” he offered a hand to the perplexed man on the couch, “as much as I’m loving this, I really just wanna get fucked by you.”

After some extensive handwashing and some half-assed showering, Changbin found himself bent in half over his bed, with two of Jisung’s fingers inside of him. “I should just fucking edge you,” the younger man quipped with a smirk on his face, watching his elder twitch his fingers against the bedsheets, awkwardly scrambling for purchase.

“Please,” Changbin whined, “I gave you what you wanted, Sungie.”

“Yeah, you did.” Jisung slipped a third finger inside, biting his lip back as the upperclassman writhed and moaned underneath him. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t wanna see you suffer a bit as payback.”

Changbin gritted his teeth, turning his head back a bit to stare up at Jisung. “Fuck you, I told you what you were getting into. Hell, I warned you several times.”

“You had your fun,” Jisung bent over and nipped at Changbin’s shoulder. The teeth sinking into his skin caused the older man to let out a bit of a moan. “My turn, now.” He curled his fingers down, causing Changbin to drop further, letting his head collide against the mattress as he mumbled incoherently in approval.

“Yeah, I like that. You should keep your mouth shut more often, huh?” Jisung rocked his fingers back and forth a bit, then gradually started pumping them in and out of the man beneath him. “I bet you probably loved watching me cry out there, didn’t you?”

Changbin attempted to choke out an affirmation, but he was too lost in the feeling of how Jisung’s fingers moved inside of him to coherently respond.

“Figures,” Jisung tutted. “You’ve always been a weird one. I’m feeling impatient tonight, Binbin. While I’m annoyed you enjoyed making me cry, I’m tired of being hard.” He pulled his fingers out, then brought his hand to his cock, wiping some of the lube around it. Changbin opened his mouth to speak, but Jisung cut him off, slowly pushing his cock inside of the older man.

Instead of spouting off of a bold comment, Changbin lets out a throaty groan, gripping the sheets tighter. Jisung slowly pushes himself completely inside the upperclassman, a smirk growing on his face as he watches the man under him twitch. “You feel nice,” Jisung breathes out, moving his hands to both of Changbin’s hips, “you feel so nice. Want me to keep moving?”

Unable to form a coherent sentence, Changbin simply nods, and Jisung smiles. The younger man grips the hips in his hands tighter as he slowly moves in and out. The men exchange a myriad of lewd noises between them as they blend together.

“Jisung,” Changbin arched his back, tilting his head closer to the younger man. He didn’t have to respond for Jisung to know what he wanted.

The younger man shifted his hand from Changbin’s left hip up into his hair, running his fingers through the soft, damp, brown locks. It started off as a soft tug, then he quickly drew his hand into a fist and pulled back, eliciting a sharp cry from the older man.

This was Jisung’s favourite part of their interactions. Changbin liked to be pushed around a little bit after Jisung completed his dares. “Who’s gonna cry now, hmm?” He ruffled his senior’s hair around a bit, then tugged on it again as he thrusted in hard, stilling his movements. “Asked you a question, babe.”

“You can’t make me cry,” Changbin said, choking back tears. It was a bold-faced lie, they both knew that, but it fed into the moment.

“That a dare?” Jisung scoffed, then tugged at Changbin’s hair once more.

A whine escaped Changbin, eating away at his confidence. “Of course it’s a goddamned dare.”

“It’s always a dare.” As soon as Jisung finished speaking, he started roughly fucking into Changbin. The brunette tried to dip his head down and lose himself in the moment, but the blond held his head up by the hair gripped between his fingers. “I’m not gonna stop until I see you break, babe.”

“You’re gonna,” Changbin mumbled, “gonna have to try harder than that.” He tried to sound confident, but it was obviously false confidence. A few tears fell from his eyes, causing Jisung’s lips to curl upwards.

“Aww,” the underclassman mocked, “you’re doing a terrible job at faking it.”

Jisung let go of Changbin’s hair, letting the brunette’s head drop, then moved his newly-freed hand down to stroke he upperclassman’s cock. His stroking was a bit frantic, his thrusts becoming less and less controlled. “Want me to come on your back like always?” His voice cracked a couple of times as he kept moving.

Surprisingly, Changbin shook his head. “N-no,” he whined, “inside. Come inside me.”

“Really?” Jisung knitted his brows in confusion. That was something they had never done before, and the idea made his stomach flip. “If you’re being serious, I need to know, Bin.” He panted once before Changbin nodded his head.

“Just fucking come inside of me,” the brunette whined, “I’m so close and it’ll—”

Before Changbin could finish his statement, Jisung doubled over and let out a shuddering moan. He kept pumping the cock in his hand, but his movements were disjointed. Changbin shakily reached between his legs, wrapping his hand around Jisung’s, helping the younger man finish him off.

It took maybe two strokes before Changbin came on to his sheets. They would have to clean the sheets later, but that was fine. Hell, they could just sleep in Jisung’s bed, if they were really that out of it. Feeling the sticky, sweaty weight of Jisung atop him was worth it. They awkwardly laid there for a few moments, catching their breath.

“Hey, Jisung?”

“What is it, Bin?”

“No more fucking dares. At least,” Changbin sighed and rolled his eyes, “think them through before accepting them first, yeah?”

Jisung smiled, planting a kiss between Changbin’s shoulder blades. “I’ll consider it. No guarantees, though.”

“You just want me to keep fucking you after you complete a dare, don’t you?”

“Technically,” the younger man shrugged as he shakily rose to his knees, “I fucked you this time. But yeah, I want you to keep doing that. I wanna keep this up.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” Changbin pushed himself up by his palms, his arms trembling a bit from all of the activity.

Jisung looked down at Changbin before pulling the older man back by the shoulders. “Yeah, but you like that about me.” Changbin opened his mouth to protest, but found his lips locked with the younger man. The energy between them as they kissed was different than their usual kisses. This was needier, more intimate and felt special compared to the others.

The older man broke away from the kiss first, for just a moment, looking down, then back up to make eye contact with the younger man. “I don’t want you to date anyone else.”

“What?” Jisung pulled back, blinking rapidly.

Changbin rolled his eyes, his expression softening. “You’re so dense, Sungie. We should be exclusive.”

Jisung shook his head. “No, no, I get that.” He smiled, awkwardly giggling at the same time. “I just never thought you’d be so cute about it.”

The brunette gritted his teeth and his expression fell into a scowl. “Don’t call me cute.”

“Fuck you,” Jisung laughed. “If you wanna actually date me, then get used to it.”

“You know what?” Changbin shifted his position a bit, letting Jisung’s cock fall out of him and cum drip down his legs as he turned. He grabbed the younger man by the shoulders and pinned him down to the bed. “Maybe I just will.”

They exchanged playful smirks with one another before they connected their lips together once more, kissing each other a bit more tenderly than they usually did.

“The boyfriend instead of the roommate,” Jisung quipped, bringing his hands up to Changbin’s face. “I like the sound of that.”

Changbin pushed a soft kiss to Jisung’s lips before pulling back with a smile. “Me too.”

#can't wait for you to shut me up #skz smut #skz fics #seo changbin x han jisung #han jisung x seo changbin #changbin x jisung #jisung x changbin #binsung #wherevermyway

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flowesona · 4 years

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The Hierophant - Yandere! Namjoon x reader

The Tarot Series

“He’s one of the best in the country. Trust me, (Y/N), you have to go to every lecture, even if you don’t want to.” The girl beside (Y/N) rattled on, only stopping every once in a while to take a sip of her Red Bull.

“If you don’t want to go, I’ll gladly take your place, you know.” Her friend continued. “I swear, he’s like… perfect. Gorgeous, smart, rich… I would gladly hop on that, ya know?”

“Oh come on, don’t degrade yourself like that. He’s going to be some musty professor that’ll talk about Sigmund Freud for far too long then set us three chapters to read for tomorrow.” (Y/N) was dreading meeting her new psychology lecturer, no matter how enticing the ideas her friend was feeding to her may be.

“If you say so. But you better run now, or you’ll be late.” Her heart dropped when she checked her watch, seeing as she had two minutes to get to a classroom four minutes away.

In a matter of seconds she gathered all of her leftover lunch together and shoved it in her bag, not even sparing a moment to say goodbye to her friend before dashing off, heart pounding as she ran.

Just as the clock-hands of her watch hit one-thirty, she made it to the classroom, swinging open the door and making her way to the first available seat her eyes landed on, which just so happened to be in the aisle on the first row.

However, once she’d dumped all her bags at her feet, she found that the professor wasn’t there. All of the students were just talking amongst themselves.

“Today was the one day that it’s okay to be late.” The guy next to her chuckled, watching her catch her breath. “What kind of example is he setting for us?”

(Y/N) chuckled breathily, but as if like magic a tall, lean man entered the room, a pile of books and papers stacked on top of each other impressively.

“Good afternoon.” His deep voice reverberated around the room, immediately silencing all the small murmurs. “I apologise for not being punctual, but I had to help one of our more senior members of staff find her keys.”

Kim Namjoon was far from the crumpled old man she’d expected him to be. His face didn’t show a single sign of ageing, despite him having an aura of maturity and expertise that put him high above every other person in the room. His face was neatly combed out of his face, his black rimmed glasses were stylish and perfectly clean. He was the epitome of a perfect man, if such a person could exist.

He smirked seeing the stunned expression on his students’ faces.

“I’m sure that you had very different first impressions of me. But I would like you to hold back until you know more about me. I hope that we can all develop a good relationship.” As he spoke, his eyes drifted across the room, until they met with (Y/N)’s own curious eyes, with something unreadable in his eyes that sent a shiver down (Y/N)’s spine.

Once he’d started the lecture, (Y/N) felt as if she was in another country. The technical way he spoke, his hypnotising good looks. It felt impossible to keep up with him, and before she knew it everyone was packing away their notes. She was stunned for a few seconds but followed suit, unfortunately ending up as the last person in the classroom besides the professor.

“What’s your name?” (Y/N) jumped when she noticed Namjoon in front of her, his large hands resting on the desk.

“(Y/N).” She replied quickly, standing up and ducking her head so she didn’t have to make eye contact.

“(Y/N), if you don’t mind me saying, you seemed to be quite unfocused for the majority of the time. If you need me to slow down my talking pace for you, you just need to ask.” The young woman felt her face flare up in anger at his patronisation. Sure, what he was saying was true, but there was no need to talk to her as if she was unique. Surely the other students were struggling to concentrate as well?

She chose not to respond, slinging her book bag over her shoulder and leaving without a goodbye, determined to study as hard as she could and prove him wrong.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

Yet no matter how many hours she spent pouring over textbooks, podcasts, any kind of material she could get her hands on, none of it seemed to work for her. In a moment of desperation she’d downloaded a few of the books written by Kim Namjoon himself, only to give up a few chapters in due to the overly sophisticated language that made every sentence feel like a chore to read.

(Y/N)’s severe lack of understanding was reflected in her grades. Constantly failing tests or just barely scraping by for the entire year. It wasn’t until the end of the year that she decided she would have to sacrifice her pride and talk to Namjoon.

She knocked on his door, waiting for him to call out ‘come in’. Sure enough, she heard his voice - a little raspier than usual - invite her to enter.

The inside of his office was different. It looked messier than usual, and the man himself looked slightly ruffled, his tie undone and suit jacket lying on the back of his chair.

“(Y/N)! How can I help?” He asked, sitting up to look slightly more composed than his surroundings.

“Is something wrong, professor?” She asked, concerned about how the usually neat and proper scholar had fallen.

“Oh, it’s… nothing (Y/N). But thank you for your concern. What brings you here, anyway, besides the pleasure of my company?” Namjoon asked, running a hand through his slightly damp hair to smooth it down.

“I think it’s best that I withdraw from this course, professor. I keep on failing the exams and there’s no way for me to catch up and pass this year. I just can’t afford to keep studying a subject I don’t understand.” He sighed.

“Take a seat for me, (Y/N). We can talk about this.” (Y/N) wanted nothing more than to run, to leave this university and all the pain it had caused her behind, yet she ultimately had no choice but to sit down and shut up.

“So you’re worried about failing? That’s why you want to drop out?” Namjoon queried, brows furrowed as if he was deep in thought.

“Yeah. There’s no point in me paying nine grand a year if I can’t understand what I’m studying.”

“What if I offer you extra credit? From what I can recall, your exams weren’t too bad so we could probably get you a passing grade.” The scholar offered, reaching for his laptop and opening a spreadsheet with a single click.

“We can get you an extra 5%, which should bring you up to Third if your grades don’t improve in the summer exams. I’ve got a range of topics, and I’ll tutor you on whichever ones you choose when you have free time.” His words could not have been sweeter music to (Y/N)’s ears, knowing that passing was not just a fallacious dream and that she wasn’t a hopeless case.

“Thank you so much Namjoon, I’m really grateful for this opportunity!” She smiled, but before she could leave he spoke again.

“Of course, I don’t have to help you if I don’t want to.” (Y/N) froze as he continued. “This will cost me a lot of my valuable time, and I’m under no obligation to tutor you outside of work.”

“Please…” (Y/N) whispered, tearing up.

“You don’t have to pay me, if that was what you were thinking.” He stood up, approaching her until he had her backed up against the door. “I’d rather you pay me with your company. Tonight, you can come to dinner with me. Just one date, so we can get to know each other more intimately, and I can find out about the student I’m giving up my few spare hours to help. Does that sound good?”

“This is sexual harassment… if I reported you you’d be at least suspended by the school board…” (Y/N) choked out, trying to appear tough when her insides were jelly from such close contact with Namjoon.

“You can.” He chuckled. “But then you’ll fail and drop out. You don’t really want that, do you darling?”

(Y/N) swallowed and nodded, breathing out as Namjoon stepped away from her.

“Be ready at seven tonight. And wear something nice, darling. Don’t make me regret my offer.”

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

The feeling of Namjoon’s eyes lingering on her figure was bittersweet. She was slightly flattered, but slightly intimidated. This man held her academic career in his hand, and she had to play along with his game if she didn’t want to fail.

‘Maybe it isn’t so bad that he likes you.’ A voice was whispering in the back of her head. ‘He’s “gorgeous, rich, smart”... right?’

She glanced over at Namjoon, immediately meeting his eyes. His hand settled itself on her exposed thigh, the cool metal of his rings contrasting with her warm skin. It stayed there until the taxi pulled up outside some esteemed restaurant, Namjoon pulling out his wallet to pay the driver and telling him to keep the change as he helped (Y/N) out.

She felt slightly awkward as he led her in and asked their water about the booth reservation, feeling the judging eyes of people around her. No doubt criticising her for going on a date with an older man. They were already labelling her as a gold digger, a whore.

“Don’t look at everyone else.” She jumped slightly when she heard Namjoon whisper in her ear. “Just keep your eyes on me, darling.”

Namjoon was clearly more comfortable in this environment than (Y/N). Easily pronouncing the name of some expensive Italian wine for them, along with a dish that she’d never heard of for them both.

But (Y/N) followed his advice, and just kept looking at him as he poured two glasses from the graft of wine, observing the slight bob of his Adam’s apple of he drank from his own glass.

“(Y/N), you should try some.” He indicated towards her glass.

“I-I don’t drink.” She said, but after a few moments of awkward silence, she decided to take a sip.

She hated the taste, but refused to show it on her face, giving him a small smile before setting down the glass.

“Now, (Y/N). Tell me why you decided to take Psychology when you don’t understand the subject?” Namjoon asked.

“I just want to understand people. I thought maybe if I understand why people are the way they are, I can help them.” She explained, taking another sip from her wine. Now that her tongue had adjusted to the bitter palette, she was pleasantly surprised by the taste.

“I see. Not many people take the subject for such a noble cause.” He commented. “Most of my students take it since they want to learn about serial killers or social experiments.”

“And why did you choose psychology as your profession?” (Y/N) retorted.

“There’s something about it that spoke to me. Jungian ideas on how we present ourselves - our persona - versus who we really are - our anima, if you will. I feel like there’s more to a person like you, (Y/N), and I want to see that.” The young woman felt like her head was spinning, from the lights all around her to the alcohol in her system.

“I’m sorry, I need to go to the bathroom. Where is it?”

“Just through that door.” Namjoon smiled watching her walk off. It was so fascinating to talk to her one-to-one. Her mind was something that wasn’t quite captured on her social media, no matter how many hours he spent pouring over her Facebook or Instagram, desperate to see who she really was, and why she drew him in like a magnet. But now, being in a more private environment with her and seeing her real self rather than what she presented online, Namjoon felt that she was even more enticing than before. Of course, he’d jumped at the opportunity to privately tutor her, but he had an idea for things to be more permanent. He didn’t want to just be her quick fix, he wanted to be her everything.

And so, with a glance to make sure no waiters were going to enter, he pulled a small vial out of his pocket, tapping its contents into (Y/N)’s water glass. It wasn’t a particularly strong drug, nor was it fast acting. He would be able to enjoy the rest of their night, and then by the end she would be his.

“Sorry. I don’t think I’m good with alcohol.” (Y/N) gave him a weak smile as she slid back into her seat.

“Don’t worry about it, Darling. Just have some water, okay?” Namjoon said smoothly, as she gave him a gracious nod. As the meal progressed, however, (Y/N) felt her headache getting worse and worse.

“Namjoon, this has been a lovely evening and all, but I need to go home. My head is killing me and I need some ibuprofen.” (Y/N) groaned after they’d finished their desserts.

“Of course. Let me pay the bill and then I can take you home.” Her professor said, rubbing a hand on her back to soothe her as he beckoned their server over.

Just as Namjoon was helping her into the car, (Y/N) felt her mind slip away, collapsing onto the seat.

Namjoon simply explained to the driver that she was unwell, sitting her upright and giving him the address to his own house. The driver didn’t question anything, although with the slight twitch of his lip it was clear how he saw (Y/N), as some rich man’s whore who’d had too much to drink.

Evidently, (Y/N)’s image was nothing compared to her professor, and she still had much to learn on how he worked. Luckily, he was more than happy to teach her, to train her mind, for his own, more personal price.

#yandere #kpop yandere #yandere bts #yandere x reader #yandere namjoon #yandere kpop #yandere namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #yandere kim namjoon #yandere oneshot #yandere RM #yandere rm x reader #yandere kim namjoon x reader #yandere bts au #yandere bts x reader #RM x reader #the tarot series #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader

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misssquidtracy · 4 years

Text

A Tail of Whoa

A pick-me-up for @i-am-chidorixblossom, starring Virgil and Kayo. Not proof-read, but I hope it makes you smile.

Raw humour (a bit on the crude side in places, but sometimes that’s just what life calls for).

Very slight language warning.

Plot: Virgil decides to sharpen his dating skills on Kayo and try and one-up his brothers in the process.

-x-

Kayo met Virgil as instructed in Thunderbird Two’s hanger at six on the dot. She’d followed his advice and was wearing some comfortable cargo trousers paired with flat boots.

Virgil meanwhile, was wearing his usual casual ensemble. Plaid, plaid and more plaid. Kayo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. He’d lose brownie points for that.

Virgil remained oblivious to Kayo’s displeasure with his wardrobe choice, opting instead to open Thunderbird Two’s hatch, before holding a hand out and bowing slightly, “Ladies first.”

Kayo grunted and hopped into the passenger seat, nose stuck in the air like an aristocratic ostrich.

“No drinking tonight,” she announced sternly as Virgil clambered in after her, “We’re back on the roster in nine hours.”

Virgil threw her a lopsided grin as Thunderbird Two taxied over to its launch ramp, “Oh don’t worry. Where I’m taking you, they don’t have alcohol.”

That piqued Kayo’s interest.

-x-

Gordon shielded his eyes against the sun as Thunderbird Two blasted away from Tracy Island, a devious grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright, they’re gone!” he announced, vaulting over one of the sofas as he scurried back into the den, “Time to plug in!”

Scott, who’d had his head stuck in the fridge, glanced up and frowned, “The mini cam is already wired in and good to go. Virgil said their ETA should be around half six, so we can start live streaming then.”

“Where are they going?” Alan asked, popping the top off a can of soda.

“Montana I think,” Scott replied, emerging from the fridge with a plate of leftovers, “I wasn’t really listening when Virgil told me.”

Gordon meanwhile, was busy tinkering with several gadgets that he was trying to link into the den’s holoprojector. In his hands were five different remote controls of some description. The aquanaut punched a fist in the air when a signal was established between the remotes and whatever devices they controlled.

“Scott, can you start streaming now please? I have something I wanna test out before they land.”

Scott frowned, but put his plate down with a sigh and did as ordered. Seconds later, the forms of Virgil and Kayo sat in Thunderbird Two ‘s cockpit appeared.

“Patch in the sound as well, please,” Gordon added, biting his lip as a smile the size of Spain threatened to engulf his face.

Scott obeyed, and Virgil’s voice began to echo around the den.

“So Kayo, I notice that you’re quick to chastise us for our lack of dating activity, but tell me, when was the last time you yourself went on a date? I don’t see you leave Tracy Island for anything other than work.”

While Scott and Alan were preoccupied with listening to Kayo’s reply, Gordon seized one of his remote controls and stabbed one of the buttons on it.

*Fart*

Brothers one and five blinked in shock as a rather vulgar sound reverberated around the den. Meanwhile, on the hologram, Virgil shot Kayo a poorly masked look of horror.

After an awkward second of silence, the engineer tried to resume the conversation.

“Ahem…anyway Kayo, as I was saying-“

*Faaaaaart*

“Geez woman, I get that you might be nervous, but I’m not that scary!” Virgil snapped, twisting his head around to stare at his colleague in disgust.

Kayo, meanwhile, looked equally outraged, “It’s not me you idiot! I thought it was you!”

Virgil gave a splutter that lacked any sort of dignity, “Me? Who do you think I am?! I’m not Gordon!”

At the mention of the aquanaut’s name, Scott sent a shell-shocked glance in his brother’s direction. Gordon was sat on the sofa, proudly brandishing his controller. As if to confirm Scott’s thought, he pressed one of the buttons with an air of flourish.

Another massive toot echoed around Thunderbird Two’s cockpit.

“Fart machine,” Gordon proudly announced, tossing the controller in the air and deftly catching it, “Got four of ‘em stashed all over Thunderbird Two. Virg won’t be looking like such a pro by the time he lands!”

Entranced by anything featuring crude humour, Alan snatched the controller off Gordon and began excitedly smashing the various buttons.

*Fart Fart Faaaaart*

The youngest exploded into hysterics at the expression on Virgil’s face. The engineer looked torn between being utterly mortified and utterly disgusted, “Kayo! For goodness sake, ease up on the ration bars, or whatever the hell you’re eating back there!”

In a state of embarrassed fury, Kayo wrenched off one of her boots and lobbed it at Virgil’s head, clipping him around the ear and causing Thunderbird Two to momentarily launch off course as a result.

“For god’s sake Virgil, this has Gordon written all over it! I’m going to do a quick sweep, he must have stashed away some whoopee cushions that he’s activating remotely.”

Gordon felt panic rising in his chest as Kayo quickly located each and every one of the fart machines he’d hidden throughout Thunderbird Two. Determined to go out on a high note, the aquanaut started stabbing the buttons on each controller in rapid succession, letting loose a long string of artificial flatulence as Kayo expertly located and disabled each machine.

*Fart Fart Fart Faaaaart Fart Fart Faaaaaaart*

Virgil looked as if he were hanging on by a thread as he brought Thunderbird Two in to land, his eyes rising to the heavens as if silently begging his ancestors for strength. By the time he’d opened the hatch and hopped onto solid land (after Kayo of course, because he was a gentleman), he was regretting his decision to choose an activity that didn’t feature alcohol.

-x-

Any reservations Kayo had felt prior to leaving Tracy Island vanished in a flash as she followed Virgil away from Thunderbird Two.

Fart machines forgotten, Thunderbird Shadow’s pilot allowed her inner child to squeal in delight as green eyes clapped onto a corral full of horses.

“A ranch?” she asked, her jaw hitting the floor as she drank in the unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells, “What are we doing at a ranch?”

“You’ll see,” Virgil answered with a suave smile, leading Kayo towards a large barn at the end of the corral they’d landed near.

Back on Tracy Island, Gordon, Scott and Alan stared at the holofeed in stupefied silence.

“Wow…” Alan muttered, sinking onto the sofa in awe as a farmhand handed Virgil the reins of two gorgeous black mustangs, “Geez, I never would have thought of something as cool as going horseback riding!”

Scott gave a low whistle, “He’s set the bar pretty high, that’s for sure.”

Gordon meanwhile, was practically drooling, his love for animals overshadowing his rivalry with Virgil, “Ah man, I’d have packed Thunderbird Two full of apples instead of fart machines if I’d known that was where they were going!”

Kayo looked similarly thrilled. As part of their extensive and ongoing training, every member of International Rescue knew how to ride (some better than others), however it was Kayo who was the secret authority on all things equine.

Virgil was by far the best rider of his brothers, and swung up onto his horse with practised ease. Kayo vaulted up onto her own with evident excitement.

“Reckon she’ll ditch him and go off with the horse instead?” Scott asked, snorting with laughter at his own joke. Gordon made a sound of humorous acknowledgement, but was busy staring at the hologram with an enigmatic expression on his face.

Alan, meanwhile, was utterly enthralled. His blue eyes were wide and his chin was propped up on his hands as he drank in the dramatic Wild West views the spycam was capturing. The fluid motion of Virgil and Kayo’s horses as they glided over the dramatic terrain only captivated Alan further, sucking him into the romantic tension his brother was expertly creating.

Without tearing his eyes from the scene in front of him, Alan hastily reengaged the audio feed and started to eavesdrop on Virgil’s and Kayo’s conversation with rapt interest.

Gordon grunted something about Virgil being ‘old fashioned’, before changing his mind and dropping the ‘fashioned’ to just leave ‘old’. Bored already with the horses and the scenery, the aquanaut shuffled off to the kitchen in search of food, the enigmatic look refusing to leave his face.

On the holofeed, Virgil was pointing towards a rocky outcropping that he and Kayo were cantering towards, “That’s Mount Grinnell, one of Glacier Park’s most iconic mountains. People travel from far and wide just to witness the beautiful sunsets from its peak. The Nakota tribe used to perform san dance rituals at the base of the mountain to pray for good health. Some people say being present at the peak when the sun just starts to set will grant good fortune. Fancy a look?”

Kayo’s eyes looked set to pop clean out of her head, “After that history lesson? Race you up there!”

Scott sighed wistfully as both Kayo and Virgil’s mounts exploded into a gallop, “Man, he is smooth. I mean I’m thinking about going!”

Alan meanwhile, was busy scribbling down every word that left Virgil’s mouth on a piece of scrap paper, pausing every now and then to make side notes on body posture and facial expressions.

“Nice topline, good flanks…” Virgil called as he drew level with Kayo.

“Nice topline, good flanks…” Alan repeated, frantically scrawling for all he was worth.

Scott, who’d been munching his way through his plate of leftovers, lifted his head and frowned, “He’s talking about the horse, Alan. Not Kayo.”

Over in the kitchen, Gordon threw back his head and laughed as Alan hastily crossed out half of his notes, his face the same colour as Thunderbird Three.

As Virgil and Kayo began their ascent up Mount Grinnell, a freshly showered John suddenly materialised from the bathroom.

“What did I miss?” the redhead asked as he glided down the stairs, squinting at the scene that was being broadcast in the middle of the den, “Is that Mount Grinnell? And are they on horseback?”

“Yes and yes,” Gordon replied, slapping some slices of bread onto a plate, “Fancy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I can make extra if you’re hungry.”

“Guys!” Alan leapt to his feet as if he’d sat on a firework, “They’ve stopped and dismounted!”

John frowned, “They can’t have summitted that quickly. They must have stopped to rest the horses.”

Alan didn’t care, his attention back on cataloguing Virgil’s every move.

“This could be crunch time!” Scott exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he retook his seat on the sofa, “Let’s see what ‘pro bro’ does when faced with a romantic sunset.”

Gordon choked on his PB&J sandwich, however managed to regain his composure with a quick thump to the chest. Taking a seat on the sofa next to Alan, the aquanaut seemed unable to keep a straight face as he absently crammed the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth.

Alan and Scott meanwhile, were transfixed. Even John was leaning over the back of the sofa in interest.

“Reckon he’ll go for some lip action?” Scott asked, sighing as if he were watching a romantic movie.

“Maybe,” John replied, tilting his head slightly, “You know how competitive he is.”

“Eww!” Alan cringed, visibly disturbed, “You don’t reckon he’ll do that while we’re watching, do you?”

Like an owner instructing a dog to poop on command, John pushed himself vertical and pointed towards the staircase, “Alan, this content might not be suitable for you. Kindly go to bed.”

Gordon barked a laugh at the youngest’s outraged expression, however was quickly hushed by Scott.

“Guys, I think it’s going to happen!”

Four pairs of eyes returned to the holofeed, which was showing a sunset almost as beautiful as the ones seen from Tracy Island. Virgil obviously had his arm around Kayo and Kayo was obviously leaning into him, looking every inch like a besotted teenage girl. Their horses were tethered to a nearby tree, tails swishing calmly.

John and Scott held their breath as Kayo scooted her face closer to Virgil’s, while Alan dove under a cushion for cover.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

*Fart*

John’s jaw went slack, while Scott dropped his bowl of leftover lasagne onto the floor, the china shattering on impact.

On the livestream, Virgil and Kayo’s horses reared up in fright at the unfamiliar noise. Before Virgil could so much as locate the fart machine that had somehow been stowed in his back pocket, both horses snapped their reins, spun around and bolted off into the distance.

Alan rounded on Gordon, who was predictably clutching another remote control. John, who’d been absent for the first round of flatulence-induced drama, hastily connected the dots in his head before slapping a palm over his face.

Scott looked about as crestfallen as if his favourite hero had just died. Alan made a mental note to remind his brother that it wasn’t a movie they were watching.

“Gordon…explain,” John instructed wearily, sighing as a headache began to taunt the back of his eyes.

Gordon merely gave the redhead a cocky smile, before tossing the remote control over his shoulder and into a potted fern, “I stashed an emergency fart machine in Virg’s pocket in case things started going too well. Survival of the smartest, not the smoothest.”

A loud string of profanities started to echo around the den as Virgil and Kayo watched their mounts become dim dots on the horizon.

“How are they going to get home?” John asked, tapping the holoscreen, “Aerial scans show that they’re over ten miles from the ranch.”

“Can’t they bring in Thunderbird Two remotely?” Scott suggested, ignoring the high-five Gordon was exchanging with Alan.

“Virgil’s not wearing any of his gear,” John replied grimly, “He’s no way of activating the remote controls.”

“Looks like they’re walking then!” Alan observed, beaming gleefully as the language Virgil and Kayo were throwing began to travel south.

“I’ll go and pick them up in Thunderbird One,” Scott sighed, jolting slightly when Gordon suddenly clamped a hand onto his shoulder.

“You undo my work, and you’ll be next,” the aquanaut threatened, motioning to the horse-less Virgil and Kayo, “Don’t underestimate me, Scott. I can cause real damage.”

Quickly weighing up the risks in his mind, Scott came to a snap conclusion and remained firmly seated on the sofa.

“I don’t want to be anywhere near here when they eventually get back,” John exclaimed, pushing himself away from the sofa and heading back towards the stairs, “I’m off to enjoy a sleep in a proper bed. ‘Night guys.”

“Night!” Alan and Gordon called absently, not tearing their eyes (or ears) away from the livestream for a second. Virgil was shooting the hovering mini-camera a glare that could have stripped the paint clean off Thunderbird’s Three and Four, however Kayo seemed blissfully unaware of its presence.

Gordon and Alan stared on regardless.

“At least they’ll have a good tale to tell when they eventually get home,” Scott began, sniggering as Virgil and Kayo’s exchange reached screaming point.

“Yeah?” Gordon asked, absently hoovering up a couple of stray sandwich crumbs.

Scott grinned wickedly, “A Tail of ‘Whoa’!”

FIN

#thunderbirds fanfiction #fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fan #thundernerds #thunderfam #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #alan tracy #kayo kyrano #thunderbird two #tracybrothers #tracybros #tracy brothers #tracy bros #thunderbirds fandom

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

03 | Illegirl

→ previous | next

→ summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda…

→ genre: 90% fluff, 8% crack, 2% angst | teacher!au & f2l!au

→ warnings: profanity (like y/n really needs to tone it down lmao) & kissing/making out

→ wordcount: 7.2k

You're still packing up your stuff after another math class when Jimin walks up to you. You stand up, swinging your backpack over your shoulders and look at your teacher, waiting for him to say something.

"Y/N..." Jimin begins. "Jin told me you eat lunch alone."

You freeze. "Uh y-yeah," you stutter, mental cursing Jin out for telling your teacher. "It's no big deal, I swear."

Jimin frowns, his forehead wrinkling. "Jin worries."

"He always worries," you say as you start to walk towards the door to leave.

"Wait, Y/N," Jimin says, making you stop in your tracks.

"Yes?" you say, turning around, slightly exasperated.

"You need to socialize with people your age," Jimin says. "How do I put this is a soft way? Um... A good student has good grades and a good social life."

You shrug. "I don't need a good social life if I have great grades," you counter, smiling goofily.

Jimin doesn't chuckle. He doesn't even smile. "Y/N, I'm serious. No one likes to be alone."

"You're starting to sound like Jin," you complain.

Jimin sighs. "Listen. I don't know if it's embarrassing for you to eat alone in the cafeteria, but you can eat in my classroom if it makes you feel any better."

You want to accept. You do feel absolutely humiliated as you eat the lunch Jin packs you every day in solitude. Everyone around you is always laughing with their friends, hanging around in groups. In your eyes, it seems like you're the only loner.

But deep down inside, you know you can't accept your teacher's invitation to eat lunch in his classroom.

"I'd like to, er... Mr. Park, but I can't," you say. "I'm sorry," you add. "People might spread rumors. And you know teens these days with their gossiping." You flush at the thought... Imagine if they knew you'd made out with him. You were sure that if you thought your teacher was physically attractive, other girls thought that too. They'd literally roast you on a stick if they found out...

Jimin nods, cheeks turning pink. "Ah, right, the rumors. I forgot about that. Well then, sorry for keeping you in, you should go. Have a good lunch."

"You too," you murmur as you leave. But you knew damn well lunchtime was your least favorite time of the day—it'd take some miracle for any lunch to be good.

You slowly walk to the cafeteria, stopping by your locker to waste some time. Counting slow seconds, you trade out your math book with your philosophy textbook and make sure each thing in your locker is sitting up straight in an orderly fashion. You kill even more time when you start to alphabetize your textbooks -- which only takes a few seconds. So you disorganize the books just to reorder them in color order, starting from your red math book and ending with your purple French book.

Every day, you spend at least a good ten minutes at your locker, taking your time before you had to embarrassingly sit all by yourself to eat.

Today, you unlock your phone, leaning into your locker as you checked your usually very few texts. Due to your lack of friends, Jin was the only one who would regularly text you. And now you see that he had sent you at least ten texts in a row.

"Hi Y/N!" a bright voice calls and you look up from your phone, turning around and facing away from your locker. "So... how's it going?"

"Oh, uh hey, Jungkook," you say, closing your locker door. "Everything's going okay." You shrug, but heart beating a bit inside. It was weird to see one of the school's popular boys to give you, a loner, so much attention every day. This boy would not leave you alone in school.

Jungkook smiles, his nose scrunching up and his eyes brightening. "Well, that's good to hear. Want me to hold your books for you?" he asks, gesturing towards the three textbooks you were currently carrying.

"No, it's fine," you decline, shifting the heavy books in your arms.

"Oh, okay," Jungkook shrugs. "Hey, if you ever want to eat lunch with someone... uh, I'm always... available. You can eat with me anytime! Maybe, uh even right now!"

As cool as it would be to eat with such a devilishly good-looking guy in your grade, you can't help but immediately decline.

"I'm sorry, Jungkook. I like eating by myself," you say, feeling guilty as Jungkook's face falls. "But um... you're welcome to take some of my food."

His face lights up at that and you smile a little.

"On second thought, you can have my lunch," you say as you shove Jin's deliciously cooked sack lunch meal into Jungkook's hands. "I... uh, gotta get going now." You quickly rush away.

"I'd rather eat with you than eat your food, though!" Jungkook calls as you walk away.

Shaking your head, you just check your phone while you escape. You see a few new texts from your cousin and you reply right away.

It's been a few days since Jimin's invited you to eat lunch in his classroom. You're packing your stuff up again when you see Jimin standing in front of your desk.

"Hey, can I have a word?" he says.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering why you decline every invitation for you to eat with your peers," your teacher says, placing a hand on your desk.

You raise your eyebrows.

"A few days ago with Jungkook..." Jimin says.

"Did Jin tell you?" you immediately counter, leaning back in your seat and sighing. "I need to start telling him to keep his dramatic mouth to himself."

"Actually, I saw you," Jimin says.

"You were watching me?" you ask, frowning.

"Well, I was passing by and I happened to see you," Jimin quickly adds. "I used to think the other kids didn't like you. I thought maybe they were bullying you for being so smart. But then I saw that your peers do like you and you're the one that's pushing them away. Why?"

You flinch. "I like solitude," you say. "The kids here are probably fake anyway."

Your teacher sighs. "If that's what you tell yourself then fine. But I've been thinking, Y/N... since you're such a math whiz, I was wondering if you want to start a math club during lunch," Jimin says, crouching down to your eye level.

You don't even hesitate. "No thanks, Mr. Park," you say. "Besides, I don't know enough people to make a club."

Jimin smiles warmly, his pretty, pink lips curling up slightly as his eyes sparkle. "That's okay, I'll recruit the people for you."

"I don't know Mr. Park..." you say. "What would a math club do, anyway?"

"You won't be alone too often during lunch anymore," Jimin says. "And you'll be able to enter math competitions and win, you know, make your school proud...Make Jin proud..."

"I really don't know, Mr. Park," you say.

"C'mon, Y/N," Jimin says, eyes turning wide, almost as if he were pouting. "It'll be good for you."

You raise an eyebrow of doubt.

"I'm telling you this as your teacher," Jimin says, then he leans in, whispering the next part, "and as your friend." He smiles warmly at you.

You flush at the proximity as you pause, then slowly nod. "I... o-okay." You give in and you think it's partly because of your teacher's sunny smile. "Thank you," you add, not forgetting your manners.

Jimin nods, leaning back and standing up. "No problem." He smiles at you.

You walk out of your math class highly dazed. You can't stop thinking about Jimin's words.

As your friend... As your friend... As your friend...

He's your friend?! You barely even remember what a friend is—it's been a long time since you've had one. Is it someone you hang out with? Someone you can laugh with? Or someone you can rely on and someone that cares about you?

You think back to how Jimin would always put you first during the beach house vacation, giving you better seats with better views, letting you have the better choice of snacks and the larger tub of ice cream. Maybe it was because you are a girl, or maybe it was because he's your friend.

You shrug. You don't think there's typically anything illegal with being friends with your teacher.

"Y/N!" you hear someone shout from behind you, breaking you from your thoughts. It sounds like Jungkook. And sure enough, when you turn around, you see the handsome boy jogging towards you.

"Hey," you say as you shift your hefty backpack on your shoulders.

"I'll hold that for you if it's too heavy," Jungkook offers, his muscular arms on display as he reaches out for your backpack.

"Um, no thanks," you quickly say. "I'm uh... on my period, I need the bag," you fib. "Sorry, um, I think I need to go to the restroom." And with that, you quickly push past Jungkook and find your way to the girl's restroom, deciding to eat your lunch in there.

Sitting down on the toilet seat with a bit of leftover sushi, you think back to your math teacher.

"I can't believe I have a friend..." you breathe.

A friend other than Jin!

A wave of happiness floods through you. "A friend! I have a friend!" you shriek in glee.

Surely if Jin trusted him, you could trust him too.

History wouldn't repeat itself... right?

Now you're starting to see some pattern. Every weekend, you hang out with Jimin and your cousin. It's not like you don't want to either—both of them are good company.

Besides, sometimes even you need breaks from your arduous studying. This time, you three go bowling, which you're kinda bad at.

You're losing, 95 to 120 and 200. Jin was in the lead, just like always. Obviously, it was his idea to come here in the first place. You just order another coke and drink away your soon-to-be loss.

Jimin slouches on the seat next to you, sighing. "Man, this is not my day," he says. "I bet $10 on my win."

You laugh. "You should've known not to bet. Jin's literally the bowling master."

Jimin shrugs, taking your coke out of your hands and downing the rest of it, his pink lips resting on the cold metal of the red can as he gulps away.

"Gross!" you say, "I was just drinking that."

Jimin pauses. "Oops."

You roll your eyes. "Don't spit it out that's just worse."

"I wasn't planning to," Jimin laughs. "Oh yeah, and I've been meaning to tell you—I've recruited 10 people already for the math club. Including you, that's 11."

You nod. How could you forget about the math club? "Wow, thanks," you say. "So how exactly am I supposed to prepare for it?"

"We'll prepare together," Jimin says. "We'll make practice worksheets and research math competitions."

"Sounds good," you say, tossing the empty coke can towards Jimin. "You drank it, you throw it away."

"Aw, fine," Jimin says as he pouts a bit, plump lips pulling out. You roll your eyes jokingly as he leaves his seat to trash the can.

Relaxing in your seat, you smile to yourself. Maybe... just maybe, the math club might be... fun.

"Strike!" Jin cries, startling you from your thoughts as he runs off the bowling platform. "I won!" he shouts. "Loser buys dinner!"

You whine. "Hey, you should've told me that before I stopped trying!"

Jimin returns to the scene, grinning. "I vote for lobster night."

"Me too," Jin grins.

"Oh, c'mon, I don't even work, I live off of my allowance!" you complain.

But Jin grasps your hands, looking into your eyes with a puppy dog look as Jimin stares at you with his doe-eyes. "I love you, Y/N," your cousin whines.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "You just had to pull the I love you card. But fine." You can't believe you gave in to their pleading. "But you two are buying desserts!"

"Sounds like a plan," Jimin and Jin chime in.

You smile as you skip your way to the car. You feel happy—as if the pains of your past don't bother you anymore.

Your eyes light up at the delicious meal placed before you, the alabaster meat of the lobster creating hot steam that disappears into the warm night air.

"Close your mouth, Y/N, you're going to drool," Jin jokes as he spears you a piece of the lobster meat on your fork, dipping it slightly in warm, liquefied butter. "Say ah," he says.

You roll your eyes but take the meat thankfully, chewing the soft white meat and groaning at the heavenly taste. "This is heaven."

"God, try the steak too—this is delicious!" Jimin says as he starts to cut up his steak into smaller pieces.

Jin takes a piece of his friend's steak and pops it into your mouth and you obediently chew and swallow, the burst of savory taste making your eyes roll back into your head. "How come I never knew this place existed until now?" you cry as you start to shove all kinds of food into your mouth. You have no shame when it comes to eating.

"This is thanks to Jimin," Jin replies with his mouth stuffed full. "He recommended this place."

Jimin laughs, a hand delicately covering his mouth. "You two eat in the same way," he giggles. "The effects of living with each other?"

"Do you approve of them being together?" the sudden voice makes you jump, almost dropping the precious rib you had been consuming.

All three of you look up to see your waitress, beaming as she twirls a strand of her hair with her finger.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Jimin asks politely.

"I asked if you approve of your sister over there with her date," the waitress says. "They're a lovely couple."

"Er—"

Jimin shoots a look at you and Jin as both of you start to laugh, you even snorting in the process.

"I'm sorry!" Jin cries hysterically, placing a hand over his stomach. "We're cousins! And Jimin is just a friend, not Y/N's brother!"

The waitress blushes red. "Oh goodness! I'm so sorry," she says. "I just assumed... you were living with her... I—"

"It's fine," Jimin chuckles. "I guess it would've seemed like that from an outside perspective. Now can you do me a favor and get the bill?"

The waitress looks faint as even Jimin's slight smile produces some sort of a reaction. "Yes, I'll get on that!" she says as she quickly walks away, keeping her head low to hide her blush.

"Do we really look like a couple?" you ask as you suck your fingers off from the barbeque sauce of the ribs.

"Honestly, yeah," Jimin says, shrugging. "A married couple 'cause you're always bickering too. But it's cute."

Jin laughs. "So, the waitress had a thing for you, Jimin," he suddenly teases.

Jimin rolls his eyes. "She was just being nice."

"Blushing cheeks? Touching her hair? Nah, she was trying to flirt," you say, wiping your hands off on a napkin and taking a sip of your glass of water.

"Whatever. Y/N, you're paying," Jimin says, changing the topic.

You grin. You'd been waiting for this moment. "Oops," you say, shrugging. "Forgot my wallet."

"Y/N!" Jin cries. "You've got to be kidding!"

"Actually, no," you reply. "I'm not kidding at all. Guess someone else will have to pay," you smile adorably.

"I don't have my credit cards with me!" Jin panics. "And I used up most of my big bills for bowling too!"

"Likewise!" Jimin says, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

"Y/N, you are dead when we get home," Jin seethes as you smile innocently.

"If we get home," you answer, not even the slightest bit worried.

"Whatever, Jimin can flirt his way out of anything," Jin sighs. "Do your thing with the waitress, Jimin," he says as your teacher rolls his eyes.

"Here's the bill, according to your favor," the waitress says as she neatly places the bill in front of Jimin, smiling at him all the while.

Jimin gives you and Jin an 'I will kill you look' before he smiles back at the waitress. "Sweetheart," he starts, his voice sweet and smooth, "it seems that all 3 of us have forgotten our wallets, silly us," he chuckles lightly.

"Oh dear," the waitress says, but she doesn't really look concerned, she's too busy making googly-eyes at your teacher's full lips. Jimin looks like he's got her wrapped around his finger already. "I-I t-think I have to call the manager," the waitress stutters.

"No need, honey," Jimin purrs. "I'll bring my wallet from home; I promise, it'll only take a few minutes."

The waitress stares deeply into your teacher's alluring eyes as she absentmindedly nods.

"Thank you, baby," Jimin says, winking as he stands up. "Your tip," he chuckles lowly as he fishes out the waitress's notebook from her pocket and scrawls down a series of numbers: presumably his phone number. "I'll be back, guys. Y/N, you owe me money."

And with that, your teacher leaves. You let out a breath you didn't even know you'd been holding in. Had you really just been affected by your teacher's flirting?

You mentally slap yourself. No, Y/N! Snap out of it!

"He's... beautiful," the waitress whispers to herself, mesmerized.

You roll your eyes. "Not when you owe him money," you mutter.

The waitress squeals as she looks down at her notebook to see a phone number. "I caught a case!" she sings, placing a dramatic hand to her heart.

Jin leans into you. "How much do you wanna bet that's actually not his number?" he whispers.

"I'm in the same boat as you, that's totally not his number," you whisper back, huffing. "I still can't believe Jimin thinks I owe him money."

"Well, you were supposed to pay," Jin sighs. "But I'm not even angry at you anymore, especially because of that hilarious show Jimin just put on. He told me he was always such a good flirt."

"He told me he was just a nerd!" you say, frowning.

"Why? You can't be a nerd if you flirt?" Jin cocks his eyebrows.

"Well, no—"

"Then your teacher was a flirty nerd, learn a few things from him!" Jin scolds you lightly. You roll your eyes.

"No thanks," you say. "I'd rather get good grades than get guys."

"Spoken like a true nerd," Jimin says as he claps, huffing lightly as he slides into his seat. "I've decided that dinner and dessert will be on me, you're welcome."

Your teacher grins, sending your heart beating wildly. Calm yourself, Y/N, it's just free food, nothing else.

"I'm going to KILL him!" you hear your cousin shriek as you get ready for school.

"Kill who?" you ask as you race into your cousin's room to witness some early morning drama.

"YOUR MATH TEACHER!" Jin screams. He shoves his phone into your hands and you burst out in hysterical laughter after reading what was presented before you on your cousin's screen.

"My stomach hurts!" you wheeze, doubling over from your laughter. "Her response, your reply! It's everything!"

"Yeah, well, my stomach doesn't hurt," Jin says, rolling his eyes. "Jimin'll be dead before you even walk into his class."

"Not if I don't warn him beforehand!" you sing as swing your weighty backpack over your shoulder.

"Who's side are you on, Y/N?" Jin cries as you're already halfway out the front door. "I'm your cousin!"

"But Jimin's my friend!" you call out before you slam the door shut.

"Is this problem too hard?" Jimin asks, tapping on your shoulder with his pencil. Both of you are sprawled on the floor, side by side, with stacks of paper and two laptops, busily researching competitions to attend and at the same time, creating practice questions.

You take your pencil and the paper where Jimin had written down a problem. Taking a look at it for a few minutes, you turn to your teacher. "0.4987," you say.

"You did that in your head?" Jimin asks, amazed. "Did you memorize the z-score table or something?"

"Just a little bit," you confess. "But it is a challenging problem," you add. "It's good, let's add it. Hey, can you try solving mine?"

Jimin takes your paper, gripping his pencil and scribbling on work for the next couple of minutes. "17.4?" he asks, setting down his pencil.

"Close, 17.9," you say. "Maybe I did the math wrong."

"Wait no," Jimin says, frowning at his work. "Shit, I calculated the wrong radian. I'm lucky I even got a close answer."

You giggle. "Did the legendary math teacher make a mistake?" you gasp dramatically, placing a hand on your lips.

"Oh shut up," Jimin says, nudging you. "But it's a good problem—it tricked me."

You nod, grinning. "Let's add it to the list!"

So far you two had come up with about thirty problems, working nonstop to cover all the bits and corners of math from Algebra I all the way to Statistics.

You were honestly a bit worn out. Sure, you like math, but this was just too much of it. You roll over to the side, stretching out and yawning.

"I'm hungry," you realize, placing a hand on your growling stomach.

Jimin laughs. "No wonder Jin calls you a hog sometimes."

"Hey, watch it!" you slap Jimin's shoulder. "That was not appropriate!"

That only makes your teacher laugh even harder.

"I would cook for you," Jimin says, "but I don't want to burn the house and kill us both."

"Yeah, I'm too young to die," you chime in, standing up. "I'm gonna see if there's anything in the fridge."

You walk over to your refrigerator which is always filled to the brim, thanks to Jin. Luckily, there's leftover pasta from last night, which you try to take out.

"Wow I need Jin to stock up my fridge too," Jimin says, extremely close to your ear. He's bending forward, face hovering over your right shoulder. You jump back, surprised, nearly dropping the glass container. You should've fallen over but strangely, you're still standing.

You turn back to see Jimin securing you, his warm hands placed on your waist. Quickly, you regain your balance and Jimin lets go of your waist only after he makes sure you won't fall over again.

You swear your cheeks are flushing red as you can still feel the ghost of Jimin's hands hovering over your waist.

God, how embarrassing.

Every single time you two have some sort of contact, you can't help but remember that night when your teacher had been drunk...

You shake the thought away. Stop it, Y/N! You're supposed to be way over that!

"Stop being so clumsy, Y/N," Jimin laughs. "Actually though, I'm impressed you didn't drop the glass container."

You nod quickly, taking no time to get offended or tease back. You briskly take the container to the microwave, heating the pasta up the lazy way.

Jimin's already rummaging about for two plates and some silverware as you set the water down.

It's strange how close you've become with Jimin, how routinely it seemed to be to eat with him or even be around him. But it was a nice kind of strange.

Jimin opens the microwave a second before it would start beeping, taking out the nice, warm pasta. He splits the meal between you two, giving you the larger half.

"Wow, thanks," you say.

"No problem, Y/N the hog," Jimin jokes. You scoff, slightly offended, lightly hitting Jimin's shoulder. Laughing and poking your cheek teasingly, your teacher hands you a fork and a napkin. "Bon appetit!" he says before you both dig in.

Maybe about minutes later you finish up the last noodle of your spaghetti and you pat your stomach in satisfaction. "Ah, I feel so much better now."

Jimin chuckles as he pushes his finished plate away and looks up at you. But as soon as his eyes meet your face, your teacher starts to laugh hysterically. "Ah, Y/N, you're such a messy eater!"

"Wow, thanks," you say as you frown slightly.

"No, really," Jimin says as he suddenly leans forward. Your breath hitches as your teacher reaches out to your face with his hand. His thumb lightly brushes against the edge of your lip and your mouth quivers slightly. "Spaghetti sauce," Jimin whispers as his thumb still lingers near your lips.

Stupid Y/N. Why would your teacher linger around your lips like that? It's just your dumbass imagination.

"Well, well, well," a voice calls from near the entrance of your house. You turn around to see Jin who was smirking, looking teasingly at you and Jimin, whose thumb was still near your mouth. "Spaghetti is such a romantic dinner," Jin chuckles.

Jimin rolls his eyes as he grabs a napkin and wipes his thumb off with it. "Nice to see you too, Seokjin," he says.

"Y/N, when I told you to get a boyfriend, I didn't mean my best friend," Jin teases you, grinning mischievously.

You roll your eyes. "Whatever. You and I both know that dating for me is impossible," you say.

"I know, I know," Jin laughs. "You two are the last people I'd ever suspect to date others."

"Well I'm sorry I love my job," Jimin says while rolling his eyes. Then, he stands up, gathering your plate and his as he heads over to place them in the kitchen sink. "It's getting kind of late. I should go now," your teacher says as he picks up his laptop from the floor.

"You can stay if you want," Jin offers.

"No, it's fine," Jimin says. "I can handle being alone for a little while," he jokes as he takes his jacket off the coat rack and places it over his shoulders. "Thanks for dinner."

You nod. "And thanks for coming over and helping me with the math club stuff," you reply.

"No problem. Good night, Y/N, Jin," Jimin says, slipping on his shoes and opening the front door of your house.

"Good night, Jimin," you and Jin both say in sync as you watch Jimin disappear behind the door; the last thing you see is his bright smile and waving hand.

Jin turns to you. "So you're on a first-name basis with Jimin, huh?" he asks, poking you.

You roll your eyes. "I don't call my friends by their surnames, you know. Do I call you Mr. Kim?"

"Well no, and that's because I'm not your teacher," Jin points out. He chuckles. "So, I saw him wipe the sauce off your face," your cousin teases. "He did that even though there were napkins right next to him."

Your face slowly flushes red as you realize your cousin was right. There had been napkins next to you and your teacher, but he had chosen to use his thumb to wipe away the sauce near your lips.

"Whatever," you say. "Does it matter?"

But late at night, when you were supposed to be drifting off asleep, you still couldn't stop thinking about your teacher's thumb tracing across your lip, even hovering there afterward.

There were goddamn napkins next to him... Why didn't he use them?

"Alright, everyone! Welcome to the first math club meeting!" Jimin says as he clasps his hands together. "This club will be run by Y/N, so show her some respect and give her your full attention!" Your teacher steps to the side revealing you, shaking out of nervosity and gripping your sweaty hands together.

"So... uh," you pause. "I'm uh, Y/N. Senior. Seventeen..." you trail off, looking helplessly at Jimin for help. He just gives you a small thumbs up.

A buttload of help that was.

"I... uh, don't really think I know any of you... But I assume you guys are all good at math," you try, fidgeting nervously with your hands. "Maybe we could go around saying our names and grades?"

A murmur of agreement sets in as a girl speaks first. "I'm Sarah, a junior."

"Hey, I'm August and I'm in 10th grade."

"Yo I'm Nicole and I'm a senior."

"Hi Y/N," a familiar voice says. "I'm Jungkook and I'm a senior."

Jeon Jungkook. Again?

He followed you into the math club? You eye Jimin who just shrugs.

The other six introductions you kind of zone out on because you're in a frenzy, trying to think of what to say or do afterward.

As soon as the last person introduces themselves, you nervously speak what you had planned out in your head. "Um... I assume everyone here likes math because we're going to be doing a boatload of it," you say. "We'll be going on one major competition this year, and uh, depending on how that goes, we'll go on more next year (if the club is still around)." The club members all nod.

"I guess... We can start naming our strengths in math so I know who to send out for different divisions in the upcoming math competition," you say. "Um... Jungkook? Wanna start us off?"

"Oh, uh, I personally like application problems a lot. But um, I'm good at mental math," he says.

You nod, then pause. "63 times 12?" you ask.

"756," Jungkook answers will little pause.

From the corner, Sarah, August and Nicole all gasp in a unison.

"What the hell? I can barely add that in my head," August says.

Jimin chuckles from the corner. "I'm sure you can. How else can you score hundreds on your exams?"

You smile, feeling energized as you see so many talented people in the same room as you were. But you have to remind yourself to still keep your guard. You can't go going around making friends.

"August? What's your specialty?" you ask.

"Algebra II, I guess. Kinda passed it better than my other math classes," August says.

"Kinda?" Nicole says. "You passed that shit with flying colors." She pauses, looking apologetically at Jimin. "Oops sorry, I'll watch my language."

Jimin laughs. "It's fine. Even I let f-bombs slip sometimes. Just don't do it too often."

You can see out of the corner of your eye, Nicole literally melting to the floor and you realize the effect Jimin had on the female students or females in general.

"Nicole? Your talent?" you ask.

"Calculus for sure," she says right away. "That shi—I mean, that class was really easy."

"Sarah?"

"Hey, August and Nicole dragged me into this. I kinda suck at math," she says, raising up her hands in defense.

"Stop it, bro," August says. "Your geometry grade slayed me."

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Fine. I guess I'm okay at geometry. But only geometry."

The list goes on and on. Some people specialized in earlier levels of math while others specialized in later levels—and there was a perfect balance.

"So, what do you specialize in?" Jungkook suddenly asks, looking at you.

"Me?" you say, bewildered.

"Yeah, you," Jungkook laughs.

"Uh... Well..."

"Y/N's specialty is math itself," Jimin explains, winking at you.

You flush slightly and shake your head. "I'm good at statistics," you say.

"The best at statistics," Jimin butts in and you give him a look.

"Anyways," you say, "I think we have a very well-rounded team!" You clap your hands together and smile and the club members. "Next meeting is next week, same day and time. We'll be using teamwork to solve a series of random problems. So... um, I guess this is it for today then. Uh, thank you so much for coming guys. I guess you can go now," you say. "And sorry I'm so awkward," you mutter to yourself.

"Bye!" everyone chimes as they start to pick up their backpacks, some already heading out for the door. Jungkook's the last one out of the classroom. But just as he was about to shut the door, he pokes his head into the classroom and grins at you. "You're not awkward at all," he says. "The meeting was nice. I look forward to the next one!"

"Thanks," you say, nodding as Jungkook waves his goodbye and leaves off to lunch. You turn to your teacher, giving him a look. "Jimin," you hiss quietly. "Stop bragging about me in front of the other club members!"

"Oh?" Jimin asks as he raises his eyebrow. "Why not? Y/N, your humility is admirable, but you've got to learn that you're literally a genius. Own it."

"You're starting to sound like Jin again," you sing. "And it's not like I can go around telling people I'm good at math. You know, no one likes a boastful brat," you add.

Your teacher laughs. "So, do you like the students I chose?"

"I see you put in Jungkook," you say, crossing your arms.

"He likes you," Jimin chuckles. "I think it's hilarious how he keeps hinting at you but you pretend to be oblivious!"

You roll your eyes. "Too bad I won't like him back. I'm not looking for friends anytime soon."

"Are Jin and I enough?" Jimin teases.

"Honestly, yeah," you answer. "But the girls in the club were really nice."

"Yeah. I purposely left out the bitchy, smartass ones," Jimin whispers, giving you another wink. "You'll only hang out with the best."

You laugh. "Woah, sounds like you went through some major student sorting for the club," you comment.

"How'd you guess?" Jimin asks sarcastically.

"Had a hunch," you reply, grinning. "So, uh... I guess I'll leave for lunch now," you say, standing up.

"Hey, lunch ends in five minutes," Jimin says. "You can stay for five minutes right?"

You look out the window, searching for anyone lurking around. But then you realize no one in their right mind would lurk around some math classroom during lunch.

"Yeah, I guess I can," you say, smiling. You set down your backpack and sit up on your desk. "So, did you know the girls in the club have a bit of a crush on you?"

Jimin laughs. "You mean the way they look at me?"

"Yeah, it's pretty hilarious," you say, giggling.

"I can't blame them," Jimin smirks. "They'd be crazy not to like me," he chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly.

You push his shoulder, rolling your eyes. "That's borderline illegal," you say, giggling.

"Not as illegal as that one Friday night," Jimin sings.

Your face steams. "Jimin!" you shriek, then immediately lowering your voice. "We wordlessly agreed not to mention that!"

"That's the thing, Y/N," Jimin laughs. "We wordlessly agreed. As far as I can see, I can continue mentioning it," he teases. "Besides, it's hilarious now, don't you think? To think that a stupid mistake I made could turn into friendship? How many mistakes do you know of that turned into miracles? I'm telling you, not many."

You feel the blush creeping up on your cheeks and you look away. "I guess," you mutter.

Suddenly, the loud bell rings, signaling that lunch was over. As if expecting it, you quickly get off from your desk, heaving your backpack over your shoulders.

"Take care, Y/N," Jimin says. "I'll see you soon."

You nod, still red from your teacher's previous words as you quickly walk out of the classroom.

God, some friend he was.

You still can't believe Jin was going to leave you. This would probably be the first time he wouldn't be by your side for such a long time.

Apparently, the drama team had been invited to some state theater competition and so Jin had to leave with them for a week.

Jin had been overly worried, as usual, asking Jimin to pick you up and take you to school. You knew if Jimin wasn't available, Jin would've canceled the whole trip; he would never let you be truly independent. In fact, Jin knew you were terrible at cooking, so he stayed up a whole night cooking a week's worth of homemade meals for you since you weren't allowed to eat out alone.

Sometimes you wonder how someone can be so kind and thoughtful.

So, there you are, waiting after school in Jimin's classroom. You'd already finished your homework and you were looking around the room, slightly bored.

"How about you help me grade these papers if you're so bored?" Jimin suggests from his desk, pulling down his glasses just a bit.

"Is it that obvious?" you laugh as you pull up a chair next to your teacher and friend.

"Yeah," Jimin chuckles as he hands you a stack of ungraded tests from his lower-level math class. "I trust you know what to do. The answer key's right there. Don't double jeopardize."

You nod, picking up a red pen and starting to grade. But the first test takes you twenty minutes to grade. There are just too many things to correct. The second test takes even longer—you end up marking off every question except three. You gulp.

Jimin leans over your work as you pause. "You're doing great," he says. "Don't feel too bad about it; these kids mess around during lectures—they probably don't even know what 'math' means."

You nod shortly. "Okay..." you say. But five tests in, you've lost hope for humanity. "This person thought 7 plus 5 was 35!" you shriek. "I'm so done!"

Jimin chuckles. "Believe it or not, it's a common mistake."

You want to cry. "That's like saying 3 plus 6 is 18!"

"You'll get used to it," Jimin says. "Just wait until you get one of those kids who doodle on their test and doesn't write any of their answers down."

"You mean... like this guy?" you ask, holding up a completely blank test with only the name and date up at the top and some drawing of a tank shooting innocent stick people.

"Oh yeah... That kid just gave up," Jimin sighs. "I don't think my students try anymore," he says. "I'm only trying to push them so they can get better. Math only gets harder..."

You nod. "I agree. It's their fault for not trying."

Jimin shrugs. "But I still have those A-students who try their best." He holds up a test with a large 98 circled up at the top with a smiley face next to it. "This kid's gonna end up getting over 100 because of the curve."

You laugh. "Well, that sounds familiar."

Jimin nods. "Honestly, why can't my students be like you? Then I won't even have to curve." He smiles at you admiringly, making you blush slightly.

"I'm pretty sure if every single student got A's on your test, it'd look like your tests are too easy," you say. "Then you'd get in trouble."

"True," Jimin sighs, stretching and taking off his glasses. "Hey, thanks for helping me," he says.

"I only graded like six tests," you protest.

"And now I only have ten more to go," Jimin answers. "I'll finish it at home. Sorry to keep you waiting until 8," he says. "I'll take you home now."

"Okay!" you chirp, heaving your heavy backpack on your shoulders as you wait for Jimin to carry his bag full of tests.

The car ride home is cheerful as Jimin talks on and on, never letting the mood fall from happiness.

"I swear, these days, the kids with fourth-period gym stink up my whole classroom in the fifth period!" he complains, wrinkling his nose.

You giggle. "You should get some air fresheners," you say.

"Oh no, but that won't solve the problem at all," Jimin continues. "They wipe their sweat on the desks -- it's as if the smell is permanently etched into the classroom!"

At that, you laugh out loud. "The freshmen dudes, am I right?"

Jimin nods at you knowingly. "I was never that stinky in the 9th grade," he says, thoughtfully. "Granted, I dropped all of my physical education classes to take extra math classes."

"What a nerd!" you tease.

"You would do the same if you could!" Jimin accuses, laughing.

"Point taken," you say. "But I don't think there are any more math classes I have left to take. I've taken everything our school offers."

"Oh? Is Y/N getting snooty?" your teacher teases.

"What? No!" you quickly defend yourself. "I was just stating facts!"

"Snooty facts," Jimin chuckles.

You scoff. "Fine then. Be that way," you say, crossing your arms.

"Is Y/N mad now?" Jimin asks, looking over at you as he drives.

"Yes," you lie.

"I think Y/N is lying," Jimin sings with a teasing lilt to his voice that makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head.

"Am not!"

"Am too!" Jimin winks.

You slump in your seat. "What's the point of trying anymore."

Jimin laughs heartedly as he pulls his car to a smooth stop. "We have arrived," he says formally, no doubt teasing you again.

"Thank god," you reply. But as slightly annoyed as you are, you're almost sad that the car ride is over.

"Good night, Y/N," Jimin says as you get out of his car. "Make sure to get your sleep so you don't wear yourself out."

His sudden caring words make you smile. "Okay," you reply. "Well, good night to you too," you say, shutting the car door. "See you tomorrow."

"See you."

—previous | next

—masterlist

#jimin #park jimin #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagine #jimin fluff #jimin crack #bts #bts fanfiction #teacher au #jimin fanfic #illegirl

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wh33zy · 3 years

Text

Teacher! Teacher!

Hello, welcome to the fanfic I wrote on and off for a while on the depression train when I remembered this idea I had a while back. It’s easing me back into writing again, so FEUD will be coming back soon! This would be what would amount to the first chapter, but I’d like to know what any of you thought before I would make it a multichapter thing. (Also, might change the title later because I fookin’ hate it but I can’t think of anything else atm.) This is probably terrible but I’m in a sharing mood (and I made a post to see if anyone would care to read)!

also can’t believe we’re doing fucking egoist

Synopsis: Hiroki, ever the prideful “Kamijou the Devil” lit professor is running late to class during the first week after summer break. In his haste to get to class on time, he bumps into a tall young man that he mistakes for a student. Upon immediate finding out that he bumped into and scolded a fellow professor, Hiroki is left to wallow in embarrassment and a budding crush.

Chapter 1: Hot

He always hated being late, mainly the rush.

But, he can’t help that he’s gotten quite good at tying his tie in the time it takes for him to swish and spit mouthwash. Also the speed-walk to the university, the near jog he does in hallways. On autopilot he slips by students and other faculty to his classroom, his work bag held tightly under his arm. Even though he’s about to be on time anyway, as the room was right at the entrance to the literature department, he still swears that five more minutes will never turn into forty agai-

His shoulder collides with a new obstacle today, ruining the usual flow of his race to class. He nearly drops his bag (that has a laptop in it!), forcing an angry, “Watch it!” Out of him.

Which he really wouldn’t have said if he had gotten a look at the person he bumped into first. So tall, black hair framing his face perfectly and bringing out the paleness of his skin, blue eyes so striking, broad shouldered, long-legged- Hiroki’s mouth was confused whether to water or go completely dry. He’s never seen him before, but there was one thing he did know: Christ, he was his type in fucking spades.

But he looked young and the backpack he was carrying didn’t do any favors. Oh well...

The stranger looked back at him with instant remorse and no fear for the leftover of a glare that was on Hiroki’s face. “So sorry! Are you okay-”

Hiroki waves a hand in dismissal. “Forget it and get to class where you should be.” He says with the authoritative tone that usually makes anyone duck their head down and mumble ‘excuse me, sensei’ while they scurry off

But, he gets smiled at! The audacity-

“Right! Can’t keep my students waiting!” He says before turning away.

Hiroki’s cheeks burned for mistaking a professor for a student! But, he didn’t have any time to apologize or wallow in the embarrassment so he ends up being the one to ashamedly scurry off.

Hiroki closes his office door behind him after his second class that day, letting his back fall against it. He heaves a large sigh, eyes squeezed shut almost as if he were in pain. The thick packet of essays that had yet to be graded weighed heavily in his hand. On top of it all? It was hot. Hot enough that his hair stuck to the back of his neck and on his forehead for most of the day. Summer had been overstaying its welcome.

“Tough crowd today?” Miyagi asks from his desk, fanning himself with a few assignments marked with red pen absentmindedly as his other hand went to work to mark the ones left. Even the open window didn’t do enough justice to cool him down, but it did help the odor of old literature not take over their small quarters.

“You have no idea.” Hiroki grumbles back, tossing the stack onto his desk before flopping down into his chair. He leans back, hooking a finger in the knot of his tie and tugging it loose. “Did you ever get word when they’re fixing the damn AC in here?” He then takes off his glasses to rub at his eyes, feeling the sweat that had collected in his brows.

“Dean said they'll bring someone in by next Tuesday.” Miyagi says in a concentrated mumble, brows furrowing on a terrible grammar mistake. “Fingers crossed.”

The professor can only groan, “Ugh, are you serious? Next Tuesday? They couldn’t get someone sooner?” He’s sure they’d boil alive by then!

The now completed grade was added to the thin stack fanning Miyagi’s face. “It’s better than nothing.”

“I guess-”

There are three polite taps on their door, causing the two to look at each other for a moment. It was a bit early for a student to have to talk to one of them in person and they didn’t have any guests today. Since neither of them signaled a ‘no’, Hiroki readjusts his tie when Miyagi throws a ‘come in!’ over his shoulder. The door loudly creaks open-

The hunk from earlier!

Wait-

Hunk? Really? We’ve never used that word before how disgusting-

“Oh, hi, sorry to bother you.” He greets and good lord is he stunning when he’s hot.

Mystery Hunk completely removed his tie from earlier that day in favor of popping his collar open. His collarbone, now revealed, almost seemed to glisten in the sunlight from the window. His face had a slight shine as well, the heat frustrating him just as much with the way his sleeves were rolled up his elbows. However, it didn’t leave him without such a nice (and apologetic) smile.

Hiroki looks at Miyagi because he was usually the one to handle guests since he was naturally pretty social. But Miyagi is sucked into his work again, leaving Hiroki to assure, “Uh, it’s not a problem.” Then he asks, “What can I help you with?” He swallows, and it comes out meaner than he wanted it to.

The smile on his face was still warm, eyes just as striking as they were when they bumped into each other. Is he mad at all about what happened earlier? And if he is, should Hiroki apologize? “Do you have any spare printer paper? I’m in the office next door and my colleague just used the last of it.” And still hating the idea that he’s an inconvenience in any way, “I just need a little! I promise!.”

“Yeah, sure.” Hiroki instantly goes to him and Miyagi’s supplies shelf next to his desk. He picks up a large, unopened pack of paper that has yet to be used. “We always have a lot in supply.” Hiroki says as he hands it over, hoping that it would silently let the other professor know that he’s welcome in his office any day of the week. “Here you go.”

Hunk’s ever-so sparkling smile only widens with gratitude. “Thank you so much.” But then it leaves when his brows furrow slightly. “We ran into each other earlier, right?”

Hiroki tries not to hold his breath, “Oh...that was you wasn’t it?” He asks back, then regrets it because it comes off so flippant. Why can’t he be more soft-spoken and nice? Why does he have to sound like this!? So, to make up for all of it, “I’m sorry by the way.” He bites his lip, his pride already getting stabbed. But, this was the right thing to do and he’d feel much better about it later. He reaches up to rub at his neck. “I-”

“No, don’t worry about it.” The other professor shakes his head as if rejecting the apology. “I should have been looking where I was going and we both should have been on time in the first place.”

Oh.

He didn’t take Hiroki scolding him for being mistaken as a student.

This is a fantastic development.

So, the lit professor rolls with that. “You’re completely right. I was definitely in a rush- should’ve gotten up earlier.” He explains, the warmth in his cheeks starting to calm.

“Kusama Nowaki.” Hunk says, offering his hand. “I teach freshman and senior biology.”

Makes sense; the beginning of the science department was right next door to literature. Hiroki always found it weird that they weren’t right next to history or something more fitting. But, he’s never been more glad that they weren’t.

Hiroki wastes no time in accepting it. “Kamijou Hiroki.” He even give a small grin back, but it falters a little when he realizes how big and warm Nowaki’s hand is. “Japanese literature.”

Nowaki’s eyebrows raise a little in realization, “So you’re the devil that I’ve been hearing so much about!” He chuckles slightly, the whispers of students in his classes today made a little more sense.

Lifting his chin with pride. “Yes, I am. And you must be new.”

“Just started this year.” Nowaki nods, and this time, he looked a little shy which surprised Hiroki. “Well, I won’t keep you. Thanks again for the paper.”

“Of course.” He nods back. “A-Any time.” He quickly adds which earns him an extra smile that makes his heart flutter just right.

He sits back down in his chair, still in a bit of a daze.

#junjou romantica #junjou egoist #nowaki kusama #kamijou hiroki #miyagi yoh

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bijvoorbeeldja · 4 years

Text

Sobbe enemies to lovers

Robbe IJzermans could not stand Sander Driesen.

He hated his stupid leather jacket and his black boots, both of which announced his presence with annoyingly-omnipresent sound.

He hated the several-inch height he had over Robbe, always towering over him in self-assumed superiority. He hated how cool he thought he looked, in his Bowie t-shirts and box-bleached hair, girls trailing after him like groupies.

It made him sick.

Despite his disregard for Sander, the two had practically grown up together, sharing the same hallways at school, occupying the same classes, mixing in similar social circles. But really, they couldn’t have been more different. While Sander was loud, overly-confident, and snarky, Robbe was small, quiet, and didn’t thrive on being the center of attention. In fact, when he’d come out a few months before, he kept to himself even more, trying to distance himself from unwanted scrutiny. And for that and many other reasons, he avoided Sander Driesen any chance he got.

That is, until one biology class in October when he’d gotten in trouble for talking too loudly with Zoe. The two always sat together in their shared classes, having grown close when Robbe moved into the flatshare with Zoe, Senne, and Milan. They were in the midst of excitedly debriefing Milan’s date the night before, sharing details they’d gathered from their conversations with him. The teacher had been handing out assignments for a big, upcoming project to the seated pairs when she called out the two for their disruptive discussion.

“Loockx, IJermans, split up, please,” she’d finally announced, exasperated. “Zoe, please go work with Britt, and Sander, come up and pair up with Robbe. Maybe then you’ll actually get some work done.”

Annoyed, Zoe slumped her shoulders and started gathering up her books. “Yeah, I sincerely doubt it,” she said under her breath to Robbe, who smiled briefly before wishing her luck. “I bet Sander will have fun,” she offered quickly, resigning herself to the back row.

Robbe scoffed at her lame tease, but Robbe couldn’t escape the dread that was filling his stomach as he glanced back at Sander. With a cigarette tucked behind his ear, partially hidden in white locks, he gathered his bag while winking at Britt, who blushed.

Robbe groaned. Seriously? How could this be happening?

He turned back toward the desk, bracing himself for what was surely going to be a tortuous affair. Glancing over the pages of the assignment the teacher had distributed, his stomach dropped even more. It was a long project, surely demanding lots of time and effort, even more now that he’d probably have to do the whole assignment himself.

“Hey, Robin,” Sander said, finally appearing at his side. Slamming down his books on the desk and sitting backwards in the chair next to Robbe, he straddled it with the obnoxious confidence of someone who lived a middle-finger-to-the-world lifestyle.

Robbe rolled his eyes and kept flipping through his own textbook, determined to get a jump on the assignment, with or without Sander’s help.

“So, yeah. This is going to be a lot of work, so we better get started,” Robbe began, not looking at Sander. “We can just divide it up and do our own halves separately so that–”

“We could do that,” Sander said, interrupting him with a pointed smirk. “Or, we could work on it together. That is, if you trust me not to mess it up.” He was smiling, making Robbe roll his eyes again.

“Well, since you mention it, you’re right,” Robbe said, looking at him full-on now. “I don’t trust you.”

Sander’s smile faded, and he swallowed. He looked into Robbe’s eyes silently for a moment before speaking. “Maybe you don’t know me well enough to trust me, Robbe.”

Robbe furrowed his brow, not dissuaded by Sander’s genuine and suddenly out-of-character tone.

“I know you, Sander,” Robbe stated. ��I’ve known you pretty much my whole life and I feel like I’ve got a pretty good read on who you are. So forgive me for not having the capability to trust you.”

With heat rising to his cheeks, Robbe slammed his book shut and started shoving books and papers into his bag. Then, the bell rang. Robbe didn’t waste any time leaving Sander behind.

This was going to be the longest four weeks of Robbe’s life.

........

All Robbe wanted to do was go home, climb under his covers, and sleep for days. Just a few weeks into the school year, and he was already drowning in work, stress, and insomnia. Plus, now the situation with his mother was creating additional worry that kept him up late into the night, rubbing dark circles into his eyes and straining aches into his shoulders.

But he couldn’t go home, not yet. He knew that once he walked through the door, Zoe would force him to eat a sensible dinner, Senne would assault him with questions about the dark circles under his eyes, and Milan would sit on the counter, talking endlessly about why he was so happy to be done with high school. He loved his flatmates, but for now, he had a mountain of work to do, and needed a quiet space to make a dent in it.

So after classes ended, he collected all of his books and headed to the library, settling into a carrel near the back. It wasn’t like the library was crowded or anything. It was Thursday, and most of his friends and fellow students felt the weekend close enough that they gladly relaxed their grip on schoolwork stress and started going out. But still, Robbe felt more comfortable tucked away in the back of the library, so he could focus fully on his work.

Pulling out his books and pen, he took a deep inhale and started working.

…….

After two and a half hours, Robbe’s eyes were starting to glaze over, and he felt himself re-reading the same sentence in his textbook over and over again.

He needed to stretch his legs, get his blood moving again. Plus, there was a reference book he needed, so he allowed himself a quick break to get up and search the stacks. Wandering through the various genres of books, he stopped at a chemistry section, searching the call numbers for the title he needed. He was brushing his hands over the spines, getting closer when he heard muffled voices from a few stacks away. He was surprised anyone was still there. Some librarians, maybe, re-stacking leftover books or wiping down tables. But as he listened, he could’ve sworn he recognized one of the voices. Rounding the corner, he knew why.

It was Sander. Robbe jumped back behind the shelf, making sure he couldn’t be seen. He could not deal with another “Hey, Robin!” encounter right now. Of all people, Robbe thought, it had to Sander. Sander was sitting with a boy a few grades younger. The boy had a textbook open in front of him, and Sander was leaning over gently, pointing out something on the pages to the boy, who was nodding. Robbe could only make out a few words of what Sander was saying, but he heard enough to gather something that made his mouth drop open slightly. It was biology. Sander was tutoring the boy in biology.

For a few moments, Robbe could only stand motionless, trying to understand what he was seeing — and hearing. Absent was Sander’s usual bravado. Instead, he was smiling sincerely, talking quietly, and clearly, obviously teaching something well. Seemingly right in front of Robbe’s eyes, Sander’s usual cooler-than-you edges were worn down to reveal something much more real. Handsome, even.

That thought jolted Robbe back to his senses. Handsome? What was he talking about? Clearly, he had been studying too long. He was tired. He needed food. But as he headed back to his table and started to pack up his things, his thoughts were swirling. It didn’t make sense to Robbe, what he’d just witnessed. All this time, he had come to know Sander to be obnoxious, loud, and self-centered. The kind to skip school to smoke cigarettes….not help tutor other students. Sander was the one who would have meaningless hookups at parties, blast Bowie from his car driving out of the school parking lot, tease Robbe endlessly. But what he just saw….that was a different Sander.

Maybe Robbe didn’t really know him at all.

……

When Robbe got to biology the next day, Sander was already there, sitting in his seat next to Robbe’s, doodling something on the corner of his paper, lost in focus. He briefly looked up with Robbe sat down, shifting his books slightly to cover the drawing.

“Robin,” he threw Robbe’s way, his mouth lifting in a small smirk.

Their teacher entered the classroom, shuffling to her desk and immediately calling out to them to spend the period working on their projects.

“Use your time wisely!” she admonished.

Robbe swallowed and turned toward Sander.

“Sander, look I—”

“Don’t worry, Robin,” Sander interrupted. “I already started working on my half.” Sander took a handful of papers out of his bag, waving them in front of Robbe. Robbe was momentarily silent as he glanced at the papers, covered top to bottom with Sander’s handwriting, a neat scrawl that again surprised Robbe.

“Oh, wow,” Robbe finally said. “I didn’t think that you—”

“That I’d actually do anything?” Sander smirked again. “Like I said before, maybe you don’t know me quite as well as you think you do, Robbe.” Robbe met Sander’s gaze, his green eyes vibrant, piercing. Robbe just stared into them, trying to find his breath again.

But before he could, Sander spoke again. “I’ll make sure to get all of my half done before the due date. Don’t worry about it.” At that, Sander turned back to his paper, resuming his drawing.

Robbe just sat there, trying to hide his shock and growing humiliation. He glanced back at Zoe, desperately wishing for her help. But she didn’t meet his gaze. She sat, elbow on the desk, chin in her palm, looking bored as Britt told a story, her hands gesturing widely.

Sander and Robbe spent the rest of the period in silence.

……

Robbe felt like crap.

Sander had openly called him out on being judgmental, and okay. He had been. But before these last few interactions, Robbe wouldn’t have thought twice about what he’d said. He’d known Sander all his life, hadn’t he? He’d seen what he was like. The two had essentially been rivals for the majority of their lives. But now, Robbe felt like everything was off. Sander wasn’t pestering him with comments about his small size, or the long hair he’d had several years before. It seemed like...Sander was trying to be civil.

Sure, Sander probably just wanted to stay on good terms for the duration of the assignment, not making things more difficult for either of them with endlessly unproductive back-and-forth banter about how much they disliked each other. Clearly, from what he’d seen yesterday at the library, Sander was smart. He must care about the assignment, and in general, his grades. But some small part of Robbe felt like...maybe...maybe Sander did want some sort of friendship with him. Okay, maybe not friendship. That was going too far. A mutual respect, maybe? How could Robbe cling to his stupidly stubborn pride when Sander was (albeit unconsciously) offering his own version of a tiny olive branch? Yeah, he knew what he’d seen of Sander. But deep inside, he knew it wasn’t all of him.

…..

Robbe hadn’t gotten to talk to Zoe the whole period, so he waited after class for Britt to leave so he could detail his weird interactions with Sander. But to his surprise, it was Sander who approached Zoe first, giving Britt a small kiss on the cheek before telling her he’d see her around. She left the room looking a little deflated.

The room was empty, and Robbe didn’t want to wait around, so obviously eavesdropping, so he went outside, pausing to wait at Zoe’s locker. Robbe waited, those few minutes annoyingly long. What could they even be talking about?

Then suddenly, Sander exited the classroom with Zoe, the two laughing about something. Great, they have inside jokes now, Robbe thought. That’s just super.

“I’ll text you later, then.” Sander said, and Zoe nodded. Then he turned and started walking down the hall, those damn boots echoing through the hallway.

As Zoe approached Robbe, she started to speak quickly, seeing Robbe’s frustrated expression, and arms folded tight across his chest.

“Robbe, it’s not—”

“What the hell, Zoe?! Did Sander seriously just try to ask you out?” Robbe spit out, his voice rising. “Everyone knows you’re with Senne! The nerve of that guy—”

Zoe took another step toward Robbe, reaching out to put her hands gently on his shoulders, smiling slightly.

“No, Robbe,” she said calmly. “He wasn’t asking me out. Relax. He asked for my help with something.”

“Are you serious?” Robbe asked. “What?”

She smiled again before answering. “He asked if I could help him bleach his hair.”

……

It was Saturday, and Zoe had been in the bathroom with Sander for over an hour. Sander had come over early, while everyone was eating breakfast, greeting the roommates with croissants before waving a paper bag full of boxed hair dyes at Zoe.

“You ready for this?” He’d asked, smiling.

Robbe rolled his eyes, hiding his frown behind his coffee cup, pulling down his boxers to cover more of his exposed body. He could not believe Zoe had let Sander come to their flat, knowing how much he tortured Robbe.

“I promise you it will be way easier than mine!” laughed Zoe, turning one of the boxes over in her hands, looking over the instructions briefly. “You have way less hair than I do.”

She took another sip of her coffee, gave Senne a quick kiss on the cheek, and motioned for Sander to follow her to the bathroom. Sander glanced over at Robbe before he followed, smiling at Robbe’s tousled bed head and giving him a quick wink, eyes glowing fiercely green. Robbe just blinked, feeling so out of place with Sander in their apartment. When the two blondes were gone, Milan gasped.

“Who was that?” he asked excitedly. “He’s hot!” Senne laughed.

Robbe rolled his eyes again, groaning. “Don’t even start with that, please. He’s this obnoxious kid from school and he should not be here.”

“I didn’t mean hot for me, Robbe.” Milan stated. “I obviously meant hot for you.”

Robbe nearly choked on his coffee. “What are you talking about, Milan?”

“Uhm, that obviously you two are going to be making out in ten minutes,” Milan said, as if it were the most decidedly obvious matter.

“Milan!” Robbe hissed, his face started to burn with humiliation. “Could you talk any louder?!”

“Sorry,” Milan said casually, shrugging his shoulders. “But it’s true. The tension between you two is insane.”

“You are ridiculous, Milan,” Robbe said with a huff. “I hate Sander and he hates me, so. That’s that.” Robbe put his cup to his lips again, trying to calm his hands.

Milan turned to him, looking confused. “Hates you? No. No, not a chance,” he said decidedly, picking up a croissant.

“Why do you say that?” Robbe asked, bewilderment — and slight curiosity — now pricking at him.

“Uhm, because we all saw the way he just looked at you,” he said, motioning around the room, as if a crowd had gathered. He took a bite of croissant. “That was clearly the look of someone who is into you...and just doesn’t know how to show it. Which makes sense. You are a bit...prickly, sometimes.”

Robbe could not believe what he was hearing. Milan was delusional. He needed to go back to bed. Grabbing his mug and what was left of his toast, he shook his head and got up to go back to his room. As he exited the doorway of the kitchen, Milan called out after him, “I will require a plus one on my wedding invite, Robbe!”

Robbe gasped, sprinting back to hurl his toast at Milan, who ducked, laughing loudly.

Robbe groaned again, shaking his head as he finally made it to his room. Opening the door, he immediately jumped back, coffee sloshing out onto his t-shirt. Sander was in his room, and he was half naked.

“Uhm, what the hell?” Robbe called out, and Sander spun around, quickly pulling a towel towards his chest.

“Sorry, Robbe,” he said sheepishly. “I should’ve asked you. Zoe just told me to get undressed in here so I wouldn’t get bleach on my clothes. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Robbe stammered. “I—I just...you surprised me, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” Sander smiled, motioning to the coffee stains spreading across his shirt. He grabbed his own Bowie shirt he’d left on the bed, handing it over to Robbe. “Here. Use mine.” He hesitated briefly. “But, then again, it isn’t a size small. You might drown in my clothes.” He was actually grinning now.

Robbe felt warm all of the sudden. He didn’t know if it was hot coffee seeping onto his body through his shirt, the sight of Sander’s tan skin, or the thought of wearing his clothes that was making him flushed. He was so infuriating.

“I don’t need your clothes, obviously,” Robbe shot back. “This is my room, remember? I have clothes here. Which I wouldn’t even need if you hadn’t gotten naked in my bedroom and shocked me into dousing myself with coffee.” Robbe was flustered, and Sander just smiled at him, his grin widening. He was taking a step towards Robbe, when Zoe called out from the hallway.

“Sander? You coming? I have everything ready.”

“Be right there,” Sander answered back, eyes still locked with Robbe’s. For a second, Robbe thought he was going to say something, but while Robbe stood there, waiting, Sander exhaled and walked past Robbe into the hallway, brushing his arm with Robbe’s as he went by.

……

Robbe could not fall asleep that night.

Maybe it was the fumes from the bleach that were keeping him up. Zoe had cracked the windows in the bathroom while dying Sander’s hair, but still. The smell permeated.

He just laid there, tossing and turning, trying to quiet his head and get the images from the day to clear from his mind. Well...just the one image. The image of Sander, shirtless, in his bedroom. He flopped on his back in frustration, internally writhing with shame that his mind was somehow hitching back repeatedly on these overpowering visions. Sander was always wearing that stupid jacket, the stupid boots, the stupid band t-shirts. It was his persona, his identity. But seeing Sander like that, unmasked, uncovered, and just...bare...it was too much for Robbe. He couldn’t stop thinking about the taut muscles of his biceps, his abs, the golden skin that contrasted with his white hair. Hair that now, when Robbe thought about it….didn’t look that bad at all.

When Sander had left his room, he’d shut the door tight, avoiding Sander the rest of the morning. He couldn’t bear to face him again, likely saying or doing something stupid he’d regret. He just put on his headphones and tried to block out the sounds of conversation from the bathroom. He’d fallen asleep before Sander left. And now, sleep fled from him. He wanted so badly to close his eyes and get lost in meaningless dreams, letting the ridiculous thoughts about Sander slip into nothingness. He wanted to forget about it all.

He and Sander were enemies. They were supposed to avoid each other at all costs, and when they did cross paths, they were to simply call out their usual insults to each other and move on, carrying on with their own separate lives.

But here they were, getting thrown together again and again in the space of a week, and Robbe wasn’t sure he could bear it. He wanted things to go back to normal. Robbe IJzermans and Sander Driesen, rivals.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, Robbe’s phone buzzed from his bedside table, briefly lighting up his room in a blue neon glow. He reached out, opening the new message that pinged on the screen. It was a number he didn’t know.

Hey, Robin. It’s Sander. Zoe gave me your number. I just wanted to say sorry, again, for today. I shouldn’t have gotten into your personal space.

Robbe’s stomach lept. Him. Again.

His fingers hovered over the keys. Should he answer? His mind swirled with competing thoughts. Finally, a thought settled on him. Maybe in order to get through the next few weeks with Sander unscathed, he just had to play nice. Avoiding him didn’t seem to be working, obviously. Maybe, he thought….maybe he should just lean in. Be civil, do the work, move on. That’s it.

He typed back a reply before he could stop himself, then quickly turned off his phone and rolled back over in the bed. He tried to squash down the anxious feeling budding inside him.

It’s okay, Sander.

Also, I was thinking. I think we should work on the biology project together. Let’s talk tomorrow at school?

……..

Robbe’s palms were embarrassingly clammy as he knocked on the door to Sander’s flat. He wiped them on his jeans, berating himself for acting so ridiculous. He’d told Sander he wanted to meet up, after all.

When he’d turned on his phone the next morning, he saw that Sander had replied immediately to his last message, shooting back Good idea. See you Monday.

Sander had greeted him with a sheepish smile in class the next week, immediately jumping in to explain what research he’d done for the assignment so far. They’d settled quickly into easy conversation, exchanging ideas and letting the class hour pass rapidly. As the bell rang and they started to gather up their things, Sander had turned again to Robbe.

“So, do you want to work on this more after school one day this week?” He paused briefly before continuing, looking at Robbe for confirmation. “We could...work on it at my house? Friday? My parents are going out and won’t be there to bug us.” He laughed.

Robbe smiled, but felt anxiety creeping up on him.

“Uhm, yeah. We could do that.”

“Okay, great.” Sander said, pulling his bag up on his shoulder. “I’ll text you my address.” He smiled once more at Robbe before turning to leave.

While Robbe finished packing up, Zoe appeared at his side.

“So, what exactly happened in your bedroom yesterday?” she asked,

Robbe dropped his book on the desk, a loud smack echoing in the room.

“What?” he said, startled.

Zoe laughed. “Sander told me that you walked in on him naked, and today...you guys seem chummy. What’s that all about? Was Milan right? Did you two make out?!” Her voice was getting louder, squealing at even the briefest thought of scandal.

“Oh my gosh, Zoe. No!” Robbe shot back, trying to keep his voice level, while heat flooded his cheeks. “I kicked him out of my room and took a nap. That’s all.”

Zoe’s shoulder slumped. “Dang,” she said with a huff. “I was hoping you two would finally do it and get it over with so you could stop torturing us.”

Robbe turned toward Zoe straight on.

“What are you talking about?!” Robbe said, nearly yelling now. “Did Milan talk to you? I’m not sure why you two are so hell-bent all of the sudden on insisting there’s some sort of love connection between the two of us, but I can assure you, there is not.”

Zoe looked at Robbe skeptically, nodding with a Right. Sure. look as he spoke.

“Plus,” Robbe continued, arguing his stance. “He’s hooking up with Britt anyway. He’s not even into guys!”

“You’re not serious, right?” Zoe asked. “Everyone, literally everyone knows that those two aren’t hooking up. Even if Britt wanted that.” Zoe confirmed. “Believe me, all she talks about is boys. I’ve gotten the complete story on all the guys in her life the past few days. Sure, she and Sander have flirted, but it’s never been anything serious. I think she’s into some college guy….” Zoe trailed off, trying to remember specifics. “Plus,” she said, returning to the conversation again. “Sander is pansexual. Everyone knows that.”

Was he? And why was Robbe stomach suddenly leaping at this?

“I don’t believe you,” Robbe countered, brushing his dangerously wandering thoughts aside. “In fact, I don’t believe any of this. You and Milan are crazy.”

“Aw, you’re cute when you’re in denial,” Zoe cooed before turning on her heel and leading Robbe out into the hallway.

Now, days later, Robbe was standing in front of Sander’s door, his classroom conversation with Zoe tangling in his thoughts as he tried to level his shallow breathing. Then, the door opened, and Sander was standing there, in a Queen t-shirt and jeans that hugged his legs and made Robbe’s breath hitch in his throat. Stop staring, he commanded himself. Sander smiled and opened the door wider, motioning for Robbe to come in. He took off his shoes, placing them next to Sander’s boots that were parked by the door. Those damn boots.

“So I figured we could just start by comparing notes and then flesh out an outline for our paper?” Sander offered, leading Robbe into the flat. Robbe nodded in agreement, but didn’t speak, taking in the layout of Sander’s house.

For all the things that Sander knew — or thought he knew — about Sander Driesen, he couldn’t have expected this. The flat was warm, cozy, and well-designed. There were soft couches and artsy interiors to his right, and an open kitchen to his left. Pictures torn out of sketchbooks — images surely done by Sander — lined the walls in frames.

Catching Robbe staring at them, Sander laughed.

“My parents are annoyingly proud,” he said. “I promise, I didn’t ask them to put these up.” He smiled, watching Robbe slowly walk down the hallway, looking at each one. Sander put his hands in his pockets, seeming sheepish now.

“They’re good,” Robbe finally admitted, turning towards Sander. “You’re really talented.”

The slightest of blushes crept to Sander’s cheeks, but he looked down quickly and cleared his throat. “Do you want anything to drink? Water? Soda?”

“Water’s fine,” Robbe answered. “Thanks.”

While Sander filled a glass in the kitchen, Robbe sat down on the living room couch, shrugging out of his jacket and taking out his books. Sander came into the room, leaning down to hand Robbe the glass. When Robbe grabbed it, Sander gasped.

“Whoa,” he said, startling Robbe.

“What?” Robbe asked, worried. “What’s wrong?”

Sander smiled. “It’s nothing. It’s just...your hand.”

“My hand?” Robbe asked, confused. He put the glass down on the coffee table next to the couch, lifting his hand to his face, confused.

Sander laughed. “Sorry, I just meant...here—” Suddenly, Sander grabbed his hand, his skin warm and soft against Robbe’s. Pulling it gently towards him, Sander turned his hand over and began tracing the lines on his palm. Lightly brushing a finger over a line near his wrist, Sander spoke.

“Your fate line, this one here,” he said quietly. “It’s a little curved, just like mine. I’ve never...I’ve never seen anyone else’s look like that.”

Robbe didn’t know if he was breathing. He swallowed, trying to push out the words hanging on his tongue. Sander was still holding his hand with his.

“My fate line?” he finally asked, a little weakly.

Sander smiled. “Yeah, have you ever read about that? Palm reading?”

“No, I haven’t.” Robbe replied, trying to ignore the warmth spreading from Sander’s skin to the rest of his body.

“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of silly,” Sander said, brushing his finger again along the other lines on Robbe’s palm. “My mom was into it for a while. The lines and folds on your hands are supposed to form narratives about who you are and predict your future.” He smiled again, continuing with the lightest of touches.

“There’s your fate line, head line, life line, sun line….and heart line,” at this last one, he traced the top line, closest to Robbe’s fingers. He looked up and Robbe felt his gaze on him. Meeting his own eyes with Sander’s, his stomach flipped.

Their brief silence settled there, almost crackling between them with electricity. Robbe watched Sander’s eye slowly roam his face, flicking down almost imperceptibly to his lips. Before Robbe knew what was happening, he yanked his hand from Sander’s grasp, turning back towards his books.

“So, anyway, we should probably get to work,” Robbe said in a firm tone.

Sander was still for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Robbe, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You know what, Sander?” Robbe said, rising to stand. “This was probably a bad idea. I should...I should go.”

“What?” Sander stood, stepping towards Robbe. “Robbe, I—”

But Robbe stepped away again, hastily stuffing his books into his bag and zipping it forcefully.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Sander.”

Before he reached the door, Sander called out behind him.

“Robbe, wait.”

Robbe was turning the handle.

“Robbe, stop.” Sander’s voice was firm, deep. Robbe didn’t turn, but paused with his hand on the knob. He waited for Sander to speak again.

But it wasn’t his voice that reached Robbe. It was his hands, grabbing Robbe’s waist and flipping him around. Suddenly, all at once, his lips were on Robbe’s, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, gripping a handful of locks tightly.

Robbe’s surprise only lasted for a second, as he, without a second thought, opened his lips to Sander’s and wrapped his hands around his back. Feeling his touch, Sander pushed him hard against the door, bringing them even closer. Limbs tangled feverishly, fueled by a heavy need that surprised them both. Sander’s lips enveloped Robbe’s, explored them, held them, like he never wanted to let go.

Robbe’s insides were like fireworks. Electricity coursed through him, bringing to life his every nerve, every muscle, every feeling. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Sander slid down the side of Robbe’s face, kissing deeply into his cheek, his jaw, then his neck. Robbe let a small hum of pleasure escape his mouth, making Sander pause. His face still tucked into Robbe’s neck, he let himself catch his breath.

“Robbe,” he whined, whispering gently against his ear, his cheek pressed to Robbe’s. “Are you always going to hate me?”

Robbe pulled back slowly, letting Sander’s question hang in the air between them as he looked back at him. He tried to take deep breaths, form coherent words in his mind. When he faced Sander head-on, Sander’s face bore an ache, the ache of vulnerable, pleading, longing.

“Look, I am sorry for always teasing you, Robbe,” Sander said gently, stroking Robbe’s jaw with his thumb. “For joking about your size, for calling you Robin,” Sander smiled at this. “I don’t know why I did that for so long. I just…”

Robbe waited, breathless. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He looked again into Sander’s face again. How had he never noticed that freckle on Sander’s cheek? Or how his eyes were more forest green than he’d thought? Like moss, soft, yet vibrant. He couldn’t believe he’d never really seen Sander before. Not like this.

“The desire just made me crazy,” he said, exhaling, trying to get the words right. “The tension between us just made me want you even more. But I’m not someone who’s good at just saying when they want something,” Sander continued. “And I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

With one last glance into his eyes, and with a new need that he couldn’t even understand, Robbe grabbed a fistful of Sander’s shirt and pulled him back against him.

…..

After a while, the messages were getting hard to ignore.

When his phone sounded a near endless buzz, Robbe had to finally get up off the bed and make sure there wasn’t an emergency. But not being in the tangle of blankets didn’t last long, as Sander quickly tugged on his shirt, pulled him back down into the bed against him. Wrapping his arms around him again, Sander sighed contentedly.

Robbe smiled, turning to meet Sander’s lips for one quick, deep kiss before turning back to scan his messages. There were a handful from Milan, Zoe, and Senne, all checking in on his whereabouts.

Zoe: r u coming home soon? I made dinner

Zoe: hello?

Zoe: hey! r u ok?

Senne: hey man, u ok?

Milan: stop studying and come home to rescue me. Zoe’s trying to feed us all salad SOS

Zoe: Robbe! Let me know ur ok please!

Senne: can you text Zoe please? She’s freaking out

Milan: uhm, hello?

Sander glanced over, laughing.

“They care about you, a lot.”

Robbe smiled back. “Yeah, they’re pretty much my family now.”

He pulled away only briefly to fire off a rapid group text to Zoe, Milan, and Senne: I’m ok. I’m at Sander’s...Be home tomorrow.

Silencing his phone and tossing it across the room and out of sight, he let Sander tackle him back down into the mattress, hovering lightly on top of him.

“Well, I hope they don’t mind sharing,” he purred, leaning into Robbe’s ear. “I don’t think I’m going to let you go anytime soon.”

Robbe melted underneath Sander, allowing him to match the rapid flutters in his stomach with a trail of kisses to his collarbone, his neck, his jawline, and finally, his lips.

……

It was late the next day when Robbe finally got back to his apartment, with flushed cheeks and donning one of Sander’s t-shirts. He hadn’t wanted to leave Sander’s. In fact, Sander had begged him to stay, attempting to persuade him with soft, fleeting caresses along his thighs, lustful nips at his neck, and gentle tugs on the waistband of his underwear. It was driving Robbe crazy, and he almost couldn’t resist.

After talking for hours on end, Sander laughing about their decade-long stand-off and the sexual tension he swore was there between them from the beginning, he admitted easily that he thought Robbe’s long hair was sexy, and he loved that he was small enough to be picked up and carried to the bed.

This made Robbe laugh, a bright blush creeping up into his cheeks. He told Sander how much he loved his drawings, and that he knew how smart he was. He sheepishly admitted that he hadn’t stopped thinking about Sander’s abs since that moment in his bedroom. He wasn’t, however, relinquishing his hate for his boots, though. That was non negotiable. Joking about throwing them out the window, Sander shoved Robbe playfully, pushing him down to the mattress, pinning his wrists above his head in submission.

Eventually, their talking had turned into kissing, then slowly into touching, and they spent that whole night, and nearly the whole next day exploring each other, learning and re-learning their real selves in relation to the other. It felt like magic.

But as the sun set on Saturday night, Robbe finally pulled himself out of Sander’s grasp, promising with a nearly never-ending series of kisses that he’d be back.

As soon as he entered his apartment and shut the door, his three roommates bolted from the kitchen, crashing into each other as they collided in the hallway. When they saw Robbe, they started screeching, yelling and talking over each other.

“Oh. My. God. Robbe!” Zoe squealed, running up to him.

Milan leaned against the wall, clearly pleased with himself. “I told you. I so told you. Okay, so it was more than ten minutes. But still. I am always right about these things.” Senne stood next to Milan, smiling widely.

“Okay, okay, calm down!” Robbe shouted, shushing them with a wave of his hands. “Calm down. It’s not a big deal. It’s—”

Zoe squealed again, bringing her hands to her face. “Oh my god. You are so in love with him, aren’t you?”

Everyone quieted, listening for his answer. Robbe could only blush.

With more loud talking and excited chatter, Robbe let his roommates pull him into the kitchen, eagerly awaiting a full minute-by-minute detail of the last two days.

“What happened?! You have to tell us everything,” Milan pleaded. “Seriously. Everything.”

Before he dove in, he checked his phone. A message from Sander was waiting for him:

Our next study session is in my room, tomorrow. Don’t be late, Robin.

Robbe fired back.

I think we’re going to get an A on this assignment.

.................

OMG you guys I am so nervous to post this, I desperately hope it doesn’t disappoint. But plz let me know what you think — I need the feedback! And send me more of your prompts!! <3

#wtfock #wtfock fanfic #wtfic #sobbe #robbe x sander #i really hope this doesn't suck!#I'm freaking out #finally done #enemies to lovers

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