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thewillofdeez · 1 year

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50/50: A Shanks/OC (and Beckman/OC) Romance - Chapter 5: Strength and Love

Summary: A twenty year journey of friendship, love, and heartache between Shanks and the woman he loves.

Chapter 5 word count: 6746 (another long one, sorry!)

Notes: Enter: baby Luffy! And some romance (finally).

The last part of this chapter required me to learn the names of different parts of a sailing ship. So in order to make it easier for you to visualize, I made a diagram which you can find here.

Enjoy! The story will be in Foosha Village for 1-2 more chapters.

I also finally got a job after 9 months of unemployment, and so am going to do my damndest to get this and my other WIPs done or close to it before I start!

The celebration of Shanks and Riley’s reconciliation went on well into the night, but Riley excused herself from the party around eleven o’clock - she had to be up early tomorrow, after all. She was grateful when Shanks snuck into her room less than an hour later and wrapped his arms around her, planting a kiss on her shoulder and falling asleep behind her in a matter of minutes.

At the party, she and Shanks had been back to their old selves, affectionate, laughing, and once again comfortable in each other’s presence. Shanks and Snake had let her know that they’d be looking for a nearby island to settle down in while she trained, somewhere quiet and out of the way where they could dock for about a year. He felt she’d have better resources at her disposal on land, and it would allow the crew to focus on training her with less interference from Marines or other pirates. Here in the East Blue, the calmest of the seas, they’d find something in no time. Riley had expressed concern about how the rest of the crew would feel about being on land for so long. “Don’t worry about it,” Shanks had said with a sly grin “I’ll tell them to think of it as an extended vacation for everyone except you.”

The next morning, Riley rose from her bed, careful not to disturb Shanks who grunted and rolled over when she removed herself from his grasp. Energy was coursing through her body. She was finally going to get what she wanted. She was finally going to be stronger, a fighter. Maybe not on the same level as some of the guys who had been doing it for years, but that’s not something she cared about. She cared that she was getting to do it at all.

Riley dressed and readied herself for the morning, donning comfortable, workout-friendly clothes, then made her way to the mess hall. Beckman was already there, as were Lucky and some of the kitchen crew. Beckman placed a plate overflowing with bacon, eggs, and sausage in front of her, the single piece of toast on the side almost looking out of place. Riley’s eyes widened - he wanted her to eat all of this? What?

“If you wanna get stronger, you need more fuel for your body. You eat like a bird.”

“Actually, birds eat quite a lot. Ya know, so they can fly,” she responded with a smirk.

“Then you eat like something that doesn’t eat a lot. Chow down, get some protein in you.”

Over breakfast, Beckman filled Riley in on what his plan for her would be over the next four months. When she was full to bursting with meat and eggs, Beckman took pity and helped her finish the last few slices of bacon. They then made their way to the upper deck to begin Riley’s training.

They began with stretching, then moved onto conditioning exercises. Beckman would tell her what they were going to do, demonstrate good form, and give her a number of reps to work on, noting where her body strength was good and where it needed work as he got an idea of what her baseline capabilities were. Her legs were decently strong, and her core wasn’t bad. Improving her upper body strength was going to take a hell of a lot of work, though, he mused as he watched her struggle to get a quarter of the way into a pull-up.

By the time most of the crew was making their way onto the deck to begin their duties for the day, the two had finished up their workout.

“So,” Beckman asked, “How do you feel?”

“I feel great, actually!” Riley responded, the endorphin rush making her feel light and energized.

Beckman chuckled and lit up a cigarette. “Give it time. You’re gonna be in the most pain you’ve ever felt in your life tomorrow morning. I’ll give you the day off to let your body rest, then we’ll resume the day after.”

“What?!” Riley objected, “But we just got started! I don’t want to take a day off already.”

“Trust me, you’re gonna need it.”

And Beckman was right. The next morning, Riley awoke and tried to make her way out of bed - key word being tried. Every muscle in her body was sore and stiff and required incredible effort to move. Just getting dressed was an ordeal.

Riley slowly made her way to the mess hall, where Shanks, Beckman, and the senior officers were gathered around their usual table. She braced her hands against the edge of the table and slowly lowered herself into a seat next to Shanks, her face grimacing at the burn in her thighs. The surrounding men couldn’t help but laugh.

“So glad you guys find my anguish amusing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Awww Rye, we’re not laughing at your pain!” said Yasopp.

“I am!” said Shanks. Riley swatted him swiftly, then winced at the movement.

“It’ll get better, Riley. Promise,” Beckman said, pushing a plate in her direction. More meat and eggs, and that lonely piece of toast, the sole carb amidst a mountain of protein.

“By the way, we think we’ve found a good place to dock for a while,” said Snake, unfurling a map before Riley. “We’re approaching Dawn Island, home of the Goa Kingdom. There’s a small village on the outskirts of the city. It’s quiet and out of the way, and hopefully the people there won’t give us any trouble. We should be there by this evening.”

Riley examined the map, noting the small windmill drawings surrounding Foosha Village on the southeast side of the island.

“Sounds perfect,” she said. After breakfast, she slowly lifted herself from her seat, wincing in pain. “I’m going to go take a very long, very hot bath.”

That evening, just as predicted, the crew arrived on Dawn Island. Standing on the deck as the crew worked around her to furl the sails, Riley noticed the townspeople stopping to stare at their imposing ship, by far the largest at the docks. Some people ushered their children into their houses, while others closed and locked their shutters. She figured they probably didn’t get a ton of pirates around here, and couldn’t blame them for being scared.

The crew stepped off the ship and walked through the town, led by Shanks, Beckman, and Riley, seeking out a place for dinner and drinks. Riley was still in pain, and desperately craved a beer.

As it always was with the Red Hair Pirates, landing on a new island was cause for celebration. So was leaving the island, and just about any day in between where they could find an excuse to do so. Shanks, at Riley’s insistence, had instituted a rule several years before after she’d had one too many instances of being unable to sleep off her own hangover because everyone else was also hungover and wanted her to help them: no partying without a cause for celebration. Unfortunately for Riley, Shanks accepted just about anything as a cause for celebration, and he exploited this loophole constantly. He’d made it up to her by instructing the crew to get their own water and painkillers from the med bay if Riley was also too hungover to assist.

Finding a small pub called Party’s Bar, the crew filed in. The green-haired woman behind the bar had a shocked look on her face - whether it was because there were now 60 people crowding into the small building or because they were pirates, she wasn’t sure.

Riley approached the bar with a smile. “Don’t worry,” she said, “We’re not here to cause trouble, just have some food and a few drinks, and I promise we’re paying customers. Are you able to accommodate so many?”

The barkeeper was taken aback for a second, then nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, of course! Please, make yourselves comfortable.” If what the female pirate said was true, she was set to make more money in a single night than she had in ages. She ran to the kitchen and ordered the whole crew to come out, distribute menus, and begin pouring drinks. She was grateful for the timing of the shipment of rum and beer they’d just received that day, and made a note to put in another order tomorrow.

The barkeeper introduced herself as Makino. Riley, Shanks, and Beckman introduced themselves and the rest of the officers as the drinks began to flow and the smell of cooking food permeated the bar. Makino was surprised that these pirates, as opposed to others who had visited her bar, or, more commonly, some of the fouler bands of mountain bandits, were actually quite kind and fun, if a bit rowdy. She found their red-haired captain to be particularly charming, and blushed as he flirted with her.

As dinner died down and the drinking began in earnest, Riley found herself deep in conversation with Makino. She always pounced on any opportunity to talk to another woman.

“So it’s just you and 59 men?” Makino had asked, amazed.

“Yup,” Riley replied, taking a sip of her beer. “We’ve yet to find any other women who want to join, but I’m still holding out hope.”

“She tolerates us,” Beckman said with a smile.

“Honestly, they’re not a bad group of guys,” Riley said, wrapping an arm affectionately around Beckman’s waist. His arm rested around her shoulders in return. “I’ve met much worse men who aren’t pirates. I mean, sure, they’re loud and gross and –”

“Devastatingly handsome,” Shanks cut in, bringing his face close to Riley’s with a smolder. “Sexy. Muscular. Well-end–” Riley placed her hand on his face and pushed him away.

“Most of them aren’t bad,” she continued. “This guy, however, needs to be kept on a leash. And perhaps a muzzle.”

Makino giggled and poured them another round.

“Stop it, old man, let me GO!” The crew turned towards the commotion as a small child burst into the bar, an older man in tow. “I wanna see the pirates!”

The small boy with a mop of thick, black hair ran towards the bar.

“Luffy, get out of here!” Makino admonished. “You can’t be in here so much past your bedtime!”

Shanks laughed and lowered himself to his knees, closer to the boy’s level.

“Hey there, kiddo. What’s your name?”

“Luffy,” the child responded, a finger up his nose.

“Nice to meet ya, Luffy. I’m Shanks, and this is my crew, the Red Hair Pirates. Say hi to the kid, boys!”

“Hi, Luffy!” the crew responded in unison, raising their mugs.

Luffy burst into a fit of giggles. The older man who had been pursuing the boy stormed in and grabbed him by the arm. “Luffy, if your grandfather knew you were in a bar with pirates at six years old he’d have my head! Come on, let’s go!” He then turned to Shanks. “And as for you, I don’t take too kindly to pirates in my village, but I also won’t turn you away as long as you don’t cause any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it, sir," Shanks responded in his most diplomatic voice, "We’re not here to cause trouble, just to take a nice long rest. I promise, you’ll barely notice we’re here.”

The older man, who they later learned was Woop Slap, the village’s mayor, narrowed his eyes at Shanks but accepted his response. He turned and dragged Luffy from the bar.

“Bye Shanks! Bye Red Hair Pirates!” the boy cried. “See ya tomorrow!”

The crew laughed and waved as they left.

“He’s a sweet kid,” Makino said.

“No parents, I take it?” asked Beckman.

“Not to my knowledge,” she replied. “He does have a grandfather who’s a Vice Admiral with the Navy. He’s not around a lot so we all sort of take care of Luffy as a community. If he bothers you, just let me know.”

Shanks only laughed in response.

Over the next months, the crew grew quite comfortable in the small village. Riley was approaching the end of her four months of training with Beckman, Luffy became a common presence among the crew (much to the mayor’s dismay), and the Red Hair Pirates were a normal sight at the bar and around town. True to Shanks’s word, they didn’t cause any trouble, and the townspeople began growing used to their presence. They did have a way of endearing themselves to others, Riley found herself musing one day as she watched a few crew members help a family in town fix a broken window. Luffy swore he had nothing to do with it.

At Party’s Bar one evening, Riley sat at a table with Bonk, Snake, and Limejuice, but found her eyes wandering towards the bar. Shanks was flirting with Makino, who was loving his attention and returning it in kind. She knew they’d become something of an item over the last few weeks - how could she not, her bedroom was right next to Shanks’s and the man had never been known for being a quiet lover. They did appear to be keeping the relationship somewhat quiet, however, and she wasn’t sure if it was for Makino’s sake or Shanks’s. He’d never been one to hide his lovers or help them sneak quietly off the ship, so either he was trying to protect the barkeeper’s reputation or there was something different about this relationship. Riley wasn’t sure which, but she was grateful for the nights he stayed at Makino’s, for no other reason than she enjoyed her sleep, and it made keeping her own secret a little easier.

Shanks had always been a flirt and was constantly the center of female attention. She’d seen him leave bars with dozens of women in their time together, but this one seemed different somehow. Perhaps it was the increasingly long-term nature of their situation, or it could be something else.

Of course, Riley had had a number of situationships of her own over the years. The life of a pirate wasn’t built to be relationship-friendly, and so they all needed to enjoy what they could when they got it, and there was no judgment amongst the crew over whatever that was. Riley allowed her mind to wander, remembering some of those men from over the years.

First, there had been the swordsman friend of Shanks’s, Mihawk, back in the early days of the crew. She had found the golden-eyed man to be irresistibly charming, despite his otherwise cold exterior, and he’d found himself quite taken with her in turn. It became the closest thing to a loving, serious relationship Riley had ever had - Mihawk had only intended to hitch a ride with the Red Hair Pirates until they reached his destination, but what should have been a few weeks wound up being the better part of a year, with much of the man’s time being spent either clashing steel with Shanks or in Riley’s bed. Eventually, though, they’d had to part ways. Mihawk wasn’t interested in joining Shanks’s crew (though Shanks had tried to convince him more than once), and Riley wasn’t interested in leaving the crew to travel with Mihawk. The split was painful for the both of them, but it was amicable, and when their paths occasionally crossed over the years, they’d still have some fun together.

Then there was Marco, the captain of Whitebeard’s first division and the crew’s doctor. Whenever the Red Hair Pirates and the Whitebeard Pirates met, Riley never knew what she was going to get. Whitebeard and Gold Roger had been bitter rivals, but also held immense respect for each other. Shanks’s relationship with the enormous man was much the same - though they often steered clear of each other’s path, occasionally situations would bring them together. Sometimes it was tense, and Shanks received his now-signature three scars over his left eye from Marshall Teach on one particularly rough occasion. (Incidentally, Yasopp had thought his captain’s new scars were so cool that he had immediately re-designed the crew’s jolly roger.) But sometimes it wasn’t and the two crews were able to intermingle peacefully.

Riley had always enjoyed her occasional interactions with Marco - she didn’t get to meet other doctors very often, and so jumped at the opportunity to trade stories and knowledge with one whenever she could, even if they were technically an enemy. Marco was intelligent and funny, and she could talk to him for hours when given the chance. One night aboard the Moby Dick as the two crews mingled, Riley and Marco had sat together talking animatedly over their shared interest in medicine and exchanging stories of their crews. As the night grew later and their bodies inched closer together, Marco eventually captured her lips in a kiss, which Riley returned with enthusiasm.

“My room?” he’d said, to which Riley nodded, a sly grin on her face. As Marco grabbed her by the hand and led her into the ship, she could hear Whitebeard’s thunderous laugh.

Then there was Beckman. She had never intended to start anything with Beckman, it had just sort of happened. The two had always been close, and the time they spent training together every day brought them even closer. Perhaps there was something about the way he’d touch her gently, correcting her form, or how proud he looked of her when she pushed herself to her limits. When she’d successfully completed her first pull-up, he’d brought her a beer to chug in celebration, then promptly made her do nine more.

Riley knew Beckman had been thrilled with her progress so far, and could see it in the way he looked at her. But it wasn’t just pride, there was something else there, too. And one day on the beach as he held her feet down and coached her through a set of sit-ups, he couldn’t help but kiss her as she brought her body up towards her knees. Riley had been quite shocked at first, but quickly returned the kiss, looping her arms behind his neck and dragging him back down with her, his body over top of hers.

And that was how it began. With Makino keeping Shanks occupied and their location seemingly safe, he hadn’t been joining her to sleep as much. Instead, Beckman had taken his place in her room, or her in his as the case sometimes was. It was just sex, at least at this point, and the two didn’t feel the need to announce it to the crew, so they kept it quiet. But they also felt a little guilty about their secret, especially when it came to Shanks.

On the other side of the bar, as his crewmates chatted boisterously, Beckman found himself musing over much the same kind of thing Riley was. He watched her with a smile on his face as she laughed at a stupid joke Bonk had made. He really, really liked seeing her laugh. Beckman was sort of terrified of the way he was beginning to feel about her. He’d been with a lot of women, but never like this.

The issue was Shanks. Not that he thought the captain would have a problem with his second in command and doctor being in a relationship on principle, but there was an unspoken question. Or, more accurately, a question Beckman had tried to broach with Shanks before but had been shot down: he still wasn’t sure where Shanks stood on having feelings for Riley. He knew his captain well enough to know that it was probably more than platonic, but all Shanks had ever done was avoid or deny it. And now that Beckman found himself developing feelings for Riley, he wasn’t sure what to do with that. And Shanks was spending quite a lot of time with Makino, so did he even still harbor feelings for Riley at all, or had he moved on? It was getting complicated, and he desperately wanted to figure it out, if only Shanks would just be fucking honest with him.

Deciding to step outside for a cigarette, Beckman caught Riley’s eye and nodded in the direction of the door. She understood and excused herself from the table, grabbing her drink and following him onto the porch. The night was warm and still, and the lights in the houses along the street began slowly switching off as the residents of Foosha Village turned in for the night.

Riley leaned over the railing, drink in her hand, and Beckman settled in next to her, his lighter illuminating his face for just a moment.

“You think we should tell Shanks about us, don’t you?” Riley said.

Beckman nodded. “I do. I don’t like keeping secrets, even if they’re harmless. He’s our best friend, and our captain, and he should know if two of his senior officers are…doing what we’re doing. But I also think we need to figure out what us is first.”

Riley knew he was right. They knew they were friends. They knew the sex was amazing. But they also knew that there was something much, much more there. “What do you want us to be?”

Beckman exhaled smoke into the air, then turned to look at her. “Long-term, I don’t know. But I do know you’re more to me than a friend at this point. A lot more.”

Riley couldn’t stop the grin that split her face. “I feel the same, Beck.”

Beckman smiled and grabbed her hand, bringing it up to plant a gentle kiss on it. “Don’t think this means I’m gonna go easy on you in training” he said with a mischievous grin. “If anything, I’m just gonna push you harder.”

Riley laughed. “I’d expect nothing less. Let me close out our tabs and we’ll get out of here?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. And hey, do you mind if I’m the one to talk to Shanks? I got a few other things to bring up to him as well.”

“Not at all. Tomorrow?”

Beckman nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Riley disappeared into the bar and returned a few minutes later. She grabbed Beckman’s hand, and the two walked back to the ship, together.

The next morning Beckman found Shanks drinking his coffee on the upper deck and went to join him. Much of the crew wasn’t up yet, and he’d decided to give Riley the day off from training as he’d kept her up awfully late the night before. “‘Morning, cap.”

“Beck,” Shanks acknowledged with a smile.

For a moment the two stood in silence, the sun creeping over the horizon. “Shanks, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Is it about you and Riley?” Shanks replied with a knowing grin. Beckman was taken aback. Shanks laughed. “Come on, man, your rooms are right next to mine. You really think I didn’t know?”

Beckman blushed a little. “We’ve…been trying to keep quiet. I’ve got the bite marks on my shoulder as proof.”

“Nahh, it’s not about noise,” Shanks assured him. “I can hear sometimes, sure, but mostly I’ve just seen you sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms.”

“I’m sorry, Shanks. We didn’t want to keep it from you any more. We both felt bad about it honestly, and thought you needed to know, especially now that it’s becoming….something else.”

“You’re in love with her,” Shanks said softly.

Beckman sighed, a smile crossing his features. “Yeah, I am. And I think she loves me too.”

Shanks patted his friend affectionately on the back. “I’m happy for you, man. And for Riley. Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.”

“So you’re okay with it? I mean, from a captain’s perspective?”

“Of course!” Shanks said, almost offended at the implication. “Beck, I trust you both more than anyone else in the world. I know you’d never do anything to jeopardize your positions on this crew and your relationship with each other as friends and crewmates. And yeah, you technically have authority over her, which has the potential to get dicey, but I’m here to help with that if it ever becomes an issue. And look, if it works out, great. If it doesn’t, I know you’ll both handle it appropriately and things would eventually go back to normal. That’s not a concern for me at all.”

Beckman remained silent as relief washed over him. Shanks knew. He was okay with it. Hell, he was downright supportive. Now for the hard part.

“Shanks, I’m gonna ask you something and I need you to answer me honestly this time. Not just as your second in command but as your friend. Okay?” Shanks nodded. He knew what was coming. “Do you have feelings for Riley?”

Shanks let out a sigh. The time for denying and avoiding was over. “It’s complicated, Beck. The simple answer is yes. To some extent, at least. I won’t deny that the feelings I have for her are more than just friendship.”

“Then I’m gonna call it off with her,” Beckman said decisively. “I love her, but if you have feelings for her too I’m not gonna do anything that will cause problems between us.”

“Beck, no, just….just listen,” Shanks replied quickly. “The complex answer is that I would never act on those feelings. I know she doesn’t feel the same, and even if she did I’m her captain. We couldn’t be anything, and I have no intention of ever pursuing her. At least, not unless I knew she wanted me to. Which she doesn’t and probably never will.”

“And Makino?”

Shanks huffed out a laugh. “I like her. A lot, actually. I wouldn’t say it’s love for either of us, but it’s been…really, really nice. She and I both agree that this is a temporary thing, and we’re enjoying our time together while it lasts. Honestly, I think having her around has really helped with the whole ‘unrequited feelings’ thing. She knows that too.”

“And what about after? When we leave here for good? Do you think it’ll be a problem?”

“Nah. I’ve been silently pining over Riley for like a year now. It’s just a state of being at this point, and I’ll get over it in time. I want her to be happy and I want you to be happy. If you’re happy together, then I’m happy for you.” Shanks looked a little sad, but Beckman knew he was being honest.

Beckman sighed. That was about the answer he expected. He couldn’t deny he felt a little weird, being with the woman his best friend also harbored feelings for, even if Shanks claimed to be okay with it. But Beckman trusted Shanks at his word, and knew Shanks would never jeopardize their friendship.

“Got it. Thank you, Shanks.” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder, then turned and walked away.

“Hey,” Shanks said, grabbing his attention. Beckman turned. “You take care of her, okay? Make her happy.”

Beckman smiled. “I will.”

Just a few months later, Riley was about ready to finish the first phase of her training, getting stronger with her now-open boyfriend Beckman. The crew had taken the news of their relationship well, and she was thrilled to not be sneaking around anymore.

Of course, Beckman couldn’t consider her training complete without testing her. He took the role of her trainer seriously, and before he could allow her to move onto hand-to-hand combat, he had to make sure she was not only strong enough, but was able to use the skills he had taught her. Their training hadn’t just been about physical strength, though that was certainly a key component. But it also involved balance, agility, and being able to think quickly on her feet. He’d designed her training keeping in mind the numerous unlikely physical dangers he’d found himself in over his years of piracy: being chased by wild animals, dodging arrows, climbing rock cliffs, and so on. In order to make sure she was adequately prepared, he’d tried to factor in a variety of challenges without having to actually shoot at her with arrows.

The best way to do that, he figured, was to make her use her skills in facing one of her biggest fears: heights. Beckman knew Riley had always been terrified of heights, but the fact was that being comfortable in high places would one day come in handy for her, if not be outright necessary for her survival. So he came up with a plan.

On the last morning of this phase of her training, Beckman brought Riley onto the upper deck. She was surprised that not only was the whole crew there, but a number of people from town had gathered on the docks below. Luffy had a place of honor with Shanks on the captain’s chair. Whatever was going on, she was sure it was a big deal.

“You ready?” Beckman asked.

“I think so?” Riley replied, looking around. “What’s going on?”

“It’s your final test.”

Riley grinned. “You didn’t tell me there would be a test. I didn’t even study.”

Beckman leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Not that kind of test. It’s a test of your strength and skill.”

“All right then. What are we doing?”

Beckman looked up, and Riley followed his gaze. “We’re gonna climb it.”

Riley did a double take. “You mean the ship?”

“Yup,” he said with a grin. “First we’ll take the rope net up the main mast. Once we reach the middle crow’s nest you’ll have to climb the rest of the way with just your body strength and a belt for support. Then from the upper crow’s nest, you’re going to jump to the yard of the top mizzen sail. You’ll climb halfway down the ropes, jump onto the lateen, and run up the rig.”

“And then?” she asked, her voice shaky. “How do we get down?”

Beckman only grinned. “You’ll see. Ready?”

“Beck, I don’t–”

“Hey,” he cut her off, placing a comforting hand on her face. “Trust me. I’d never let anything bad happen to you, and I wouldn’t have you do this if I didn’t think you could handle it. I’ll be with you the whole time. Okay?”

Riley smiled and leaned into his touch. “Okay.”

“Then let’s get started. You wanna go first, or should I?”

“I’ll start, at least for now.” Riley brought herself to the rope netting leading up the main mast. This part she could do. She’d been on them before. Never all the way up, sure, but this part she could do.

She took a deep breath and began the climb. A series of whoops and cheers broke out from the crowd below, and echoes of “You can do it, Riley!” Riley smiled and took the first step onto the rope net. One hand up and one foot up, then the other side. She kept her eyes on the crow’s nest above her, and before she knew it, she had reached the platform. That wasn’t so bad, she thought. A few minutes later, Beckman joined her.

“Good job, darlin',” he said, bending down to give her a kiss.

“Can I get one of those after every part?” Riley said with a grin.

“If it’ll help,” Beckman replied. “But you gotta earn it. Here,” he handed her a wide leather strap, with the ends wrapped in string for a better grip. “We’ve done this on trees before. Get the strap around the mast, high as you can go. Jump and get your legs around the mast as much as possible, using your legs to put pressure on it. Get yourself steady, move the strap up, and repeat. It’s about twenty-five or thirty feet to the top.”

Twenty-five or thirty feet from where she was, meaning it was about sixty feet from the top of the mast to the deck. She’d possibly survive that fall if she needed to, if she didn’t break her spine on the crow’s nest on the way down. Bracing the strap around the mast, she began the climb. Move the strap up, pull her body up, wrap her legs, and repeat. She found that as long as she kept looking up, she was fine, though she couldn’t deny she was aware of the ever-increasing height. The wind was stronger up here than it was on the deck, and it whipped through her hair, which she really wished she had thought to pull back.

She didn’t know how long it took, but she made it. Riley took the opportunity to look out over the sea before her, as well as at the town below, seeing dozens of people on the ground as well as the pirates on deck cheering. She couldn’t deny their support felt good. Looking out to sea, she saw that it was really quite lovely from up here. She allowed herself to enjoy the view as she waited for Beckman, not wanting to think about the next obstacle.

Beckman’s head poked up through the bottom of the crow’s nest a minute later. She offered him a hand and helped him up, and he took the opportunity to pull her into a kiss. “Two down, three to go,” he said.

“Three? The jump, running up the lateen….then what?”

Beckman only smiled. “Do you want me to go first?”

Riley looked out towards the mizzen mast, then brought her gaze to the deck below. It was a long drop.

"Yeah," she said, her voice small with fear. "Please."

Beckman grabbed one of the ropes for support and stepped up onto the edge of the crow's nest. "Remember when we did this up in the mountains over that crevasse? Bring all of your weight into your feet and bend your knees, then release it into your upper body and jump, stretching your legs wide. Just focus on me, okay?" Beckman then did exactly that, leaping widely and landing in a crouching position on the sail's yard. He moved to the side towards the crow’s nest to allow her room to land. Riley had remembered that crevasse, all right. It was barely three-quarters the length of what Beckman was asking her to do now.

Riley gripped the rope and took a shaky step up, balancing herself on the edge of the crow's nest. In attempting to look at her feet's positioning, she looked down. Below her she saw Shanks with a soft smile on his face, and Luffy perched on his lap, neither of them seeming particularly concerned about her falling on them. "YOU GOT THIS, RILEY!" Luffy called up to her. I got this.

Riley bent her knees and forced all of her energy into her legs. She met Beckman's eyes on the other side. Focus on him, she thought. Springing up from the crow's nest, she leapt, legs spread wide. It couldn't have possibly taken more than a few seconds, but for Riley the time she spent in mid-air with no support to speak of and the deck so far below her felt like forever. But it was getting closer. She saw Beckman. She saw the yard. She was going to make it.

The goal was so close, and her stomach dropped as she realized her feet were dipping below the top of the sail. Reaching out an arm, she managed to grasp the yard with one hand. She felt her body collide with the furled sail as her fingers gripped the rounded wooden support with every ounce of energy she had. It was probably fortunate that she was too scared to notice the crowd's gasp.

Beckman walked towards her, balancing so easily on the narrow purchase it was almost annoying.

"Beck, help me up," she said, trying to extend her other arm towards him.

Beckman, the man who supposedly loved her, crossed his arms. "Nope. You can do it."

Riley's fingers were slowly slipping, the sweat on them causing her to lose friction.

"Beckman, I'm not fucking kidding, please, help me!"

He crouched down to be closer to her. "Riley. Remember what I said. There's nothing I'm asking you to do that I'm not confident you can handle. Trust yourself." He pushed a loose chunk of hair behind her ear, then rose and walked back towards the crow’s nest.

Trust myself. Okay. Step one, get a better grip. The furled sail pressed against her, but she could use its folds and ropes for support. She brought a leg up into the folds of the sail, then boosted her body up, allowing her to grab onto the support and loop her arms and legs around it, like a right side up sloth.

Okay. I did it. Now to stand up. Riley slowly brought herself to all fours, carefully placing her hands and knees on the narrow beam. She slowly rose to a kneeling position, then standing. The wind was strong, and she instinctively bent her knees for stability, bringing her body weight into her legs. The crowd below let out its biggest cheer yet. She looked up to see Beckman beaming at her, his hand extended. She walked towards him and he brought her in for a kiss.

"Great job, baby. I knew you could do it," he said with a smile.

"I'm probably going to be very, very angry at you later," she replied, her heart pounding in her chest.

Beckman chuckled. "I'll take that risk. Come on, we're almost done."

He guided her around the crow’s nest and together they descended the rope net about two-thirds down the mast until the lateen was a short leap away.

"I'll go first," he said, "Remember, you need to run. Knees bent, feet facing slightly outward. Back straight, don't look at your feet so much that you lean forward." With one more quick kiss, he leapt from the ropes and onto the support, then made his way leisurely up the rig. When he reached the far end, he stopped and turned towards her, waiting.

Compared to what she just did, this would be easy. Riley turned so her back was to the ropes, then made the leap onto the beam. Both feet landed and she swayed back and forth for a moment, catching her balance. The crowd on the ship and in the town was going wild at this point. Looking towards land, it seemed almost the whole town had turned out for the show. She could even see Makino and Woop Slap in the crowd, cheering her on. She allowed the cheers of encouragement to wash over her. This was it. She was going to make it.

Getting her feet and knees into position, Riley began to run up the steep angle of the rig. She reached Beckman in a matter of seconds, and he brought her close, lifting her off the beam and kissing her passionately.

"That wasn't so bad, huh?" he said.

"Compared to jumping onto the mizzen sail and almost dying? Easy."

Beckman chuckled. "We're almost done. Ready?"

She still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be ready for, but at this point it didn’t really matter, did it? "Ready."

Beckman released her from his grip, then turned away and walked to the edge of the rig. When he leapt into the water below, she had to laugh.

Riley brought herself to the edge. It had to be at least seventy-five feet to the water. If she landed wrong, it could easily kill or paralyze her. She watched as Beckman swam out of the way, and she found herself remembering when they first met, his body soaked and with a half-dead Shanks in one arm. What a long way they'd come. Six years ago, she never would have thought this would be where they were, not in her wildest dreams.

She'd come this far. She couldn't back out now. Riley shut her eyes tightly and held her nose shut with two fingers…then she leapt, pointing her toes to break the water's surface pressure. The cold water shocked her as her body submerged deeper and deeper, before releasing its hold and allowing her to swim to the top. Breaking the surface, she pushed her wet hair out of her face with both hands and looked around for Beckman. He swam up to her and brought her in for a long, wet kiss.

"I love you, Riley," he said. "I'm so proud of you."

Riley laughed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"I love you too, Beck."

Previous - Chapter 4: Rescue and Reconciliation

Next - Coming soon

#akagami no shanks x reader #akagami no shanks #red haired shanks x reader #red haired shanks #red hair pirates #red hair shanks #benn beckman #benn beckman x reader #one piece fanfiction

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years

Photo

“‘Pen’ Kills Men’s Spirit, Former Convict Declares,” Toronto Star. October 21, 1932. Page 2. ----- Believes Number of Petty Grievances Culminated in Present Outbreak ---- ‘PLACE OF TORMENT’ --- ‘Kingston Penitentiary breaks men’s bodies and kills their spirit.’

It is ex-convict H-760 speaking. He entered the grim gray house in May, 1921, and was released in February, 1932. He has an explanation to offer for the recent riots there.

‘You can’t treat men like dogs forever,’ he says.

Ex-convict H-760 has a wife and a child and a good job in Toronto now. The police have not bothered him. He has served his full time and owes nothing to the law.

‘For eleven years I was a convict. It was eleven years of hell. I am going to tell you what is wrong with Kingston. It might help some of the poor boys who are still there,’ he said to The Star.

No one cause, but a number of petty annoyances have culminated in the present outbreaks, ex-convict H-760 declared.

‘The stoppage of cigarette papers. The lack of exercise, the poor quality of the food, unsanitary conditions in the cells, bad drinking water, brutal ignorant guards - these are some of the reasons for the riots. And I am glad that those poor worms, the convicts, have at last turned,’ he went on.

An Ordinary Day ‘Cigarette papers were stopped in 1923 by orders of W. H. Hughes, federal head of prisons,’ he said. ‘Warden Ponsford at that time made a strong appeal that they be returned to the men. This was refused. The reason? Some of the men were found using their surplus papers as currency in crap games. That was the only explanation offered. Until that time we were issued a well-known brand of tobacco. Then slag, a coarse strong leaf, was issued to us. It needs a mighty strong constitution to smoke the stuff.’

At the request of The Star, ex-convict H-760 outlined one of his ordinary days in prison.

At 7 a.m., a bell rings. Convict wakes, dresses and goes to the mess hall for breakfast. Food is taken to the cell to be eaten.

7.45 a.m., convict leaves cell for work in shoe shop.

8 a.m., work starts.

Sometime during the morning the workers are allowed ten minutes’ exercise in the yard.

12 a.m. convict eats dinner alone in cell.

1 pm. back to work.

5.30 pm. work ceases.

6 p.m., supper in cell.

9 p.m., lights out.

The Food Is Good On Sundays convicts attend church service in the morning. They are locked in their cells for the rest of the day, except for two parades for food.

The food is good, says the ex-convict. But adds another ex-convict who listened to H-760′s story: ‘We never got anything that was not boiled or steamed. Baked meats or roasts and fried food cannot be prepared in the prison kitchen. As a result, the fare has a deadly sameness after the first four or five years.’

Another cause of complaint is the drinking water. Water for washing is piped in from the lake, but all drinking water comes from a well in the prison yard.

‘The well was situated near the prison wall on the other side of which was a vacant field which had been used as a dump for years,’ he said. ‘In 1931 there were several cases of sickness traced to the water and a new well was dug. It was almost a year under construction, and when it was finished, it too was found to be contaminated. The result is that the water has to be treated with chlorine, and sometimes when the prisoners get it is yellow with the chemical. Yet that is all they are given to drink.’

‘Alone in prison, the boys have little to think about or keep them busy. They are told to keep themselves neat and tidy, and they take a pride in doing so. Yet - blankets in the cells are changed only once a year. Sheets and pillowcases once in two weeks. One towel a week is their allowance. And worst of all they are shaved and bathed only once in seven days.’

Unsanitary Conditions 'How many of the men are employed in the machine shop, blacksmith shop, and at other heavy manual labor, on hot days during the summer...well, I will leave it to your imagination. To add to their discomfort they are allowed change of underwear and socks only once a week.’

‘The cells are damp in the summer, insufficiently heated in the winter, and badly ventilated at all times. The men are not allowed to talk to each other, according to rules, and there are no games, no music, no pleasures of any kind except reading.’

‘Eight years ago, Warden Ponsford tried to get a band together. Men who had musical instruments were allowed to bring them into prison. For two months they practiced. Suddenly, an order came from Ottawa that the band be discontinued. Nobody knew the reason why.’

‘At about the same time a moving picture machine was installed in the prison church, and pictures were shown once or twice. Then that too was taken out. All these things irritated the men. They have no outlet, nothing to do but work and sleep,’ said ex-convict H-760.

‘And then the guards. I understand that in other countries, prison workers have to qualify for their jobs by passing examinations. At Kingston the majority of the men who are in charge of the prisoners are uneducated, coarse and illiterate. Many of them are kindly, but few have enough character to command respect. They do not know how to treat prisoners, many of whom are far superior to their guards, both physically and mentally.

A typical prison menu for a day as outlined by ex-convict H-760 follows:

Collins Bay Feared Breakfast - Porridge, brown sugar or syrup, tea.

Dinner - Hash, pudding, rice or custard, tea or hot water.

Supper - Prunes, cake, head cheese or corned beef, tea.

Commenting on this menu, he said: ‘The food has been good since John Edwards has been steward. But such fare is monotonous, and I do not think it contains enough variation. Just look at the prisoners’ pale faces, feel their flabby skin. That tells the story.’

Ex-convict H-760 worked in the tailor shop for seven years, and the shoe shop for four years. ‘My treatment was no worse or no better than that accorded any other prisoner,’ he said. ‘I am not a sorehead. I have nothing to complain about that others have not suffered. But I think Kingston penitentiary is a place of torment. I think it wrecks what good there is left in any men who go in there. Certainly it wrecks many of them physically.

‘The strapping machine, the chaining up of prison offenders and solitary confinement are sparingly used. Prisoners do not fear them, because they know such punishments are given only for very serious offences. But penalties for minor infractions of the rules, such as losing library privileges for a month, are greatly dreaded. For talking, swearing or having cigarette papers, convicts can be given this punishment.

‘I have read in the papers that convicts regard Collins Bay as a ‘soft spot.’ This is not true. Collins Bay has a name among the men as being even more strict and uncomfortable than Kingston itself.

The Isolation Prison Another ex-convict, one who has served three terms of two years each in Kingston, read H.-760′s story and confirmed it.

‘Not enough stress has been laid on unsanitary conditions in the prison,’ he said. ‘The old Prison of Isolation, notorious among convicts as P. of I. is the worst building in the institution. Originally the cells were large, and when the prison because crowded, they were partitioned off to accommodate two men.’

‘In so doing one cell was left without toilet or wash basin. To take their place a bucket and basin were supplied. These are left in cells twenty-four hours before they are emptied. The stench is frightful.’

‘The P. of I. is some distance from the mess kitchen. Food is brought to the 180 prisoners confined there on trucks across an open yard. There is no steam table to keep it warm. Accordingly, P. of I. men hardly ever get a hot meal.’

#kingston penitentiary #toronto #prison riot #causes of prison riots #prison conditions #prison sanitation #prison guards #prison administration #dysfunctions of the penitentiary #1932 kp riot #ex-convicts #words from the inside #prisoner autobiography #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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winters-hysteria · 2 years

Text

The Devil's Daughter - ST self insert

i was bored when i started writing this and it's not finished okay

Eleven's short curly hair whipped around her face as she came to stand next to Mike, Dustin and Will.

"What are we doing out here?" she asked, brushing bits of hair away from her face.

"Waiting." was the response. Mike shifted his stance, turning slightly away from El. She knew this was partly her fault, as they had only broken up a few months ago, and their relationship had been rocky ever since. He continued talking to Dustin as Will kept his eyes on the street.

Soon enough, an old tan-and-white police car pulled up to the side of the road. Jim Hopper leaned his head out the opened window. "Hey kids! How's it going?"

Will neared the car. "It's good, you?" Hopper grinned at him, then turned and spoke into the back of his cruiser. A girl's voice, loud but still muffled, responded.

The car door cracked open and a black boot stepped out. The door then swung open, forcing Will to back away so his nose didn't get broken. The second boot appeared, attached to a pair of legs, and then a full body emerged. A short, brown-haired girl stood before them. She shut the door, said goodbye to Hopper, who drove off, and then turned back to the gang.

They looked stunned. They hadn't known what to expect, but it surely wasn't this.

"W-what's your name?" asked El, bravely stepping forward.

The girl grinned, keeping her eyes trained on the ground.

"Axel. Axel Takahashi."

She looked up.

"And they call me the devil's daughter."

CHAPTER 1

It had been two months since Axel's unexpected arrival. In that time period, they'd become pretty damn close. And then Hopper got a call from the school while Dustin, Mike and Lucas sat in his office, wanting to help find their friend.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Chief Hopper?"

"Yes, this is him, why?"

Lucas shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Your daughter, Axel-"

"She's not my daughter, but go on"

"Well she got into a fight. With..." There was a rustling of papers and a muffled sigh as the secretary spoke again. "Steve Harrington."

"She did what?"

"She fought...Steve Harrington."

"Well who won?"

"...She did..."

"She won..against Steve Harrington?"

"Yes. She did. She's in the principal's office at the moment, and Steve is in here."

"I'll be there within 10 minutes."

"Okay, sir." She hung up.

Jim let out an exasperated sigh and put his head in his hands. "That kid will be the death of me."

"What happened?" piped Dustin, only to receive a dirty look from his friends. "What, I wanna know!"

"Axel got into a fight with Steve Harrington. They're both in the office." Hopper sounded annoyed as he picked his coat up and slipped it on. "I've got to go take care of it since they seem to think that little shit is my daughter." He laughed. "Well, you can come with me if you want to, just hurry up and get in the car. I'll call your parents real quick and-" A chorus of "NO's" and DON'T DO THAT's" came flying at him.

He threw his hands up and moved away from the phone. "Alright, I won't! Just get your shit and get in the car." He huffed as they bolted out, fighting over who got shotgun. "AXEL GETS SHOTGUN, ALRIGHT?" Loud groans followed this declaration. "Why does she get shotgun?" whined Mike. "Because I said so."

Jim gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, then released his hold to turn into the parking lot. The first thing he noticed was Axel standing outside, surrounded by two adults, and then Steve on the other side, glowering over at her. She seemed very relaxed, although she'd practically just destroyed Steve by the looks of his face.

"Woah..." Lucas whispered. "He looks messed up." Mike nodded in agreement as Dustin rolled down the window for a better look. "She did a number on him, but he hit her pretty hard too!" He pointed out the window to the dark bruise on the side of Axel's face, which she held an ice pack to. Hopper got out of the car and walked over to where the adults were congregated.

"Hello. I'm here for Axel?"

The teacher behind her put his hand on her shoulder and moved her forward. "Don't touch me!" she snarled, hands forming into fists. He pulled his hand off her as quick as he could, and addressed Hopper. "Yeah. She's not allowed to come back for two days. You're lucky it's not a week."

"Who-hooo! Four day weekend!" Axel pumped her fist in the air and then ran towards the car.

"HEY! DON'T-" the man shouted after her.

"It's not worth it, believe me." Hopper told him, watching her lean back to speak to the kids in the backseat. "She does what she wants at this point."

"I've noticed. She needs to apologise to Steve." He looked pointedly over at Steve, who was talking to his mom in a rapid, hushed manner.

"Well why did the fight start? I want their sides, not yours." Hopper crossed his arms as the man looked from side to side, looking for a way out. "Now, because I have places to be."

"Well, she says that Steve was insulting Nancy Wheeler, so she had to do something about it. Steve said Nancy was being a slut, so he was telling everyone. Jonathan Byers has taken Nancy home, but he did come back in time to see Axel fighting Steve. He was actually the one who pulled her off of him."

"Jonathan Byers...isn't that the brother of the kid who disappeared? Will Byers?" Hopper asked, his brow furrowed. "More importantly, he had to physically pull her off?"

"Yeah, she was so angry that she wouldn't stop hitting him, even after he gave up trying to hit back." He shifted from leg to leg, uncomfortable. "She needs to apologise to him."

"Well if he really was calling Nancy a slut, she did defend her friend and that's pretty honourable. I don't think she needs to apologise. What I do think is that Steve needs to apologise to Nancy for calling her a slut." Hopper turned to make his way back to the car. "If you don't, I will. We don't tolerate those names here."

CHAPTER 2

Hopper pulled into his drive, still toting the four rebels in his cruiser. "Alright, out." he said, planning on asking Axel what the hell she'd been thinking when he noticed she was on her phone, calling someone. She seemed excited, bouncing on the balls of her feet and quickening her pace down the driveway. A black car pulled up and a young girl stepped out.

"ALICE!!" Axel yelled and threw her arms around the girl.

"AXEL YOU'RE NOT DEAD!" she yelled back. "I MISSED YOU!"

"I MISSED YOU TOO!"

"HOPPER! THIS IS ALICE! SHE'S MY BEST FRIEND!"

"Cool." Hopper replied. "Nice to meet you, Alice."

"Nice to meet you too!" she replied happily, obviously still very excited.

"So, Axel, let me ask now. Why did you get into a fight with Steve Harrington?" Hopper looked at her.

"YOU DID WHAT"

"ALICE HE CALLED NANCY A SLUT I HAD TO"

"OH OKAY THEN THAT'S OKAY"

"Well you've gotten your answer, Chief." Mike walked up next to him. "I think that's all we'll get out of her."

"For once, I'll take your advice and listen to a kid, Mike. She'll never admit to anything else. C'mon, let's go inside. Grab Dustin and Lucas too."

The four of them headed inside and left the two girls dancing with each other in the driveway.

CHAPTER 3

Axel woke up late the next morning. Alice was on the couch, sipping from a bright purple mug emblazoned with the number 5 on it.

"Mornin'." Axel said groggily, rubbing their sleep-hazed eyes. Sunlight flooded the room, making it hard to see. "Whatimeissit?"

"It's one o'clock."

"Inna mornin'? I'm goin' back to sleep."

Alice rolled her eyes. "In the afternoon, sheepbrain."

"Yeah, still goin' back to sleep."

"Axel! WAKE UP!" she yelled, shaking her head with contained laughter at how fast her friend jumped out of their bed.

"I'm UP I SWEAR!" they looked around, frazzled. "Didja have to yell that loud? Goddamn, girl, ya prolly woke up Hopper."

"He's been up for three hours puttering around his chief's office. Mike, Lucas and Dustin are waiting in the living room for us. Well, mostly for your sleepy ass. Hurry and take your damn shower, we need to help them find Will." Alice flicked her hand towards the bathroom, indicating Axel should get a move on. "Go on."

"Got it, ma'am."

Axle made their appearance a half hour later, shaking their short fluffy hair out and grabbing their red lensed glasses off the table. "Hey y'all."

"Do you have to wear those? You don't need glasses and they look dumb." Mike looked them up and down, glaring at their mostly bare legs save the ripped fishnets. "And you should wear some pants."

"I think they look cool! And I'm glad they wear those glasses, I gave them to them!" Dustin said, side eyeing Mike. "You're just jealous."

Lucas just sighed.

"Yeah Mike why ya lookin'?" They put a finger under his chin and forced his head up, away from their legs. "Eyes are up here, with the glasses you don' like." They sighed and looked at Alice, missing the way Mike's face went red and Dustin's eyebrows shot up looking at him. "So, any leads on Will? We got a way to get into Australia?"

The immediate hairy eyeball from Dustin right after made Axle grin. "Whaaat?"

"It's called the Upside Down, Ax. Not the Down Under." Dustin exasperatedly pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked around to the rest of the group. "No leads, but we talked to Jonathan. He mi---"

"Oh you mean the creepy photo guy who stalks Nancy? Cool!"

Alice interjected. "No, Dustin, we're not allowing him into this. Guy's a creep."

"But we need him, he's Will's brother. If anything, he'll know what's up."

"But--"

"It's settled, we need him." Nancy, Mike's older sister, came in and sat down, Jonathan at her side. "He might have done some shit, but we need him for this." Jonathan looked uncomfortable being scrutinized by the 15 year olds surrounding him, save Axle staring at a spot on the wall.

"Okay, whatever. Let's just hurry. Will might be hurt."

#stranger things self insert #7 up tag #7-up tag #stranger things

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acciotwinz · 3 years

Text

Returning the favor ~ J.P.

James is a knight in shining armor for anyone in need of help. Especially students who call in the middle of the night.

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, stalker behaviours (briefly mentioned)

Y/N is crouched over the toilet in the back of the local dive bar. She’s doing her best to keep her balance but between the high heels, the alcohol she consumed and the small surface of the toilet seat, she knows it’s only a matter of time before her foot lands in something she doesn’t want to think about. She’s staring at the screen of her phone, an unknown number glaringly white against the black drop of her dial page. The girl who had been in the bathroom when she rushed in had taken one look at her face and understood the situation and offered this number, stating that it’s a group of guys from uni that are happy to offer their protection to anyone who feels unsafe after the sun goes down.

I don’t need anyone to save me,she thinks but then, her traitorous mind supplies her with images of the man who’s probably waiting for her outside the women’s bathroom. Her thumb quickly presses the green icon.

——-

"James, mate, wake up."

With a groan, the man in questions stirs, trying to ignore his best friend. He opens one eye, attempting to focus on his surroundings but failing because of the dark and lack of glasses. "What do you want, Remus?"

The other man rolls his eyes, pulling the covers away from James’ body and ignoring the boy’s protests. "Our services are needed."

Those words make all protests and bad mood evaporate. James sits up immediately, reaching for his glasses and slipping them on. "How long ago?"

Remus smiles at the protective tone his friend’s voice takes whenever this happens. He’s proud of how much James has grown since he’s met him at the tender age of eleven. "Not long, maybe five minutes. I’d go myself but Sirius is pretty sick and you know how he gets..." they share a knowing smirk, pictures of a sick and pouty Sirius filling their minds. "I’d ask Pete but he’s out on a date so that leaves you."

James is out of bed before Remus finishes speaking, gathering the cleanest clothes he can find littered around his floor. "Where are they?"

"She’s at the Three Broomsticks. Her name is Y/N and she’s locked in one of the stalls of the women’s washroom." Remus presses on their communal phone’s screen and turns it towards James, "Y/N is the one with the y/c/h and black top. The guy might still be right outside the door of the bathroom. You can either text or call her, hers is the last number that called."

James nods, pocketing the phone and heading towards the door, "I’ll text you when I’m on my way home."

"Be careful, Prongs."

James grins and shoots a wink over his shoulder, "Always am, Moony!"

——-

It doesn’t take long for James to reach the dive bar. It’s nearly three thirty am but being a Friday night, he isn’t surprised to see the area in front of the entrance full of students loitering around sharing fags and laughs. He quickly enters the pub, a cloud of smoke following him and stops for a moment to shoot Y/N a text, letting her know that he’s just arrived and making his way to towards the restrooms.

Thank you so much for coming! The man I’m trying to avoid is tall and bulky and has gray hair and is plain creepy.The response comes in within seconds and James smiles despite the situation at hand. Even though he’s been doing this since his first year, he still can’t comprehend how some people are incapable of respecting someone else’s decision, making them feel so unsafe that they have to call in some stranger to rescue them. Now more than ever, James is glad that he has his act together and that his reputation as a mischievous yet good person precedes him.

It doesn’t take him long to spot the man Y/N was describing and it takes all his self control to not confront him. Ignoring the other man, James slips into the women’s washroom, making sure to lean against the door with all his weight. He hears shuffling from one of the stalls, and trying to be as reassuring as possible, he calls out for Y/N.

A few seconds later, a face pops out from one of the cubicles and James tries to smile reassuringly. Y/N eyes him wearily, “James?”

James nods, "Pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’m here to escort you home." He knows that at the best of times, he’s an oblivious wanker but only a blind mind wouldn’t be able to see the palpable relief on the girl’s face when she notices him there.

"Thank you so much for doing this," Y/N says as she tries to find her footing again, having spent the last twenty-three minutes squatting while in heels makes her unsteady. James offers his hand, letting her grip it tightly as she rises to her full height. "When that girl said that there was a group of guys that always come when you call, I thought she was setting me up."

James raises his eyebrows, eyes glancing down at their conjoined hands. Girls in these situations tend to stand a few feet away from him, at least in the beginning, still afraid that he was going to hand them over to whomever was harassing them. "Then why’d you call?"

Y/N looks in to his eyes, and James finds himself a bit breathless for some reason. "Because not all men are bad and I need to have a bit of faith in the world."

James grins, squeezing her hand before letting go. "I’m glad you called. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you."

Y/N tilts her head to the side, studying him for a moment before smiling back. "I believe you."

James’ grin grows brighter. He pushes himself off the door, "I don’t know if he’s still out there but my plan is to play the part of your boyfriend so that, even if he is still here, he’s less likely to try anything." Y/N makes a face, one that James has seen many times before. He shrugs, grimacing. "I know. It’s bloody ridiculous that men only back off when a girl is taken. However, tonight we are going to use this to our advantage."

Y/N nods, wringing her hands nervously in front of her, "How?"

"If you’re comfortable with it, I’m going to wrap my arm around your waist until we’re a few blocks away."

Once again, the girl nods. She wobbles a bit as she moves towards him, and James gently grips her forearms to prevent her from falling. She gives him a sheepish smile, "I’m normally really good on heels, but between the drinks, the squatting and the adrenaline finally wearing off, these things are death traps."

James shakes his head, smiling softly at her. "I get it, really. I’ve been so drunk I could barely stand, and I was just wearing flats."

Y/N laughs, letting James wrap his arm around her waist and tucking her into his side. He lets her lean heavily against his body as they start walking and he gives her hip a gentle squeeze. A reminder that he’s there for her and will keep her safe. With a sigh, she reaches one hand out to open the door and wraps the other one around his waist.

The creep is still there, leaning against the wall across from the door as the two exit and Y/N feels a cold sweat break across her skin. James holds grows tighter as he drops his head so that he can whisper in her ear. "It’s going to be fine. I’ve got you." She can feel his lips graze her ear even through her hair and the shiver that now runs down her spine is for an entirely different reason.

The man pushes himself from the wall, taking a menacing step forward but James doesn’t let it phase him. He knows what he looks like and he knows how to make himself look menacing. He stares the man down, arm still securely around Y/N but he knows that if he has to, it will take less than a second to push Y/N behind him.

"Can we help you?" James keeps his tone cheery, a fake smile on his lips but his posture and eyes let the whole room know that he is not to be messed with.

"No" is the reply and Y/N finds herself holding on tighter to James.

James’ fake smile only gets bigger, "Grand. Then if you don’t mind, my girl and I would love to be on our way."

Without waiting for a reply, he quickly escorts the girl out of the hallway, "Keep looking ahead." He instructs as they push through the crowded pub to get to the exit.

Y/N does as he says and when the cool night air hits her warm skin, she sighs in relief. She’s quick to steer them in the direction of the flat she shares with her friends and James, true to his words, drops the arm from her waist when they make it three blocks from the pub and there is no sign that they are being followed.

They walk in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and it feels as if only a few seconds have passed when they stop before the door of her building.

"Thank you, James," she turns to look at him, hands wrapping around her stomach as the feelings of the evening start hitting her full force, "I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up."

He grins at her, ruffling his hair before shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. It makes his chest appear larger and he doesn’t miss the way Y/N’s eyes rank his form. He feels blood rushing to his cheeks, "All in a night’s work. Save the number, although I really hope you never need it again."

A part of him hopes that she does need, if just to see her again.

Y/N nods, placing a hand on his shoulder as she swiftly lets her lips graze his cheek. "Thank you. Have a good night, James."

"You too, Y/N."

James watches her enter the building before he turns around and starts the trek back towards his own flat.

------

Y/N really thought that she would never need to use James' number again, even though she really wanted an excuse to see him again. There’s something about his reassuring presence and his smile that ties her stomach into knots. She’d love to see him again and get to know him.

Y/N tries not to dwell on the fact that it’s been well over a month and James has most likely forgotten all about her, him being a knight in shining armour and whatnot but a girl can dream. And she does. A lot. Every day. And night.

Y/N really does think she’ll never see him again when, at the end of a closing shift at the small coffee shop on campus, through the glass windows, she can see the same man from the pub hanging around. She almost regrets telling Gideon he could leave early but she knows how much studying he still needs to get done and as freaked as she is, her heart misses a beat at the thought of seeing James again.

Turning off the backroom lights and working on getting the last of the machines cleaned, she ignores the creep as best she can but when she realizes that he doesn’t seem to have any intention of leaving without confronting her, she pulls her phone from her apron and quickly dials James' number. It only rings a few times before his voice reaches her ears, "'Lo?"

"James? It's Y/N." She sighs in relief at the sound of his voice.

"Oh! Hi!” Y/N fools herself into thinking he’s equally excited to hear from her as she is to call him. “You ok?"

She hesitates only a second but he picks up on it, "Where are you?"

Her shoulders loosen and she feels tears fill her eyes, "I work at the small cafe on campus, right next to the library."

"Lucky for you, I just got kicked out of the library because it's closing time." James chuckles at himself, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder as he quickens his pace. "Are there any customers or coworkers with you?"

Y/N shakes her head, "No, we closed about thirty minutes ago and I let Gid go home early."

James speeds up, willing his legs to carry him faster, "It's okay. I can stay on the phone with you."

Y/N finally lets the tears fall along her cheeks, "It's the same man as last time."

James' steps falter at her admission, the revelation only making him want to get there quicker, "Do you know him?"

"I've seen him around a few times.” She admits, moving behind the counter so she has a better view of the door. “He came to the cafe before and flirted with me and other girls but I don't even know his name. I don't understand why -"

"There's nothing to understand." James cuts her off, having to stop at a red light. He taps his foot impatiently and checks both sides before dashing across the street. "You did nothing wrong and he's just a creep. I'm only a block or so away. Are you ready to leave?"

Y/N puts the phone on speaker and rests it on the clean surface. "Basically, yeah. I cleaned everything and I'm grabbing my stuff as we speak. All I need to do is turn off the lights and lock up."

James smiles when he sees the coffee shop, "Grand! I can see the sign so you can go ahead and start turning everything off. I'll be at the door when you reach it."

"Do you mind staying on the line until I'm actually with you?" James hates how afraid she sounds. He doesn’t know her and has helped so many students throughout the years, yet something about Y/N makes him feel more protective than ever before.

"Of course not." He's quick to reassure her, "I'm here and I see the wanker. Come out whenever you're ready, love."

Y/N feels her face heat up at the pet name, and enjoys it much more than she should. Turning off the lights, she rushes towards the door, unlocking it before closing it behind her. She smiles in relief when James comes to stand right next to her, eyes narrowed at the retreating form of the man. Her hands shake as she tries to get the key into the lock and she jumps when a pair of warm hands cover hers. "Let me," James whispers, taking the keys from her hand. He doesn't move away from her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he locks the door. Y/N's shaking and she lets herself be comforted by his warmth. James turns slightly, bringing her in for a hug and Y/N grabs a fistful of his jacket as she starts crying.

"I'm sorry," she says between sobs, "I'm not usually like this."

James smiles sadly, rubbing her back and squeezing her tightly, "You have nothing to apologize for."

They stand like that for a good amount of time: James with his arms around her and soothing words, Y/N with her face crushed against his shoulder as she tries to stop crying. With an arm still keeping her close to his chest, James pulls out his phone and makes a call.

Y/N can feel his chest vibrate with the words he's speaking but she isn't really aware of what's being said. She trusts James. He will make sure she makes it home safely. Both his arms are around her again and she's finally starting to relax when a car's horn makes her jump and cling to James even harder.

James doesn't laugh as she expects him to. He just holds on to her. "It's just my mate Remus. He's going to give us a lift. He's actually the one you spoke to on the phone last time."

Y/N keeps her face hidden against his shoulder as she mumbles "He is?"

James nods, trying to get her to walk towards the car, "Yeah. Gentle giant really."

Y/N finally looks up and James smiles sadly at her tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, "Don't let him know that I'm finally admitting this, but he's taller than I am."

James is rewarded with her laughter. She takes a step back, wiping her cheeks to rid any evidence of tears, "You keep saving me, I think I can keep this secret for you."

James grins, gently taking her hand in his as he leads her towards the car idling by the curb. He opens the door for her, letting her settle before sitting beside her. He nods towards his friends in the front seats.

Remus turns around to give her a gentle smile, and if he sees the signs of her breakdown, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Where to?"

Y/N rattles off her address, relaxing against the seat as the boys introduce themselves. None of them comment on what happened, doing their best to make her laugh and in no time at all, they're pulling up in front of her building. Just like the previous time, James follows her to the door, patiently waiting as her shaky hands look for her keys in her bag. As she unlocks the door, James places a hand on her arm, making her turn to face him. He just smiles, reaching for his own bag.

Fuck it, he thinks as he reaches for a notepad and pen. Scribbling something on the bottom corner of the first page he opens it to, he rips it and passes it to her. She gives him a questioning look and James blushes. "It's my personal phone number." He explains, rubbing the back of his head, "The number you call is an old one and me and the lads take turns with it."

Y/N smiles, pocketing his number, secretly thrilled. "And why are you giving me your personal number?"

James' blush seems to intensify but he keeps looking her in the eyes, a lopsided smile tugging his lips upwards, "You seem to have a knack for getting yourself in trouble and well, I figured you felt comfortable enough 'round me."

Just like last time, Y/N kisses his cheek gently, "Thank you, James."

He nods, smiling and starts backing away, eyes still on her as she goes to enter her building. She stops when he calls out her name. She turns and sees him grinning at her, hands deep in his back pockets, "If you wanted to text or call even when you're not in need of saving, I'd be more than happy to hear from you."

Y/N laughs, returning his grin, "I'll keep that in mind!"

——-

As much as they’ve been texting and speaking on the phone, Y/N and James have yet to have time for an actual date though both know that’s what they want. Even if they don’t hang out alone one-on-one, James and his friends had started coming to the cafe regularly. They’re friends now, hanging out together, studying as a group. She just wishes she could get some alone time with the guy she’s pining after. They had even taken to walking her home, as well as having her over for dinner and drinks. Y/N had never had a group of friends, always preferring to hang out with one or two friends max, but James and the lads made being around them so easy and natural.

The coffee shop is scheduled to close in an hour and most of the patrons are taking their leave as Gideon starts closing off the machinery, cleaning them in the process and Y/N starts wiping down the empty tables and taking the garbage out.

There are only four tables occupied at the moment: one with James and his friends, one with Gideon’s brother and their friends, and the other two had students finishing up a study group. As Y/N makes her rounds, warning everyone present that they’d be closing shortly, James couldn’t help but stare at her.

"Isn’t she just gorgeous?" He asks dreamily, ignoring his friends’ eye rolls.

"Just ask her out. Put us out of our misery." Begs Sirius.

This had been the only topic of conversation for the past month and all the boys are fed up with his pining.

"It’s complicated."

"It’s really not. You like her, she likes you. Go snog her so we can end this endless pining. " Remus shrugs, earning himself a glare.

"You think I don’t want to?" James runs a hand through his hair, finally glancing away from Y/N. "What if you’re wrong?"

The boys burst out laughing and when James yells that it’s not that funny, tears spring from their eyes as they hunch over the table. Y/N glances their way, a confused expression on her face and James wishes that the ground would swallow him whole. He slides lower in his seat, arms crossed over his chest and cheeks in flames. He was going to get back at them.

Y/N comes by, hugging him from behind and letting her chin rest on top of his messy hair, "What’s so funny?"

James glares at his friends, kicking Sirius in the shin when he saw him open his mouth, "Nothing, love. We were just taking the piss out of James."

Y/N’s eyes light up, "Can I join?"

James huffs, shaking his head so she’s forced to let go to not get hit, "Fuck all of you." When he notices the look on Remus’ face, he points one finger menacingly at him, "Not a fucking word, Lupin."

Y/N giggles, shaking her head, "As amusing as this could be, you lads have to leave. It’s closing time."

They gather their things between laughter and shoves and as they exit the shop, Y/N hot on their heels to lock up, James turns around to kiss her cheek, "Meet you out front in thirty?"

She blushes, nodding her head, "Yeah, thanks."

He winks at her, "My pleasure."

——-

Y/N hates parties. She almost hates them as much as she hates her best friend that had dragged her to said party. That same friend who had promised to stick by her side yet disappeared about thirty minutes after they arrived to get dicked down.

Not that Y/N’s jealous. She isn’t. She just hates parties and she hates standing alone in a corner, sipping her non-alcoholic beverage because she promised to be designated driver. She’s almost tempted to text James, but things have been a bit weird ever since the boys had mocked him at the café the other day.

With a sigh, Y/N looks for a spot where she can sit and scroll mindlessly through her phone until her friend decides she’s ready to leave. I need new friends.She locates an empty spot on the couch when someone throws an arm around her shoulder.

A familiar voice reaches her ears and she turns to stare at James, wide-eyed and confused, "What?"

James smiles at her, though his eyes look a bit panicked, "Just pretend to be my date."

Y/N laughs but shuffles closer to him, sliding an arm around his waist, "Can I ask why?"

James chuckles, smiling softly at her. "Because my friends are wankers and some bird won’t leave me the fuck alone." He kisses her temple and relishes in the fact that he can act as he always wants too around her.

Y/N melts into his side, squeezing his side. "Guess it’s finally time to return the favor huh?"

James grins down at her, and he finds himself thanking his younger self for this brilliantly stupid idea of walking drunk students home. He’s about to say as much, ready to shoot his shot when the same girl he was trying to get away from suddenly appears in his line of sight.

Y/N laughs at his pout, making him glare at her, "It isn’t funny!"

Y/N kisses his cheek, enjoying the feeling of it heating up beneath her lips, "You’ve got to admit, it kind of is."

"All of my friends are assholes." He mutters and the girl stands in front of them, glaring at Y/N. On her part, Y/N just smiles, snuggling closer to James.

"Can we help you?" It reminds him of the first time they met: James speaking those words to the man that caused their meeting.

The girl smiles fakely, “Am I to believe that you two are together?”

Y/N makes a face, “Am I to care about what you believe?”

The girl says nothing, just eyes them both and glares at Y/N. With a roll of her eyes, she turns under James’ arm and gently places a hand on the side of his neck. James gives her a confused look but before he can ask anything, she’s raising on the tips of her toes and pressing her lips gently against his.

The moment seems to last for an eternity and when she pulls back, James feels his mouth fall open as his cheeks feel as if they’re on fire. "D-did you just k-kiss me?"

Y/N’s cheeks are not fairing much better and she bites her bottom lip, hand still on the side of his neck where she can feel his pulse racing. She nods shyly, looking into his eyes as she smiles gently, "I’ve wanted to for a long time."

James finally snaps out of his stupor, grinning as he wraps both arms around her and spinning her around, sending her drink flying. They both laugh, and when he finally sets her down, he gently cups her face and kisses her again. And again. And again.

"I’m so glad you did," he says a bit breathlessly.

Y/N grins, arms wrapping around his shoulders as she starts playing with hair at the nape of his neck, "Are we finally going to have our date now?"

"Name a time and place, love." James grins and kisses her again.

James is sure that nothing will ever feel top this moment. Well, maybe their wedding day might, but that’s still awhile away.

#marauders era fanfic #young marauders #young!James potter #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter x female!reader #harry potter fanfiction #protective!james potter #protective james potter #james fleamont potter #hp marauders #marauders era fic #marauders era fanfiction #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #background wolfstar

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burgundybmw · 2 years

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Stranger Things Zodiac Signs: The Girls

Max Mayfield // Sagittarius

I think most people agree Max is some type of fire sign, my argument is that she is a Sagittarius specifically. Max loves a challenge, we see this with her high scores in Dig Dug in season 2, and also how she was hell bent on joining the party. If Mike wasn't so against it, I don't think she would have made the effort. Sagittarius also likes jumping into new adventures, this is obvious throughout the entire series with her. Max is known for her rollercoaster relationship with Lucas, she breaks up with him and gets back together often. Sagittarius is notorious for keeping one eye on the exit within their romantic relationships. They don't like to be tied down, and hate to talk about their feelings. We see this in season 4 when it takes her NEARLY DYING for her to finally open up to vulnerability, and she still does it in the form of letters instead of face to face conversation.

However, it's different with platonic relationships. Sagittarius are amazing friends, they are low maintenance and are always up for a good time. We see this with Max and Eleven's friendship. She immediately calls Eleven up, says boys are stupid and they lie, and takes her shopping and out for ice cream. Shows her what it's really like to be a teenage girl. I honestly loved her and Eleven's friendship, and they definitely need to bring that shit back in season 5. Sagittarius are also known for being clever and having a great sense of humor, we see this in Max's character in season 4. Her sarcastic comments to Dustin in the beginning were hysterical, and she was the one who figured out the connection between the number of gates with the clock chime. Max has insane Sagittarius energy, and that's why we love her.

Jane "Eleven" Hopper // Pisces

This girl is a Pisces, full stop. Eleven is very emotional and impressionable, we see this with how she interacts with the men in her life. Poor thing was manipulated by Dr. Brenner most of her life, and it took her a long time for her to unlearn that. With her relationship with Mike, she just took whatever he said at face value (until she started hanging with Max.) She got upset with him when he wouldn't say the L word to her, and wasn't afraid to show those emotions. When she was with Hopper, she was quick to huge emotional responses when he was trying to enact discipline, whether or not he was right is a different debate.

Pisces is also known to be very mystical, to have "half body half spirit." Eleven can LITERALLY see into another world, her physical body still on Earth while her consciousness peaks into the Upside Down and beyond. They also have a habit of adopting other people's problems, we see that throughout the show. Something that comes to mind is with Billy, she wanted to dive deep into his psyche and try to understand him more. Pisces tend to feel insecure about their place, and want to feel needed and important. We see this when she loses her powers, and decides to join Dr. Owens for the Nina Project to get her powers back, despite knowing it will be traumatic for her. Eleven is loyal and unselfish, ready to sacrifice herself when needed. Something every Pisces needs to look out for.

Erica Sinclair // Capricorn

Miss. amERICA herself, is definitely a Capricorn. She is very intelligent and outspoken, and is incredibly ambitious. Capricorns are known for their goals of seeking fortune and power, and Erica gave this whole speech about how much she loves capitalism. She was the first to call out the DnD group for wanting to retreat, and she wanted to finish it to the death having faith she would succeed, and she did! She is determined, and quick to follow any opportunity that could help with her goals. Erica is constantly moving forward, and doesn't let anyone or anything hold her back.

Capricorns are not comfortable with ambiguity, they like to view their world in terms of black and white, not a million shades of gray. We see this in season 3 and 4 with her trying to understand the Upside Down. When Dustin goes on with his theories, she's the first to call him out and explain it in more definitive terms. She is factual, logical, and direct. Erica lives her life with a her way or the highway mentality, and that frequently leads to arguments. Capricorns have a tendency to come off as cold and shallow, but if someone manages to find their way into their inner circle, Capricorns will deeply cherish them and will remain loyal to them. We see this with her relationship to Lucas, she may seem like she doesn't care about her brother, but she loves him very deeply. She follows him and his friends on all the craziness, and doesn't hesitate when the going gets tough.

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chubbology · 3 years

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The Munchies

prompt: a stoner feedee's girlfriend uses him to test out new edibles and deals with his munchies

Remmy returned home from visiting relatives on the last day of December, and he was very glad to be back. They’d fed him well and his pants were tight, but all the small talk and bad vibes had been as much of a drag as usual.

He opened the door to his apartment and breathed in a familiar, potent scent.

“Baby!” Brianna ran from the kitchen and tackled him.

“Happy almost New Year! Wanna hear my resolution? Baking and getting baked. Check it out.”

She brought him over to the counter, where she was almost done filling up three containers of what Remmy had no doubt were various edibles. He ignored the kitchen mess.

“I’m liking what I see,” Remmy laughed.

She preened and then pinched his love handle. “I bet you do."

"These aren’t your typical brownies, though," she said. "This is gourmet.” She kissed her fingertips in a muah.

The first container was full of moist shortbread, the second with a kind of apple crumble dish that looked divine. Last but not least, the third had a jumble of what like peanut butter cups.

“Try something!” Brianna gushed. She seemed to be a little floaty already. “You’re gonna be my new taste tester. I think I could really be good at this. Make some cash, too.”

So Remmy tried one of the peanut butter cups. His eyes widened, and he smiled. “Bri, these are incredible.” He ate another.

“Take it easy. Two should get you stoned. So says the recipe anyway.” Brianna rubbed his pudgy forearm as he eyed the rest in the container, biting the inside of his lip. “Hey. If you’re just hungry, I can fix that. You wanna eat?”

“I’m starving,” Remmy said. A lie, since he’d had a big lunch before driving back. But he could eat.

“Okay, I’ll get you something! Pay day was Monday. Let’s splurge. What do you want?”

McDonalds, Remmy’s mind supplied easily, in an almost salacious tone. His relatives thought they were too good for McDonalds, and now his body thrummed with the desire to just get a truckload of those greasy combos and revel in the guilt and satisfaction of eating every last unhealthy bite.

Then again. Brianna probably wasn’t okay to drive right now, he didn’t feel like getting back in the car, and the scale told him he’d hit 240 recently, “Let’s just order in.”

“Sounds good to me.”

That night, as they ignored the idiots on television bringing in the New Year, the two of them picked at the apple crumble - which tasted as brilliant as Remmy had suspected - and lounged around, enjoying their high. Brianna barely touched her Chinese takeout, and Remmy ate all of his. Then hers. Then he started grazing the kitchen for more food.

Over the course of the next week, the two of them finished off the rest of what she made, plus some more recipes that turned out delicious. Brianna got a pleasant high every time, and Remmy enjoyed the edibles, too, although his experience was slightly different. It was just—

He just—

He got hungry. Munchies but on unholy overdrive. Cranked to eleven and a half. With every high, Remmy became a little more overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food he felt compelled to pack away, savory and sweet. Takeout and fast food and quarts of ice cream. Nuts and fruits, too. Jar of peanut butter here. Tub of icing there. He’d never been very active, so it came as no surprise when his clothes began stretching over his chest and belly and thighs and ass. He popped a button getting dressed one morning and couldn’t stop thinking about it the rest of the day. He hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly, his body converting all the calories into flab. Flab that padded him out chubbier than he already was, and then more on top of that. In the mirror, he started to look big.

Brianna seemed unfazed by her boyfriend’s growing girth. She took to her baking resolution with as much gusto as she did anything that interested her, and even into March, April, and May, she was selling the edibles well and raked in money that almost made her day job obsolete. Remmy was constantly praised for being “the bestest taste tester ever” and enjoyed a steady stream of free highs to balance out the lows of spending most of his time working his IT job from home.

Working, gaming, watching old movies. Remmy already stayed sitting most of the day, but as he gained weight, gained a lot, filling out his desk chair to its limits, crumbs becoming his constant companion, he felt even less like standing up. His weight climbed to 280, 290, 300.

June, July, and August passed uneventfully, and pretty happily, too. Brianna stopped asking him what food he wanted from the grocery store and just bought him things. Bought him things she knew he’d eat when he got high, things that made his ass spread wider on the couch, his arms round out like sausages, his pudgy chest start to really droop. The scale said 320, 330, 340.

Remmy gave up trying to gain control of the new appetite Brianna’s heavenly edibles seemed to install in him irrevocably. When he craved, he ate, and he ate. And like a dam breaking, his body surged with so much excess fat he began spilling out of even his newest clothes.

He was a little ashamed, sure. But quite a few of his relatives were fat, so they couldn't talk, and it felt like sweet revenge to embarrass his irritating parents by becoming so overweight. As for everyday life, well, he just moved around from room to room slower, wore the same stretchy clothes a lot, and that was it. Remmy did mention his weight in passing sometimes to gauge Brianna’s feelings about it, but Brianna only ever giggled, called him cute, and passed him her venti sugary monstrosity of a coffee concoction, which he thoughtlessly sucked down to the dregs, ingesting a thousand-plus calories just like that. This made her eyes sparkle, huge and utterly endeared.

“Like a piggy,” she said, thumbing his fat cheek. “Always willing to eat.”

In bed, she made it clear she liked him the way he was, and was becoming. And it wasn’t long before Remmy realized he was into how big he was becoming, too.

They continued like this. Getting high together and watching movies and making out and snacking. Well, Brianna snacked. Remmy feasted. Gorged himself, to put it precisely, with Brianna’s enthusiastic help. “You look good soft,” she’d tell him, playing with belly fat that his stretchiest t-shirts couldn’t cover anymore.

Remmy would swallow another bite of a snickers and spread his huge thighs a little, with effort. “You call it soft, but I’m the one who gets tired moving from the office to the kitchen.” I’m so heavy, he wanted to say. God, I’m so heavy.

“Just move your computer to the kitchen then,” she said. “Duh.”

It was a seed planted that came to fruition a month later - when Remmy’s food cravings became unmanageable and his weight climbed past 360 - that he felt he would simply be more productive during his day job if his breaks to get food from the kitchen were shorter.

By November, whether he was high or not, Remmy was grazing all day, everyday. What Brianna got from the store became insufficient, and he started a habit of ordering take out most days. In big portions. His scale creaked at 375. When Brianna wasn’t home, he sometimes ate takeout on the scale to see if the number would rise.

On Remmy’s birthday in early December, Brianna made a fresh batch of his favorites again: the peanut butter cup edibles. After ordering pizza for delivery, she got in the shower, and Remmy scarfed down three of the big cups as soon as they cooled. Then he waited, leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone, belly hanging, feet hurting. He didn’t want to go to the effort of sitting on the couch and getting back up again when he could just stay in the kitchen, where he knew he’d end up anyway.

He scratched his supple underbelly. Found a pack of Twizzlers and started eating those.

Soon enough, his breathing slowed as he felt the high slowly come over him. And, as expected, his whole body immediately began to tingle for satiation. Fattening food sung to him from the pantry and fridge and freezer all at once, and it was all going to make him so huge and heavy he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own wide feet, but he wanted it anyway.

He didn’t care if he was pushing 390 now. He’d blown up, yeah. Inflated from a thick guy to obese and waddling. At this point, he was so pumped so big with blubber that he couldn’t twitch without jiggling, but so what? He was hungry. Being high made him want to consume, and so he did. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

Remmy opened the fridge and took out his birthday cake, which Brianna must have stuck in there after getting home from work. He couldn’t wait to eat it properly. There was no way he could wait until after the pizza came. Besides, it was his birthday. Remmy took off the plastic lid of the round, triple chocolate cake and felt his nerves light up with anticipation. He was going to eat it all, and there was no stopping him.

He found a knife and cut himself a slice three times the size any reasonable person would take. Desperate to get the goodness into his mouth without delay, he skipped a fork and bit right into the gooey, dense cake and mouse and fudge. God, Brianna was so perfect for getting him the unhealthiest cake imaginable. She knew he didn’t care if he was ten pounds heavier tomorrow, if his fat ass ripped his sweatpants open, if he ate so much he couldn’t haul himself to bed—she knew he needed this.

He ate slice after slice, and it was mostly gone when Brianna got out of the shower, looking sexier than usual in her matching purple lingerie. She’d gotten chubbier with so much junk food in the apartment, and fat clung to her in all the right places. But her pudge was a far cry from his angry-red stretch marks and neck rolls. Hell, his moobs had grown bigger than her tits.

She found him in the kitchen, eating and holding his drooping belly, and she rubbed his back, cooing at him when he apologized.

“It’s okay. I figured you wouldn’t be able to wait all night. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Remmy said, but all he could think about was getting his next bite. As she watched him, he tried to hold out. Tried to prove he could stop eating for two seconds. Three seconds, four - his resolve broke and he crammed the rest of a slice into his mouth and chewed, choking back a moan.

“You get the munchies so bad, don’t you?” Brianna grinned and leaned against his belly, patting and cupping his weighty breasts in the way she knew pleased him. “Let’s get you sat down. I’ll bring you what you need. Just sit and relax and watch whatever you want.” They moved to the couch and Remmy sat, the cushions wheezing, his thighs and belly quivering. Brianna tucked the remainder of the cake into his pudgy hands. “Don’t worry about a mess. It’s your birthday. And there’s more where that came from.” She winked. “I just needed to keep this cake refrigerated because it’s fancy. There’s a whole sheet cake on top of the fridge that’s cheap and huge. Covered in icing. Perfect for munchies.”

Remmy could only feel a wave of relief at this news. There would be more cake. And after that, there’d still be more junk in the cabinets. There was pizza coming. His high was just right. Brianna turned on the television to his favorite show and he settled further back into the cushions, feeling his second chin swell out and engulf his first. Everything was just right. He was lucky to have Brianna and food. So much food.

A year later, around the same time, Remmy skipped his usual trip to see his relatives for the holidays. At 520 pounds, it was simply too much effort to move.

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

#weight gain #fic #female feeder #male gainer #named

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gureishi · 4 years

Note

Wow...the prompts? They're all good. Can you write something angst for Jumin and a female MC, with number 11? I don't mind NSFW. Congrats on 100. You deserve them all and more! 💜😌

TruUUEE. You are too good to me as always. Thank you for saying so ♡

And thank you for this wonderful prompt, and giving me an excuse to write about vulnerable Jumin—my favorite Jumin!

This “ficlet” sprawled into an absolute monstrosity because I got carried away with tearful Jumin and then it got sexy and...oh dear.

eleven: i could only be myself with you around

JuminXReader, E (oral sex, fingering), words: 3887

Warning: NSFW (eventually, I swear)~ Don’t proceed if you don’t wanna read smut <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

When he comes home, his eyes are dark.

You look up from your book; you’re incredibly comfortable on the couch, a blanket tucked around your legs, a cup of tea beside you. There’s a fire in the fireplace and the room is finally just the temperature you like it. You were feeling sleepy.

You’re not feeling so sleepy anymore.

He shuts the door, too hard, and his posture is stiff as crosses the living room with a few purposeful strides.

“Hi, honey,” you say, and your voice comes out reedy and thin, because you know something is wrong.

He looms over you, and you don’t feel scared—never scared, not of him—but you can’t help but look down, fidgeting with the fringe on the blanket. He kisses your forehead and it feels cursory; you feel a little pang of annoyance. He still hasn’t said anything to you.

Briefly, his hand lingers on the top of your head, and momentarily, you’re comforted—this is a habit. But then he moves away, walking with that same fast, stilted pace. He’s still wearing his shoes.

“Jumin,” you say to his back. He hesitates, and you suppose you’ve taken him by surprise—he’s honey or darling more than he’s Jumin, and you know your voice sounds strange. But he is strange tonight; you’ve waited up for him, and on an ordinary day his eyes would light up, his face splitting into the warm, soft smile he reserves just for you. You feel its absence like a tug behind your ribcage.

“I need a moment,” he says at last, and his voice is oddly high-pitched, like he hasn’t caught his breath.

You kick the blanket off your knees, upsetting your book as you stand.

“What’s…”

He disappears into the bedroom, shuts the door.

“…wrong,” you finish, lamely.

What?

Suddenly, the room doesn’t feel so cozy; the off-white (“winter wood,” Jumin says it’s called) walls feel bare and too far apart and the ceiling feels too high and the perfectly-arranged furniture seems cold and uninviting. You trace his footsteps, silent in your stockinged feet.

You’ve only lived in this new house together a few months, and the excitement hasn’t quite worn off. Most days when you’re home before he is, he arrives in a hurry and sweeps you into his arms, dipping you low and kissing you earnestly. There have been days he’s come home tired, of course, or worried—and on those days, you’ve put on a record and shared a bottle of wine, hands intertwined under one of your many soft white throw blankets.

Today, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Honey…?” You linger at the door, press your ear against it. Nothing. “You’re worrying me,” you say. You hear shuffling, the familiar sound of him removing his jacket, laying it on the pile for the dry cleaner. “I’m coming in,” you tell him, louder—because it is your bedroom, too, and your heart is in your throat.

Silence. You push open the door.

He hasn’t turned on any lights, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. Your husband is sitting on the edge of the bed, his jacket off, his head bent, his face in his hands. He’s still wearing his stupid shoes.

You want to bend over him and kiss the very top of his head, tickle his sensitive sides till he smiles. But everything about him says stay away: the angle of his head and the rigidness of his shoulders. The way his sleeves are still buttoned as if he isn’t in his own home.

You take a hesitant step toward him and at least he doesn’t stop you.

“Darling, will you please talk to me?” you say. He looks so small to you then: vulnerable and afraid.

For a moment, he’s quiet, and you think that he may continue to ignore you. Then you notice that his broad, muscular shoulders are shaking. It’s barely perceptible, but you see it.

“I cannot be with you right now,” he says at last, his voice muffled by his hands. “If I am with you I will cry.”

That does it. Throwing caution to the wind, you leap onto the bed, jarring him a little. He peers up at you out of the corner of his eye and you’re shocked to see that it is, in fact, slightly red-rimmed.

“Then you should cry,” you say. “It’s what I’m here for.”

He hesitates, and you watch him do battle with himself for a moment, torn between instinct and impulse, old habits and new routines. You wait, letting him decide.

At last, the side of him that has been gradually unfurling since the day you met him wins. He raises his head from his hands and reaches for you, holding his arms out like the lonely child you know he once was.

And you are relived, because this is the man you married.

With perhaps slightly too much enthusiasm, you crawl into his lap, draping your legs to one side and wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s taken time for him to adjust to this kind of full-body contact—it’s as alien to him as it natural to you. Still, he rests his head against the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his lips brush your skin, making you squirm. “I would never want to make you worry.”

You play with the back of his collar with your fingertips. “Sometimes I will worry, because I love you,” you say. “Just please don’t hide from me.”

He tilts his head so he can—finally—look at you properly. His steely gray eyes are glazed over and you know this look, though you haven’t seen it in a long time.

“Tell me what you’ve been holding back all day,” you say, as he reaches up with a long finger to brush the hair off your forehead—another familiar gesture, which soothes you.

He adjusts a little so he’s cradling you, one arm over your shoulders, the other under your legs. He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. He’s stalling for time, but you don’t mind—his chest is warm and solid through his perfectly-pressed shirt and you take the opportunity to bathe yourself in his warm woody scent. He’s working so much lately, more than usual, and sometimes when you’re home alone in the evening you spritz his cologne in the air so you feel less lonely. You don’t tell him this.

“May I ask you a question, my love?” he says. He still has that closed-off look in his eyes but he sounds more like himself, deep and warm and wonderful.

“Of course.”

“When you met me, was I…” He clears his throat, awkwardly fiddles with his cufflinks. You gently separate his hands, remove the cufflinks. Unbutton the sleeves. “Was I…not a good person?”

You drop the cufflink. It falls to the floor with a jarring clink. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but that wasn’t it. You bend over, reaching for the little piece of metal; he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Please tell me what you think.”

No, you almost respond automatically. No, I thought you were wonderful. But the look in his eyes begs a more thoughtful answer than that. With practiced fingers, you roll up one of his shirt sleeves. You run one finger up his forearm, from his wrist to his elbow, tracing the tense muscles there.

“When I met you, I thought you were frighteningly smart and stunningly beautiful,” you say. You roll up his other sleeve, carefully folding the silky smooth fabric. “I’d never met anyone like you before. I was impressed by you, and I also thought you looked like you needed a gentle slap on the face and then a really good, tight hug. Does that…make sense?”

You tug his perfectly-tucked shirt out of his pants. You can’t stand him looking too put-together at home. He can do that everywhere else; home is for comfort.

“It…does,” he says slowly. “But I think perhaps you were the only one with that opinion of me.”

You look into his face and are startled to see tears at the corners of his eyes. You’re not sure you’ve seen him cry since your wedding day.

“Will you tell me what happened today?” you ask, wiping away the tears with your fingertips. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath—he is breathing in your scent just as you did his, you think.

“In truth, it was nothing of note.” He goes for his sleeves again, realizes you’ve rolled them up. Instead, he settles his hands at your waist, threading his fingers through your belt loops. “I had lunch with a…former colleague. He is the president of a Chinese company, and I haven’t spoken to him in several years.”

Ah. “And you felt like the version of you he was expecting to see and the person you are now aren’t the same?”

Jumin actually laughs at that, his eyes growing wide. There’s a little of his usual ardor behind them now.

“You, my dear, know me far better than I know myself.”

“I know I do.”

You kiss his eyebrow and he covers both your hips with his big hands. You trail kisses down the side of his face, kiss away the last of the tears that have formed at the inner corners of his eyes.

“I felt as though he was speaking to a man who no longer exists,” Jumin says, closing his eyes; you kiss his eyelashes. “I felt the urge to tell him so. I felt angry. And then I felt…” He trails off.

“Grief?” you offer. You continue your trajectory, feathering kisses down the bridge of his nose. You kiss his cupid’s bow and he groans, low in his throat, barely audible.

“How strange,” he says. “Why should I feel grief for myself?”

“It’s normal to grieve the ways in which parts of you disappear over time,” you say. You lift a hand to his neck, undo his tie. It slips easily through your fingers; you’ve done this so many times before.

He exhales heavily, and it’s sad and relieved and needy all at once.

“And then I felt afraid,” he says. “Because I knew I would come home to you and feel the things I had been trying not to feel all day. Because that, my darling, is what you do to me.”

“Sounds like your feelings scared us both a little bit today,” you say. His tie is off; you toss it aside. It joins the stray cufflink on the floor.

“Feelings can be very frightening,” he says. He’s been still this whole time; suddenly, he springs to action as if he’s been waiting for his moment to pounce. His hands skim over your sides, grasp your shoulders, turning you firmly so you’re twisted in his lap—nose-to-nose with him.

“I would like to take a warm shower,” he says. His gaze is unwavering and you melt a little. “I would like you to join me,” he adds.

He doesn’t phrase it like a question, but you know it is. It always is, with him—his eyes ask for your acquiesce and his hands on your shoulders are tentative, waiting for your answer.

“Take me there,” you say. He lifts you easily, carries you in his arms as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. His knitted eyebrows say otherwise—he’s holding himself back, his hand clenching at your shirt as if it’s taking all his patience not to tear it off.

He sets you down gently on your feet on the cool, clear tiles of the master bathroom. He’s gone in an instant: dimming the light, turning on the shower. It’s such a huge shower—you were shocked the first time you saw the designs. It has three faucets and a marble bench for sitting, or shaving your legs, or…other activities.

“Do you want to undress me or do you want to watch?” you ask him, playfully striking a pose—knowing he loves the choice, loves to feel he has you in the palm of his hand.

He looks you up and down, pupils huge, hair delightfully disheveled—for Jumin, anyway—one stray lock hanging over his eyes.

“I want to watch,” he says, and there’s none of the coldness in his voice now, only chocolatey depth and unbidden desire.

So you undress for him, to the rainforest rushing sound of the shower’s many faucets, turning as you lift your shirt over your head, wriggling out of your pants slowly, revealing just a strip of skin at a time. You give him a cheeky glance of the lacy strap of your underwear, of your hips, of your ass, which (you know because you check in the massive mirror hanging over the door) is framed adorably by your gauzy thong.

“I am running out of patience,” he says—growls—and you feel a hot, wonderful flush creeping up the back of your neck.

“Then come get me,” you say.

So he does, crossing the large bathroom and unhooking your bra in one smooth motion. He tears it from you and throws it to the ground. He spins you to face him and his dark eyes are simmering, his grip on your shoulders tight—but still restrained, not painful. Never painful.

“Do you want to know what image I couldn’t get out of my mind on the drive to work this morning?” he whispers, and you shiver.

“I do.”

He slides your thong down your legs, planting searing kisses over your hips, your thighs, your calves, your ankles. He’s kneeling at your feet now and the sight of him there, his beautiful head bent, almost drives you mad.

“I’ll show you,” he says. Then he’s on his feet again and he’s unbuttoning his shirt—with much more patience than he claims to have—slowly, scrupulously, as if to torture you both.

“Now I’m impatient,” you say, and you go for his belt. He laughs as you struggle to unhook it and the laugh turns to a low moan as your hands graze his erection, straining against his fitted vicuña pants. You deal with the buckle and make quick work of the pants, draping them over the sink—you don’t care what Jumin says, these pants are much too expensive to throw in a heap on the bathroom floor.

Now you’re the one kneeling before him, and he does a double-take as he sees the position you’re in. Even now, after all this time, after getting married, after moving into your custom-built home, he blushes. It’s this—his unexpected innocence, his charming traditionalism—that never fails to bewitch you.

“I will if you want me to,” you say, slipping his Swiss cotton underwear over his hipbones with adoring hands. He stands absolutely still, but you feel his hips trembling.

“I want you to,” he whispers. So you take him in your mouth—just the tip at first, moving your tongue in a circle, running a hand down his length. He moans again, low, breathy. You feel his muscles stretch as he reaches up, grabs onto the top of the glass shower door.

You slide his cock further into your mouth, one hand still at the base, and he mutters something you don’t understand. You breathe in and out slowly, creating suction as you pull away and then take him deeper. It stirs something in you—the cold tiles on your bare knees, the power you feel in having him at your mercy. He exhales, low and slow, and you feel stimulated and little and somehow totally in control.

With one hand, you cup his balls, gently massaging. Your eyelids flutter shut and you feel your hips and pelvis moving along with your lips as you slide him in and out—your own body already feeling hot and tingly, craving friction.

He mutters again and you can’t quite hear him. You run your tongue along his length, and his body shudders. He tries again. “I-if you continue like this, I won’t be able to…”

You let him slip from your lips.

“Do you want to come right now?” you ask and he groans.

“Yes, but I—” You slide your tongue all the way around his tip and he stumbles over his words. “Of course, but you…I want—”

You take him all the way into your mouth again and he stops speaking, letting out a low growl, tensing as he grips the door. He’s close, and you want to make him come, want to do it like this, him a twitching, shaking mess looming above you—you at his feet with the power to break him.

You round your lips, suction harder, pull him deeper, and his hips give a telltale jerk. Ah-ha. Your own body feels floaty and loose—you can barely feel the floor under your knees now. He tries to warn you in a throaty voice and you ignore him, raking your fingernails over his ass. He comes, rocking into your mouth, and you open your eyes to take him in—he looks ravished, all restraint dissolved, all presence of patience demolished as he shuts his eyes and unabashedly shakes against you. You swallow everything, so hopelessly turned on by his unbridled pleasure.

He pulls himself out of your mouth with a groan and reaches for you, tousling your hair with a shaky hand.

“You look so beautiful right now,” you tell him, and he does—perfect hair unkempt, muscular shoulders glimmering with sweat.

“I still haven’t shown you my fantasy,” he pants, and then his arm is around your waist and he’s scooped you up again. You squeal as he slings you over his shoulder, and you feel warm water hit your back as he lifts you into the shower. He sets you down tenderly on the marble bench, and it’s slick and just the perfect temperature, already warmed by the water and steam.

“Open your legs,” he murmurs, and you do, feeling a clenching inside, your swollen clit demanding attention.

Jumin turns away from you and you whine in dissatisfaction. He laughs, low and wonderful; the water runs in rivulets over his toned back. He’s back in an instant, the detachable shower head in his hand, and you cannot help the little whimper that tears from your throat.

“I wonder what will happen if I use this to stimulate you…” he says, his deep voice trailing off seductively. Your thighs twitch in anticipation.

“I–I would also—” He runs a finger over your already-sensitive clit and you hiss. “—l-like to know that,” you manage to choke out.

He twists the knob on the shower head so the water flows gently, tapering toward the middle. He runs it over you from a distance and it’s warm and lovely; he moves it closer and closer until you yelp, feeling the water pressure at your core. It shakes you.

“Good?” he murmurs and you nod, shutting your eyes against the glaze of heat you feel building from within. “More?” You nod again and the water changes; it’s more tapered, stronger. You squirm, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth bench beneath you. He sees what you need and suddenly his warm, slick fingers meet yours, entwining with them. He moves the faucet in a dainty circle and you feel like your eyes are going to roll back in your head. “More?”

You gasp a “yes” and the pressure ramps up again and you writhe, feeling like you will explode. You feel another, new sensation and your eyes shoot open—it’s his finger, slipping over your clit and then inside you. You cry out.

“Too much?”

“N-no, I…no…please…” You’re babbling, but he knows what to do. He moves the faucet closer, the pressure on your clit intensifying and the heat you feel nearly blinding you. Then his finger moves inside you and your back arches and you’re slipping, slipping, and you feel him move closer and you throw out your other arm and brace yourself on his chest.

“How does that feel?” he whispers, and you know he’s doing this on purpose, know he’s trying to make you talk to hear the sweet sounds you’ll make, know he’s aware how the multitasking makes your head spin.

“I—I…it…ummm…Jumin!” you manage, gasping as he curls his finger inside of you, flicking the thin, hard stream from the faucet over you again and again and…

“Tell me how it makes you feel,” he commands, and you stammer, gasping for air, and he curls his finger again, hitting your g-spot as the stream of water stills, focused directly on your tender, throbbing clit.

“Ah—!” is all you manage before you fall apart, your back hitting the shower wall as you come hard and fast, the ice cold heat at your core tearing you to pieces. Through the haze, you think you cry out again, and his finger moves incessantly within you and the water makes you see bright shards of white through your closed eyelids.

You gasp, coming down slowly, trembling all over. You squint your eyes open and his face is so close to yours, his eyes full of awe and lust and adoration. He slips his finger out and diverts the faucet away from you. You catch your breath, head swimming.

“So,” you say finally, when you have enough breath to speak. “You fantasied about making me come with the shower faucet?”

“Yes, of course,” he responds, tilting his head quizzically, the water from the main faucet cascading over his shoulders as he stands up straight. “Is that so strange?”

You laugh. “It’s not,” you say. He offers you a hand and you stand too, slipping and sliding until you find purchase on the grippy strips lining the bottom of the tub.

“Now,” he says in a businesslike tone. “Would you like to wash off, get dry, and then have sex in the bed?”

Your face breaks into a grin because that’s so very Jumin and god, you love him for it.

“Yes,” you say, and you reach for the soap, pouring a fragrant stream of it onto your hand. “But can I ask you a question first?”

“Anything, my love.” He adjusts the second faucet so it’s more accessible for you.

“Earlier, when you said you couldn’t be around me…”

“Ah,” he says—and his serious expression is somewhat offset by the way the water glues his hair to the sides of his head, somehow silly and sexy at the same time. “I meant that I’m able to keep up a façade as long as I’m not around you. As soon as you’re by my side, I feel.”

You press up against his back, letting the soap spill through your fingers. You kiss the smooth, warm skin there and he sighs contentedly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and you almost can’t hear him over the rushing water. “Thank you for allowing me to feel.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Tiny baby first attempt at a taglist~ Please let me know if you’d like to be added! DM me and I’ll add you so you’ll be tagged in any mysme writings. ♡

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06

#mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #mysme #request #gureishi writes requests #truth-bee-told-im-lying #jumin han #jumin x reader #spicy spaceship

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neovisioned · 4 years

Text

♡ꜜ eddie ate dynamite﹫johnny suh

fangs - matt champion PLAYLIST

pairing : johnny x reader (f), feat. ten as johnny’s best friend and roommate and jaehyun as your college friend.

genre : fluff, another case of smut with too much plot, pianist!johnny, guitarist!reader, college!au, neighbour!au, strangers to friends to lovers, warnings : ten being a cockblock, it’s overall really cute. heavy making out, grinding, marking, slight choking, slight thigh riding, mutual masturbation, slight panty kink and menhandling, oral, penetration. word count : +22k synopsis : where you never really tried to make friends with your neighbours. after all, most of them – if not all – are families that would not have much time to talk to a college student. you don’t mind, you’d rather spend some time with your guitar. but your new young neighbour doesn’t seem as anti-social as you are, it’s eleven past meridiem when someone airdrops a tab sheet on your computer, you play it. a/n : i got this idea while i was showering just after i ordered my electric guitar, i also felt like shit so figured writing about my ult would cheer me up.

Calm and clean streets, pretty cherry trees dotted in red, small park filled with multicolor flowers, you remember the day you moved in your neighborhood like it was yesterday. You don’t say it much, but you love everything about your district. Yes, it might be mostly – if not totally – filled with small families and couples in their thirties, and they usually don’t have much to tell you, you still love the tranquility.

No college students being obnoxiously loud, no parties every week, no gatherings of wannabe frats.

You have to say, you got lucky. The small – but convenient and comfortable – apartment you’re ranting is what you could call a “perle rare”, a gem.

After searching and searching for anything that could fit a college student and it’s budget, you found this very building, freshly built. Only fifteen minutes away from the city center, exactly seventeen minutes away from your university, you couldn’t really believe your eyes, you even thought it was a scam at first. A more than decently sized apartment at the second to last floor, elevators, almost soundproof walls, balcony, big windows facing south, you couldn’t ask for more.

Even better, the owner was a family friend, a deal that made everyone happy was quickly made and, a few days after your twenty-first birthday, you moved in.

It was a bit more than a year ago and you have to say, you quickly made yourself at home, you didn’t mind leaving alone either. Besides, you had friends over a few times a month, and your family didn’t hesitate to visit without any notice.

Ah, and, a few days after moving in, you found this very cute and cosy coffee shop down the street. Oh, how you got addicted to their éclair au chocolat and their croissant. You’re a regular there, now, and the short brunette girl at the register still makes fun of you for your pronunciation. They also make a pretty good iced vanilla coffee, one you’re drinking this very moment, hands turning cold over the transparent plastic.

“Y/N, hey ! I have something for you !”, a voice you quickly grew familiar to sings the moment your badge opens the front door to your building. Sun Sangkyu, building H7’s concierge, doesn’t even wait for the glass door to close behind you to stand up from his chair, searching for the said “something”.

He’s a balding man, you’d say he’s around sixty-something years old. He agreed to work at the desk for good money despite his age, you remember him saying he loves it, it distracts him for the day while his wife volunteers with kids in a less wealthy area. Sangkyu wears big glasses that often fall down the bridge of his nose, eyes half moons whenever he smiles with his little diastema.

“Ah-a, I know what it is !”, you match his tone almost perfectly, a smile stretching your lips. Walking a bit closer to the men’s cubicle, one he customized so much it contrasts with the minimalist style of the entrance.

Red banner for the Chinese New Year, you’re surprised he did not take it down sooner. Next to it, he has multiple drawings from the kids in the building, pictures of him, his wife and kids.

“There it is. Such a tiny box, what did you order ?”, he asks, and the middle aged men doesn’t hesitate to shake the box a little, bringing it to his ear. He’s a bit too curious for his own good, but you don’t mind, it’s funny.

“Guitar picks.”, you tell him with a laugh once he lets the cardboard box fall into your waiting hands.

At that, he frowns.

Small pout on his thin lips, his dark brown eyes shift to the left as he tried and search in his memory.

“But…What about the ones you brought last winter ?”, he asks carefully, almost like he’s scared of not recalling things well. But, after all, you were the only guitarist in the building.

“I…lost them…”, you answer after a few seconds of silence, like a child admitting they misplaced something to their father.

“Ya…”, his instinct kick in with the noise escaping his face, slightly rolling his eyes, drawing out the last letter. “Anyways, I have something else for you.”, he looks at something on the floor, probably where he left his leather bag.

“But, I didn’t or-.”

“My wife made some yesterday !”, he cuts you abruptly, wide toothy smile as he slides a paper bag. And, oh, you already know what they hold by the smell alone. Baozi, steamed stuffed buns Sangkyu’s wife can make like a real master, your mouth salivates with the thought alone.

“Oh, bless her.”, a sigh tumbles from your lips, clenching the small bag against your chest. As you open your mouth to thank him, the slight buzz of the door opening catches your attention. You notice a rather tall men pushing the door with his back, strong arms holding boxes.

“Thank you very much, Sangkyu. Have a nice day !” You conclude with a smile, nodding as the oldest returns the gesture, face already towards the unknown men.

You don’t pay much attention, quickly walking towards the elevator with your two precious items in hand. Your index taps the code and your floor number like a mechanism and, just before the metallic doors close, you catch the unknown men sighing, “One more box and we’re done, Mister Suh !” Ehm, the apartment on the second floor probably found a new owner, you think at first, the thought brushed away in a second.

The ride to your floor is a quick one, your full attention on the small box in your hand, one you’re trying to open as best as you can. But you quickly find hard to rip the thick duct tape with your left hand occupied with the wrapped food.

“Oh, fuck !”

What was meant to happen, happened. As the feminine yet weirdly robotic voice announces your floor with a “Floor number nine, floor number nine.”, you drop the small box. The cardboard hits the floor with a small sound, laying lifeless a few centimeters away from your shoes. Great, that will teach you. Leaning down, you pick the box up with a sigh, straightening your back as the grey metallic doors open in front of you, left wrist twisting to let your digits wrap around your keys. And it’s your turn to frown. Eyebrows furrowed, you take a step forward, taking your body out of the elevator before the doors close and head down again.

Boxes, boxes everywhere. Your door’s on the left, body naturally facing your apartment but your eyes can not help but look at the overwhelming amount of…stuff laying there. Probably a dozen cardboard boxes in the hallway, the door’s open to the empty apartment if it’s not for all the wrapped furniture in the entrance. Uh, so it’s not the second floor. You have to say, you’re a bit surprised. When you moved in, you remember this very apartment being owned by a middle-aged woman, the fake blonde told you about the three other places she owned and ranted all year around. Be it to travelers, students, young adults. Someone ranted it for two months at best, before moving out, you don’t even remember their faces, to be honest. You never asked why it was always empty, you just figured the area was more appealing to families that would rather buy their own place rather than rant it for god knows how much.

Well, seems like you have a new neighbor. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll introduce yourself later, once they’ll be done with moving in. Let’s be real, you’re not Bree Van de Kamp from Desperate Housewives but, you were well raised. Ah, and, you should probably tell them about your habit of playing the guitar a bit too late at night, you think as you finally take your attention off the open apartment and go for your own. Everything might be pretty well isolated, you don’t want to risk starting beef with people you barely know leaving right next to you.

Plus, who knows, maybe they’re nice.

Knife stabs the duct tape, the brown layer easily ripping under the sharp object. Comfortably sat on your bed, you quickly tear the cardboard with your hands, leaving the packaging on the floor of your bedroom, neatly leaving the small bag of picks you ordered on your white sheet.

It’s around ten and a half post meridiem when you finally get around opening your order. College life is one you knew would be busy, but seventeen years old you never knew you’d spend hours on an essay’s introduction. But thank god, you finished a good chunk of your assignment, showered, ate and now, it’s time for a bit of relaxation.

It’s sort of a ritual for you, a way to reward yourself after a productive day. You take a long shower or a good bath – it depends on the bath bombs you have in stock –, you eat a good, hot meal and get to your room for some alone time with none other than your beloved guitar.

The sun’s already set, the streets’ lights filling your bedroom. And, that’s when you notice the dim light coming from the room right on front of you. The layout of every apartment being identical, you know it’s another bedroom, few meters away from your own. It’s a bad habit you developed after your old neighbor left, you’d pull your curtains to the side and eventually took them out, they clashed with your room’s aesthetic anyways. After all, if no one was leaving there, you would let your window wide open for a bit more light.

You figure you should maybe go and find where you stacked them and get ready to struggle for an hour before eventually, putting them up again. But for now, you don’t mind, if your new neighbor actually pulls his curtains to look outside, all they will be able to see’s your light purple colored walls, paintings and pictures, your overly packed schedule stuck right on top of your desk.

You don’t let your mind wonder too much, after quickly opening the thin packaging, you let the small plastic picks fall on your bed. Medium sized, you choose the color you like the best, abstract design in red, black and white. Now that you think about it, you really don’t know where the six other ones disappeared, you even used to keep the last one in your phone case.

Digits wrap around the slender neck of your electric guitar, picking it up from the stand it rested on for a few days now, instrument easily finding its place on your lap. Ah, how you love the feeling of the smooth material under your fingertips, left hand on the body to keep it from falling as you lean forward. The Jack cable you left laying there a few days ago moved a bit, hiding under your bed but you’re quick to grab it, plugging it where it belongs. A flick of the wrist, you turn on your amplifier, turning a few settings. Now that you have neighbors, maybe you should turn the volume a bit down. Until now, you could play as loudly as you wanted thank to the building’s isolation and a few other…reasons. The men living right above you was a bit older than Sangkyu, and he had a few hearing problems, plus he didn’t mind the music at all even if he heard it a bit, when your window was opened. The women leaving right under you is in her mid-thirties, a nurse that had a working schedule you cannot wrap your head around. One thing you know, she’s never there from nine post meridiem to some ungodly hour in the morning.

You’ll talk to your new neighbors tomorrow anyways, brushing the thought off as you place the strap on your shoulder.

“Eddie ate dynamite.”, you mumble under your breath, pick plucking at the three top strings. In tune, great. “Good bye Eddie.”, the three last strings are slightly out of tune, but your quickly arrange that with a few twists. Right hand flat on the six strings, you stand up from your bed, walking to your desk with a few steps. You had left a tab sheet open on your devise before going for your bath, screen lighting up as you open it. It’s a song you practiced once a few weeks back before forgetting about it. Bold, black letters, “Fangs – Matt Champion”.

Eyes scanning the numbers, your fingers quickly find the strings without you needing to even look at your guitar’s neck. Your body follows quickly, shoulders and head moving at the rhythm, it’s a chill tune you can warm your fingers up to. It’s a moment you adore, when your entire building’s silent, fresh breeze of the early summer sneaking into your room, multicolor lights flashing in your bedroom (tiktok made you buy them). Tones and sounds of stings being pulled fill your room, it’s no hard for you to remember the notes at the end, eyes closing as you finish the song.

A good song to start on, you think before opening your eyes and…?

“What’s that ?”, you ask out loud, eyes squinting at the window that opened itself on your screen. Apparently, someone’s trying to airdrop something. It’s probably a mistake, you think at first. A weird mistake, for sure, your laptop clearly had your name on it. Your index finger’s about to decline the request before you take a look at the actual picture sent. Is that…A tab sheet ? Your eyebrows furrow a bit more. Clearly, this was not a mistake. Eye travel to the window, could it be ? Your neighbor’s room is now lit up, but you can’t make anything up in it, unconsciously waiting for a head to pop-up. But hélas, no movement comes from the other side. It could come from anyone, but you doubt

“The Less I know The Better – Tame Impala”.

Ah, you’re not a stranger to the song, you have it in multiple playlists, but you never took the time to look at the tabs. At least the person has some good taste. It’s a weird situation for sure, is this…a request ?

Unconsciously, your fingertips press on the right strings. Eh, might as well try it, right ? Tune familiar, you go through the intro easily, though maybe you should’ve taken something to loop the sound. Irises focused on your screen, you try your best not to mess up, eyes sometimes traveling from your computer to the neck of your guitar. Brown polished wood glow under the purple light, it softly transitions to blue, green, and you stop after the chorus.

Maybe you’ll keep the sheet.

Cold morning breeze, sounds of a city waking up. Birds singing a bit too loudly, a few cars driving by, chatter from families and young adults all around, voices muted by how high you’re apartment is.

You follow along, body turning in your bed, though maybe in a less graceful way, softly shaking the sleep out.

You changed your sheet right before going to sleep, after playing a few other songs, flowery fragrance comforting, nose deep into the soft fabric. You almost think about not leaving your bed but hélas, you have some classes to attend today.

At least, they’re starting a bit late. Sleepy eyes shift to your clock, the very one that woke you up, nine ante meridiem, you have an hour to get ready, that should be enough.

Another bad habit, your hand grabs your phone as you roll over to your side, cheek squished on your pillow, one eye closed. Maybe you should not do that, apparently the second eye's vision can and will go down if you do this too much. You have an appointment soon anyways, working on your computer all day long got your eyes dry.

Checking mails, social media, texts, you tour your phone before finally stepping out of bed.

Music theory class, multiple hours of it. But, at least, it didn’t end late at all, today was your only free day. But again, depends on what is your vision of freedom, you'll probably end up at the bakery slash coffee shop down the street to study a bit more.

Arms stretching above your head, your lips part in a yawn you quickly hide behind your hand. Fuck, you probably slept on your arm, shoulder aching under your fingertips massaging the muscle.

Walking around your bed, you take a few steps, dragging your feet on your floor towards your window. You needed a bit of fresh air before anything else.

The weather's pretty good today, you note as you fully step in front of your window, skin gratefully taking in the sunlight, a few white clouds here and there in the sky but nothing to complain about. The sun seems to already be heating the air up, maybe you can go for a light coat today, or a thick top alone.

Naturally, your eyes fall straight forward, to the very window you were looking at the night before.

Curtains pulled to the side, your curiosity gets poked, maybe you can have a quick look at the room, right ?

It looks empty anyways, you think at first, but it seems the universe wants to annoy you a bit today. Just as you're about to detail the room opposite to yours, a figure walks in.

His shadow is the first thing you see, stretching on the beige painted walls of the room before he eventually steps in front of his window as well.

Fortunately for your dignity, the men has his back turned but how... Broad do they look, even from a distance.

You have no idea why, but you're stuck there, one side of your brain telling you to leave before you get caught and inevitably get label as the creepy neighbor while the other whispers that you might want to see the strangers' face.

Shoulder blades move against the tanned skin, hands quickly run in his honey colored locks, pushing them back, it seems your neighbor's getting ready too.

That's when you realize your hand's still gripping your window's handle, right hand falling to your side, you really should go and get ready too but... You wonder, is he the one that sent you the tab sheet yesterday ? Wouldn't you want to put a face a the music taste ?

As you're about to take a step back, the men turns slightly, applying what you can only assume is cream to his face, digits running down his jawline as he angles his head as desired. And oh, the one second long glimpse you get at his profile is enough to make your lips part.

Shiny locks falling in front of his eyes, straight nose, full lips, sharp jawline, a curse almost falls down from your lips. You'd think anyone would find the guy attractive from the small peak you just got but... Isn't this a bit... Weird ? You suddenly feel like a whole voyeur, your eyes detaching from the stranger as your morals kick in.

He doesn't look like a father, or maybe he's very young father ? But again, you didn't see anything for a baby yesterday, nor did you hear one crying yesterday night...

Maybe he moved in here with his significant other, even though young couple usually go for the other side of the city.

Or maybe, he's a college student like you are, does he have a roommate ?

Pupils traveling up again to the window, you're about to get on your toes for a better look. Maybe you should say introduce yourself tonight, rather than guessing and throwing hypothesis out there. And maybe, just maybe, you want to get a better look at his face.

He turns around, you duck to the side.

It’s around six after meridiem when you finally, finally get up from the sit you occupied for several hours now. Maybe you should’ve taken a break between two massive paragraphs to write, you think as your arms stretch up above your head. Thank god, the beloved coffee you decided to drop your bag in had some comfortable light beige chairs, cushion as still cloud-like, exactly like you found them the first day you entered the shop.

You wonder how they keep them so clean, someone must’ve dropped their dark coffee or chocolate on the unforgiving fabric at least once, you surely fear being one of these clients.

“You done ?”, familiar voice hums, and you just nod at the question, eyes falling on the black clock right behind the counter.

“Yeah, I can’t think anymore.”, you tell your friend, hand grabbing the second cup of coffee you brough, shaking it lightly to estimate the amount of liquid left. Jaehyun, maybe your closest friend in your university, pouts at that. Dirty blonde hair fall in front of his eyes as he grounds, before he lets his forward press against his computer’s touchpad. The poor guy had been struggling for an hour now, the rhythm of his fingers tapping on his keyboard gradually loosing speed. You have to say, you were in the same situation, writing and rewriting the same sentences again, brain refusing to cooperate after already vomiting out a few large paragraphs. But, unlike your friend, you decided to stop there for the day, you still had a full week to finish it anyways.

“I can’t do this anymore.”, the Korean grounds again, dramatic nature kicking in as his head snaps back, rolling backwards, the men cannot go a day without faking death.

“Save it, we still have a week to do it.”, you sigh out, but you don’t hide the smile growing on your face at his antics. Though, you don’t wait for his answer, saving your own file before closing your laptop.

“Six days. Six.”, he corrects, like a day changes anything anyways. See, Jaehyun needs to turn his paper in a single day before yours, since he had chosen to attend the very class twenty-four hours before you. Rolling your eyes, you know the men cannot read your facial expressions, bag turned as you drop all your belongings into your bag.

“You gonna stay ?”, you simply ask, there’s no need for you to point out the slight difference in days. Jaehyun nods fingers running on his touch pad as he zooms out his Word Documents, eyes scanning over his six pages for any underlined errors. “Well, good luck. I didn’t finish this, want it ?”, you ask, eyebrows slightly raised as you push the still fresh iced coffee towards your friend, who doesn’t need more, lips wrapping around the straw.

“Text me when you’re home.”, Jaehyun mumbles, mouth filled with tiny ice pieces, pieces he quickly swallows. “Don’t work too late, text me too.”, you finish it like you too usually do, quickly waving before you walk out of view.

“Are you done, Y/N ?”, another familiar voice calls you out, one you know pretty well by now. See, the coffee shop is getting more and more exposure as days go by, but it does not meet the owner and workers will forget about the regulars, like you. “For the day, yeah. Still have a few things to write but I should be done tomorrow or the day after.” You smile at the brunette, Hana, coffee “Flâner”’s cashier. As said, she’s a brunette with the longest locks you’ve ever seen. Or maybe she has black hair, you think it depends on the lighting. Anyways, she’s been there since the opening, working 4 days a week, greeting costumers with a smile and a light French accent whenever she spoke, thought you remember her saying she was born somewhere else.

“Ah, I hope you’ll have a good grade !”, she says cheerfully, black irises leaving your form as she places some cakes into their signature black box. “Is…Jaehyun staying ?”, the smallest asks, even behind the counter, you can’t help but notice her small, petite figure. It’s like she doesn’t dare to look at you, and a small smile stretches your lips. Oh…She doesn’t hide her crush very well. You wonder, is Jaehyun staying late for another reason as well ?

“Ah, yeah. He’s proofreading what he wrote today.”, you explain, fainting obliviousness.

“Oh, alright !”, she responds with a smile, eyes flickering from your figure to the your friend’s. You’re about to leave, let them somewhat alone if you forget about the three other costumers drinking their tea, when your eyes fall the small cakes she’s arranging behind the glass. And god, how they look tasty. You guess they’re make of a chocolate mousse, a shortbread at the bottom, your mouth salivates. As said, you’re not the Bree Van de Kamp of your building but, if you’re going to greet your new neighbors today, shouldn’t you bring something ? And no, you’re definitely not doing this because of what happened this morning, no way.

“What are these ?”, you ask, taking a step closer.

“Un royal !”, she answers in French, your eyes squint as you try to say it back. How the fuck does she do that -r sound.

“Can I have two of them ? And a croissant, please.”, you order, hand already fishing for your phone. God, this shop will make you go bankrupt, they will also make you addicted to their food, if you’re not already.

“Sure, ma’am !”, the young girl answers, before she grabs yet another black box. Fingers push the cardboard until it takes the shape desired, iron tool dropping the cakes into it. You’ve done this so many times, it’s ironic. Right hand grabs the box, left hand turning your phone screen towards the young girl so she can scan the code.

“Thank you, good bye !”

“See you soon, Y/N !”

The glass door is pushed with a shoulder, smile stretching your painted lips when you give another look inside the shop, catching Jaehyun walking up to the counter. “Buying three coffees isn’t a way to flirt, Jaehyun.”, you laugh to yourself before leaving.

It looks like the sun is about to set, sunlight a lot less aggressive compared to the beginning of the afternoon. Cakes in hand, the walk to your building is a short one, though you come across the Hwang family from the fourth floor going to the park, greeting the mother with a smile, waving lightly at the twins she’s holding hands with. Ah, you really do love this area, you think as you walk along the park’s barrier, catching a few giggles and screams from young kids. And, from the sound of it, they started opening the water in the fountains.

“Cakes again !”, Sangkyu might be on the older side, he still has some sharp eyes, you note. The door closes behind you with a small noise, the lock activating itself. “Yes, cakes again.”, you say, shooting him a fake-ly offended glare, left hand to your chest. “But these aren’t for me, they’re for the new neighbor.”, you point out, walk slowing down in front of the men’s cubicle.

“Ah ! Mister Suh and…”, his face contours as he tries his best to recollect the second name. Oh, maybe it was a couple, good thing you got two cakes, even though you got one for yourself… “Right ! His roommate, Mister Leechayapornkul !”, his features light up with a smile as he correctly – you assume – recollects the second name. Ah, a roommate, you think, interesting. “Oh, I didn’t know they were two. I’m going to introduce myself now.”, you tell him with a smile.

“Ah, by the way, have you heard ? Miss and Mister Jeon want to organize something for the building’s anniversary, I’ll keep you up to date !”

On that, you leave the old men with a smile, quickly strolling to the elevator. The metal cubicle stops at the third floor, a young girl you don’t really know polite greets you before pushing the fifth button floor, she’s probably friends with the kids on that floor.

“Floor number nine, floor number nine.”, the metal doors open on your small hallway, and for the first time, you walk towards the right door. Deep, dark green color like yours, your shoes barely make a noise on the light beige carpet as they lead you to your neighbors’ place. You stay there for a second, mind questioning the dumbest things, should you wait a bit ? How many times should you knock…? Raising your fist up, the first joints of pointer and middle finger tap a few times on the dark wood. One, two, three. You wait.

Though, everything seems silent, if it’s not for the small noise of the elevator going up and down. Are they…Not there ? A small pout on your lips, you shift on your feet, both hands grabbing onto the black box. The apartment was silent, you guessed your new neighbors were not there, your luck.

From : Jaehyun, 8:37 pm. : “im home !!” : “ended up proofreading and wrote the second to last part” The well familiar name flashes on your phone, alongside a picture you took when you visited his family on the country side. Jaehyun’s rather tall body’s folded as he tries to ride on a small tricycle, legs so long his knees are above the handlebars. Quickly, your thumbs tap on the small keyboard as you walk toward your room.

After entering your bedroom, you decided to eat a bit earlier, taking a shower before going back to your guitar. The shower was a cold one, if the sun had already set, the air was dense, heavy. Moments after stepping out of your shower, a thin layer of sweat managed to gather around your hairline. It’s like the weather suddenly switched to the middle of summer, and you definitely were not ready for it.

To : Jaehyun, 8:38 pm. : “is it because of the third coffee you bought :D ?”

To : Jaehyun, 8:40 pm. : “…i do not know what youre talking about .” To : Jaehyun, 8:40 pm. : “when are you gonna ask her ?”

You send the message before locking your phone, throwing the devise on your bed. You’re quick to set up your guitar, since you left you amp’ plugged in yesterday. Right index flicks the switch up, before you plug the Jack cable in. However, as you’re about to flop on your bed again, you notice the screen of your phone lightening up as your college friend calls you.

“How did you know ?”, it the first think he asks, tone whiny, the second you accept the call and press the speaker button. “It is very much obvious, Jaehyun.”, you laugh out, left hand finding its place around the neck of your black and white guitar as you bring it on your lap.

“Do you she’s int-.”, Jaehyun starts as you play out a few random chords, thumb stroking the six strings ever so softly. “Yes.”, you cut him before he even manages to finish his sentence. “She’s into you. I thought you knew.”

“I, uh, I wasn’t sure.”, he mumbles, and you hear his fork pick whatever his eating. After hanging out around the male for some years now, you figured your good friend was a bit clueless when it came to his looks and charms. Yes, Jaehyun knows that’s he’s handsome, you don’t miss the opportunity to remind him whenever he gets dressed up or send you a selfie, as a good and supportive friend.

But, Jaehyun doesn’t really weight the affect he has on girls, guys, and everyone in between. You remember when this guy in your Music Therapy class, and another girl, you don’t really remember what hear studies were about, but she was in your distant group circle and they both had a big – massive – you’d say, crush on your friend. You remember both of them throwing some light hints at first, thought the girl went a bit harder after as the first eventually dropped it. Jaehyun, him, was completely oblivious until you told him one night, when he was staying over after a night out. “Ask her out already !”, you sign out, left hand over your guitar’s string, blocking any sound.

“I will soon, okay ! Give me some time, I’m…Thinking about the right way to do it.”, your friend starts, drinking something in between his words. “Anyways, moving on ! How’s your neighbor ?”

You sigh at the question, opening your laptop as you search in your files for something to play, you really should organize your things a bit better, you think to yourself.

“They weren’t there.”, you breath out, eyes unconsciously flickering to the window. From this angle, you can’t really see much, apart from the vague shapes behind the curtains, yellowish light on before you even came in your room.

“They ? Oh…Is it a couple ?”, Jaehyun asks, tone slightly disappointed. See, this morning, you obviously told your friend about the airdrop…Thing. Obviously, you had texted him before going to sleep but decided to keep much of the details for a real life conversation. After a hushed story-time, eyes travelling to your teacher every now and then to make sure he was not looking at you, you told him about what happened this morning.

Of course, it immediately poked the blonde’s curiosity, who would not be. As said, you and Jaehyun had been friends for some years now. When you two met, he was in a relationship that ended a few months after, you being there for him had strengthen the bond, he had been single ever since and you, had been single all the way. Sure, you had a few crushes, two or three people shooting there shot but, the crushes were always short-lived, nothing serious.

So, when Jaehyun heard that you found someone attractive after months of radio silence of the channel of your earth, someone who lives next to you at that, your friend jumped on the occasion, already hoping for something to happen before you even got to introduce yourself to the guy.

“I don’t know, Sangkyu said they’re two roommates.”, you inform, trying to recall the two names the oldest men told you hours before.

“…Are you sure you don’t want me to stalk ?”, Jaehyun proposes for the second time today. As soon as you finished your small story this morning, the Korean asked if you wanted him to do some stalking, promising and selling his apparently, amazing, skills in the domain.

“Jaehyun, no. I didn’t even introduce myself.”, you breathe out, half-desperate, half laughing at his antics. “Alright, alright. Go see them soon, alright ?”, there’s a small silence, you simply hum at his question. “Play me something while I do the dishes.”, your friend yawns and you oblige pretty quickly, after finally finding a song to practice to. Maybe you need a little more practice on the song, one by Frank Ocean in the “channel ORANGE” album he put out in 2012, if you recall correctly. On the other line, the sound of water running and dishes being done drowns the voice of your friend slightly singing to the song, one you two have on the collective Spotify playlist you have. Your attention stays on your screen, just in case you forget a chord and, as you’re starting the second chorus, something comes between your eyes and the sheet. Your hand comes flat on your guitar strings, stopping the music at once. You already know what it is.

Jaehyun does not stop the water, but his voice does comes closer, microphone muted every now and then as you hear him struggle. “Why did you- Oh, fuck, nooo. There’s sop everywhere.” You laugh breathlessly at his whines, eyes quickly looking at the black screen of your phone, like you’d be able to see your friend. Though, you hear him wipe his screen, cloth going over his microphone again.

“There ! Why did you stop ?”, he asks, bringing his mouth a bit too close to his phone. Staying silent for a second, your finger tap on yet another Airdrop. “He sent another one.”, you simply say, a bit quietly, as if your neighbor will be able to hear you. Pupils look over at the window, you almost want to get up and walk to your window but…

Jaehyun gasps softly over the phone, “Play it, play it.”, he says as you’re scanning the sheet sent. And oh, he’s that type. It’s crazy how two songs alone help you draw a quick sketch of your neighbor’s personality, or his music taste at the very least. Unlike yesterday, you don’t hesitate and open the file sent, though you have to say you already know the chords.

“Jae’. He sent The Neighbourhood’s Daddy Issues.”, you squick into the phone after grabbing into with your right hand. Jaehyun knows well, you still love the band but had an unhealthy obsession a few years back, not to mention your massive crush on Zach Abels.

“Oh. Ooh. He’s like that.”, Jaehyun notes as well, before he presses you again to play it. Urged by your friend, you lean forward to adjust the reverb on your guitar. “That’s…Kinda hot, though.”, your friend whispers out and you, yourself, can’t comprehend the sound that comes from your lips, something between a laugh and a choked gasp.

“Jae’…What ?”

“No, but, I mean…Daddy Issues, that’s hot.”, he tries to explain himself, you quickly shut him up by running your fingers over the six strings. You don’t really need to look at the tabs, from memory, your fingers find their rightful place.

“3D, 5D, 3G, 5D, 5B, 5G.”, you say as you play the notes, humming the rest as you play the intro.

“C minor, G minor, B flat major.”, and from then, you remember the song pretty easily. Between two chords, you turn the volume on your guitar up, just to make sure your neighbor’s hearing you play.

“That’s flirting.”, concludes Jaehyun once you’re done with the song, you know him well enough to know his mouth a bit agape.

“It is not.”, you tell him, though you’re not sure yourself what this is.

“You have to talk to him like, right now.”, he urges so loudly you have to turn the volume on your phone down.

“Now ? No ! I’m in my pyjamas, and I don-.”, you start, and it’s your friend’s turn to cut you off. “’kay, okay ! Go talk to him tomorrow, please ?”

“I will, don’t worry.”, you start, but before you can continue, you’re phrase’s cut again but this time, it’s by…A piano.

Your mouth parts for a second, a single syllable falling from your lips before you close your mouth. The tune’s familiar, but you never heard in played on a piano. Your head slowly raises, eyes fixated on your window.

“Can you hear this ?”, you quietly ask Jaehyun, who answers with a soft “Yeah”, sounding as dumbfounded as you do. Slowly, you get up from your bed, leaving your guitar on your bed, that’s when you realize how hot it is. The fabric of your shirt sticks to your skin, hands lacing into your hair as your push them up in a makeshift ponytail to let your neck get some air.

It's after a few notes that you finally put your finger on it. The Weeknd's last album, “After Hour”. “Repeat after me.”, you tell Jaehyun, I single “Oh” coming from his lips as he recolls the song.So he's a musician as well, you conclude easily. You never heard anyone play this very song on the piano, you wonder if it's his own arrangement.

On the other end of the line, the blonde's silent, carefully listening to the soft piano tunes as you do the same. Few steps take you to your window again, just like you did this morning. This time, curtains are pulled to the side, enough for you to see the same broad shoulders under a black hoodie, back straight as his head hangs down towards the keyboard.

From your spot, you can't really see his fingers, but you do see his hands quickly running over the black and whites, pressing confidently. Seeing a pianist's always mesmerising, eyes stuck on the figure, you try your best to get a better view but, what can you do from your room ?

When the song ends, unlike this morning, you don't hide behind your wall. Your neighbor doesn't move, stretching his arms above his head, fingers laced together, a curse falls down your lips.

“Y/N. Send him a sheet.”

It's around five in the afternoon when you find yourself in front of your neighbor's door, holding a black box of cakes, for the second time this week. Your classes had ended two hours earlier today and maybe, maybe you should use that time to work on your assignment but since last night, you don't think you can go another day without introducing yourself to the building's new people. Plus, you have enough time, you tell yourself.

It's ironic, isn't it ? You weren't the type to go out of your way to speak to your neighbors, most didn't have a lot in common with you but now. Now, this nameless, a bit too handsome young guy moves in and you're bringing some patisseries in front of his door.

Music brings people together, you've always thought, you've always known and this, this is a pretty good example. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have went out of your way like this if the guy didn't send you a tab sheet, if he didn't play last night.

Like yesterday, you bring your first up, knocking a bit more confidently this time, thought you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

You barely have the time to let your hand fall down to your side when a deep, voice a bit far away let's out. “Coming !”

Of course, broad shoulder guy had to have a deep voice to go along side.

“Oh, hi.”, your soul almost jumps out of your body when the deep green door abruptly opens to reveal none other than your - handsome - neighbor.

“Hi...! Uh, I'm your next door neighbor, the name's Y/N.”, you let out, maybe you should thank your past self for practicing this very line right before stepping out of your apartment.

Your right hand's stretched out in front of your for him to shake, but your attention's on something else. Deep brown eyes stare down at you, they almost make you feel small. Or maybe they're a honey brown, you wonder as the plane blocking the sun finally moves away to reflect into his eyes.

Yes, definitely honey brown eyes, the same eyes that turn a crescent shape, just like before a full. moon.

He smiles at you with the same full lips you saw from your window, hands wrapping around your own.

“Ah, yes. Johnny, nice to meet you !”, he says, hand slowly shaking your own. Finally, a name on the face. You quickly notice the slight simple in the middle of his cheek before he lets go of your hand.

“Oh, I bought some cakes from the coffee shop down the street.”, you tell Johnny, both hands one the black box.

At this, his lips turn from a smile to an - o shape, eyes round. Maybe you guessed right at the moon phase.

“You didn't have to !”, your neighbor blurs out, hands at his sides for a few seconds before they eventually accept the gift when you slightly push the box towards him. Your eyes fall to his hands for a quick second and yes, definitely some pianist hands.

“It's just a small welcome gift ! I wanted to drop them yesterday but, I think you weren't there.”, you explain, a lot, lot more relaxed, though turning your attention away from the men's hands. This isn't the moment nor the place.

“Ah yeah, me and Ten we're out for the first grocery shopping trip.”, he explains, right shoulder leaning against his door frame. You get a quick glimpse at the apartment itself, though you don't look at it too long, everything looks already set up. You remember taking a week to get everything as home-like, but you guess having a second pair of arms help.

“Ten ?”, you ask, right hand wrapping around your left upper arm. Probably the one Sangkyu was talking about the other day.

“Yeah, he's my roommate.”, Johnny answers, letting a silence settle between the two of you. “Do you want to come in ? I won't be able to eat two cakes by myself.”, the men proposes after a few seconds, pupils landing on the black box. He probably saw the two cakes thank to the transparent part of the cardboard box, at the top.

Come in ? And... Eat with him ? Suddenly, your palms grow sweaty, slightly shifting one foot to another. “Oh, but. Your roommate.”, you mumble out.

Sure, at first, you bought two cakes, one for him and one for you. Though you thought you'd eat them by yourselves, when Sangkyu told you about the second person living there, you figured you'd keep the two cakes for your two neighbors.

“He's at his parents’ house to get some things, he won't be there until the day after tomorrow.”, the brunette tells you with a smile. His body moves a bit more, enough to let you enter. “Come on, I need someone to help me eat all of this.”

How can you say no to this ?

“Wait, it ends like that ? There’s no way he does that.”, laughs Johnny, a full laugh that shakes his chest, right under his plain white t-shirt. Short sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, his body leans back, black jeans covered legs spread on his one person sofa.

“I swear he does, watch the second season !”, you interject quickly, straw mixing the iced tea in your long glass, ice cubes clashing against each other before eventually melting away.

“Yeah, I guess I will…! I never thought he’d kill her.”, you neighbor says, and he seems genuinely choked, bushy eyebrows raised.

After taking a step in his apartment, the pianist led you to the biggest sofa, where he left you for a few minutes. People say boys are bad at decorating their place, but you have to say Johnny and Ten’s apartment was already looking pretty good. Beige walls, a few black and white pictures were hung up right above the dark sofa. Wide windows on your left, your apartment has the opposite view. While you have a view towards the city center, street lights fascinating at night, Johnny has an amazing view on the park.

Large television right in front of you, you quickly notice de PlayStation 4 and switch neatly placed under it. On your right, just like your apartment, the small open kitchen, counter the only thing separating the two rooms. The honey-eyed seemed to have found his marks easily, navigating in the kitchen quickly. After taking out two plates and two small spoons, he placed the two cakes, refusing your help every time you offered it.

“Iced tea ?”, he had asked, taking out two long glasses when you agreed. Red hibiscus iced tea was poured and handed, before he sat in front of you. You do not remember well how the conversation around the series “You” started, but you recall seeing his Netflix profile on the tv screen.

“So, you live alone ?”, he asked after some seconds of silence, pillow lips wrapping around his metal straw.

“Yeah, I’ve been there for a year, I’d say.”, you start out, spoon digging into the chocolate mousse. “You’ll see, it’s lovely here.”, you tell Johnny with a smile he mirrors.

“I’m sure it is, everyone’s really nice. Especially Sangkyu.”, you laugh at that, the old men really has the power to give one memorable first impression.

“Ah, Sangkyun-.”, you laugh, “He’s something.”, you point out, yourself taking a sip of the iced tea. “Really good memory too, he made fun of me for buying two sets of guitar picks in a few months span.”

“Oh, right, the guitarist.”, Johnny smiles, placing his empty plate on his table. Pink tongue pokes out to wet his lips, your eyes shamefully follow the movement before forcing yourself to find his honey eyes again. There it was, you didn’t know when nor how to bring the subject up, but you were thankful it happened naturally. For two people, two strangers, the conversation was going pretty well.

“Exactly ! By the way, sorry if the music’s too loud.”, you add quickly, yourself reaching towards the table to leave your empty glass. You’ll have to ask for the receipt. Johnny’s reaction is almost comical, his head shaking from left to right. “No, no ! It’s not too loud, not at all. T-That’s why I sent you a sheet, I liked it.”, he blurs he words out quickly, cute, you think.

Crossing one leg over the other, your eyes shift to the left for a quick second at the small compliment. “Thank you. You’re a good pianist.”, you return with a smile, spoon scraping the last bit of biscuit.

“Thank you very much, it means a lot. Have you been playing for long ?”, he asks, glass a quarter full left on the table. His right arm comes behind his sofa’s backrest, getting more comfortable.

“Since I was…eleven. Got an acoustic for my birthday and ended up selling it for an electric a year and a half later. What about you ?”, you explain, remembering the light brown instrument your parents got for you, you also remember it being way, way too big.

“Ah, yeah, I’ve always liked the sound of an electric guitar better. I was seven, or eight. My mother wanted me to learn and I ended up really liking it.”, he explains, fingers tapping on the sofa’s fabric.

Music brings people together, you tell yourself a second time when Johnny tells you about how her mother loves the sound of a piano, how she’d always stop next to her when he played. A kind of art that helps you learn more about a person, when he tells you his favorite songs to play and you tell him yours.

“But you do have a real pianist’s hands !”, you argue back when Johnny down plays one of your compliments, to which the brunette looks down. Crescent shaped eyes fall on his ring clapped fingers, a small smile on his lips he struggles to hide. “You noticed ?”, he asks, and you try to convince yourself his voice did not get lower.

“Well, yeah. A music student always looks at people’s hands.”, nice save, Y/N.

You learn the young men kept music as a hobby and currently studies international commerce et economics, Ten is a long, long time friend pursuing performing arts. You learn your neighbor’s not only a good looking men, brown locks falling in front of his, nose crunching up every time he finds something funny, rosy lips tugging up to reveal a row of white pearls. He’s also extremely well mannered. Soft spoken, polite, his chuckles put you in a comfort zone, the way he almost doesn’t let you help him clean the two plates a bit too cute. You find his presence entertaining.

Maybe it’s because you just met him, things to learn about him awaiting, but you don’t see the hours running by, nor does he.

It’s around ten post meridiem when Johnny insists to walk you to your door, handwritten receipt of his hibiscus iced tea in hand.

“Do you want me to st-”, Jaehyun asks over the phone for the third time in a week, or maybe for the fourth time, you lost count. Your devise rests right next to your laptop, which is propped on your desk.

“No, Jae'. I don't want you to stalk him.”, you breathe out into your microphone, fingertips tapping on your touchpad at a random rhythm. A paragraph, the conclusion, and you should be done on your essay.

“Too late. Got him !”, he almost chants out and, at that, there's a silence. Clear sign of your disappointment and your blonde friend's concentration. “Oh, wow. He's a photographer too ?”, he asks as if you can see his screen.

You hate it, you hate how your curiosity gets picked by the simple sentence. Needless to say, Jaehyun was filled in by every bit of information you got once Johnny walked you to your door, at least he waited two days before searching for your new neighbor's Instagram. Or at least you think.

“Oh wow. OH. Woah.”, your friend gasps into his microphone, your index taps aggressively on your keyboard, deleting the last sentence you wrote. He’s obviously doing it on purpose, pushing your bottoms. The blonde knows how curious you are, he’s just trying to see how long you can keep it together.

“Uh, Ja-. Show me, what did you find ?”, not very long, obviously.

“Ah, see ! Wait, I'll send you some screenshots. He's hot.”

He is, you want to answer, but would rather shut your mouth for now or you’ll never hear the end of it. Eyes finally leaving the screen of your laptop, they travel to another, finger unlocking your phone.

Your text messages with your friend enlighten your features, bubble appearing at the bottom.

“Finding him was extremely easy.”, Jaehyun points out, before a few screenshots are sent at the same time.

And indeed, you see how easy it must've been for your blonde boy. User johnnyjsuh.

He must've been pretty popular in his old schools, you think after looking at his followers.

Pictures of him in the same white shirt you saw him in days prior, pictures of him with an argentic camera, selfies, mirror selfies, outfit pictures. His feed is almost as good as Jaehyun's. And that says something.

Unlike Jaehyun, you don't have to be careful, worried you'll accidentally like one of his pictures. Shamelessly zooming on the screenshots your university friend sent you, you unconsciously pull your bottom him between your teeth.

He's cute. Too handsome it should be illegal.

“That's a lot but, yeah.”, Jaehyun giggles, you learn you don't have much of a filter between your mind and mouth. “Follow him !”

“Are you crazy ?”, you almost scream out, eyes wide at the suggestion. “He'll know we searched him up.”

Basic social media rules, you can't follow the guy when you don't even have his number, nor talked to him more than twice at this point, if him talking to you in the elevator counts.

“Alright, alright. Don't scream in my ears like that, I have earphones.”, he complains, not leaving you a second before continuing. “Y/N, don't be a coward, airdrop something.”

“I-.”, you start out, attention drown back to your computer. With one tap of your finger, you manage to hide your word document, piano sheet open behind it. You’ve searched a few sheets the day prior, downloading one before going to sleep that night, just in case.

After all, he sent you two tabs, why wouldn't you send him something ?

Tap, tap, you open the airdrop settings. You really should, hm ?

“Alright. I'm doing it.”, you finally say, more to yourself but your friend softly cheers on anyways.

“Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish.”, from the songs he sent you, it's a fair guess your neighbor is familiar with this one too, you’d doubt he doesn’t know who Billie Eilish is.

“Johnny's IPhone”, it's a click away. One you reach, tapping on the touch pad again. Sent. There.

“Now we wait.”, you announce, leaning back .

“Tell me if anything happens, I have a call to take.”

On that, simple goodbyes are said, you promise Jaehyun you’d tell me if anything happens, he hangs up after saying good bye a second time.

Minutes go by, you don't really know how many, maybe five where you debate going back to your essay, finger frantically tapping on the Word Document icon. Before a few notes are heard.

Piano notes, fingers pressed down on white and black keys. It has the power to make you smile, lips tugging upwards, there’s obviously not a doubt who’s playing at this very moment. Even the way he plays feels confident, he's sure of himself, he knows what he's doing.

Attention for your school work long gone, your pupils naturally find your window again.

It's slightly open, the music would come in easier if it was fully pushed, you think to yourself.

Do you even have to hide anymore ? You guess not. He knows, you know, it's just music you want to enjoy, you convince yourself even though your palms are slightly warm, heart fluttering in your chest.

Leaving your phone on your desk, you quickly walk to your window, right hand in the handle pushes it towards yourself. Warm breeze enters your bedroom, in a soft gush that sends your baby hairs floating away from your face, framing your features.

The sun's just starting to set, purple hue tiger stripes on the blue sky but your eyes are on another shade of purple.

Johnny's wearing a light lilac hoodie, brown locks the only thing you can see, he hasn't moved his piano, his back facing you again.

Forearms against the window frame, you lean forward, humming at the summer sent floating in the air.

A bit too quickly, your neighbor ends the song, hands lingering on the keyboard. Finally, his right hand grabs the very phone he propped up on his piano to see the sheet you sent him, sliding it in his back pocket.

He stands up, fingers toying with a button on his instrument, probably turning some things off.

He turns around, you don't duck to the side.

The men's visibly taken back, his turn stopping mid-way, lips slightly parting for a second. Honey brown eyes find yours before his pupils travel down at your body behind your glass window. He genuinely smiles after a few seconds, eyes half crescents, full lips tugging upwards, you can almost hear his giggle.

“Hi.”, voice soft, Johnny says once he opened his own window a bit more, forearms on his frame, mirroring your own posture.

“Hey, that was very good.”, you tell him, head tilting to your left.

“Ah, thank you. I messed up somewhere in the beginning, though.”, one hand scratches the back of his neck like an embarrassed teenager, before his elbow rests on the frame, hand holding his jaw.

“Ah shoot, I'll send something easier next time.”, you tease, to which he laughs lightly, the sound airy.

“Would be easier to send it by text, wouldn't it ?”, Johnny asks, one eyebrow raised and you have to say, you took a second to understand. But when the brunette hands you his phone, pricy devise between two apartments on the ninth floor, your eyes grow wide.

Your number, he wants your number.

Probably just because you two are neighbors, you have a bunch of your neighbors’ phone number too...

And also probably because sending sheet via airdrop isn't the most convenient thing in the world. Don’t over think it, Y/N. Don’t overthink it.

Two hands grab his phone, just in case, and you struggle to remember your phone number all of a sudden.

You have to retract in your room, too scared you're going to drop the devise with your slightly trembling hands before eventually typing in your name and phone number. You don’t get why you’re so nervous, maybe it’s because Johnny didn’t stop looking at you, slightly giggling at your antics.

“Oh, by the way. I'm sorry if sending that tab sheet the first time was too much. I just couldn't resist.”, Johnny blurs out once he gets his phone back, sliding it back into his pocket. It’s his turn to look slightly nervous, hand rubbing at his shoulder.

“Ah, no, not at all ! It was fun, plus I think we might share the same music taste.”, you reassure him with a smile.

“Really ? You should send me your playlists.”, your neighbor says with an enthusiastic tone, eyes lightening up.

If Jaehyun was there, he'd tell you this was blatant flirting. Maybe you'd agree. At that very moment, you thank your past self for having a pretty organized Spotify accounts, you're one of these people with matching playlists accounts and vague names, a playlist for each feeling almost.

“Yeah, sure ! I'll send you my Spotify user !”, you immediately tell him, as keen as he is.

“Nice, and I c-.", his sentence is abruptly cut by a surprised noise falling from his lips, brown eyes looking up at the sky. He sticks out his right hand, palm up.

Rain starts pouring down.

Saturday, laundry day. It’s not a moment you particularly cherish but at least, you do not have to walk meters or kilometers to wash your clothes. Half thorn basket on your left hip, your right hand mindlessly scrolls through Johnny’s playlist, small smile on your features.

See, after the rain started pouring down, you two decided to return to your rooms in unanimity. Now that he had your number, communication was a lot, lot easier. As promised, you sent him your Spotify profile, where he followed you and you did the same.

User youngho’s listening to “The Weekend – SZA” from “late summer nights and city lights” playlist.

Your playlist.

User citylight’s listening to “Angelina – WIINSTON” from “yellow” playlist. His playlist.

Blatant flirting, Jaehyun would say.

Johnny has his playlist organized by colors, a simple theme you quite like. You have to say, you like all of them but, you had to follow his “purple”, “blue” and “yellow” playlist, where your neighbor managed to capture the color’s feeling. However, after a few days, the “red” playlist sat untouched. You didn’t dare. For having a similar playlist Johnny was actually shamelessly listening to, you knew exactly what the “red” playlist held.

To : Johnny, 1:25 pm. : “how does angelina only has 40k view on youtube !!”

You quickly type on your keyboard, right after saving the said song to your likes. Finding new artist and finding new song’s always fun, especially when Johnny’s as invested as you are. He’d send you his thoughts on some songs, and you quickly learned the brunette was musically more intelligent than some people in your course.

From : Johnny, 1:27 pm. : “I honestly don’t know….” : “It’s such a catchy song too like”

Double text. Fuck, Jaehyun really got into your brain, didn’t he ? The notification bar slides down for a few seconds, enough for you to read his texts. At the same time, the metallic doors of your elevator open up to the lobby. Leaving your devise in your basket of dirty clothes, you figure you’d answer in a few minutes, once you’re done with your laundry.

“Good afternoon, Sangkyu !”, you call out the the older men before he manages to see you. It’s a fun thing you like to do, catching him off guard whenever you can. Turning his face towards you, the bold men vigorously waves.

“Y/N ! Hello !”

You don’t stop by his cubicle, rather turn to your left right before. There’s built the building’s laundry unit, you thank the architect every week for this. You do pay a little for it every month but again, it’s better than having to walk for minutes with a basket of heavy fabric. Four small machines and four bigger, it’s enough for everyone in the building. It’s also where some announcements are tapped, probably because people usually sit around the laundry room waiting for their clothes.

You’re probably going to watch an episode of Chambers while your clothes watch, you think to yourself as you open the door. It seems the universe has some other plans for you.

By now, it’s almost comical how easily you recognize Johnny’s back. Brown t-shirt on his broad shoulders, his head bob to a rhythm you can’t hear. He’s dropping his wet clothes in the machine to dry them, face turning towards the noise as you close the heavy door behind you.

“Oh, Y/N, hey !”, his smile is heard through his voice, right hand taking his earphones one. Johnny places his Airpods in their case, one you quickly notice is Marvel themed.

“Hey, Johnny.”, you wave with a hand, taking your earphones off as well.

“I was just listening to your playlist.”, the brunette says, shaking his earphones in his hand. You laugh at that, leaving your basket on the table. You assume the second basket there is Johnny’s. “Same !”

There’s a comfortable silence, the brunette pushes a few buttons on the machine and his clothes are sent for a cycle. You, yourself, drop your clothes in the washing machine after setting your phone on the brown table. You’re about to turn around and sit down, but you’re abruptly blocked by a tall figure, accidently bumping into Johnny’s chest.

“Oh, sorry.”, he breathes out, you hear him place another basket on his machine, right hand on your shoulder as if his chest did anything more than surprise you. “No worries…How many clothes do you have ?”, you ask with a laugh, not meaning to sound rude. But your neighbor’s dumping a second whole basket into the machine right next to you.

“Ah, Ten. He needs an entire outfit every day. Sometimes he even changes in the middle of the day.”, the machine quietly starts after the blue liquid is poured, Johnny leans against it. You’ve never seen your neighbor so up close, how is his face so symmetrical ? Slender eyes curling inwards, short little lashes batting a few times.

“Y/N ?”, fuck. His lips sure were moving and you didn’t register anything at all, you probably look dumb.

“I’m sorry, wh- what did you say ?”, clearing your throat, your eyes travel down to the machine, looking at the settings like you forgot to turn something on.

“I found your guitar picks. I mean, I assumed they’re yours.”, he says again, but he doesn’t hide the wide smile on his lips. You probably look dumb, really dumb. Right hand fishes into his back open, before he presents what indeed is one of your guitar picks, the light blue one. He holds it between his thumb and index, you notice he does so the right way, maybe he plays guitar.

“Oh, yeah. That’s definitely mine. Where did you find it…?”, you half ask, already knowing the possible answer. His palm opens to reveal not one, but two other picks of different colors.

“Washing machine.”, he says simply.

You learn Johnny uses a detergent that smells like vanilla and some flower blossom you can not distinguish, but the smell sure is comforting. It floats in the air as he folds his clothes next to you while doing a very detailed report on The Weeknd’s new album.

“But he’s right, though. “Repeat after me” is just a song where he brainwashes her but it’s so good.”, you tell Johnny while you take care of your wet clothes.

“His storytelling skills just keep getting better.”, he approves while popping a candy in his mouth. “Want some ?”

“Oh yeah, thanks !”, dropping the small chocolate in your hand, both your attentions are caught by the sound of the door opening. A lady in her mid-thirties enters the room, dyed red hair stopping at her shoulders.

“Miss Jeon, hi !”, you great the lady with a smile, one she easily returns. For the entire year you’ve been there, you don’t think you ever saw her without one tugging her lips.

“Hey, kids !”

Ah, yes. Miss Jeon also insists on calling everyone slightly younger than her “kid”. You don’t mind, though. You notice the rolled up paper in her right hand as she takes the hairband out.

“Doing laundry, eh ?”, she starts out, “Ah, it’s a great thing you two are here. Me and my husband are organizing a little gathering for the building’s anniversary.”

Right, Sangkyu told you about it, you remember. You hear Johnny hum behind you, to what Miss Jeon continues.

“It’ll be Saturday in two weeks ! Johnny, you and your roommate could come and get to know everyone a bit better, yeah ? Though I see you’ve already made friends with our Y/N.” Oh no, there she goes. You love the Jeons, but they’re so, so talkative, and they never know when to stop. They’re like parents taking your old embarrassing pictures out when your friends are over. Your eyes grow wide, a slightly embarrassed chuckle coming out of your lips.

The lady struggles to unwrap the paper, to which Johnny leaves the shirt he was folding to help her out.

“Ah, thank you. You know, Y/N isn’t really that talkative, but I think it’s because we didn’t share a lot in common, and we’re not as young and handsome as you.”

God. Stuck on your chair, wide eyes look at the scene as your neighbor chuckles. “Oh, really ?”, he urges her to continue to your misbelief, but you quickly understands he’s doing it on purpose, crescent eyes sparkling with amusement as he looks over at you, the young and handsome bit wasn’t necessary but it sure did boost his ego.

Miss Jeon finally unfolds the paper, a big announcement on the anniversary gathering she’s holding. In the park, with the date and hour, you guess you should find an appropriate dress for the event and something to eat to bring.

“Anyways, it’s great having new faces ! You’ll come, right ?”, sticking he paper to the wall, the lady claps her hands, a little joyful jump when Johnny nods.

“Yeah. We’ll go together, yeah ?”

You learn Johnny isn’t only a good looking guy, he’s also a really good friend.

The friendship grows easily, after Miss Jeon left, he helps you out with your clothes while already planning what to bring for the gathering. The brunette tells you he’s better at cooking salty dishes than sugary cakes. You agree on that, it’s one of the many reasons why you buy anything sugary at the coffee shop down the street. Nonetheless, you and your new neighbor decide to challenge yourselves, you propose some French crepes and Johnny agrees on using his kitchen for it, with the help of Ten who’ll surely be here. Surely, the kids living in the buildings would love them and, they aren’t that hard to make.

You two walked to your apartment floor, basket in hand, though Johnny’s ability to carry two at the same time is rather impressive. One on top of the other, you try to be as discreet as possible when your eyes travel down to his arms, flexing, to his ring clapped fingers, gripping at the handles. He doesn’t walk you to your door but, is it really necessary ?

It’s funny how the universe seems so willing to put him on your path.

Every now and then, you catch a glimpse of the men through your window, walking in his room, mindlessly walking back and forth when he’s thinking about a composition, pen taking on his full bottom lip. He seems really concentrated whenever he tries to write something, eyebrows furrowed, whispering quietly to himself. He catches you carelessly dancing to songs late at night under your lights, moving like nobody’s watching, hands in the air as the singer’s angelic voice seems to control your body, silently giggling when you catch his eyes and abruptly stop.

He seems to vaguely have the same schedule as you do, you see him getting ready some days of the weeks, applying cream on his face like the first time you ever caught a glimpse at his sharp features at a distance. And you bump into him in the elevator every other day, both so exhausted with your classes, heavy backpack carelessly throws over your shoulders, so tired you two would rather smile and stay silent in the metal cubicle. You see him with his roommate a few times too, the first time happens to be right in front of their door, both of them carrying two bags of groceries.

Finally, you’re introduced to Ten, a much smaller and a bit thinner guy, though you quickly find out his personality might be as big as Johnny himself. His bright smile and laugh are both extremely contagious, and you also notice for yourself how much he cares about his appearance. Just like Johnny told you when you first saw him in the laundry unit, he wears different outfits like he’s going for a runway every day. Sharp eyes covered under his jet black hair, you can’t help but notice the multiple piercings on his ears.

Funny enough, you catch your new friend at the “Flâner” coffee shop, getting the exact same cake you brought him and some dark coffee, he tells you he got addicted to everything they do but regret not having enough time to sit down and study here.

On top of that, he never stops texting you, you never stop texting him. Conversation flows easily to the point where you sometimes have to pause to type out a response while you’re on the phone with Jaehyun.

Ah, your dear friend Jaehyun. Your blonde friend follows the events like a drama, though you tell him multiple times that “Nothing will happen, we’re just neighbors.”

Are you, though ? You don’t know if neighbors send each other sheet, you and Johnny never stopped, it became easier with his number. You don’t know if neighbors talk to each other by the windows, for so long it leaves marks on both your arms at the end of the night, red dent on your skin. You don’t know if normal neighbors talk to each other that much.

You and Johnny tip toe on the lines between neighbors and friends, the line between friends and…a little more ? The line snaps right before the building’s anniversary.

Thursday, one in the afternoon when the metal doors of your elevator open to your hallway. The sun’s shining, birds singing, your teacher’s car broke down, leaving you with a free day. Truly, the universe was on your side, you thought when you got the text from your classmate. After texting Jaehyun who told you he already went to the mall at your opposite, you decided to use that time to buy some curtains and take a day off your studies. A well deserved day off, you might add.

After searching again and again, you thought it’d be better to get new ones. You remember the old ones got dirty anyways. Plus, it’s not like you want to hide yourself from Johnny, he has some and you figure you should too for some privacy every now and then. A pack of clear curtains in your hands and some cushions in a bag for your living room, you step out of the metal cubicle, only to be greeted by a Johnny standing right in front of your door. Attention caught by the sound, your friend turns around, half expecting to see you and, he looks slightly flustered ? Short eyelashes bat a few times, rosy cheeks as he opens his month just to close it right after.

“Hey, Johnny ?”, you start, completely clueless at first, you don’t notice the white fabric he has in his hand. “Do you need something ?”, you ask, setting down all the new things you bought down, alongside your bag as you fish for your keys inside.

“I-uh…”, he starts. Why is his voice so shaky ? Eyebrows slightly raised, a knee down, you look up at your friend with a curious look. At that, the brunette looks away. Honey eyes diverge to his right as he shifts his body from left to right.

“Johnny ?”, keys in hand, you rise to your feet, slightly turning away to open your door, struggling a little at the last lock.

“We uh, got some clothes mixed up.”, he tells you, pink hue on his cheeks. You take a few seconds to understand, before recalling the meeting in the laundry unit.

“Oh ! I didn’t even notice anything missing.”, you tell him with a laugh, before your smile wavers to a more…stunned expression. The white fabric he’s holding in a hand, you only need a second look to distinguish the lace waistline you know too well. Your panties. He’s holding your panties. God, you didn’t even notice ? You wear these often, you don’t have that much panties. “Oh.”, you say again, with a much different tone. Heat washes over your body, a much deeper shade of pink coloring your cheeks.

Lips dry, you extend your hand down, almost timid to hold your own piece of clothing.

Johnny stays quiet, handing you the white underwear, hand hiding in his pocket right after.

“Erhm, thank you.”, you mumble out, hiding the fabric behind the pack of clear curtains, like he did not have the time to look at it before.

“I’m sorry, I found them in my shirts this morning and I first thought about just leaving them at your door but it would’ve been even more awkward.”, he laughs slightly, hand rubbing at the back of his nape again. You laugh lightly at that, it sure would’ve been even weirder to find your panties in a box in front of your door. Creepier too.

“Would’ve been very Joe-like.”, you tell him with a smile, the atmosphere immediately a lot less tense. You’re thankful for it, it’s clear Johnny didn’t want things to be…weird either. He laughs a little, cheeks high, before noticing your new purchase, especially your curtains.

“Oh, redecorating a bit ?”, his arms cross in front of him, biceps building up, stretching the sleeves of his shirt. “Ah, a little. I just needed new curtains, I forgot where I stored the old ones.”, you tell him, shoulder leaning again your door. “Putting them on was a nightmare.”, you sigh a little, head resting on your door as well. When you first moved in, you had to put the curtains all alone and only remember the ache in your neck and arms.

“…Was it ?”, he asks with a sly smile, eyebrows lightly furrowed like he’s questioning your experience.

“Some of us aren’t blessing with your height, Johnny.”, you tell him with a fakely annoyed glare, “I almost fell down and broke my back.”. You dramatize with a pout on your lip, to which Johnny only smirks lightly.

“Need some help ?”, Johnny finally, head tilting to the side. “I don’t want you breaking your back.” Yet, Johnny thinks.

“Ah, please !”, no need for him to propose a second time, you’d take anyone to help you with these demons any day, let alone someone like Johnny. One hand turns your door handle, proceeding to push it with your body. “Welcome to my humble home.”

Johnny lightly chuckles at your antics, curious eyes scanning over your apartment. It’s always weird to see an apartment so similar to yours yet so different, he hums at the sent of the light incense you blow out right before leaving. Sliding your shoes off, your friend follows quickly after, though he takes them with one hand to neatly store them right next to your door.

“It’s really pretty.”, he hums behind you as you walk towards your living room, letting the back full of cushions on your table. Smiling brightly as his compliment, you have to say you were pretty proud of your decorating skills. You took multiple months to pile everything you wanted up and, after a year, all your plants grew green and luscious.

“Thank you very much !”, hands gathering your hair, you quickly attach them with a hairband you always have on your wrist. “Do you want something to drink ?”

“Hm, maybe later ! Let’s start with these nightmare curtains first.”

“Alright, let me just get the stool.”, and on that, you take a second to remember exactly where you stored it before quickly jogging to the small closet near your entrance door. You don’t remember the last time you used it, you take a few seconds to take the cold iron object out of its hiding place, one foot stuck in a random box you still have there. You finally pull the object with a sharp tug and not without a small sound of struggle. Johnny is quick to grab into the heavy object and lets you take care of the pack you just bought. For the few seconds you take to move from your living room to your bedroom, you pray you didn’t leave anything too embarrassing there, you really didn’t think you’d have Johnny over today. But thankfully, when you open your bedroom door, the only think you left on your bed’s your pyjamas or rather, shirt you sleep in you didn’t fold the morning.

“So that’s the room.”, Johnny notices softly, the very room he seems fragments of from his own. Curious eyes look over your desk and the multiple things you sticked right above it, before they travel to the side he definitely never saw from his window. Denty fingers gaze at your guitar’s neck like he’s afraid of touching it without your permission, though it’s definitely clear you don not mind.

“It is ! Is it weird seeing it entirely ?”, you joke a bit around as you sit the pack down on your desk. Scissors you leave on your desk are used to cleanly open the transparent protection as Johnny opens the stool and places it where he desires. “Really weird, I’m used to…this.”, he jokes too, thumbs and pointers digits forming a frame in front of his eyes. “And that’s what you see. My room looks so empty from here.”, Johnny notes, leaning a little in front of your window.

“It looks like you only have a bed and a piano in there.”, you tease him.

“I don’t ! I spent two entire days decorating it ! I’ll show you next time.”, he promises and somehow, it has the power to make your lips part a little, heat slightly burning your cheeks. The brunette doesn’t notice though, and immediately starts helping you out with your curtains.

Or rather, you help him. Johnny does most of the work on your curtains and you won’t complain. The men takes things into his hands, stepping onto the stool. Where you needed to climb the four steps, Johnny barely needs to climb two, body barely needing the extra height. His hands work quickly to detach the metal bar on each side, fingers twisting at the sides. When the black bar is finally off, he hands it to you so you can work on the hoops and slide the curtains in, which you do quickly.

As easily as he took it out, Johnny slides the metal bar back in before screwing each side in. From this angle, his jaw looks even more sharp, eyes focused never leave his work. He looks even more intimidating, especially when his eyes look down at you and you have to dodge eye contact. “Much easier like that.”, you say, almost dumbfounded at how easily he just did…that. Johnny laughs with the breathy giggle you’re starting to get used to. “See, only took a few minutes at best.”, Johnny says while stepping off the stool, hand lightly touching the curtains.

“Wait, let me throw this away.”, you mumble out, picking the packaging in your hands. Again, Johnny isn’t slow to follow, telling you he’ll help you with your stool. The young men follows you quickly, easily finding the small closet you store anything and everything in once you point it with your index. From your small kitchen, the sound of the stool being pushed inside and the door closing is followed by Johnny’s joyful “Done !”.

“What do you want to drink ?”, you finally ask when the brunette sits down right in front of your kitchen counter. Elbows on the cold grey material, he stares for way too long at the two choices you offer him. Tropical juice in your right hand, still unopened bottle of some bubbly beverage in the other, your friend acts like it’s a life or death decision. “C’mon ooon.”, you laugh out, arms getting tired at the way you’re holding the heavy bottles.

Finally, the brunette points your right hand with an index.

“Oh, you’re a slytherin ?”, he asks when you open your cupboard. Glasses on the bottom and mugs at the top, you look up at the same exact mug he noticed. Right in the middle, the grey and green logo is a clear statement on your Hogwarts house.

“Yes, a very proud slytherin.”, you tell him while setting the two tall glasses on the counter, pouring equal amounts of juice into them. “Let me guess, Gryffindor ?”, you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“I actually never took the test.”, Johnny says, to which you dramatically gasp. “And I never watched the movies. One of my friend’s just a really proud slytherin as well, I bought so many slytherin themed gifts that I just can recognize the logo right away.”

Double gasp, you set your glass down, eyes growing wide as you’re trying to judge if he’s actually joking or not. You found he definitely isn’t, but he does find your reaction quite funny. His laughs resonates into his glass, liquid half drowned.

“Are you for real ?”, you ask him just to make sure, and your neighbor just nods.

“A hundred percent, I just never really had the chance to watch it.”, poking his tongue out, pink muscle collects the drop of juice threatening to fall down.

“In 2020 ?”, you’re dumbfounded, you never thought someone could actually go so long without watching it. “You have to watch it.”

“I will. One day. Maybe.”, Johnny teases, eyes falsely rolling back.

“Now.”, you tell him, a certain sense of urgency in your voice. “I won’t let you get out of my house uneducated, young sir.”, you tell him before looking through another cupboard, hand pushing some unopened chips bag and opened for too long biscuits. Finally, your hand find the flat package you were looking for, proudly taking out for Johnny to say right after checking for the expiration date. “I have popcorn.”

How can Johnny refuse ? How can he, who he has to say, already has a soft spot for you, say no to such a proposition ? Not when your clutching the said uncooked popcorn bag against your chest, slight pout he’d probably kiss away on your lips. Wait, what. Johnny understands he’s utterly fucked once he agrees after a very short time thinking, he’s fucked because he knows the more time he spends with you, the more he’s probably going to fall. You, on the other hand, only understand what you did once Johnny comfortably takes place on your coach. You’re unaware of it, but you have the same exact soft spot, the same small butterflies whenever music is heard from the other’s bedroom, the same tiny smile creeping up whenever one sends a song recommendation, the same tingly feeling in the middle of your chest whenever one catches a glimpse of the other.

Another thing the two of you have in common, you two have some impressive actor abilities, if Johnny acts cool and unbothered, totally not lowkey stressed and watched over by adrenaline at this very moment, you can do the exact same.

Has his thighs always been so…Muscular ? Firm ? Your eyes quickly move away when you catch the train of your thoughts, looking into your bowl like it’s most interesting thing ever as you pour down the hot popcorn. Picking one up, you pop in into your mouth, unconsciously trying to distract your thoughts. This brand’s popcorn really good, right amount of caramel on each piece, you wonder what hickeys look like on Johnny’s caramel skin.

Fuck, bravo. Way to go. It’s his jeans, you blame it on his jeans and how they seem to perfectly hug his legs as he spreads them on your coach, one arm right behind it as he scrolls on his phone with the other.

If the brunette’s thumb is scrolling ever so slowly on his twitter timeline, his mind isn’t really able to read the small tweets at this very moment, not when you set the bowl full of popcorn down on the table before dropping on your knees in front of your tv. Why does he have to see everything in such a way, Johnny quickly blinks and tries to get his attention back on his phone but what can he do when you’re right in the background, in the peripherical vision.

He sees you looking for the movie in the pile of CDs and games you have, before finally finding the very first Harry Potter, a triumphant “Ah-ha !”, coming out of your lips.

“You’ll love it.”, you tell Johnny once you place the CD in the CD player, something you haven’t done in actual months, seating down right next to him. You’re some what grateful you only own one single sofa that’s enough for two people and a bowl full of popcorn right in between.

“Wait, is that how Cedric dies ?”, Johnny’s mouth hangs open at the young actor laying seemingly lifeless on the grass after a fatal spell, a gag sound coming out of your friend’s lips when Voldemort’s bare feet comes in contact with the Hufflepuf’s face. “I hate this shot.”, you tell him, slightly disgusted at the scene, before you yawn loudly against your hand. The glass you refilled many time is now empty, you leave it right next to the empty pizza box Johnny insisted on buying.

It’s midnight, you can barely process the hour it is, not how long you stayed by Johnny’s side to the point where you’re curled up next to him under the blanket you two are sharing. At the end of the first movie, you were happy to see a pretty speechless and invested Johnny, it was still pretty early, around four and a half in the afternoon and you both agreed to watch the second. At the end of the second, he offered to buy pizza and something to drink while you popped the third movie. Let’s just say Johnny got a bit excited when you said the four movie was your favorite and midnight being still a bit early for two students, you agreed on watching a last one.

“So, what do you think ?”, you ask once the credits starts rolling, lazy smile stretching your features. Your tall friend flops off the coach, letting his body slowly fall on the ground to grab his phone charging. “This one’s definitely the best, I mean, the whole Marauders thing ? Love it.”, he tells you, head resting on the sofa you’re still on. “I wanna know what my house is now.”, he mumbles while unlocking his phone, searching the right quizz.

“Wait, wait. Let me read the questions !”, you tell him, hand stretching to get his phone, and the brunette gives it to you without hesitation. You, who took the exact same official test four times, are familiar with questions and ask them one by one. Day or night, forest or beach side, Johnny thinks about his answers before. Familiar animation before the sorting hat reveals his pick, you hide the phone with a hand. “Guess.”, you tell him after looking at the result, results you would’ve easily guessed.

“Gryffindor ?”, he asks with a slight bit of doubt in his voice.

“Gryffindor !”, you tell him with a dramatic shout, mimic the sorting hat’s. His head rolls back with a grown, eyes screwed shut even though he has a smile stretching his full lips.

“Ah-! I lowkey wanted to be a Slytherin.”, he tells you, big puppy like eyes looking at you from below.

“Oh, really ?”, you ask, slightly surprised. You had to say Johnny was more of a Gryffindor than a Slytherin.

“Yeah, I wanted us to match.”

Full lips out in a pout, it’s your turn to think about kissing it away.

You understand you’re fucked when Johnny helps you out in cleaning your living room, washing your glasses while you dry your plates and bowl. He understands he’s fucked again when you hum a song he’s familiar with but can’t put his finger on the name. You both are fucked when he slides right behind you to set your glasses in your cupboard, chest brushing against your back. It feels strangely domestic, comfortable and…Normal ? A soft “Be careful”, comes out of his mouth and his breath moves a few pieces of your hair, arms stretching up to carefully place the glasses he just washed. It’s your turn to walk him to his door, where you two understand Ten’s already fast asleep, loud snores coming out of one of the rooms.

How strange it is, people say time alters in airports, empty trains stations and others. Time alters in front of Johnny’s door. He leans against his door frame like the first time you two met, lazy eyes looking down at you as you stretch a bit more.

“It was fun.”, he tells you quietly, tired smile stretching your lips. You return it, sighing as your muscle wake up.

“Yeah, glad I got you into Harry Potter.”, you tease him a bit, “Might have to buy you some Gryffindor themed things.”

“Ten’s gonna lose it when he learns he wasn’t the one to get me to watch it.”, you frown at that, head tilting to the side.

“Wait, he tried ?”

“Yeah, but he never sold it like you did.”, he hums and for a moment, it seems his mind isn’t really where his words are. Honey eyes drop for a quick second to your lips, but he regains his thoughts as quickly.

“Oh, he’s gonna kill me, isn’t he ?”, you joke a bit, though you’re surprised you managed to get Johnny into the saga quickly when he told you before that him and Ten knew each other for years. The brunette’s laugh is breathy, controlled so he doesn’t wake up his roommate who’ll probably kill him right before killing you. “If he finds out, totally. We don’t have to tell him, though.”, and, did his voice just drop even lower ? You didn’t think it was possible, the man’s voice is already deep but right now, in the dead of the night, it almost seems sultry.

“Oh wow, having our secrets already ?”, you breath out, biting a laugh down on your bottom lip. It does it for Johnny, his attention was already on them right before but, his slightly clouded mind could not really help himself. He doesn’t take his eyes away, not even when your mouth slightly parts at the realization. Only then do you wonder if it is mutual, your breath alters for a second, just when the taller let’s a simple “Yeah” tumble from his lips.

He leans down, or at least, you think he does. A millimeter, maybe you dreamt it, maybe he was going to hug you, a millisecond, a third voice gets heard from the deeps of the apartment.

“Johnny ? Turn the fucking light off.”

“Y/N-ah, Y/N !”, Sangkyu sings the moment you step foot in your building with your grocery bag. You guess quickly it’s because of tomorrow’s gathering, the old men always loved a reason to party, with moderation obviously.

“Hi ! You seem particularly happy today.”, you tell him, stopping in front of his cubicle, you notice he added another drawing to his wall, probably the kids on the first floor.

“I am ! We finished making the cakes a few hours ago and they are de-li-cious.”, his eyes disappear as he smiles brightly, you decided you love this man with all your being.

“Ah, I can’t wait to taste them !”, you hum, switch your bag from your left hand to your right. Even without knowing what him and his wife did, you can at least guess without a doubt that it is going to be as delicious as he says it is.

“Just a day ! What are you making ?”

“French crêpes !”, you tell him while lifting your bag, proud smile at your pronunciation, you just went and bought some milk and flour for it right after leaving your university, Johnny told you he had everything else.

“Ah, yes, with our new neighbors, hm ?”, he starts, smile turning vicious and oh, you know where he’s going. You wonder if Jaehyun and him are working hand in hand. Let’s just say Jaehyun did not drop the subject, not when he learned you accidently ignored his texts the other night because of a movie night with the brunette. Not when you told him you think Johnny almost kissed you. Or hugged you.

“Yes.”, you tell him simply, not going any further. You hope he will drop the subject, but you know he probably won’t.

“We hear you two playing, but you should both play something together.”, Sangkyu tells you, not taking the hint or maybe, he decided to ignore it. But he is not wrong, you two should play something together. You have to say, you didn’t know your playing was so loud but if no one ever complained, it was a good thing, right ?

“We should.”, you tell him with a smile, ready to go towards the elevator, his voice stops you a second time.

“Do you like him ?”, he suddenly asks. God, he really is acting like a father who also wants to be a friend. You suddenly stop right in your track, hand turning towards the oldest.

“Who ?”, you ask dumbly, but Sangkyu isn’t one to take your fake attitude.

“Johnny.”, he tells you straight forward and a bit too loudly, arms leaning against his counter with a too happy smile.

“Sangkyun…”, you whine, quiet in case anyone walks in.

“Y/N-ah…!”, he mocks the tone of your voice and you whine even more.

“Come on, you can tell me.”, you says, you know he won’t ever let you go and even if he does, he’ll draw his own flowed conclusions, better tell him already.

“Maybe, yes.”, you tell the oldest before walking a bit too quickly towards your elevator, index jamming into the up button.

“I knew it !” and, when you hide yourself in the metal cubicle, you see your old friend making a few happy dance moves with his arms, you wonder if you’re seeing Jaehyun in the future.

“Alright, how’s this ?”, you ask Jaehyun after stepping right in front of your phone. You’re actually video chatting with your blonde friend, but you can barely see half of his face, he decided to hold his phone so close you could only see from his hairline to the bridge of his nose.

“Turn around.”, he says, breath overloading his device’s microphone. You do so anyways, showing him the outfit you decided to wear for tonight. Obviously, it was just a small gathering between neighbors, you didn’t have to go all in with a cocktail dress but, a nice and pretty one was expected. Following your friend’s order, you turn to show off a black, thin strapped, body hugging dress you got a year ago and yet, never wore.

“Is that your mom’s jacket ?”, Jaehyun asks, chewing on what you think is a handful of chips. You hum at the question, you’re indeed wearing the oversized jean jacket you mother used to wear when she was in college. “The dress looks hot, when did you buy it ?”

“Eh, last year ? Around the middle of the summer.”, you tell your friend, stepping out of your phone’s camera to search for your earrings. “Wait, you never wore it, right ?” “Nope.”, from a distance, you can hear Jaehyun mumbling something about you having too many clothes. Maybe he’s right, but you brush the remark anyways, taking your rings.

“How’s my makeup ?”, you ask, kneeling in front of your phone, you step closer to let the blonde have a closer look at your eyes makeup. “You know I don’t know shit about makeup !”, he complains, finally letting you see his face as he moves his phone. “Jaehyun, does it look good ?”, you ask him, acting annoyed at his antics.

“Yes, you look good.”, he says, voice somewhat a high pitched tone as he snaps a picture once you stand up again. “If lover boy doesn’t kiss you tonight.” Small smile stretches your lips at the compliment, you decide to brush the second sentence off, applying some lipstick before checking your watch.

“And you’re telling me he acted like nothing happened ?”, Jaehyun asks, sound of the chips bag covering his voice. You sigh at that, eyes rolling a little, you think no matter how many times you’ll tell him, he’ll keep asking. “He did. I mean, his roommate was there so, he couldn’t really…Y’know ?”

A quick glance at the bag you’re supposed to bring down to the gathering starting in fifteen minutes, it holds the dozens of crêpes you, Johnny and Ten made a bit earlier. Just like it was planned before hand, you showed up after class to their apartment, Ten was the one who opened the door. Apparently, Johnny was a bit late, his teacher’s lecture went on for a bit longer than anticipated and when he showed up, he immediately helped with the batter. The brunette greeted you like he usually would and acted like nothing happened the night before, though you don’t blame him, not when his roommate was between the two of you half of the time. You had to bring your own pan after realizing how many crêpes you’d actually make and, after about two hours, you left to get ready. Let’s just say Jaehyun was not happy with the lack of exciting events. You weren’t either, but you still somehow hoped something would happen tonight, somewhere deep in your thoughts. However, you didn’t want to think too much about it, tonight was a gathering to celebrate and have fun, you didn’t want to overthink what happened the night prior.

“Anyways, I have to go.”, you finally tell you friend, who simply tells you to enjoy yourself and text him after before hanging up.

Heavy bag of crêpes in your hand, you slide out of your apartment after spraying some perfume on your neck. Locking your door, your neighbors are quick to follow as you agreed to go together and, fuck.

He looks hot, Johnny looks hot. There’s a slight second where you stay silent and take in his figure, legs hugged by a tight pair of black jeans, cotton white blouse slightly open on his caramel chest, the golden hour isn’t even here and yet, the slight bit of sun hitting his skin makes him glow. You know, you know he caught you staring and yet he stays silent, slight smirk tugging a side of his full lips.

“Y/N, Ma’am !”, Ten’s voice drags you out of you reverie. The men takes a step closer, you notice the very pricy Yves Saint Laurent grey and white top he’s wearing. “You look fucking good ! Right ?”, it seemed the men only needed a few hours to get familiar with you, but you don’t complain and smile at the compliment.

“You do, you look amazing.”, if Ten managed to make you smile brightly at his antics, Johnny’s low voice only makes you blush and your eyes waver a bit, not knowing where to look, almost unable to keep eye contact with the tallest. “Thank you. I-, hm, you too.”

Great.

“Thank you. Let’s get going, I don’t want to be late.”, thankfully, he doesn’t say more, hand grabbing onto his own bag where you assume he has the chocolate and strawberry spread.

“Wait, what about me ?”, his roommate asks, acting so offended you wonder if he isn’t actually hurt by the lack of compliment you and his roommate showed. The smallest frowns, angry glare at Johnny who doesn’t even notice him as he went towards the elevator to call for the metal box.

“This shirt looks amazing on you, very pricy too.”, you tell your neighbor with a laugh, stepping right behind the tallest, waiting.

“And I already told you it looked good.”, he says, right before stepping in the elevator.

“Thank you, Y/N.”, the black haired says your name a bit louder, but you don’t pay too much attention either.

Poor thing, if you and Johnny aren’t aware yet of the tension, Ten sure is, and he hates every bit of it when he understands, stuck in an elevator where he’s the third wheel. By the way, has your elevator always been so small ? Your back leans against one wall as Johnny does the same right in front of you, honey eyes traveling from your eyes to your uncovered collarbones. The brunettes tries, he really tries to stop his eyes from traveling down but they do eventually, swallowing built up saliva when his pupils travel down your hips, to your naked legs.

Ten’s almost about to say something, just to break the thick silence before the doors opening saves the young men, he decides he definitely is not going to stay with the two of you tonight.

You, on the other side, seem to finally be able to breathe once you step out the elevator, Johnny’s attention did not go unnoticed. Try and act normal, probably the only thing going on your mind and Johnny’s.

“Hey, look who it is !”, Miss Jeon’s voice is heard before you can even see her. You’re familiar with the park the gathering is taking place in, but it sure looks amazing in the late afternoon. At this time of the year, the grass’ green, flowers bloomed, small fruits are starting to turn red under the summer sunlight. Even better, the water fountains are on, the one right in the middle is large, tall, multicolor lights when the moon shines. Finally, when you and your two friends turn the corner to enter the park, you’re physically greeted by Miss Jeon who’s wearing a really pretty pen skirt, hair flowing in the soft summer wind. “Miss Jeon !”, you greet her with a smile which isn’t enough for the lady who pulls you into a hug. One hand grabs yours and the tallest makes you swirl around, a high pitched “Wow ! Look at you !”, coming out of her lips.

“You look amazing, darling. You two, too.”, as always, the lady is extremely cheerful. You notice hers and other neighbors’ kids already playing around in the park, loud screams every now and then. A bit closer to the fountain, multicolor light are hanging from the threes, you can faintly distinguish a song playing. Large tables are set there, alongside chairs were parents and others are all talking together, setting whatever they bought.

“Go set everything there, we’ll start eating soon.”, Miss Jeon instructs, and you follow her orders as she stays in front of the park to greet anyone coming.

Everything is quickly set up where all the deserts are, neighbors come until you they flood the park, you almost think everyone’s here. “I did not expect so many people.”, Johnny tells you, taking a plastic cup to get himself some juice right before giving you a cup.

“Me neither.”, you tell him, eyes glazing over the last people walking in. Almost everyone responded to the call, a pretty heart warming sigh. Some of your neighbors you never actually talked to are here, mostly because they’re from other buildings from the same project.

“I see Ten is already making friends.”, you continue, eyes catching your friend talking to another neighbor, one you think is in his early thirties, you’ve talked to him once, maybe.

“Ten is a social butterfly.”, Johnny laughs into his cup, before eventually taking a step forward toward the black haired. If his roommate was going to socialize, he might as well too.

“I think it is overrated.”, ah yes, now you remember why you did not much to this guy. James is a foreign, blonde, man bun type of guy who finds everything overrated, it’s almost impossible to talk about your hobbies and interests with him without being ripped apart. He probably isn’t that mean just, not that good at social interaction. You see Ten’s expression turning from excited to somewhat confused, to what you intervene.

“What is ?”, you ask, and you don’t really like when the blonde acts like he did not notice you and Johnny walking.

“Oh, Y/N, hi. Long time no see.”, he says, not paying any attention to Johnny. You greet him anyways, slightly taken back by his attitude. “And you are ?”

“Johnny.”, the men behind you says, stretching a hand out to shake his.

“Oh, strong grip.”, slight contortion of the blond’s face, he quickly retracts his hand when Johnny lets go.

“Anyways, when are you letting me see you play ?”, James ask and oh, how you have to search in your memory to understand what the fuck he’s talking about. The blonde wants to learn how to play the guitar, that was, maybe eight months ago.

“Oh eh. One day, maybe.”, you awkwardly laugh.

“We hear you play every night, don’t say you don’t have time for me !”, he tries and laugh off the sentence. Ten shifts, poor thing seems taken back but thankfully, Johnny’s quick to react. As you’re about to respond, his hand slides on your waist, “I’m pretty busy with uni’, but I can send you some great guitarists’ videos.”, you choke out, mind slightly bugging at the brunette’s touch.

“She’ll let you know when she has time for you.”, the tallest does not hesitate and, it visibly annoys the blonde. A sharp “Okay .”, tumbles from his lips before he leaves towards the salty foods.

“He’s weird.”, Ten finally says, Johnny doesn’t take his hand away.

It takes hours for Johnny to address it again.

The midnight breeze always feels special, soft, fresh, it licks the thin layer of sweat the bolt sun created on your skin. Your jacket’s off your shoulders, loosely hanging on the crook of your elbows, seating on the cold marble of the fountain.

Soft sound of the water running behind you, all the kids have been sent to sleep, alongside their parents and other hard working adults needing of sleep, just the low sound of some jazz music you’re unfamiliar with and some chatter as the background noise.

You shoes kick off some small rocks and sand, eyes looking up at the multicolor lights still hanging on the trees. You laugh off one of Johnny’s joke, before he gets serious again, his left hand lightly touching the fountain’s water.

“By the way, sorry about earlier. I didn’t ask if I could touch you like that.”

You have to think for a slight second to understand what he’s talking about, hand grabbing onto the bowl of ice cream you set aside for yourself. Your spoon digs into the chocolate cream, taking a fair amount of whipped cream.

“Oh ! Oh, no. Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind.”, I liked it, you would’ve said if you were a little bit more brave. Spoon in your mouth, you eagerly gulp down the frozen desert, Johnny only softly smiles.

“Is he always like that ?”, he asks, body turning a bit more to face you. He’s close, really close, but it became normal. It became normal for him to have your naked thigh against his, you shamelessly look down at it for god knows how many times tonight. It became normal for you to almost be able to feel his breath die on your skin.

“I don’t know, tonight was the second time I ever talked to him.”, you tell him, tongue quickly cleaning the tiny drop of ice cream forming at the corner of your lips. Johnny stays silent for a second, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips, before its feels like he shakes his thoughts away. His gaze stays fixated on your eyes so confidently it’s even worst than him looking at your lips, you shift under his pupils, crossing a leg over the other.

“He seems really pushy.”, Johnny breathes out, and he finds the exact same octave he was speaking to you in just last night, right in front of his apartment. It’s clear he only is replying for politeness.

“You have hm, some ice cream, here.”, the brunette hums, again ripping you out of your reverie. Left hand covers your mouth, index and middle finger brushing at the corner but it seems you are not picking the right side.

“Wait, no-.”, he laughs for a quick second, crescent eyes before they shift to something else. His thumb quickly wipes the other side of your lips, and you freeze. You lock dead in your position, eyes slightly larger as he helps you clean up with a soft yet deep “There you go.”

For hours now, Johnny had been the only thing on your mind. From the moment he stepped out of his apartment, the moment his eyes seemed to devour every bit of your body, the moment he left is hand lingering on the small of your waist. To the moment he sat down to eat, legs, strong thighs spread, the moment he talked to the smallest kids from the second building, the moment he lead you behind the fountain with a hand in the small of your back.

But, when Johnny lets his lips capture the tip of his thumb, cleaning the bit of ice cream, you think you might never be able to think about anything else but him, but Johnny.

You have to look away, desperately trying to gather your thoughts, something you can’t do when the brunette’s looking at you with such innocent eyes.

“You okay ?”, he asks like he didn’t do anything, like he did not just do that.

“Yeah, I-.”, you have to leave you plastic bowl somewhere behind you, brain fuming to find something else to say.

“You’re blushing. You had the same look yesterday.”, he notes, and…He knows ? He knew before you did, that’s what his slight smirk tells you. “It’s a shame Ten had to ruin it, but I like this setting better.”, Johnny hums, but he never takes his eyes away.

“Could’ve kissed me anyways.”, you dare to say. Your mouth goes dry, for some reason, biting down on your bottom lip. The brunette comes a little closer, and just like last time, you can't help but get lost in his irises, notice the way his eyes curl at their inner corner, now how his pupils slowly eclipses the soft brown of his eyes.

Tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, his lines a bit closer again, hand sliding under your chin. You stop breathing for a second, eyelids involuntarily growing heavy.

“Did I miss my shot ?”, you can almost feel him mouth the words.

“Maybe, but I can give you another one.”, you manage to tease, face tilting to the side before he even does anything. If he doesn't do it himself, you'll break the distance, but he holds you in the palm of his hand, so hypnotise under his spell you can only anticipate his next move.

“Good, would've hated myself for missing it.”, he says and, as you hoped, the brunette finally lets his lips crash against yours. It's soft, a kiss to taste the water, though he himself taste the chocolate you just ate.

Pillows lips slowly starts moving against yours, you easily follow his rhythm, sighing when his hand moves from your chin to your neck, deepening the exchange.

Your hand easily finds his hair, finally letter your fingers grasp onto the soft locks. It's a soft grip, yet Johnny sighs softly against your lips, sound turning into a slight groan once you bite down on his bottom lip.

That does it for him, the kiss quickly turns needy, desperate, he touches where he can, second hand lightly running up your thigh.

Arms wrap behind his neck to keep him close, body leaning backwards, Johnny has to plant a hand on the marble behind you, second hand wrapping behind your waist.

The brunette doesn't hesitate a second more, like he's afraid of letting go of the moment, afraid you're gonna slip away between his fingers like the clear water of the fountain. Pick tongue laps at your bottom lip, you part them without a moment of hesitation. It's eager, rushed, the taste of the desert you just ate still lingers on your tongue while you get the fruity drink he was sipping on moments before.

Finally, when you have to let go for some air, breathing altered by the exchange, Johnny doesn't let go. Long kisses are planted at the corner of your lips, he takes his time until he travels down to your jaw where you stop him.

And, before he can ask you anything, you quickly grab his hand in yours, “Let's go inside.”

He follows quickly behind, leaving everything behind, you take the second gate of the park. Shorter, you also don't have to walk in front of all your remaining neighbors like this, lips swollen, eyes blown.

You don't think you've ever walked so fast to your apartment, you don't think you've ever been so happy to see Sangkyu's spot vacant.

The silence is heavy, breath still uneven when you push the button of the elevator and the doors open immediately.

If you didn't know the men behind you was as desperate as you were, you definitely understand once he pushed you inside the small cubicle.

He blindly pushes the button to your shared floor, right hand wrapping around your throat to swiftly push you against the cold wall. If he doesn't tighten his grip, you sure wish he did, but you have other things to care about at the moment. The hand previously around your neck plants itself right next to your hand and this time, he has to lean down to capture your lips another time.

Completely pinning your body to the cold metal, he uses his hips against yours, a gasp escaping your lips he uses to slip his tongue between your lips again. And, you let a breathy moan come out of your lips when he pushes his hips flush against your, hard on pressing against your body. Even with the two layers, you can feel him.

You never felt so hot inside this elevator, it moves without stopping at any floor, no music as the silence is filled by your soft breaths and the sound of his mouth against yours.

Beat washes over you, if your panties weren't ruined already, they sure are now. Now that the brunette rolls his hips, slowly, tentatively slow, just to make you feel every inch. Your mind's clouded, body reacting by itself when it archs away from the wall.

He lets his forearm rest against the metal wall, about to travel down to your neck, hips grinding against yours.

When he's about to bite down on the skin of yours neck, teeth grazing over the flesh, the doors open to your floor.

It's Johnny's turn to grab onto your hand, pulling you out of the elevator but he never stays too long away from your body.

Full lips pepper kisses on your face, before he breathes out against your skin.

“Your apartment, yeah ?”

Obviously, you want to tell him, naturally walking towards your door.

“Unless you want your roommate to walk in on us.”, you let a breathy giggle out, facing your door.

Fuck, now out of all times, you can not find your keys. Maybe it's because your shaky hands can barely search your pockets. Hard to blame yourself when the brunette stands behind you, hard cock pressed against you, arms tightly wrapped around your stomach, face buried in your neck.

“Baby, they're here.”, the tallest hums, voice so low it vibrates against your skin. His right hands pats one of your front pockets. A simple “Oh.” tumbles from your lips at that, mind hardly registering the way he still his moving against your body, nickname rolling out of his tongue too easily.

Finally, you manage to force your key into your door, quickly twisting the metal piece before you push the door open.

This time, you don't know if you pull Johnny in your apartment or if he pushes you in, the door is loudly shut before the men tries to take your near your coach, as you drop your jacket off somewhere.

“Johnny.”, you try to whine, but it comes out as a breathy moan as the men soflty sucks on the skin between your neck and shoulder, a pale purple petal blooming. His name coming from your lips sounds oh so delicious, Johnny decides he loves the way it sounds, determined to hear it again and again, louder and louder. “Let me at least close the door.”

When he lets you do so, not whitout a pout on his lips, they find yours again in a desperate kiss, hands grabbing the back of your thighs.

“This dress looks so fucking good on you.”, he growls once you let him pick you up, black fabric riding up your thighs.

“Got dressed up for you.”, you confess, your own lips traveling down his neck when the brunette sits down on your coach. He chuckles lowly, head rolling back, humming at the small attentions you're giving him. “Hm, saw you putting your makeup on and knew you'd look ravishing.”, he says.

Large hands on your hips, Johnny easily pushes your hips down on his thigh.

“Wow, I'll make sure to pull my curtains next time.”, you tease, blooming flowers on his collarbones.

“Give me a fucking show next time.”, he growls out, hand ghosting over your neck before his thumb traces your bottom lip again.

You almost freeze, mere thought of following his oder the next time you catch him in front of his window a little bit too appealing. Having him so close yet, too far to feel his touch, you already felt it for days.

“Come on, ride my thigh.”, you moan out.

Forceful hands help you find a rhythm, one you easily follow once your thoughts get over your dizzy mind. You mouth hands open, hands grabbing onto his arms at the sudden gesture. Johnny only smirks, an eyebrow arching up.

If he didn't before, he sure does look like a god at this very moment. Blown out pupil look directly into your eyes, honey color you know so well eclipsed. Swollen, red lips, a hue painted over his cheeks, small love bites trialing down. Soft brown hair messy by your hands.

“What ? You think I didn't see you glaring ?”, there's a slight mocking tone in his voice, slight embarrassment washing over you but your body follows his voice anyways. Strong thigh under your core, you can barely gather words to reply, it's even harder when he flexs his muscles under you.

Your hips rocks back and forth, delicious pressure against your nub but you need more, more than just his thigh. He has everything to offer and if you don't get it now, you might go crazy.

And so, you tell him. “Johnny, need more.”, your voice sure sounded a lot less weak but the men obliges.

“Impatient little thing.”, he gestures towards your room, and when think you might not be able to walk all the way there without him pushing you against another wall, you surprisingly do.

When you turn around and crawl up your bed, Johnny's quick to follow, hands gripping onto the fabric covering his back before he pulls it over his head.

Defined abs under his caramel skin, strong arms holding himself up, you need a moment to take everything in, hands running down his chest when he hover over your body.

“Take it off.”, he demands, voice almost strict. Leg over his hip, you barely use any force to change positions.

You sit on his lap a second time, supporting yourself on your knees to take off your dress. The brunette uses his elbows, mouth parting when you pull the fabric over your hips. He barely needs any support to sit up, hands grasping the black dress to help you take the fabric off entirely.

The brunette mumbles praises into your skin, lips ghosting over your neck, hands touching wherever they can. Desperate, he maps your body, learning every curve, every inch.

“So beautiful.”, he mumbles out, before his right hand traces the line of your panties.

They're soaked, wet patch on his black jeans and he doesn't fail to notice.

“Already so wet, hm ? Fuck, can I ?”, he doesn't hesitate once you give him your verbal permission, a finger running over your folds over the light fabric.

What a simple touch can do to you, you don't doubt the men doing it also has a huge part in it, but you shiver under the slight attention.

Biting down on his bottom lip, ring clapped hand dips into your panties, where his index and middle finger gather your juices, humming contently.

You're about to complain again, ask him to do something already but he beats you at it, both fingers effortlessly sliding between your lower lips.

“Fuck, ah— Johnny.”, hands gripping his shoulders, your eyes screw shut once he finds a slow and torturing pace, moving in and out as his thumb brushes over your bud.

It's sensual, burning, one hand travels down his chest until you're met with his jeans, quickly working on them once he nods.

You curse his tight jeans for a moment before he helps you push the fabric just enough, alongside his grey briefs.

And fuck, he's big. You knew when he grinded against your inner thigh, but the way his cock slaps against his stomach, head red and hungry, has your mouth parting, core clenching against his fingers.

“Shit, yeah. Good girl, right there.”, Johnny loses himself in praises, head rushing with thoughts he groans out once your hand wraps around his length.

It's probably the honest thing you've ever seen, Johnny's head rolls back, it hits the wall of your bedroom, Adam's appel bobbing up and down. The pace of his fingers matches the rhythm of your hand around his cock, eyes slightly opening just to watch your slender fingers around him and the way you take his.

“You're so fucking tight, god.”, a third finger goes alongside and you have to pose, jaw hanging open and the brunette can not resist.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses deep, messy, hurried. It's like his starving, he growl against your mouth when your thumb runs over his slit and your hips move against his fingers.

“Fuck, wanna taste you.”, he flips you over too easily, a gasp coming out of your lips when you back harshly hits your bed.

Strong hands gripping at your panties, your hear the sharp snap of the elastic breaking under his soaked fingers.

“Johnny !”, it's between a whine and a moan, how can him ruining your panties be so fucking hot.

“Will get you new ones if you want.”, you can barely recognise his voice, his fingers slide the fabric down and he looks up at you, eyes hungry, lips red.

“You have no fucking idea how hard I was when I found your panties.”, he confesses and, before you can reply, his mouth dives in. Tongue flat against your core, your legs instinctively close around his head, but his hands are quick to pin your thighs to the mattress while yours find his hair, messing it even more.

“Yeah ? Fuck, you're so good, your tongue feels so good.”

Johnny only hums, tongue running up and down until he wraps his lips around your button of nerves. The brunette's eating you out like a starved men, shamelessly, the wet sounds filling the room.

When he takes a break to breathe, he pops his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them.

“Taste so good.”, every word he says fires your body up even more, his mouth doesn't even need to speak for it to affect you, but you need him.

He dives a second time, fingers joining this time. Pace a lot less slow, his lips wrap around your bud a second time, focusing on the small button while his fingers quickly move.

In, out, in, out. Long fingers quickly build up the tension in your stomach, cold rings contrasting with his hot breath.

You only need a little bit more, when his fingers curl the right way, his groans vibrate at the right moment. Your fingers tighten around his locks as you come undone, loudly, unapologetically.

Wet lips, glossy eyes, Johnny looks at your figure as you arch your back away from your bed, moaning into the air.

It takes almost minutes for you to come down but, when you do, Johnny's about to dive a third time. Your hand stops his head.

“Want you inside, want to feel you.”, you tell him once you pulled him towards you face again. A quick kiss is planted on your lips where you can taste yourself, before he hides his face again in your neck, breathing heavily.

“Do you have a condom ?”, he asks, blown out eyes looking into your own.

You nod quickly, pointing at your bed table. You hear the brunette thanking the gods, he didn't want to have and walk all the way to his own appartement to get one. Leaning towards the said bed table, he pulls the small door open and find the box there.

Taking a little foil package between his lips, Johnny quickly closes the small door before hovering over you again.

Pearly teeth are used to open the packaging, he doesn't wait a second to roll the material out on his hard shaft, sighing slightly.

“So tiny, can you even take me ?”, it seems the brunette asks himself, hand jerking himself off.

You answer him anyways, “I can, please.”.

Soft smile on his lips, the brunette uses his hand to align himself with your drenched core.

The tallest thought about this very moment for hours the night before, but nothing prepared him for the tightenes, your wet, hot core wrapping around his head.

You both moan in almost unison, Johnny has to hold himself from slamming in. You, on the other hand, have a hard time wrapping your head around how he's stretching you out so nicely.

A mixture of pleasure and slight pain you're quickly addicted to. A hand claws at his back, the tallest moves inch, by inch, by inch.

“So fucking tight. When's the last time someone fucked you properly ?”, his sudden change in behaviour gives you whiplash, you can only whine at his question and mumble something about not knowing when, exactly.

“Please, fuck me.”, if you have to beg, you will but thankfully, Johnny doesn't have much patience tonight. Once he's fully in, he doesn't hesitate to pull out just to ram in. Your body rides up, head thrown back, moan silent.

“Gonna fuck you nice and deep. Stretch you, yeah ?”

You can only nod eagerly, Johnny laughs breathlessly. His forearm supports his body right next to you head, necklace hanging over your body, right hand tightly holding your hip.

He barely gives you the time to adjust, hips snapping at a steady pace.

Headboard sharply knocking against your wall, your thankful your neighbors aren't here. Still sensitive, your moans turn breathless, barely audible. Forehead against your own, Johnny doesn't hide his moans, your name, any profanities coming to his mind.

“Fuck, turn around for me, baby.”, breathless, chest irregularly moving up and down, he helps you do so after moving out.

Flipping you on your stomach, the brunette curses at himself a second time. His body flush against yours, he supports himself next to your head again, second hand affectionaly running in your hair.

He takes you from behind, cock easily sliding in this time. Moans hidden in your pillow, Johnny doesn't take that, using the hand locked in your locks to turn your head.

“Don't hide your moans, wanna hear you.”

Just like he wanted after stepping into your apartment, the tallest has you whining his name, loudly, until you're numbed, fucked dumb until his name's the only thing you know.

A snap of his hips reaches deeper, it's there you feel the tension threatening to break.

It's like he can read you, he does it again, breathy laugh coming out of his lips.

“Come around me, let go. Let go for me.”, it's all you need, you easily follow his order, core tightening around his shaft.

“God, your pussy’s gripping me.”, his hips alter, lips finding yours again. “Gonna make me come so hard.”

Fucked out, yet you managed to raise your hips, core clenching around him. That does it, loud growl resonates in the room, mixed in with your name.

“Are you okay ?”, Johnny asks, voice soft after he pulls out, throwing the condom in your bin.

You hum, too tired to answer, you smile nonetheless when he takes you into his arm, arm pushing your hair to the side.

“This isn't how I wanted things to go.”, he hums, picking a fallen eyelash from your cheek.

“Oh, really ?”, you ask, tired, his hand running up and down your spine putting you to sleep.

“Wanted to take you out on a date first.”, he admits. “But how do you want me to resist when you were calling me like a siren singing at a lone traveler.”

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whiskey-writes · 3 years

Text

Return Teaser

A SPN x reader fic

-x-

Six months. Eleven states. An area spanning from the west coast to a couple hundred miles east of the cascades.

And seventeen cases of hunters vanishing without a trace.

(Y/N) had been investigating the disappearances for the past several weeks. Even after figuring out the pattern, tracking this thing down had proven to be just about as easy as nailing smoke to a wall. It had taken her a handful of all nighters, countless hours spent pouring over the internet, and approximately five gallons worth of caffeine, but she at long last traced it all back to the source.

She played her way right into their hands, and now the real hunt began. The die was cast, and she had all her cards laid out on the table in a high stakes game of life or death.

“Hey, Bobby.” The weight of the words hung heavy in the stillness of the air. It wasn’t looking like she’d be making it out of this hunt alive, and that grim, unspoken reality read loud and clear just in the way she said hello. She was in some way thankful her call had gone straight to voice mail. It was easier if she just didn’t think about how what she was about to do would upset her uncle.

(Y/N) sat with her back pressed against the far wall, phone held up to her ear by her non-dominant hand. Her arm was propped up by her knee, while her opposite leg lay stretched out in front of her. She ran a hand through her hair and suppressed a weary sigh as she spoke into the phone. Barricaded inside the little cabin and armed to the teeth, there was nothing left to do but sit and wait as the moon rose higher and higher into the night sky.

“So, listen. I don’t have much time.” (Y/N) said, fingertips absentmindedly tracing the sigils etched into the stock of the shotgun that lay in her lap. She had soaked every bullet, blade, and weapon she could in dead man’s blood in preparation for the coming battle. “This whole hunt just went full shit show. We are dealing with vampires after all. But it’s not just that. This is far greater than we anticipated. I’ve got my back to the wall and I’m out of options. If I pull this off then there’s a chance I’ll be able to end this once and for all.”

(Y/N) paused, taking a shaky breath before confirming what Bobby will have already guessed for himself.

“They’re tracking me down as we speak.” These blood sucking bastards were targeting hunters, and (Y/N) was going to make sure there was hell to pay for it even if it cost her her life. “I’m holed up in some cabin just outside Missoula waiting for them now. It’s god damn near 23:50, at this rate the frost is gonna bite me before they get the chance.” She joked, shifting her position and adjusting her hold on the shotgun so that the barrel now rested in the crook of her neck.

One of the logs in the fireplace fell with a soft thud as the charred wood burning away beneath it crumbled apart. The subtle sound caused her body to tense up, anticipation making her jumpy. Chuckling to herself beneath her breath, (Y/N) tilted her chin up, letting her head fall back against the wall while her eyes drifted shut.

“One way or another, my bike better be back at the salvage yard one week from today, or Singer - I swear to god - I’ll crack open all of your beers so they go flat.” The playful threat brought a slight smile to her lips. Bobby knew full well how much her motorcycle meant to her, he’d been the one that helped her build it after all. This was her way of asking him to come get it if she never returned. “By the way, if you’re still looking for the TV remote it’s in the glove compartment of the Chevelle. I’m not sorry, and I regret nothing. Yell at me about it when I get back.”

With that, (Y/N) hung up and pushed herself off the ground. She wasted no time in destroying her SIM card and tossing the remains into the fire. She had more than just Singer’s number saved in her contacts and she wasn’t about to risk putting Bobby or anyone else in danger.

Another hour passed by in peace, during which time (Y/N) made a couple rounds of the small little cabin, checking and rechecking her defenses. She had taken all the blood she could when she broke into the morgue on her way out of town, right down to the very last drop. She knew she could hold her own for only just so long against a nest this strong, but (Y/N) was going to do everything in her power to slow them down.

~ x ~

“You’re a hunter.” Sam Winchester leaned against the frame of the doorway with his arms crossed, watching as his older brother got down on the floor so he could look under the couch. He wouldn’t have been able to wipe the massive grin from his face if he tried. “You kill monsters for a living, and you can’t find one little remote?”

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean snapped gruffly, his frustration steadily increasing the longer he searched.

It had been about six hours since they had brought Bobby home from the hospital. Sam and Dean had just finished working a case in Wichita when they’d gotten the call from the hospital informing them that a Mr. Snyderson had just been admitted to the OR for an emergency surgery.

It was roughly an eight hour drive from Wichita to the hospital, so by the time the boys arrived it was nearly three in the morning. According to the nurses, Bobby had been lucky; he’d come in at just the right time and they were able to remove his appendix before it ruptured. The surgery went well, there were no complications, and “Bill” would be able to go home after 24 hours of observation.

It was now just past six the next morning, and the two boys were making themselves at home while Bobby rested upstairs. Dean had made the discovery that Bobby’s TV was stuck on some shopping channel with the same infomercial crap on loop while Sam was out on a breakfast run.

Their brotherly bickering (and Dean’s hopeless search for the remote) was cut short the moment Bobby Singer walked in.

“Would you two idjits pull your heads out of your asses for once?” Bobby spat, absolutely furious as he walked through the door. He muttered violently under his breath as he retrieved a file from one of his shelves. “...of all times...that damn reckless, stubborn...”

Dean exchanged a questioning look with Sam. Something was wrong; Bobby was worried.

They both followed Bobby into the kitchen, where he threw the file onto the table before digging out his bottle of pain killers from the hospital bag that sat on the counter.

“What happened?” Sam asked gently. Dean occupied himself by eating one of the donuts Sam had bought for breakfast, while Bobby and the youngest Winchester took a seat at the table.

“My phone was turned off while I was at the hospital. I got this last night.” Bobby said, putting his phone on speaker before replaying the message. The three hunters sat in silence, listening intently as the message played. Dean had moved to take a seat at the table during that time, his brow furrowing in thought.

“She made herself their next target.” Sam stated. Bobby nodded grimly.

“Why?” Dean asked, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Who is she?”

“Her name is (Y/N) (L/N). She’s been a hunter all her life.” Bobby‘s face fell as he spoke of her, too tired to mask the worry in his eyes. “And she’s every bit the bull headed, stubborn bastard her father was. Not to mention twice as reckless.”

Bobby opened the file filled with papers hand handwritten notes, sliding it over towards Sam and Dean so they could look through it.

“A couple of weeks ago I get a knock on my door at four in the morning on a Saturday, and there stands this stinkin’ idjit all bright eyed and excited about some new case she’d stumbled across.“ Bobby scoffed.

-x-

Interested? Let me know if I should continue! Thank you so much for reading ❤️

#supernatural #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #SPN fic #dean x reader #sam x reader #cas x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #Bobby Idjit

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poesparakeet-fics · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast, Caduceus Clay & Caleb Widogast, The Poly Nein - Relationship Characters: Caleb Widogast, Caduceus Clay Additional Tags: Tickling, ler!Cad, Lee!Caleb, Punishment, Injury, Injury Recovery, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Caleb Widogast is a Mess, Teasing, Queerplatonic Relationships, Pinned, Wrestling, Forced Self Love, And for once I don’t mean that in the sexy way., Safewords Series: Part 3 of The Poly Nein Summary:

Caduceus shows Caleb the consequences of dodging a healing spell around people who love you.

This one’s SFW, so please enjoy it here or on AO3!

This is what happens.

They came home battered, beaten and pissed besides. The others hung around for Jester’s prayer of healing, but Caleb slipped away, too full of old wounds and grey memories to give up his new wounds quite yet. His head ached and his side pulsed painfully while he climbed the stairs. He was nearing his door when a great, heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

“Here,” a warm voice hummed from behind him, “lemme get that for you.”

“Oh Herr Clay, it’s–”

Caleb’s sentence was choked out by a sudden sucking feeling accompanied by a sharp sound in his chest as Caduceus’ spell took hold.

*POP*

Caleb froze, then swayed in his tracks. Perhaps the injury had been a little worse than he thought. He turned around to thank his friend, only to see thunder in the firbolg’s eyes and freeze. He had seen Caduceus upset, annoyed and disappointed, but he wasn’t sure he’d seen him furious before. Until now, that is.

“For real?” Cad’s voice was still it’s usual low, placid cadence. He closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose.

“Wh-”

“That was a broken rib, Caleb.”

“I was just going to bed–”

“You didn’t take a lick of healing from Jester.” He paused while Caleb floundered under a wave of embarrassment, guilt and stubbornness. “Your rib would have been the first thing to heal, since it’s the most life threatening. Unless you had a dagger through your heart I didn’t know about.”

The lie that was ready on Caleb’s tongue died there.

“I… ah… I did not know it was broken.” He finished lamely.

“That is not…” Caduceus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, “That’s not the point, you… dammit, OK. OK, We’re gonna deal with this.”

His hand closed around the back of Caleb’s coat, and the now-healthy wizard yipped as he was lifted effortlessly off his feet. As easy as it was to forget Caduceus’ quiet anger, it was easier to forget his rarely-used strength.

Caduceus pulled Caleb into his quarters.

“Caduceus, what–”

“It was one thing when you were still too broken to function or believe anyone could care for you. But that’s not what’s happening here, right? You know better than this now.”

Caleb felt a panicked little chill run up his spine as Caduceus carried him like a suitcase.

“Caduceus, just— wait, I didn’t know–”

“Of course you didn’t. That big, stabbing pain in the side of your body, next to all the vital organs? I can see why you weren’t concerned.” He set Caleb on the oversized bed, and used a stern look to him in place. “Take off your shirt, I want to check your other ribs.”

“Caduceus, your spell worked fine…”

The firbolg regarded him with mild astonishment. “You really gonna fight me on this?”

Caleb swallowed, and pulled his coat off, then his holsters and shirt. He sat politely and quietly on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast. Caduceus sat next to him, tugging at his arms to manipulate his torso and peer carefully at him. Eventually he let out a breath.

“It looks like the spell healed all of the physical damage.”

Caleb was just starting to relax with slumped shoulders when one large hand caught him across his chest from behind and pulled his torso across Caduceus’ lap. That gave him a chance to catch the wicked twinkle in his friend’s eye and start fighting, but it was too late at that point. He was pinned with both wrists held over his head by Caduceus’ left hand, his torso stretched over the width of the firbolg’s lap while a heavy right elbow held his hips in place.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Caleb squeaked, legs kicking feebly against the mattress.

“Making sure you remember what happens when you dodge heals from now on. I’m gonna check every one of your ribs, I’m gonna do it until it’s done, and you’re gonna take it because if you bamf away from me, I’m just gonna have to get other people involved.”

With that Cad started to gently trace Caleb’s short rib with a pinching finger and thumb, reaching across the wizard’s body so his arm could block Caleb’s attempts to curl up in a ball.

“Wait, I– Oh, noho!”

Caleb threw his head back to laugh, every squirm just sending him deeper into Caduceus’ embrace. He could feel the firbolg’s mass shaking against his side, chuckling at his reactions.

“One. That first little one looks OK. Is it supposed to be that small? I should really learn more about human anatomy, huh? Two…” Caduceus moved up one rib, and Caleb’s laughter pitched up despite himself, “Hmm, yeah, that looks good too. So, did you think of what could have happened, if you went to bed?””

“Whahat?” Caleb gasped, unable to grasp the question under the onslaught he was suffering.

Luckily Caduceus didn’t need him to. “It could have punctured your lung. -Whoops, there’s three.- It could have killed you in your sleep. Four.”

Caduceus was a good way up his ribcage now, and the precision attacks on every solitary bone under thin skin was escalating Caleb’s desperation pretty rapidly. Being stretched out over Cad’s lap made it feel like his breath was being chased out of his chest by long downy fingers.

“Please! I’m sohohory!” He squeaked, heels drumming against the bed.

“Someone would have found you, cold and dead in the morning. Five. You know, we might have been able to bring you back, but that scar? From finding you? That’s a lot harder to heal.”

Caleb felt a sharp roll of guilt across his stomach. Not that he could express it. “Ahahaha- I-I’m sorry, pleaheeheese!”

“Hm. Are you sorry you did it or are you sorry I caught you? Six.”

“Both!” Caleb squealed, perhaps a bit too honestly.

Caduceus chuckled at him again. “Well, at least I know you’re not hiding things from me anymore. Hmm… where’s seven?”

Caduceus fingers dug around curiously, pretending he couldn’t find the rib he was currently torturing. Caleb thrashed with tears springing into his eyes, but he made no progress in escaping at all. It was like being tormented by a fuzzy mountain.

Caduceus made a frustrated sound, stopping his torment for a second. Caleb sucked in a few deep breaths.

“You made me lose count,” Caduceus explained, voice full of patently false regret, “I’m gonna have to start over.”

“Nein!” Caleb yelped

“You’d better hope you have more than nine ribs.” Caduceus teased, laughing when Caleb let out a frustrated growl.

Caduceus’ fingers returned to his lowest short-rib and started counting them out again, quicker than before. This time Caleb was crying by 3, trying desperately to stay still and expel all his ticklish agony without making Caduceus start over again.

“OK, I found seven this time. Are you ready?”

Caleb sobbed and shook his head no, but Caduceus continued anyway, ignoring his squeal.

“Pleaheeheese! Please, I’m sohohorry!”

“Eight. I do believe you, now,” the firbolg answered, “but the only way you’re getting out of this is to use that special word. And since you’re too stubborn to use that thing when Jester tortures you for fun, I’m guessing you’re not gonna use it now, when you know you deserve it. Not for little old me.”

Little old Caduceus was currently tickling a powerful mage to tears without so much as a bother, but Caleb didn’t have the breath to point it out. The first time Caduceus had seen the Nein really tickle Caleb to pieces, he had broken it up. Jester had to have a patient talk about safewords to convince him it was OK. Now he was wielding it against Caleb, and if he could, the wizard definitely would have pouted about it.

As it was his face was forced into a bright smile that he tried to hide against one bicep, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes to roll past pink cheeks and red ears. His feet kicked helplessly at the air when Cad’s fingers moved again.

“There’s nine. So I think you’re just gonna have to take this, but if you’re cooperative and not stubborn, we’ll get through it quicker, OK?”

Caleb wanted to wail that he didn’t know what that meant but settled for just wailing instead. Caduceus was quickly getting to the ticklish spots that his holsters usually protected.

“Ten. So, are you gonna do it again?”

Caleb felt a flash of panicked confusion before he remembered what had gotten him into this mess.

“Nein!” he wheezed between fits.

“Good to hear. Eleven. Why aren’t you gonna do it again?”

“Bitte! Pleheeheese I can’t” Caleb choked, breathless.

“Oh, yeah you can. Come on, why aren’t you gonna do it again?”

He switched to one finger and a lighter touch, leaving Caleb in hysterical waves of giggles while also giving him a chance to catch his breath a little.

“Because- it would- ahaha- upset theheehee others!”

“Hm. Well, I’ll take that for now. Twelve! Now, what’s gonna happen if you do it again?”

Caduceus had to realize that the shrieking wizard had no way to answer, so he answered for him.

“This is what happens, right? We have a zero tolerance policy from now on.”

Caleb sobbed and nodded in understanding, his whole body bending to try and save the one patch of ticklish skin without any success. Then Caduceus’ hand started to wriggle and prod into his armpit and his whole body jerked like he was electrified.

“AAHahahaha nahahahaha!” Caleb couldn’t get enough of a break to beg for mercy.

“Hmm. Looks like that’s it. Is twelve the right number?”

“Yahahahas!”

“Oh, well, good to know then.”

Caduceus released him, letting the teary-eyed wizard’s arms snap down to belatedly shield his ribcage, his face disappearing into his hands while his body shuddered with laughter.

“Shh,” he soothed as though he wasn’t the perpetrator of Caleb’s state, “ just breath.”

Caleb tried, rolling onto his side to breath into Caduceus’ linen shirt. Hysterical, pitchy laughter jerked out of him when the other man tried to pat his back and immediately stopped with a soft apology.

“You… just… please never do that again.”

“I think that’s up to you, based on the arrangement we just agreed to…”

“-under torture!-”

“… and I mean, it’s gonna happen again. At least one more time tonight.”

There was a moment of heavy, terrified silence.

“…What?” Caleb felt like a cup of ice water had been poured down his back. His eyes went perfectly round.

“I said I was gonna check all your ribs. I feel like if I don’t follow though I’ll set a bad precedent.”

Caleb immediately tried to scramble away from Caduceus, and he would have hit the floor if the firbolg hadn’t reached out to grab him around his middle and hoist the smaller man into his lap.

“Mist! Nein! You can’t, please!”

Caduceus started the patient, gentle work of getting a grip on the wriggling wizard in his lap. He kept his right arm looped around Caleb’s middle, his other arm working to try and grab a flailing wrist. When he wasn’t quite quick enough he made a frustrated sound in Caleb’s ear, right before planting a raspberry between the smaller man’s shoulder blades.

“Hold still!”

Caleb let out a wordless peal of squealing laughter under the onslaught of soft lips, velveteen nose and wooly beard. It bolted down his spine and made his whole upper body collapse.

One big, soft palm gripped his now-limp wrist and heaved it upward, exposing his currently un-tormented right side. Caduceus looped his right arm under Caleb’s captured one, bracing his palm on the back of the smaller man’s head. Caleb’s left arm was pinned against his chest as Caduceus’ other arm wrapped around him to keep him in his seat and hover downy fingers over Caleb’s exposed ribcage.

“Pleaheeheese you’ll kill meeeheehee!” Caleb whimpered through anticipatory laughter, eyes glued on Caduceus’ hovering hand.

“Sssh.” The firbolg soothed into the back of Caleb’s head. “I’m not gonna kill you. We’re just gonna take it really easy, OK?”

His left hand started to rub Caleb’s side in smooth circles, each one climbing higher than that last

“Nooohoohoho!” Caleb whined, eyes squeezing shut as the firbolg’s fingers found his short rib.

“One.”

“Bitte!” Caleb squealed through gritted teeth.

“I want you to repeat after me, OK?”

Caleb tried to turn and look at him, teary eyes astonished, as though Caduceus had asked him to move the moon.

“I -yeeheehee!- I can’t! Please!

“You can, I promise. We’re gonna start off really easy. How about “I deserve to live.”

“Whahahahaat? I can’t–”

“Two.”

“-Aaah! Nohoho! OK, ok, please!”

Caduceus only gave him a moment to take a breath before it spilled out “Ideservetolive!”

“Very good!” The hand holding Caleb in a half-nelson patted his head. “How about ‘I don’t deserve pain.’ for number three?”

“Ahahaa! Says the one torturing meheeheehe!”

“Ha! Are your ribs hurting? It’s a good thing I’m checking on them. Four.”

“Aaahaaa! I don’t deserve pain!”

“See, you’re doing great,” Caduceus praised, “we’ll be done in no time. I know this one’s going to be a little tough for you, are you ready? Five. I want you to say ‘I’m loved and I deserve that love.’”

For the first time that night, Caduceus’ request made Caleb’s jaw lock up.

“Nein— no, aah! I can’t!” He managed to whine through his teeth and the increasingly hysterical laughter that Caduceus was pulling out from deep in his chest.

“You have my permission not to believe all of these for now, but I want you to say every one. Six.” “AhahaHA! Nein, habt Mitleid! Mehehercy!”

Caduceus snorted. “On your ribs or on your low self-esteem? Actually, don’t waste your breath. I already know the answer. Seven.”

“Aaaaii! Please! I c- I can’t remember whahahat I’m supposed to sahahay!” Caleb sobbed, body starting to go limp with exhaustion in Caduceus’ arms.

The firbolg laughed, letting up for a moment to use his sleeve to wipe the tears off his captive’s cheeks.

“I’m loved…”

“I’m… loved…” Caleb panted, his unpinned hand holding on to Caduceus’ currently-stilled tickling hand for dear life, as if it might save him.

“And I deserve that love.

Even breathless and exhausted, Caleb winced like the sentence left a bad taste in his mouth. “I… deserve that… love.”

“Hey, good job. That was one of the hard ones.”

The sound that started to flow out of Caleb was somewhere between a panicked giggle and an exhausted sob. One of the hard ones.

“For this one I’m gonna need the whole phrase. ‘My name is Caleb Widogast, and I am a good man’ Are you ready?”

“No! Please have mercy!”

“Aw, sorry buddy. Not this time. Eight…”

“NIEN, can’t– s'too m-muhuch pleaheese–”

“Nine indeed!” Caduceus chuckled, fingers jolting upward to take advantage of the joke. “It’s not too much. I know you can do it.”

“I c-c- NO PLEASE I can’t while you– CAN’T! BITTE!"

Caduceus chuckled, fingers jumping up to tweak the next rib and yank a short little scream out of Caleb before he stopped moving his fingers and froze, still and menacing.

"That’s ten. Come on. I can’t make you believe it but I’m gonna make you say it.”

Caleb’s weight was leaning into Caduceus’ chest, his head leaning back against one solid shoulder with his eyes closed as he gulped in breaths.

“I'm… a good man.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Caleb Widogast… is a good man.”

“Aw, very good.” Caduceus praised, squeezing Caleb in a small hug. “Ready? Almost finished. Eleven.”

Caleb didn’t even plead this time, he just started to laugh again with his head still thrown back against Caduceus’ shoulder.

“Last one, I promise. I want you to say "I am going to take care of myself for the people who love me, or Caduceus is going to tickle me until I scream. Every time.”

“I CA- I CA- nohohoho! Too lohohong!”

“Twelve.”

Caleb’s back arched and his feet kicked while he shrieked, unable to get even the first part of the sentence out. Caduceus did have a little mercy, then, pausing to let Caleb suck in the breath he needed.

“I'mgoingtotakecare *pant* of myself *hic* forthepeople *hic* who love me or… *hic* this is what happens…”

“Every time.” Caduceus reminded him, tapping his fingers on Caleb’s top rib.

“Every time! Every time! Pleaheeheese!”

Finally, Caduceus let him go, angling himself so the wizard could flop over onto his bedspread. Caleb curled up on his side, face in his hands as the residual laughter started to slowly die down and the shuddering feeling in his bones faded.

“Do you wanna stay here tonight? Least I could do.”

Caleb unfurled with a heavy sigh. “Ja, please."

"Hey Caleb? What time is it?”

“Ah… *hic* probably between 10 and midnight, why?”

“Oh. No reason."

Caleb could see the firbolg’s smug little smile, but was entirely too tired to do anything about it.

Caduceus started to shrug off his outer layers and lowered the lamp while Caleb tucked himself in up against the wall.

"So just to be clear, this is what happens when you dodge a healing spell–”

“Yes! Yes *hic* you’ve made your point!”

“-But it’s going to get worse every time.”

Caleb just whimpered into the pillow.

“I mean,” Cad continued, “getting Jester involved is obviously the last resort. She is the ultimate escalation. And Molly’s not far behind. Maybe Beau first?”

“Nien!” Caleb jerked himself up in the bed in a panic. “Not Beau! She’s right under Molly. Not Beau.”

Caduceus chuckled, sliding himself into the big warm bed next to Caleb.

“So that leaves Yasha, Fjord and Veth. Wanna fill out the ranking?”

Caleb chuckled a little along with him, then whined.

“Nooo. I feel like I’m being made to dig my own grave.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’ve definitely already done that. I saw that reaction to the raspberry. That’s how I’m counting next time.”

Caleb groaned in the back of his throat. The threats felt like they were melting him.

“Mein gotten, to think I used to believe you were the nice one.”

Caduceus chuckled again. He slung one arm over the Caleb ball next to him and pulled the wizard in for a cuddle, rubbing his back soothingly when the other man tensed up.

“Hey, I’m done. For now. Seriously though, who’s most dangerous after Beau.”

Caleb gave a defeated sigh as he relaxed into Caduceus’ soft, solid embrace. The softly lit room took on a golden haze. Caduceus smelled like spices, cardamom and rosemary. Caleb hid his face in one wolly shoulder, his breathing evening out.

“Fjord because he teases, then Yasha because she bites.”

“Heh. So Veth’s the first level of escalation? Good to know. She seems more likely to keep this between us anyway… Caleb?"

The only answer was a snore.

#critickle role #tickle fic #caleb widogast #caduceus clay #tk fic

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wanderinginksplot · 4 years

Text

Nobody Listens to Kix

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Case 01338: Kix

They always say that medics make the worst patients, and it was doubly true in Kix's case. If he wasn't working in the medbay, all medical care was left to the droids, and their programming left a lot to be desired. At least the men had Kix to treat them. Kix had no organic to treat him if he was the one sick.

At the moment, he was fairly certain he wasn't sick. Sure, his head ached so badly that his stomach threatened to rebel and it hurt to move any part of his body, but that could be explained by any number of ailments. Maybe it had always hurt to swallow, breathe, and blink, and he just hadn't noticed.

On the off chance that he wasn't as well as he thought, Kix had been working to stave off any illness floating around the Resolute. He took in extra liquids and got as much sleep as possible. Since he practically lived in the medbay, sleep was a challenge, but he was trying.

Kix pulled his head up from the surface of his desk, groaning as he did so. The shift in position made his head throb worse than before, but that wasn't why he was cursing. When had he fallen asleep? He was less than halfway through the ever-present stack of medical forms taking up half of his desk, and with no troopers in the medbay, he needed to do as much work as possible before the next crisis hit.

"That didn't sound very rested," a voice remarked from closer than Kix was comfortable with.

He turned quickly, took a moment to huff out a breath and clutch at his head, and stared into Rex's amused eyes. "Captain. When did you get here?"

"About ten minutes ago. I watched you fall asleep on your forms."

"Did you need something, sir?" Kix asked, wincing. Why were the medbay lights so bright? "Is everything all right?"

"Actually, no," Rex told him. "I have a sick trooper who won't accept medical treatment."

"I'll set him straight," Kix promised grimly. "Who is it?"

"You, obviously," Rex said, the amusement on his face now tinged with concern. "Kix, you're dead on your feet."

"I'm fine, sir."

"Then you won't mind if we power up one of the medical droids to double-check that?"

Kix grimaced. "You want to use one of those shu-shuk machines? They have a success rate of-"

"-55%" Rex finished with him. "I know, Kix, you've told us all. But you're the only medic we've got, and you're clearly not going to treat yourself. The medical droids are the only option. Consider it an order."

"Sorry, sir," Kix reminded. "I have authority on all matters of health. Yours, the men's, and mine. I outrank you in this."

"In this," Rex echoed, frowning forebodingly. "Fifteen push-ups, soldier. That's an order that has nothing to do with medicine."

"Captain-"

"I'm serious, Kix. Fifteen push-ups and I'll drop the medical droid stuff."

"Get ready to lose, Captain," Kix said with a grin. Rex returned the expression, but there was worry on his face.

Five down. This is gonna be so easy…

Eight in and I feel fine. I knew I wasn't sick.

Okay, Kix. You need to spend a little more time in the gym. You shouldn't be this winded after eleven push-ups.

...Why is my face so cold?

"Welcome back," Rex said blandly as Kix tried to raise himself from where he had collapsed on the floor. His arms wouldn't support the weight and he rolled onto his back instead.

"How many did I get to?"

"Thirteen," Rex told him. "Not bad. I thought you would pass out by six or seven."

"I didn't pass out," Kix argued.

"Of course not. I know how much you love lying down with your face pressed against the medbay floor," Rex agreed dryly. "I took the opportunity to power up a med droid. Pick a bed."

Kix glared, but Rex unsympathetically propelled him toward a bed as soon as he was standing. Before he could voice any further complaints, Kix found himself on a bed being scanned by a med droid.

"CT-6116 is showing symptoms of an acute infection in both the sinuses and the upper respiratory tract. This has resulted in secondary symptoms as headache, difficulty breathing, dehydration, fatigue, dizziness, and muscle aches."

Kix glared at the medical droid, mostly to avoid the way Captain Rex was glaring at him. "So, with the typical droid success rate, we can safely rule out those two diagnoses."

"Karking hell, Kix!" Rex hissed in irritation. He took the scanner from the droid and rescanned Kix, passing over his body about four times too many. When he was finally done, he glanced at the screen. "Sinus infection and upper respiratory tract infection. Treat him."

The last bit was directed at the droid, who rummaged around in the med cabinet. Kix gritted his teeth as its rough-jointed metal hands knocked around, systematically destroying all of the organization he had managed in that small space.

"Why did you wait this long, Kix?" Rex asked sharply. "You're a medic. Surely, you've known for a while that you needed treatment."

"If a medic is currently undergoing treatment, he cannot continue to treat others," Kix explained reluctantly. "The risks of accidental malpractice are too high with the side effects of many medications."

Rex stared at him, dark brows furrowed. "The side effects are too much of a risk, but operating with a temperature that is well over standard isn't considered dangerous?"

"It is… or it probably should be," Kix admitted. "But it isn't written that way in the regs, so it isn't an explicit requirement."

Rex frowned even harder. "So… it's a loophole."

"Yes, exactly."

With a sigh, Rex scrubbed his hand over his close-cropped blond hair and collapsed onto Kix's well-worn chair, obviously pulled over from behind the medic's desk. "Do you realize the consequences of the choices you're making?"

Acutely uncomfortable with the knowledge that he had experienced this conversation from the other side far too many times to count - including with the captain himself - Kix shrugged. His answer didn't seem to be enough for the captain, who sat watching him for the (frankly ridiculous) length of time it took for the med droid to give him a dose of antibiotics and a cup of water.

"I know it may come as a surprise to you, but I do monitor the medbay logs," Rex finally said when the droid puttered off to fetch an antibiotic spray for Kix to inhale. "Do you know how much time you spend here?"

"I'm here every day, sir," Kix answered honestly, giving into the realization that Rex wasn't going to let it go.

"Yes, for three-quarters of the day. That gives you a collective five or six hours to shower, eat, and sleep. Judging from those push-ups, you don't spend any of that time training." Kix felt his face flush before he could stop it, but Rex wasn't done. "To put it another way, you've logged almost six-hundred hours in the medbay over the last standard month. That's a little over twenty-three full days out of thirty."

"When I'm not here, sir… men die. Brothers." Kix's voice cracked a little at the admission, but he kept his gaze firmly fixed on Rex, refusing to look away. Caring for his brothers was not a weakness and he wasn't ashamed of it.

The harsh expression on Rex's face softened into something like understanding, but his famously steely resolve didn't fade. "I'm tired, Kix. I'm so tired of watching my men - my brothers - die. I'll be damned if I watch you work yourself to death trying to keep others alive. You have to take care of yourself so that you can keep everyone else safe as long as possible."

He sat back in the chair, running a hand over his jaw as he thought. "Your medic's proficiencies can be pulled. You know as well as I do that the regs say I'm supposed to pull them for the first infraction. I don't want to do that, but I will if I don't see you taking better care of yourself. I won't have another one of these conversations, Kix. Is that understood?"

"Understood, sir," Kix agreed quickly, heart in his throat. So much of his identity was tied up in being a medic… he wasn't sure what he would do if his status was pulled from him.

Rex nodded at that and moved to leave the medbay, but Kix had one more thing to say: "I'm sorry, Captain."

"You will be," Rex said solemnly, the effect made more chilling by the bright smile that flashed across his face in the next moment. "I'm not going to stop any of the men from coming to visit you. That's the worst punishment I can think of."

Kix laughed uncertainly at the threat, but didn't understand it until an hour or so later, when the medbay doors opened to admit a mass of grinning troopers.

"Hey, Kix!" Hardcase greeted, far too loudly.

Commander Tano's grin was nothing short of evil. "We heard you weren't feeling well."

"Not only that," Jesse added with a smirk. "We heard you didn't accept treatment until you collapsed in front of Captain Rex!"

Tup schooled his face into a mock-serious expression. "It's dangerous to take risks with your health like that."

Kix took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at the medbay ceiling and cursing Rex internally. The captain was a cruel, cruel man…

---

A/N - Kix truly is the worst possible patient, but he needed a bit of his own medicine (ba-dum tss)! Sorry for the bit of Rex angst here, but in my mind, this is toward the end of the war, and everyone is getting mentally and emotionally tired. They made a point of mentioning it in the last season of the Clone Wars: sometimes, it's hard to be the one who survives. Also, on a lighter note, how long do you think Rex was working on that medical outranking work-around? My guess is since the time Kix made him stay in the medbay overnight!

Thank you for reading! I would be honored if you would consider reblogging so that my work can spread. There are only a few chapters left in this story, but it’s not too late! To those who have liked or reblogged my work in the past:

Okay, thank you, byeeeee!

#Nobody Listens to Kix #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #clone trooper kix #clone captain rex #captain rex #clone trooper hardcase #commander ahsoka tano #ahsoka tano #clone trooper jesse #clone trooper tup #clone troopers deserve better #more to come #please reblog

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

Text

Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

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