#no more menial distractions after studying | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeongwonie · 3 years

Text

lost cause — yang jungwon

tags. high school au, friends(?) to lovers, slow burn warnings. cursing, one mention of piss

word count. 8.5k

note. thank u in advance for reading! i’m kind of nervous about posting this but i hope you enjoy and look forward to more writing from me in the future :))

playlist. MIMI by youra, 몰랐어 (just a little bit) by enhypen, 긴밤 by seori ft. GIRIBOY

masterlist

SYNOPSIS. since your brief friendship with your crush, yang jungwon, ended in radio silence, you’ve been determined to keep him at arm’s length. jungwon, convinced that you’ve grown to hate him during your months of disconnection, is equally as determined to win you back.

IT’S ALMOST TOO EASY, FALLING for Yang Jungwon.

Between the way his dimples poke into his cheeks when even a hint of a smile crosses his face and the sound of his laughter breaking through the murmur of the cafeteria every so often, the amount of time you spend reminiscing such menial details shows how much of a chokehold the boy has on your mind.

Even in the classroom, he’s diligent and well-spoken in a way that can only be described as admirable. Although the two of you are now freshly seniors, he’s been a shoo-in for class president quite literally since your first year. Although you’re always at the top of the class rank, Jungwon is never far behind, and one semester, he’d even taken the top spot for a few weeks.

Not only does he excel in every subject, but he’s also insanely sociable, which is something you lack. Your mind drifts back to the prior Valentine’s day, when the poor underclassman volunteer had spent 10 minutes handing out his candy grams alone. Or the day he’d gotten a homecoming proposal during every single passing period. It’s honestly a miracle the popularity hasn’t inflated his ego.

You’d formally met Jungwon two years prior when you’d been partnered together for a history project. Initially, literal chills had shot up your spine when the pairings were announced.

You were terrified that Jungwon would slack off and leave you to do all the work, or worse, that he’d be the nicest person ever and you’d let him down and he’d never want to work with you ever again. The two of you ended up talking for hours over a video call the same night, long after the project had been finished.

Three weeks later, you’d realized your feelings. In your mind, putting distance between you and him was the best solution. Jungwon was all kinds of unattainable, and you almost felt bad every time you texted him, the little voice in the back of your mind telling you that he had more important things to be doing and that you were a hindrance.

Your relationship dwindled down to waves in the hallway, then to brief eye contact, then nothing at all. You doubt you even passed the classmate-zone in his mind.

Nothing much changes, when you and Jungwon stop talking. You both continue your studies, you and him remain at the top of your class rankings, and you push your feelings aside.

You spend a year completely fine without having Jungwon in any of your classes to distract you, and the second you’re sat next to him, you fall back into your old ways.

In the year that you don’t speak, Yang Jungwon gets all the more intelligent. Unfortunately, his intelligence also comes with a keen sense of observation. You can’t stare at his side profile, one seat away, without him noticing.

You find this out slightly too late.

“Need something?” he inquires, with a smile so polite it almost hurts.

It’s so weird speaking to him again, with the thick curtain of awkwardness strung up between the two of your chairs. You feel more like a student asking a teacher for help with a math problem than a classmate talking to another.

“Oh, um. I’m good, Sorry,” you stutter out, turning your head back to stare down at your notes so quickly you almost get whiplash.

Five minutes ago, your teacher had seated you next to Jungwon, and not even halfway into the class period, you already want to move.

The said teacher walks to the front of the room and addresses the class with a tight-lipped smile.

“Tell the person sitting next to you about one fun thing you did over break,” she says, then promptly sits at her desk and opens a book. You’re not surprised; the first day of school means playing random icebreakers in every single period, even though your entire class has known each other for years now.

Slowly, you turn back around to face Jungwon, forcing your eyes to meet his. You’re only able to hold his sharp gaze for a few seconds before fixing your stare on your fiddling hands.

“Do you want me to go first?” Jungwon mercifully asks (although you feel slightly ashamed, knowing he sensed your discomfort).

“Sure.”

“I just started a few college applications, but I think that’s about it,” he chuckles.

You nod; probably 99% of your classmates are saying the same thing, which is why your teacher’s choice in question is so ridiculous.

“And I played with my dog.”

“Aww, that’s nice, where are you applying?” you ask, smiling softly at the last comment. He’s still as endearing as ever, unfortunately.

“The usual, I guess. SNU, Daegu, Gwangju. I applied to a couple in the U.S. too, but I doubt I’ll even get in.”

“Of course you’ll get in, I can totally see you at Harvard or something,” you smile. You don’t even have to lie, if anyone can get into such a prestigious school, it’s your class president.

“I think you think too highly of me,” he says, finally breaking the one-sided eye contact to glance up at the front of the classroom. “What about you, where are you applying?”

Your conversation continues until the end of the period, with Jungwon picking up all of the slack that you leave in your nervous state. Eventually, your comments start to flow more naturally, as they had those months ago through the FaceTime call plastered in your head to this day.

It’s sort of unfair, the way he makes you feel like he actually cares about what major you’re planning on pursuing, giving you false hope that this could turn into something more. That’s what everyone else thinks, you suppose, and then they end up as one of the discarded candy grams or the homecoming posters sitting in the trash.

So yes, it’s way too easy, falling for Jungwon, especially when you know firsthand that getting over him is one of the hardest feats in the world.

☆☆☆☆☆

YANG JUNGWON CAN’T FIGURE OUT why you dislike him.

He would even consider you a friend, despite the distinct lack of interactions between you two, save for that one history project a year or so back. You had been surprisingly easy to talk to, and Jungwon would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little sad when your conversations grew drier and eventually subsided.

He knows the two of you were buried in work, thanks to the ever-looming prospect of college applications on the horizon during your junior year. But still, it wouldn’t hurt for you to not act like he’d hit your dog with a car every time you make eye contact.

Jungwon knows what you’re normally like. He’s seen you with your friends; how you act when you don’t think he’s watching you. But the second your eyes meet his, your posture stiffens and your face twists into discomfort, as though being within a one-meter radius of him is equivalent to being dunked head first into a tub of ice water.

Sure, there are plenty of people with valid reasons for hating him, he thinks. People who project their insecurities about their grades or their social life onto him, who paint him out to be some perfect valedictorian golden boy. Or the people he’d had to reject in the weeks leading up to homecoming (he had nothing against them personally, honestly, but he’d have felt too bad choosing one person out of dozens he really didn’t know that well, and there was no way having 20 dates to homecoming would go well).

But, you don’t seem to be either of those things. Your own grades are pretty good, good enough to rival his own, and there’s a distinct lack of your name on all of the love letters he’s received in the past few years.

“I’m sure they don’t hate you, Jungwon,” Heeseung says. The older boy bumps his shoulder, breaking him out of his daze as his eyes continue following you down the hallway. It’s a little scary that Heeseung knows what he’s thinking, although he’s sure the way his eyes trace over your every step makes it a little more obvious.

“I don’t know. What if they’re mad that we stopped talking?”

“Didn’t you say it was mutual? I’m sure they understand how busy you were—they were probably just as busy.”

“I guess,” Jungwon’s voice trails off as he readjusts the strap of his book bag on his shoulder like a soldier, bracing for combat. In long, measured strides, he follows you into the classroom, making sure to greet the teacher standing by the door with a kind smile before scanning the room.

Jungwon’s a little scared to choose a seat. You’re probably the only person he’s had more than one sentence of exchange with in this class, but the months of radio silence between the two of you has built you up in his mind to be some sort of intimidating shadow figure.

Typically he’d just pick another seat, branch out, make new friends. But, at every single other pair of seats, there is at least one girl who has sent him a candy gram or sent him a love letter or even confessed in person in the last 24 months. There are still empty seats, but somehow leaving his partner for the rest of the year up to the hands of fate seems even more formidable.

Basically, Jungwon spends about 45 seconds standing at the front of the classroom, doing mental gymnastics to justify taking the seat next to you, before his legs actually walk him towards where you sit.

As he sets his book bag down and slides into the metal chair, he feels your eyes flit over his frame. Steeling himself, Jungwon turns to face you, but you’re already looking away, hyperfocused on the whiteboard, then the teacher, then the clock ticking on the wall.

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or terrified when the teacher announces an icebreaker activity. On one hand, it’s the perfect opportunity to talk to you and prove that he’s not the asshole he’s sure you see him as. On the other hand, something about the way you purse your lips at the announcement is insanely intimidating, and a flash of doubt shoots again through his mind.

But he refuses to let this period go to waste. Yang Jungwon will not spend the entire period sitting in awkward silence, especially when the conversation had once flowed so easily. Hesitantly, he begins, telling you briefly about what he’d done over the summer break.

By the end of the period, Jungwon has to bite back a wide grin now that you’re talking to him again. He’s not sure why this fact relieves him as much as it does, maybe you’re a representation of simpler times in his mind, when he wasn’t so worried about the future (or maybe he just missed talking to you).

By the time the boy waves goodbye to you and steps back out into the hallway, he has only one goal in mind. Jungwon is determined to become friends with you again, even if it takes him until graduation.

☆☆☆☆☆

TWO DAYS LATER, YOU DON’T think you’re making any progress. Jungwon is still cute, and you still want to rip your hair out every time his eyes meet yours.

You tell yourself you no longer care what he thinks about you, yet you start waking up earlier and taking extra care while buttoning your uniform and tying your tie in the mornings. The thought of walking into your literature class fills your stomach with equal parts of excitement and dread.

Tapping your foot slowly against the tile flooring of the classroom, you keep your eyes focused straight forward. You’re almost militant about avoiding eye contact with Jungwon unless absolutely necessary now.

You feel a nudge against your shoulder.

“Do you want me to share the lab notes with you?” Jungwon asks, bearing his signature smile. Your brain is split in half between wanting to poke his cheeks and wanting to scream in frustration.

“Yeah. Thank you,” you reply stiffly, missing the way the corners of his mouth drop just a fraction.

You open your laptop with one hand, then grab a pencil in the other. Today’s classwork is relatively easy, typing out observations on some pictures of various plants under a microscope. Your fingers switch between flying across your keyboard and writing in your notebook as your mind drifts elsewhere.

“Woah, that looks so cool. Can you teach me?” Jungwon murmurs, his voice cutting through the daze of your tired brain so early in the morning.

You stare at him, then down at your hands, finally realizing you’d been spinning your pencil. As you look down, Jungwon winces in embarrassment, letting what he’d said replay in his head. He probably sounded like an idiot, and now you’d ask the teacher to move seats and ignore him for the rest of the year.

“Um, yeah. I learned it from a Youtube video like three years ago, so I might not be the best teacher.”

Positioning your pencil in your hand (and praying the slight quivering of your fingers isn’t visible), you look down at Jungwon’s hands to make sure he’s copying you. You demonstrate how to bend your fingers to make the pencil spin around, then stifle a laugh as he fails on his first, second, third, and fourth attempts at following suit.

“Here,” you say, adjusting his grip on the pencil with a feather-light touch.

Jungwon swallows before attempting to give the pencil a slow spin. The grin makes its way back across his face as the pencil actually moves instead of flying out of his grip.

“There you go,” you smile, turning back to continue typing on the document. Jungwon’s eyes linger on your profile for just a second more before he, too, returns to his work.

While you sigh, frustrated at your lack of success less than a week into the school year (because despite your efforts, the feel of Jungwon’s hands against your own was definitely still enough to make your heart race), the boy seated next to you replays the memory of your fingers brushing against his own.

Jungwon thinks that if things continue like this, you’ll be best friends by the end of the month.

☆☆☆☆☆

BY THE NINTH DAY OF your senior year, you are wholeheartedly convinced your literature teacher is trying to kill you.

“Who the hell assigns a partner project one week into the school year?” you scoff under your breath, copying down the rubric into your notebook and pressing extra hard with your pencil into the paper out of spite.

Thankfully, the period ends right after your teacher, Mrs. Park, gives her announcement. You need a little time to process the situation before you can even think about facing your seatmate. Jungwon thinks about staying with you after class for a bit, just to discuss what time you’ll work on your slideshow and script, but you’re already rushing out the door.

He’s a bit disappointed, but you seem frantic to get to your next period. And besides, he has a whole week to talk to you and get the project sorted out. Jungwon lets himself worry for the five minutes between class periods, then moves on.

☆☆☆☆☆

“I THINK YOU SHOULD TRY just being friends,” Sunoo suggests later that day, completely aware that your gaze has been stuck on Jungwon for the past 10 minutes. Even though you and Jungwon have been speaking more and more in class and you’re now able to hold a conversation without picking at your nails or bouncing your leg frenetically, you’re sure a literary analysis project will undo any progress you’ve made.

“Yeah, because being friends with Jungwon turned out so well for me last time,” you groan, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“I don’t know, it could be like exposure therapy or something. I just don’t think this whole ignoring him and then screaming at me over the phone about how cute he is every night is working. I could be wrong, though.” At this, you shove him in the arm, causing his light chuckles to turn to full-on giggles.

“I don’t scream about him,” you protest, brows furrowing as your friend eyes you sideways before turning back to his food.

“Sure, and I don’t have pink hair,” Sunoo sighs as you stab at your rice with your pair of chopsticks. “Don’t you think you’re, like, putting him on a pedestal? That boy is literally a puppy dog. The little white ones with the crusty eyes.”

You know Sunoo’s right. He knows you know he’s right, too, and he’s way too smug about your clear internal conflict.

“Maybe you’re right. People always say you can’t be friends with someone you’re attracted to, so maybe if we become friends I’ll finally get over it.”

“I don’t think that’s what that means, but yeah!”

Deep down, you know it won’t be such a simple fix. But, you also feel incredibly guilty, meeting Jungwon’s attempts at conversation with terse replies and avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Across the cafeteria, Jungwon is having an incredibly similar conversation.

When he tells Lee Heeseung about his predicament, his senior stares at him for a solid 30 seconds.

“Hey, are you gonna give me advice, or what?” Jungwon complains, waving a hand in front of the elder’s face.

“Sorry, I just don’t see what the issue is. Your project partner isn’t making enough eye contact with you?”

“Stop making me sound stupid. I want things to go back to normal. Y/N and I used to just click, but now they’re acting like we barely know each other,” he says. Heeseung eyes the younger boy, whose brows are drawing closer together, skeptically.

“I don’t know, from what you’ve told me it just sounds kind of awkward. But that’s pretty normal, you guys haven’t spoken in a long time.”

Jungwon’s brow furrows even more.

“Okay, here’s what you’re gonna do.” Heeseung pulls out a spiral-bound notebook and tears a page of lined paper from the binding. After rummaging for a pen and uncapping it, he begins to write:

“1. text Y/N about the project

2. invite them on a study date”

“Date?” Jungwon interjects, and Heeseung rolls his eyes. He adds “(platonic)” onto the end of the line before continuing.

“3. get an A

4. go out to celebrate somewhere

5. friends!!”

Heeseung finishes the list with an obscene amount of smiley faces after the final step before sliding the paper over to the boy next to him. Jungwon regrets asking for help in the first place.

“Thanks, I guess. I was going to do most of this anyway.”

Heeseung flicks Jungwon’s forehead, then stands and stretches out his legs. “No way, you probably would’ve gotten nervous and then done the entire thing by yourself.”

“No, I swear. Here, watch,” Jungwon whispers as he sees you approaching the same doors. He tugs Heeseung by the arm through the swarms of his classmates, eyes never leaving you. Once he’s close enough, he sets the first phase of the plan into motion. His hands are only a little bit sweaty as they fiddle behind his back.

“Hi, Y/N” he calls out, adding a small wave.

His bright voice makes your head snap up. When your eyes finally fall on his face, you want to bang your head against a wall.

“Hi, Jungwon,” you reply before remembering what Sunoo had told you. “Do you wanna start planning out our presentation tonight?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” He’s a little shocked (but even more relieved) that you’re carrying out his part of the plan all on your own. “I’ll text you?”

“Sounds good.”

After a momentary pause, you continue on your path to your math class, thinking about looking back at Jungwon’s retreating form but never actually doing so because you still have some little sliver of self-control.

Jungwon grins at Heeseung, who gives him a thumbs up. The list remains safely in his pocket.

☆☆☆☆☆

AT 10:13 PM, JUNGWON SITS on his duvet and kneads his lower lip between his teeth. Your contact is open, the last message sent from over a year ago glaring back in mockery. For some reason, it’s so hard to come up with a way to say “Hey, do you want to work on the project right now?” without throwing his phone across the room.

Suddenly, three dots appear, as you’ve started typing out a message of your own. Jungwon nearly leaps off of his bed.

“hey, r u free to work rn?”

Grinning like an idiot, he starts typing out a reply, fingers flying at light speed over the screen of his phone.

Like Jungwon, you sit perched on your own bed, phone in your hands (which are quickly growing clammy). You reread the message you’ve just sent, searching for any spelling errors and contemplating if you’d been too informal or too forward with your wording (even though it was only 7 words). For two minutes, you wait, opting to put your phone down and look around your room, but still picking the device back up every 10 seconds to check for notifications. Eventually, you get a reply.

“yeah, fs! i’ll share a doc w/ u :)”

Satisfied, you flip open your school-issued laptop and click on the new link in your email, smiling when you’re greeted with a blank page and Jungwon’s cursor blinking on the screen. As diligently as would be expected of the student council president, Jungwon begins typing, listing out ideas for your presentation topic, and occasionally texting you to clarify specific details.

At first, your exchange is a little awkward, neither of you wanting to cross the careful boundary between project partners and friends just yet. But, as the night stretches on, you find yourself falling back into the same comfort you had years ago. It’s a little aggravating, seeing firsthand how you still click so easily with Jungwon.

At 12:45, you’re complaining about your various annoying teachers and your coursework. The project remains long forgotten; the two of you had done far more than you’d needed to anyways, seeing as the whole thing is due in 2 weeks.

Suddenly, Jungwon remembers the lined piece of paper, folded up and sitting on his desk. It’s not explicitly written in the plan, but things have been going so well tonight, and he slowly types out a new message. It sits in the little bar below the chat for a solid 30 seconds before he winces and clicks send.

“after we present and get a perfect score, we should go out and celebrate!!”

“what if we don’t get a perfect score?” you reply quickly, though you know better than to doubt the abilities of Yang Jungwon.

“we will.” he shoots back, and you smile a little at the addition of a “>:(” at the end.

At 1:09, you move on to the topic of family and learn that Jungwon has an older sister. By 1:27, you’re back to the topic of colleges, but this time, you find camaraderie in your and Jungwons’ mutual fear of the future and what lies after graduation.

And by 1:58, when you’ve started checking for notifications a little too frequently for your liking, because yes, you are still desperately trying to push any romantic attraction toward Jungwon out of your head, you power your phone off and force your eyes shut. Sleep eludes you until 2:36.

Once you stop replying, Jungwon sets his phone down beside him and flops onto his back. He closes his eyes and breathes in, then out.

A smile crosses his face as he falls asleep.

☆☆☆☆☆

OVER THE NEXT WEEK AND a half, you and Jungwon fall into a routine. During lunch, you spare no small amount of glances his way. By the time the sun sets, his messages fill your hours until you break away from your phone to go to sleep. When you wake up and go to school, he’s waiting for you, never failing to be one of the first few students to arrive in class.

Your resolve crumbles a little more with each passing day.

And now, you’ve allowed him to infiltrate your afternoons. Sunday, three days before your project is due, the two of you meet up to practice presenting. Jungwon had offered up his house, seeing as he’d have the place to himself for the afternoon and early evening, and instantly, sirens went off in your brain. Eventually, you resigned—you know firsthand just how persistent Jungwon could be. And, as if that weren’t enough, he’d bribed you with pictures of his dog.

You and Jungwon sit on the wooden floor of the small study tucked into the corner of his house, slideshow pulled up on the laptop that rests in the space between the two of you.

The door is left ajar, allowing Maeumi—Jungwon’s dog that somehow has the exact same energy as he does—to walk in and out on occasion. Maeumi, who is the only reason you’d agreed to come, rather than insisting on working in the library or a cafe or even over video call.

Being inside Jungwon’s house is so nerve-wracking. It’s not the classroom, or the hallways, or the cafeteria, the places you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him in. There’s no screen separating you from him, allowing you to hide behind carefully thought-out messages or a well-timed sleep schedule.

There’s just you (sitting cross-legged on the floor and trying so hard to take up as little space as possible that your legs are starting to hurt) and Jungwon, whose catlike eyes seem to peer into your soul.

“Okay, let’s run through the whole thing and time it to see if we need to cut anything out,” Jungwon begins after clearing his throat.

“Sounds good,” you mumble, reaching for the mouse plugged into your laptop to scroll to the top of your shared script.

Jungwon has the same idea.

You feel his hand bump into yours as you rest it over the mouse, and you swear you’re getting heart palpitations even though you’re near 18 years old and absolutely should not be getting so hung up over something as simple as touching fingertips. Quickly, both your and Jungwon’s hands shoot back into your laps, and you take great interest in examining the frames lining the walls of the office. Your ears and cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Hesitantly, Jungwon moves his hand back and scrolls up, and you open a stopwatch on your phone. With a nod, you signal your partner to begin speaking and click play.

“Hello everyone, I’m Jungwon, and this is my partner,” he trails off, leaving the end of the sentence for you to complete, as you’d planned. Instead, you stare at the screen of your laptop, chewing your lower lip.

As the silence registers in your mind, your eyes widen.

“Sorry, I, uh, got distracted rereading the script.

“All good, let’s try again?”

With a nod, you restart the stopwatch. The two of you make it exactly four more lines before your rehearsal is once again brought to a halt. This time, Jungwon is the one who forgets to chime in with his part, instead opting to stare at the floor.

“Jungwon,” you whisper. His ears start to match yours in color.

“Sorry.”

You think that if you can get through today without embarrassing yourself any further, the presentation on Friday will be a walk in the park.

Just as you take a deep breath in, mentally preparing yourself for a third try, Maeumi trots in. The small, white dog wags his tail and runs up to Jungwon, and the project is thrown to the back of your mind.

“Hi, Maeumi,” Jungwon coos, and you reach out a hand to stroke the dog’s fur. At this, Maeumi starts to leap around, excited about seeing the new guest in the house for a second time.

Jungwon stands up, smiling softly and saying he’ll find some treats for you to give the dog. Once he’s on his feet, Maeumi perks up, walks into the center of the room, and starts to pee on the floor.

Jungwon’s smile drops. He looks like he wants to die.

“Shit shit shit. I’m so sorry, he doesn’t usually do this,” he cries, grabbing your arms and ushering you out of the office.

Once the two of you and your laptop are safely outside, standing in the narrow hallway lit by the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, Jungwon’s shoulders slump and he releases his grasp. His lips pull into an even deeper frown and his brows draw closer together.

You look at him, then back through the doorway into the room, and your lips quiver. He looks so distressed, but you can’t help it as laughter wracks your body. Soon enough, Jungwon joins in, and the two of you remain in the hallway, chests hurting and cheeks aching from smiling too hard.

“Um, I’m gonna go clean that up,” Jungwon chuckles as your laughter dies down. “We can just work in my room.”

You nod, and he directs you up the stairs and into a small room. You sit down a little hesitantly on the bed at his suggestion, and then he bolts out of the room, presumably to find paper towels.

Jungwon’s room is somehow exactly as you’d pictured it (not that you spend your free time imagining what Jungwon’s bedroom looks like, obviously). A few pictures are scattered across the white walls, and a navy blue duvet is draped over the full-sized bed. The white desk positioned in the corner of the room is spotless, scattered with a few sheets of paper and a desktop.

A few minutes later, Jungwon finally trudges into the room and collapses down onto the bed, hand covering his face. He peeks through his fingers at you, sitting next to him, and promptly starts giggling again.

Jungwon notices you look a lot less tense, relieving the tight feeling of anxiety in his chest and making his stomach flutter (in relief, he tells himself). He supposes he has Maeumi to thank for cutting through the previously awkward atmosphere, even if it did mean he had to clean up dog pee. He pushes himself up so that he’s upright and peers over your shoulder at your laptop, which rests in your lap.

Your eyes flicker to his face, a few inches away from yours, so close that if you were to turn your heads at the same time, you’d be touching.

“Let’s just run through it first, yeah? We can time it after.”

Stiffly, you nod.

This time, the rehearsal goes without a hitch. Once you’ve said your final line, you both pause, faces breaking out into two matching grins.

Jungwon pulls you into a brief hug, arms tightening around yours. You’re stunned for a second, and then you’re reciprocating, wrapping your own arms around his waist and giving him a quick squeeze before you both pull away.

“See, I told you we’re gonna get a perfect score,” he says as he resituates himself on the bed.

“We better, isn’t it worth like 15% of our grade now?”

Despite your first impressions of Mrs. Park, the woman knew all too well that more than half the class would slack off once college applications were submitted and their grades no longer held as much importance. It adds a whole new layer of stress to the already nerve-wracking project, but you’re just glad it’s happening now, rather than in a few months, when the entire year will be focused solely on their future schools. You’re also glad you have someone like Jungwon.

You’ve decided the two of you work well together. And you’re beginning to hope that he feels the same.

☆☆☆☆☆

DESPITE ALL OF YOUR DOUBTS, Jungwon is right. Your presentation is probably the best run-through you and he have done, and at the end, you see Mrs. Park’s genuine smile for the first time this year.

As you both return to your seats so the next group can go, Jungwon shoots you a smug look, and you can hear his voice in your head saying he told you so. As you watch the pair of students standing near the whiteboard, Jungwon slips you a bright orange sticky note.

“do u still wanna celebrate later?” is scrawled across the slip of paper in looping handwriting. You shift so that you can write your own reply underneath.

“we haven’t gotten our scores yet”

Jungwon frowns at your pessimism.

“did u not see mrs. park smile??? we def got a 100”

“wtv u say”

He unsticks the note from the table once you’re finished writing and resticks it in front of himself. Then, he moves his arm so that you can’t see what he’s writing. Annoyed, you face forward and actually start paying attention to your classmates’ analysis of the poem you don’t know the title of. Jungwon taps his pen to his lips a few times, deeply contemplating his next words.

Eventually, he sticks the note directly in front of you, then swivels to the front, watching your reaction out of the corner of his eye.

“are u free friday at like 7”

You’re a little surprised as you read it; you hadn’t expected Jungwon to actually stand by his suggestion of celebrating after the project ended. You would consider him a friend now, but you didn’t think he’d actually voluntarily want to spend time with you outside of class if not for schoolwork.

“think so,” You write back, trying your hardest to sound noncommittal. The last thing you want to do is turn down the implied invitation, but your palms are sweating a little and your handwriting is a little shakier than normal at the thought.

“great, you’re coming over,” Jungwon pens with finality, effectively shutting down any protests you might give as he grabs his backpack. It’s then you realize that the period has ended, and you watch his retreating figure strut out of the classroom in slight awe.

With a few seconds delay, you also make your way out of the classroom, meeting Sunoo in the hall to walk to your second class of the day.

“Jungwon just asked me to hang out again,” you immediately tell your best friend as you start to walk side-by-side down the hallway. “At his house.” When Sunoo sees your grin, his eyes immediately narrow teasingly.

“What happened to becoming friends so you can get over him?” he drawls, and you immediately look away. “It’s fine, I’m sure he likes you back at this point.”

You almost choke.

“What are you talking about?”

“He asked you out literally five minutes ago and you’re acting like I’m crazy?” Sunoo says incredulously, crossing his arms.

Luckily, you’re only a few feet from your next class. Sunoo glares as you wave to your teacher and practically skip into the classroom. Soon enough, you get a text message from the said boy.

“u know i’m right.”

You roll your eyes and tuck your phone back into your pocket.

The next three hours are spent with you completely tuning out the various lectures and wrestling with your own thoughts. Part of you does know Sunoo’s right; knows that there has to be some deeper meaning behind the lingering glances and touches shared between you and Jungwon. The other part believes that such a thing is impossible, and that you’re delusional for even entertaining the idea.

By the time your lunch period arrives, you’ve psyched yourself out to the point where you think you’ll throw up if you see Jungwon in the hallway.

Of course, this is exactly what happens (besides the throwing up). Heeseung and Jungwon stand by a row of lockers, engaged in animated conversation. Thankfully, there are still more than a few other students walking through the halls, so you’re sure you’ll be able to pass by unnoticed. The two also seem extremely engaged in their own conversation. Jungwon looks a little flushed, while Heeseung wears the condescending grin you’ve seen far too many times on Sunoo’s face.

Briskly, you walk past, ducking your head down, but you’re still able to catch a snippet of their conversation with how loudly they’re speaking.

“See, I knew you guys would get an A,” Heeseung exclaims, clapping Jungwon on the shoulder. “My plan worked perfectly, you should listen to me more often.”

“Of course we did, Y/N’s one of the smartest people in our year,” Jungwon replies, swatting away his friend’s hand.

You nearly forget to keep walking. It feels as though your heart is sinking deep into your chest and pulling your lungs down with it, and you suddenly feel nauseous for an entirely different reason.

In your haste, you miss the second part of Jungwon and Heeseung’s conversation.

“You speak so highly of them,” Heeseung smiles, finally lowering his voice. “It’s nice.”

Jungwon’s eyes widen a little before he, too, starts to smile.

“I think very highly of them.”

“I don’t think you ever needed the plan, honestly,” Heeseung’s smile shifts from genuine back to teasing. You’re both whipped and it hasn’t even been a month.”

Jungwon hums in thought before closing his locker and briskly strutting down the hallway, leaving Heeseung standing a little dumbfounded for a moment before he follows.

During lunch, the last two people you want to see sit perfectly in your line of sight, as usual. Contrary to your normal routine, however, you refuse to look over and bear witness to Jungwon’s joyous laugh or his bright smile. Now that you know, you can’t help but feel he’s laughing at you.

If Sunoo notices your dramatic shift in attitude, he says nothing. It’s not that you don’t want to tell your best friend about what you’ve just heard, but the entire situation has filled you with humiliation so deep that you think you’ll need a few weeks to even admit to yourself that you’ve been completely played.

Eventually, the lunch period ends, and for the rest of the day, you solely think about Jungwon. The boy had occupied many of your thoughts before, but now, instead of reminiscing on his dimples or his cheerful voice, you’re stuck wondering how you’d gotten here in the span of a few hours.

The worst part is that Jungwon seemed so earnest when asking you to hang out just hours before. If you hadn’t overheard the conversation with your own two ears, you’re sure you wouldn’t have believed it.

As you lay in bed, ignoring the couple texts from Jungwon trying to start your usual idle evening conversation, you feel like an idiot.

☆☆☆☆☆

WHEN JUNGWON WAKES UP THE next morning to a distinct lack of a response to his messages from the night before, his heart sinks. He wants to believe that you just fell asleep early or were extra focused on a difficult assignment, but he can’t help the little voice in his head telling him he’d been too pushy the day before, and drove you away.

This fear is only confirmed when you sit down next to him. To your credit, you do respond to his little good-morning wave. But Jungown can see from a mile away that your smile is a little too forced, and your posture is completely closed off.

Rummaging through his backpack, he finds the pad of orange sticky notes and sticks one onto your shared desk. He uncaps his pen and writes in his looping handwriting.

“everything ok?”

When you read the note, you want to cry. You stare straight forward and give Jungwon a single, sharp nod. In your peripheral vision, you don’t see his shoulders slump as a frown is painted across his face.

Luckily, the rest of the period is taken up by more presentations, allowing you to look extremely invested in what your classmates are saying so that Jungwon doesn’t try to start any more conversation. When the bell rings, you quickly sling your bag over your shoulder and walk out. Jungwon peels the orange paper from the desk and crumples it into his pocket.

Jungwon hopes against hope that the sudden shift is temporary. He tells himself that maybe your phone has been broken for the past two days, or that your pet fish died and you’re just too deep in mourning to talk to anyone that isn’t Kim Sunoo.

But then he walks into the cafeteria and sees you and Sunoo, crowded around your phone screen and giggling at a video you’re showing him.

He envies Sunoo, your best friend since freshman year and probably since junior high. It’s becoming increasingly apparent that you and him are not meant for a friendship that lasts more than a month.

His messages still go unread. Your next shared class period on Friday morning is possibly the most awkward hour he’s spent, although he’s opted to join you in your vow of silence towards him.

It’s the final day of presentations, and after the class period ends, Mrs. Park says she’ll be releasing scores. Jungwon, who’d been insistent on your success from the beginning, doesn’t even want to check.

This time, he’s the first out of the two of you to leave the classroom. Even though you’re supposed to be angry, you’re equally concerned. You know that Jungwon cares about his grades just as much as you do.

As you’re gathering your notes, you hear heels clicking against the tile floor.

“Y/N, I just wanted to let you know that you and Jungwon gave the best presentation I’ve heard in years. You’ve both earned a perfect score, please tell him as well,” Mrs. Park tells you. At the moment, she looks strangely maternal, so different from the strict, tight-lipped woman you’d known for the past month.

“Thank you, Mrs. Park. I will.”

☆☆☆☆☆

FOR SOME REASON, YOU STILL show up to Jungwon’s house at 7 o’clock on the dot.

You ring the doorbell, still contemplating getting back in your car and driving home. Before you have the chance, the door swings open, leaving you face-to-face with Jungwon himself. He’s clad in plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt, looking at you as though flowers have started growing out of your head.

After he’s scanned you from head to toe, toe to head, and back down again, he steps aside and lets you enter.

“I didn’t have anything planned,” he mumbles. “I didn’t think you were still coming.”

“Sorry,” you say, because you can’t think of any other way to properly portray how you feel. And you do feel sorry; sorry that you realized too late, that you’re still so willing to show up at his doorstep even after learning the truth.

Jungwon ushers you into the living room and offers you a seat on the couch. Once you sit, he rushes into the kitchen, telling you he’ll be right back.

For the millionth time that week, you've left him completely and utterly confused.

As you listen to Jungwon pacing around the kitchen and flip through different movies with the remote, you begin to hear a faint tapping. When it grows louder, you peer out the window and are met with a rainstorm.

It’s already dark, and with the rain, you would feel completely uneasy attempting to drive home. You get the feeling all of your exits have been sealed.

When you finally decide on playing the first Harry Potter movie, Jungwon re-emerges from the kitchen holding two bowls of ramyeon.

“Here, I didn’t know if you wanted any so don’t feel like you have to finish it.”

“Thank you. Sorry,” you mumble again as you pull your bowl closer to you and pick up the pair of chopsticks resting on the side. The word is quickly becoming the only one in your personal dictionary.

Jungwon spends about three seconds seemingly deep in thought before reaching for the remote and pausing the movie.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, turning to face you on the couch.

“Nothing, sorry,” you reply, chewing your lower lip and picking at the skin around your nails.

“Why do you keep saying sorry?” he continues, and you almost feel guilty with the way he looks at you.

Your mouth is completely dry. You can’t think of an answer.

Jungwon sighs. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Then, before you can even blink, he’s out the door. You sit in slight shock for a few moments, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do in a situation like this.

And suddenly, all of the sounds surrounding you rush back into your ears. It’s raining, probably harder than it’s rained all year. With the realization, you’re on your feet, slipping on your shoes and racing outside.

The neighborhood is dark, only dimly lit by streetlights. The moon is hidden behind the storm clouds.

Quickly, water soaks into your hair and clothes, the short sleeves and thin sweatpants doing nothing to keep out the frigid temperature.

You nearly cry when you see Jungwon, walking alone in the middle of the empty road, his figure growing smaller and smaller.

“Jungwon!” you call out, cupping your hands around your mouth in a futile attempt to magnify your voice amidst the torrents of rain pouring from the sky.

A few meters ahead, he pauses, shoulders heaving as he catches his breath. You can see the hesitation in his movements as he contemplates whether to turn around or keep walking away. Shivers start to run through your body.

“Jungwon, please,” your voice breaks, rasping from the frigid weather and the tears pricking your eyes.

Finally, he turns around. He inhales, exhales, opens his mouth, and you finally see Yang Jungwon lose his composure.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Y/N,” he says, with such a sharp look in his eyes that you’re almost taken aback. You grit your teeth. He starts walking closer.

“You,” he huffs, “are so confusing. We talk for the first time in a year, and you can’t even look at me. And then just when I think we’re finally becoming friends again, you completely shut me out.”

Your stomach clenches as remorse and anger simultaneously course through your bloodstream. You have to reassure yourself that no, you’re not being irrational, no matter how much you want to believe that Jungwon hadn’t just been using you.

“I’ve been trying, so hard, to talk to you,” he continues, each word accented with a step in your direction. “I can’t keep chasing after you when you’re making it so obvious that you want me to stop.”

“So why don’t you?” you hiss. “It’s not my fault you see me as some sort of extra credit assignment or something, right?”

You know you’re being unreasonable, but you’ve been wound so tightly this past week that you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Is class president not good enough for you? Do you have to make everyone fall in love with you to fuel your sick ego? I don’t want to be used to keep up your GPA.”

“What are you talking about? Do you really think I’m like that, after all these years?” He spits back at you. “I thought we were friends, but you really can’t trust me enough to believe that I would spend time with you just because I like being with you?”

“So then what did I hear you talking about on Wednesday? Your plan to get an A on the presentation?”

You can pinpoint the moment realization washes over his face like a bucket of ice-cold water.

“You heard—Heeseung, he,” Jungwon begins out, face quickly overtaken by remorse. His shoulders rise, then fall. “The only reason he came up with that stupid plan was because he knew I missed talking to you. I was…”

He runs a hand through his hair, the wet strands still clinging to his forehead.

“I was desperate, okay? I didn't want to lose you before I had a chance to figure this out.”

It feels like you’ve been punched in the lungs.

Even in the noise of the storm, his words sound out clearer than anything, resonating through your head like it’s an echo chamber.

“Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m saying,” he says after the silence stretches out indefinitely. You can see the wall separating the two of you slowly being built back up, right before your eyes. “I can, um, walk you home now. And then I’ll leave you alone.” You swallow.

“I’m sorry for not trusting you, Jungwon.”

“It’s okay,” he chuckles bitterly, still refusing to look straight at you.

Another pause.

“You didn’t lose it,” you whisper. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze off of your shoes as his eyes finally meet yours. “Your chance, I mean. I didn’t even know I had a chance with you, and I still couldn’t get over you after a whole year.”

The rain, the distant sounds of traffic, all of it goes completely silent, and the world stills around you.

Jungwon’s eyes search yours for one, two, three seconds, and then he’s curling his fingers around the collar of your soaked t-shirt, crushing his lips against yours, and breathing you in as the rain beats down on your backs. The tension seeps out of your body in waves as his features draw into a sweet smile.

Everything is so much, the now-soaked fabric of your clothes clinging to your skin, the feeling of his hands running up and down your bare arms, lacing around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until you swear you can feel his heart pounding against your own.

Your fingers hover over his cheekbones before finally threading through his hair, and he shakily exhales into the kiss. You’re only a little satisfied that he feels equally as overwhelmed as you.

Eventually, the two of you pull apart, though you maintain the close proximity.

“You could’ve just told me, you know? Then I wouldn’t have wasted so much time trying to move on,” you tease, heart still soaring.

He ducks his head into the crook of your neck, and you feel his smile press against your skin.

“I know, I already feel stupid.”

“I think that’s an oxymoron or something,” you simper. “I should tell Mrs. Park her star student thinks he’s stupid.”

“You’re really annoying, you know,” he complains, lifting his head and dramatically sliding a hand down his face before turning around to glance along the road.

“Come on,” he says, holding out a hand for you to take. “Let’s go back before we both get hypothermia.”

Something in your chest flutters, and you smile for probably the hundredth time in the span of 10 minutes. Tugging on Jungwon’s hand to pull him towards you, you press a chaste kiss to his lips before releasing your grip and starting off down the sidewalk, giggling.

Maybe you’ll have to give up on getting over Yang Jungwon for a while.

3K notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 3 years

Text

Wow, he’s hot

“Pairing: Fem!Reader x Seo Changbin (SKZ)

Word Count: 8K

Genre: Neighbors to Lovers? Lol

Warnings: Aged up characters (Changbin is ten years older than the reader), explicit sexual content, language, drinking

Summary: You were a fresh college graduate, returning home for the summer before starting a bright, shiny new position in the city, but you certainly weren’t expecting to fall hard for your neighbor.

A/N: I hope at least one person gets my reference/pun at the end....But seriously? Oh, what have I done...

Your roommate was hungover again, dressed to the nines in a purple bathrobe and pink fluffy slippers as she attempted to move huge boxes of random shit between her bedroom and the foyer of your shared apartment.

It was priceless entertainment, at least in your opinion, especially after witnessing your roommate in rare form the previous night dancing from one frat boy to the next, draining entire bottles of alcohol like she needed the liquid encouragement.

From what you had observed, she was determined to embarrass you at all costs, and under normal circumstances, you could’ve avoided her rather inappropriate behavior in exchange for your regular hook-up, Joshua. But he decided to remain mysteriously absent for the entire evening, which meant that you had been stuck watching over your roommate, hoping that she wouldn’t get you kicked out again....

“I know what you’re thinking, Y/N,” Laura huffed, pausing next to the counter-top where you sat. “What did you expect? It was my last night of freedom before going back home.”

“Yeah,” you snorted. “It was mine too, but I wasn’t plastered face-down in the shower last night.”

“Whatever,” Laura grimaced. “Did you sign off on the lease yet?”

“I did it earlier,” you replied.

“Our bitchy landlord’s been complaining all week,” Laura said. “I’m tired of her late-night phone calls, plus my mom’s been really annoying about the move.”

“Oh?” you questioned. “When is she coming?”

“In like an hour,” Laura huffed. “Why do you think I’m busting my ass to pack everything?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Maybe you needed a distraction from thinking about puking in the bushes behind the frat house last night.”

“Oh, shut up about that!” Laura hissed, slapping your arm as you kept laughing. “Isn’t you brother coming tomorrow?”

“Ugh, yeah,” you groaned. “He said he has to come super early because of work, but my ass doesn’t start functioning until at least 8:00.”

“Well, at least tell Chan ‘hi’ for me,” Laura said, giggling like a love-struck teenager because she had been infatuated with your older brother for years.

“If I remember to tell him,” you grumbled, stretching out your arms and deciding that it might be useful for you to start packing as well, especially since the most you would be able to accomplish tomorrow morning at the ass crack of dawn is following Chan around the apartment in a zombie-like state as the two of you loaded your belongings into his car.

“Don’t forget that I’m coming to visit next week,” Laura said, and you perked up a little at the idea of having your friend come around, especially since the two of you had just graduated together and those long days and nights of being glued together at the hip were coming to a bittersweet end.

“Sounds good,” you agreed, checking your phone one last time to see a weird gif from Chan (as you had come to expect from him) before joining your roommate in packing up the remainder of your former college life.

Chan had always been prompt when it came to his familial obligations, and the two of you spent two hours loading all of your stuff into his car before starting the long drive to your old childhood home. A place that you hadn’t ventured to since leaving four years ago to start undergraduate school.

“Looks the same,” you remarked, sunglasses perched low on your nose as you allowed the window to roll down to take in some fresh air.

“What did you expect?” Chan asked, humming away to whatever shitty metal song he had playing over the radio.

In a totally random and last-minute decision, you had decided that for the next three summer months while you were stuck in an in-between phase, you were returning home for a while before you were set to move into a new apartment in the city close to where you would be working full-time. It seemed logical to save money, and there was a small part of you that did miss your family and old friends.

Of course, despite Chan’s dismissal of your earlier nonchalant comment about the unchanging surroundings of your hometown, you were startled when you realized that the old house next door, which used to be occupied by an elderly couple until they moved away during your senior year of high school, was missing it’s familiar ‘for sale’ sign in the front yard, and there was a black Mustang in the driveway.

“Home sweet home,” Chan sighed when he stopped in the carport attached to your former two-story staccato, opening the door with a grumble.

You frowned, following him around to the back of his car. “Someone bought the house next door?” you asked, dragging your eyes away from the sleek, shiny sports car to look at your brother.

Chan grunted as he heaved your suitcase from the trunk. “Yeah, they moved in last month. I think the owner is a lawyer and he lives there with his daughter.”

“Huh,” you remarked. “That house has been vacant for years.”

Chan shrugged. “Yeah, well, the guy who lives there now is really nice. Mom and dad babysit for him a lot when he’s working.”

“Great,” I muttered. “They’ll rope me into helping.”

“S’ not so bad,” Chan said, growling in frustration when your suitcase fell over to the side with an unpleasant crash. “Can you help or what?”

You laughed at your brother’s outrage, reaching back to pull your hair into a messy bun.

Meanwhile, you noticed the front door of your house opening from the corner of your eye, smiling when your mother shrieked and rushed down the sidewalk to meet you halfway in a long-winded embrace. “Y/N!! I’m so glad to see you.”

“You’re crushing me,” you heaved through constricted lungs, accepting your mother’s open arms even if it was a little over-eager.

“Oh! I’m sorry, dear,” she said, pulling back just enough to allow oxygen to circulate once again, but not enough to pull you away from her mushy kisses. “You look so healthy and beautiful!”

“Yeah, thanks mom,” you said, slowly beginning the untangling process of removing her arms from around you while Chan struggled in the background to carry your suitcase up the front steps. “I should help.”

“Of course!” your mom agreed, but a distant tug of curiosity had you turning back to look at the house next door once again.

“Hey? Do you know anything about the new neighbor?”

“You mean Changbin? He’s wonderful, darling. So polite, and his daughter is so funny.”

You wrinkled your nose, never having been a huge fan of kids. “Chan said you babysit for him sometimes.”

“It’s always nice to help someone out,” your mother tsked, and you could recognize her patronizing tone from anywhere. “Such a shame that he divorced his wife. Heard it was kinda nasty.”

“It’s not any of our business,” you reminded her.

“Oh, I didn’t say it was!” your mother sighed. “He doesn’t talk about it much.”

“Jeez, how much do you guys talk?”

Because from the sound of it, Changbin had to be as old as your mom to make this much of an impression. You grinned as you briefly imagined the two of them on the front porch drinking tea together and gossiping about the rest of the neighborhood.

“He’s far more friendly than Mrs. Jones was,” your mother remarked. “I think you’d like him, Y/N.”

“I don’t know about that...”

“Well, you’ll get the chance to meet him tonight,” your mother said, smile full and wide. “I’ve invited him over for dinner!”

Oh, great.

“Can’t wait,” you forced out between clenched teeth, rolling your eyes when your mom clapped her hands together before grabbing your hand to drag you inside, feeling only a distant shiver roll across your spine as you walked onto the porch as if someone was looking at you from afar....

Your mother was hardly the type to run out of conversation, and you eventually were forced to leave her downstairs to argue with Chan over some menial thing that he forgot to do for tonight’s big dinner while you trudged upstairs to find some peace.

Unsurprisingly, your childhood bedroom remained untouched, and you circled around the perimeter, studying old pictures of yourself playing sports and hanging out with friends. Fingers dusting over your collection of old trophies and high-school yearbooks that recalled long-ago days of feeling carefree - with the future wide-open in front of you for the taking.

But you were well off in the present, allowing yourself to indulge in the nostalgia of looking through old diaries and journals before your mother’s voice called you downstairs for dinner later that evening. “Coming!” you called back, pausing next to your mirror to check your reflection.

The smell of your mother’s cooking had your stomach rumbling from the hunger of only stopping once on the way home to eat cheap fast-food with Chan, and you forced yourself to walk like a normal person even though every instinct was screaming at you to find the source of that delicious odor.

You were nearly salivating at the idea of your mother’s homemade cooking, and your hand caught the rail of the bannister to turn the final corner, but the sounds of voices from below forced you to pause at the top of the stairs, eyes growing wide as you took in the sight of the unfamiliar man standing in your foyer, talking to your mother like they had known each other for years. “Oh, Y/N,” your mother said, and you shivered when the man turned to look at you. “Come meet our neighbor, Changbin. I think you’ll really like him.”

You held back a snort at the ironic comment because it only took you a few seconds to come to the conclusion that Changbin epitomized the phrase “just my type.”

He was on the shorter side, built like he had literally spent his entire life working out, arms bulging beneath his t-shirt and chest straining the material tight to his front. So much so that you could practically see his nipples through the fabric.

His hair was jet-black, ruffled from the wind outside, and his eyes were equally as dark, lips contorted into a self-satisfied smirk that you found exceedingly hot.

“Hi,” you mustered without much thought, nearly tripping over your own two feet on the way down the stairs.

“This is my daughter, Y/N,” your mother said, inviting you closer so that you were standing directly in front of Changbin.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a deep voice that was slightly rough around the edges.

“Y/N just graduate from college,” your mother gushed. “We’re so excited to have her back.”

“I’m home for the summer,” you explained, shivering at the dark look in Changbin’s gaze. “I’m starting an internship in the Fall.”

“Y/N will be working in publishing,” your mother explained, jumping in while you and Changbin continued to stare each other down - something intense and provocative.

“Really?” Changbin asked, eyes making a leisurely stroll of looking you up and in down in a way that had you feeling extremely self-conscious.

“Oh! Give me one second to check something in the kitchen,” your mother said, excusing herself with a smile before leaving the two of you alone in the foyer.

You inwardly cursed your mother for leaving you both in an awkward silence. Say something!! You screamed to yourself.

“So,” you started, clearing your throat and forcing yourself to stop swaying back and forth. “Chan told me you practice law.”

“Yeah,” Changbin agreed, and you swooned at his crooked smile. “It doesn’t sound as interesting as your work.”

“I don’t know about that,” you countered politely, but Changbin was unrelenting.

“You looked surprised to see me earlier,” he remarked.

You swallowed hard. “Oh, well when Chan mentioned a neighbor with a kid, I just wasn’t expecting someone so....”

“Yes?” Changbin prodded, encouraging you to continue.

Someone so fucking hot, you thought to yourself, someone who was literally made inside my best fantasies, but those explicit thoughts belonged exclusively inside your head. “Young,” you eventually finished, and Changbin seemed disappointed for some reason.

“I’m 32,” he said, and your eyes widened perceptibly, realizing that he was ten years older than you.

“I would’ve never guessed,” you said. “I mean, not that it’s a bad thing-”

“It’s alright,” Changbin interrupted, and you were relieved to hear him chuckle. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I can be a little awkward.”

“No,” he shook his head, coming to stand a little closer. “I think it’s nice.”

Oh? What was that supposed to mean?

“I used to have a boyfriend who looked a lot like you,” you went on, freezing when you comprehended what you had just blathered without thinking.

But Changbin didn’t seem bothered at all. “I bet he wasn’t as old as me.”

“He was my age,” you said. “But I kinda like older men...”

Fuck. Did those words really just come out of your mouth?!

“Y/N,” Changbin said, and you trembled at the huskiness of his tone. “You should be more careful.” He leaned in then as if trying to keep whatever he was about to say a secret for just the two of you. “I can be a very dangerous man.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, finding yourself two seconds away from literally melting at his feet when your mother suddenly re-entered the foyer with a dusting of flour across her chin.

“Dinner’s ready!” she announced, and you were fleeing behind her without a second thought, escaping the intoxicating hold of Changbin’s presence before you did something you might regret.

For whatever reason, you found yourself sitting next to Changbin in the dining room for dinner that night.

“I made chicken,” your mother said, gesturing to each dish sitting in a line down the center of the table as she explained tonight’s menu. But you were barely cognizant of what your mother was saying because the close proximity to Changbin was doing very strange things to your head.

“So, Y/N,” your father started when everyone had been served. “I hope your brother was helpful with the move.”

Chan rolled his eyes, but you grinned at your father’s words. “Yeah, I was a little out of it though because of the time.”

“Like I said,” Chan huffed. “I couldn’t get there any later.”

“Let the bickering commence,” your mother said. “Changbin, you wouldn’t believe the fights these two had when they were young.”

“I can only imagine,” Changbin said, and you were wondering how someone could be even more attractive by the sound of their voice alone.

“Do you still need us to babysit for you tomorrow night?” your mother asked. “We would be more than accommodating.”

“That would be great,” Changbin said. “I’ve got a late conference call.”

“It’s no problem,” your mother continued. “Your daughter is just the loveliest.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Changbin replied.

“Y/N,” your mother said, catching you with a mouthful of chicken. “Changbin’s daughter is such a peach.”

You quickly forced down the food in your mouth when you felt Changbin’s gaze rest on you. “Oh? How hold is she, Mr. Seo?”

“She’s six,” Changbin said, and he shifted in his chair, causing your knees to brush together in a move that you knew wasn’t intentional, even if it didn’t stop your legs from wrapping together. “And you don’t have to be so formal with me, Y/N. Only my clients call me Mr. Seo.”

“O-oh,” you exhaled, reacting to the brief contact under the table, hoping that nobody else was noticing your strange behavior.

“Maybe Y/N could help watch Lucy when you’re gone,” your mother suggested, always the first to rope you into these things.

“Sure,” you agreed, even though the idea of pulling babysitting duty was less than appealing, and you could hear Chan snickering from across the table. He knew perfectly well your attitude when it came to kids.

“I think Lucy would like that,” Changbin agreed, and you started to nod along until you felt Changbin’s hand move to your thigh.

Just that single move had your entire form frozen in place.

While your mother continued talking about whatever subject caught her attention, you were left wondering how you should react to the very obvious posturing of Changbin’s hand moving decidedly against your bare skin.

“I’ll probably head back into town tomorrow morning,” Chan said. “I wasn’t able to get much work done.”

You knew it was a playful jab at you, but at that moment you were incapable of coherent speech.

“How is work, Channie?” your mother asked, just as ignorant as the rest of them to the situation unfolding beneath her table. “Anything interesting?”

“Not really,” Chan replied, and you nearly choked on the food you were swallowing when you felt Changbin squeezing your thigh.

“Try to chew it first, Y/N,” your father chuckled, and you forced a smile which you hoped wasn’t as strained as it felt.

“What about you, Changbin?” your mother politely queried. “Anything interesting happening lately?”

“Maybe,” he said with a tone that was far too knowing.

“Hmmm?” your mother smiled. “You aren’t seeing anyone, are you?”

You knew the question was invasive, but Changbin handled it in stride. “I think it depends.”

“Sounds scandalous,” your mother joked, and you couldn’t have possibly been imagining it, feeling his fingers reach so high under the opening of your shorts that his fingertips touched the outline of your panties.

You reached down to cover his hand with your own, bringing awareness to the fact that you weren’t ignoring what was happening, and he had every opportunity to pull back.

But he didn’t. In fact, Changbin’s light, playful touches only continued, and you were left reeling for what the intention could possibly mean.

Early the next morning, you were supposed to be cleaning the pool as a favor to your mother, but how could you be blamed for sneaking peaks at your neighbor working out in his backyard?

“Holy shit,” you cursed under your breath, failing to do a very good job of pretending to be occupied with your current task while ogling the man across the lawn who was in the middle of another round of push-ups, biceps flexing while the rest of his body practically glowed under the sun.

You knew it wasn’t a crime to permit the occasional glance, but your hardcore staring could certainly be qualified as spying at this point (especially in the direction of a lawyer) - making it blatantly obvious that you were very appreciative of the male form at the peak of performance.

Was Changbin seriously 32? And a father?

The questions boggled your mind, and in your distracted state, you clearly forgot to keep a firm hold on the handle of the pool’s leaf skimmer, huffing in annoyance when it splashed beneath the water.

It was enough to attract Changbin’s attention, and you were sure that your face was just as red as the towel draped over the back of your mother’s patio furniture when he stood to his full height before walking in your direction.

“Were you watching me?” Changbin asked, sauntering over to you with black mesh shorts hanging tantalizingly low on his hips, shirt foregone in exchange for a delightful sheen of sweat coating the skin of his thick upper torso in dripping rivulets.

“Uh...” you trailed off anxiously, realizing that Changbin wouldn’t be stupid enough to fall for your half-assed excuses, especially after what had happened between the two of you last night.

“You’re not planning on lying to me, Y/N?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in question.

“N-no, Mr. Seo,” you said, shaking your head quickly, barely keeping a firm grasp of your bearings as he abruptly leaned in closer, musk hanging heavy in the air between the two of you.

“I told you not to call me that,” he said, lips lingering far too close to your ear for a simple neighborly exchange, and you could feel the body heat emanating from him in waves, holding you completely hostage as you briefly entertained the idea of falling to your knees right then and there.

“What should I call you?” you asked instead, fisting your shirt between your hands because you were desperate for something to ground you in that moment.

You could practically feel his smirk, holding in a gasp when his hand settled at the low dip in your spine, fitting into the space there as he pulled you tight against his front. “You can always call me daddy instead.”

Your heart skipped several beats at the scandalous words. Either that or you had just entered cardiac arrest.

But before you could muster a response, you found yourself leaping out of Changbin’s hold when the backdoor opened, and your mother was screaming out your name while waving like a maniac. “Oh!” she said when she realized that you weren’t alone. “I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

“We were just talking,” you quickly inserted, glancing at Changbin from the corner of your eye to see him smirking.

For a while, the very strange flirtation between you and Changbin simmered down, and you tried your best to avoid him when you could, even if he made that very hard to do since he insisted on doing his morning workouts outside in direct line of your bedroom.

It was during the following week that you brought the divine glory of Changbin to your friend, Laura’s, attention, ushering her into your house when she parked on the side of street. “What the hell, Y/N?” she complained when you started practically dragging her up the stairs. “I’ve been driving for hours.”

“Oh, hush,” you said. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Thank you for what, exactly?” Laura questioned, but your response was to simply push her toward the window, standing side by side as you looked through the blinds.

“My new neighbor.”

“Holy fuck!” Laura gasped when she finally joined you, and you could only nod your agreement as the two of you continued to watch Changbin through two narrow breaks in your blinds, wondering how the image of your sexy neighbor simply mowing his grass could make you so wet. “That man is huge!”

“I think he does it on purpose,” you remarked, feeling your heart palpitate inside your chest when Changbin took a moment to pause his chore, reaching down to remove his shirt and tuck it into the waistband of his shorts.

Laura’s gasp was almost outlandishly laughable. “He’s ripped! Like, Sports Illustrated model worthy.”

“I would buy every last copy of that edition.”

“I’d even go a step further and tape the pictures to my wall.”

You both stopped to look at one another, nodding in your collective agreement. “Not here, though, my mom would freak.”

“Yeah, but how can your mom expect you to just ignore...that!” Laura exclaimed, gesturing wildly to Changbin.

“She thinks he’s a fucking Saint, but I swear to god, Laura, he’s provoking me on purpose! The other night at dinner? He came over and put. his. hand. on. my. leg,” you said, emphasizing the last line with what probably looked like a comical widening of your eyes. “And he works out every morning in front of my bedroom? What the hell am I supposed to think?”

“No think,” Laura sighed dreamily. “Just enjoy the view.”

“Do you think I’m not?” you snorted. “I’m serious about him doing those things!”

“So what?” Laura grumbled. “Why are you actually worried that your fucking super model neighbor wants to make a few moves on you? I would be honored.”

“I’m not worried,” you huffed. “It just feels like he wants something from me.”

“Well, if it’s a good fuck, then send him all the signals you can, girl.”

“Really?” you muttered. “You know I suck with flirting. That’s why I only hooked up with Joshua at those stupid frat parties. He didn’t care that I was an awkward mess.”

“Well, neither will your neighbor,” Laura said. “Especially if he’s as interested as you say.”

You pursed your lips, considering her comment, but the sudden and unexpected sound of your door opening sent both you and Laura jumping nearly ten feet into the air as you hurried away from the blinds as fast as humanely possible to take up some form of normalcy.

No, mom, of course we weren’t staring at Mr. Seo.

“Girls,” your mother inquired as she walked inside, and you prayed that your mother hadn’t caught the two of you taking sly peaks at Changbin outside, but she seemed completely ignorant. “I have a question for you.”

“Hmmm?” you inquired, innocently enough, trying to act like the position that you had forced yourself into on the bed was totally not uncomfortable.

“Changbin needs someone to watch Lucy tomorrow night, but your father and I already made plans,” she said. “But I told him you would be more than happy to come over and help him out.”

You winced when Laura elbowed you in the side, giving you one of those looks that you knew quite well from countless nights of barhopping as sophomores. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Laura snickered, but you payed her no attention as you hurried to close the door behind your mother’s retreating form, breathing a sigh of relief to hear her walk back down the stairs.

In all of your years of existence, never had you questioned the appropriateness of an outfit to wear to someone’s place to babysit.

“Fuck it,” you eventually decided, settling on regular, well-worn jeans and a college t-shirt.

After all, it wasn’t like Changbin was staying for very long. He claimed he had something to do at the office, and you would be all alone inside his house with only his kid for companionship.

Still, after your conversation with Laura from the previous afternoon, you couldn’t help but feel more mindful about how he might look at you, and you forced yourself to wear your most professional smile when you rang the doorbell to his house, counting slowly from one until he opened the door.

“Hi, Y/N,” Changbin said, and you tried not to blatantly check him out; although, you couldn’t help but linger on the tight fit of his shirt across his pecs.

“Hello,” you nearly whispered, cursing your hormones as you followed Changbin inside.

“I actually have something to tell you,” Changbin said, leading you into the living room so that you could sit down while entered the adjoining kitchen.

“Oh?” you queried, as politely as you could, waiting for him to return.

It didn’t take him long, and you found yourself sitting up a little straighter from where you had made yourself comfortable on the couch. “So, I actually found someone else to watch Lucy,” Changbin explained, coming around to land next to you on the couch with two glasses of wine.

“You did?” you asked, surprised and taken-aback.

Why were you here then?

As if he could read your thoughts, Changbin smirked. “Thirsty?”

“Sure,” you agreed, taking one of the glasses and bringing the rim up to your lips. “I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted me to watch her.”

“I did,” Changbin said, and he seemed contemplative as he sipped his own drink. “But then I kinda wanted you for something else.”

“Something else?” you repeated because your mind was spinning those simple words in a thousand different directions, and you were only able to settle on one likely outcome when Changbin’s hand dropped to your thigh, reminiscent of your first dinner together from several evenings ago.

He suddenly moved in closer to you, allowing you to smell the subtle cologne that he was wearing. “You’ve been watching me,” he said, and you shivered, feeling both hot and cold at the same time as you looked at him.

“S-sir?”

“Don’t play coy,” Changbin continued, and you found yourself observing the way his throat bobbed as he drank. “I don’t mind the attention.”

“You don’t?” you replied, a rather useless question considering the circumstances, and Changbin took your glass and sat both alcoholic selections onto the side table.

“Why wouldn’t I like it?” he asked, tracing little nonsensical patterns on the covered part of your thigh. “You’re a very beautiful girl.”

What. The. Hell?!!

“Mr. Seo, I don’t think-”

“Y/N,” Changbin interrupted, and you were so frazzled and disjointed by the sharp grip he took on your chin, forcing eye-contact that was so intimate, you could feel yourself grow a little bit wetter. “I told you not to call me that.”

It was the only precursor you got before Changbin was delving in, gripping your chin firmly as he connected your lips in a deep, sensuous exchange that had you reeling from the sudden 180 degree turn that the night had taken.

In one word: everything was rough. Teeth meeting teeth, and tongues rolling in a messy glide against one another. Wet and warm. Silky and smooth. It was everything you needed in a kiss to get your gears turning, feeling your pussy positively throbbing in response.

“That’s right,” Changbin eventually said when he pulled the two of you apart - very much still in control. “We shouldn’t ignore this tension between us.”

“No,” you eagerly agreed, diving in once more for another earth-shattering kiss that rocked you to your very bones, taking the initiative to crawl into his lap, grinding yourself shamelessly against the tight bulge in his jeans while your fingers dug their way into his thick, dark hair.

“Eager,” Changbin whispered between feverish kisses, keeping your mouths locked together at all costs, even if that meant growing a little bit light-headed from losing too much oxygen.

But you couldn’t get enough of him, not after all this teasing and tension.

You didn’t care anymore, consequences be damned, and there wasn’t a single part of you opposing his intentional touches, giving him enough space to unbutton your jeans before sliding one hand beneath the waistband of your panties. In response, you moaned into his mouth, bracing your hands against his shoulders as he found the delicate folds of your pussy.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” Changbin asked, and you were feverishly nodding, sweat forming at the top of your forehead, trying your best to hold back your loudest moans when he slid right in with little resistance, moving his fingers around the inside of your cunt, stretching and filling you in a way that you imagined was nothing compared to what the thick cock beneath you could do.

But you would take anything from him, savoring the glide of his fingers since you were practically drenching him in sticky arousal, jerking forward every so often when his thumb pressed down a little too hard against your clit.

All the while, you could feel yourself start to break apart from the heated contact between the two of you, aching and wanting for the release that the look in his eyes told you he had every intention of providing.

And you were enjoying every bit of the journey to get there, bathing in his attention, groaning when his fingers curled up just right to tease your g-spot, and grinding down against the erection confined tightly in his jeans.

Everything was suddenly so much louder, the sounds of his palm smacking against your cunt, fingers gliding through wetness, and the joined harmony of your combined moans and grunts.

It was a rapid uphill ascent into the clouds, and you could feel him start to move even faster, pulling against the fabric of your jeans, and there was hardly any time for your mind to truly comprehend what was happening. Lost in a sinful haze of lust and divine rapture, wanting nothing more than to just lose yourself in Changbin.

Except he wasn’t letting you simply drown in the pleasure he was giving you, tugging at your hair to bring you back to the present, to the final string keeping your orgasm just out of reach. “You don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Changbin growled into your ear, keeping one hand tight around your waist to stop your squirming as he continued plunging his thick fingers between the tight walls of your pussy. “I see you looking at me because I want you to look.”

You moaned at the explicit expression of his desires, closing your eyes and returning your head against his shoulder, hips titillating according to the way he moved his fingers inside of you.

“Cum for me,” he said, and you were more than willing to let go of everything, including the moans you had been trying to hold back, filling the house with the loud raucous of your screams as your orgasm snapped and unleashed a molten hot thrill along your spine.

You were gasping for breath, returning from the highest peak of satisfaction, but Changbin hardly gave you anytime to recover before he was removing his hand from your jeans and forcing you into the floor.

“My turn,” he grunted, and the sound of his belt unbuckling triggered some semblance of rationale, and you were practically salivating over Changbin’s cock, eyeing the red bulbous mushroom head and wondering how deep you could take him. “Well?” Changbin prodded, grabbing the base of his thick erection to brush it across the pout of your lips. “Open wide.”

You whimpered, but obeyed, allowing your tongue to stick out just enough to taste the drop of precum leaking from the tip. It was bitter and unappealing, but since it was from Changbin, you couldn’t resist trying more of him, going further and further down until you felt him at the back of your throat.

Your jaw was already aching from the extension, and a distant thought had you thinking, damn, you were gonna be sore in the morning. But it was completely worth it to hear him moan from above you, fingers tightening in your hair as you allowed him to set the pace, rolling you up and down his cock, tongue sweeping the sides and tip and digging into the little slit where you discovered he was the most sensitive.

At the same time, you were all but humping his leg, desperate to get off again as he used your mouth for his own personal cocksleeve, hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, sending you gagging around his impossible length.

“You take cock like you were made for it,” he remarked, eyes glossing over in a way that had you feeling rather proud of your skills.

It only lasted for a moment, and he abruptly held himself all the way down for one, two, three seconds until you were whining for him to let you free just long enough to take in another deep breath.

“Finish me off,” he groaned, and you were working overtime to bring him to the edge, bobbing your head up and down the full expanse of his length, all gorgeous and velvety smooth skin. And you braced your hands against his knees, an anchor to reality, when he finally released down your throat, heavy and warm, causing you to nearly choke as you struggled to swallow every last drop.

“Good girl,” he whispered, petting your head softly as you whined and continued to rub yourself against him, jumping off the brink of orgasmic bliss right after him, allowing your head to fall down between his spread legs.

It was a quiet for a while as you both fought to catch your breath, but then he was moving again, rising from his position on the couch.

You sat back on your heels at the jostling, whimpering when he stood over you with a menacing sneer, grabbing your face between his hands, forcing your gazes to meet somewhere in the middle even though you still couldn’t completely concentrate. But you were cognizant to at least understand his next words: “Lucy won’t be here tomorrow night, either.”

“Changbin,” you gasped, understanding the implications of his request and shivering at the effect they could still have on your worn-out body.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” he whispered into your ear, keeping eye-contact as he brought his fingers still coated with your arousal into his mouth, sucking while you grew faint at the sight. Then, he pulled them free and knelt down to sear your lips together so that you could taste the riveting combination of your releases on his wicked tongue.

You returned home that night in a daze, immediately heading for your room after assuring your mother that everything was totally fine with the babysitting, even if you probably appeared a little out of sorts.

In the meantime, you landed on top of your bed with a sigh, opening your phone contacts to pull up Laura’s name, placing the call without any mind to the late hour.

She answered on the third ring with a curt grunt. “This better be good, Y/N.”

“Oh?” you replied with a nonchalant tone. “I thought you might be interested in hearing about my latest dick appointment.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. “You didn’t.”

“I did!”

“With your neighbor?”

You laughed at Laura’s shrill tone, rolling over onto your stomach with your feet dancing in the air behind you. “I totally sucked him off.”

“Shit! How big is his cock?” Laura whispered over the phone as if anybody could possibly overhear your conversation.

“Let’s just say he’s well-endowed.”

“You absolute slut!” Laura exclaimed. “Did he at least return the favor?”

“Oh, he’s a gentleman,” you explained. “He took care of me first.”

“Details!”

“He just fingered me,” you said, even as your mind sprinted with images and sensations; Changbin’s sultry gaze, defined muscles, and the burning desire he had planted deep in your core.

“That’s hot though,” Laura said. “I can’t believe you actually did anything with him.”

“What? I told you he was sending me signals!”

“Yeah, but I was only halfway assuming that those signals might lead to his fingers in you!”

You couldn’t help yourself, laughing at Laura’s incredulous tone, and spending the next several minutes doing your absolute best to provide a heavily detailed play-by-play of your evening tryst with Changbin.

“Lucky bitch,” Laura scoffed at the end of your long-winded tale. “I’d kill for someone to fuck me.”

“Well, we haven’t gotten there yet...”

“Yet? Are you planning to go back to him?”

“Obviously,” you said. “There’s unfinished business that I need to take care of.”

“You think he wants to fuck you?”

“I think he wants to do a lot to me,” you purred, smirking at the sounds of Laura’s outlandish squeals from the other end.

Still, you didn’t think those explicit fantasies would come to fruition so soon. But the next night when you returned to Changbin’s house under the guise of babysitting his kid, there were no formalities between the two of you because you both wanted each other in a way that should be considered improper.

Fortunately, you were tired of caring about other people’s opinions, and it only took Changbin a moment to pull you into his house before his lips were crushing against yours, holding you around the waist as he started working at your clothes.

If whiplash was a thing in moments like these, then you had it bad, trying to follow the taste of him as he backed you both into the bedroom, closing the door and enveloping you both in the gentle glow from the lamp.

“Get on the bed,” Changbin growled when he finally pulled away, reaching down for the hem of his t-shirt. You swallowed hard at the sight of his broad, toned upper form, stumbling backward along the floor, hopping on one leg to finish removing your jeans for him, leaving you completely naked as you lowered yourself onto the mattress. “Good girl,” Changbin cooed, and you shivered at the huskiness of his voice, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation as he blatantly traced the outline of his cock through his jeans.

“Changbin, please,” you panted, already so worked up from just kissing and feeling his hands all over your body that you were desperate for something more.

“What do you want, gorgeous?” he asked, walking slowly around to the front of the bed as you watched him with eager eyes.

“Want you to fuck me,” you said, heart thundering against your chest when he started working apart his belt, pulling down his jeans and boxers and allowing his thick cock to slap up against his abdomen, already so hard for you even though you had just started.

“Hands and knees,” Changbin ordered, and you were surprised by your quick compliance, supporting yourself on shaky limbs as you felt him climb on the bed behind you, tensing when the head of his cock grazed your wet opening. “Look at you,” Changbin rumbled, teasing you even more by running his fingers down your spine, allowing his other hand to reach around to grope your breast.

“Hurry,” you practically begged him, and it was like the metaphorical band had finally snapped, and you moaned when Changbin took a firm hold of your hips, manhandling you back into position.

“Good girls say please,” he snarled, and your entire form light up at the abrupt command.

“P-please,” you stuttered, and there was an unholy line of curses that left your lips when he directed his cock inside, penetrating you so slowly that you could feel every inch of him until he was snug against your ass.

“Since you asked nicely,” Changbin chuckled, and you had never been so turned on before in your entire life, heart racing and blood pumping, bracing yourself against the mattress when he started thrusting, gentle at first, but then faster and faster as you egged him on, wanting him to go so hard that he split you in half around his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped, struggling to maintain any sort of grip on the headboard.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Changbin purred into your ear, sounding perfectly put-together despite the fact that he was literally drilling his cock into you. “All those guys you’ve fucked before, I would think your pussy wouldn’t be this tight.”

“You’re just too big,” you managed, crying out when he grazed a sensitive spot.

“Oh? Is that why this little pussy is leaking so much?” Changbin asked, and you had no response for him, clearly fucked out of all rational thought as his hips slapped against yours in a bruising meeting of skin-on-skin.

It was undeniable: you had never felt this full before...like Changbin’s cock was somehow reaching all the way to your guts, and you reached down to place a hand over your stomach, imagining feeling the bulge of his cock against the distended skin.

“How does daddy feel?” Changbin whispered into your ear, and if it was possible for him to literally destroy you, then it would be from that heavily suggestive question.

“So good,” you sniffled, tears falling inhibited, leaving your face just as wet as the place where he was crushing himself into you, repeating the same motion of leaving just the tip before re-entering you with added urgency, cock forcing its way between the slick walls of your cunt.

It was a beautiful melodic song after that (or, perhaps, hard metal would be a much better genre), the rhythm of his hips rolling against your own, hard and then softer, bruising and fleeting, stuffing your pussy on every upstroke, holding you in place by his pure strength.

You could feel that strength everywhere, the force of his cock squelching between your pulsating walls, the way you moved up and down the bed by his control, and, when you reached back with one hand to feel his arm, the flex of his biceps as his arms worked to move you however he pleased.

“What will your mother say, Y/N?” Changbin asked. “When she finds out that her daughter fucked the man next door?”

Your mother would absolutely lose her shit if she found out that you were willingly spreading your legs for a divorced 32-year old man who had a daughter you were meant to be babysitting. She would be even more taken aback to discover that you loved and craved every second of Changbin’s cock tearing you to pieces, stretching you so good that you imagined that you would still be gaping in the morning, desperate to have him fill you again.

“Her little girl screaming like a slut for me,” Changbin hissed. “Say my name, Y/N.”

“C-Changbin,” you whimpered, feeling him roll to a slower pace, merely grinding his hips in circles as if teasing you for the answer.

You flinched and nearly cried when he smacked the fleshy part of your ass, trying to look back over your shoulder to see what you had done wrong. “Try again,” he said, giving you a meaningful look that your poor, fucked-out brain still managed to decipher; although, you were burning in your own skin at the thought of saying it out loud....

“Daddy!” you moaned, and Changbin suddenly reached down to catch a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and forcing your back into an even deeper arch.

“That’s right,” he sneered. “And Daddy’s about to ruin this pussy, fuck it so full of my cum that you’ll still be feeling it when you go back home tonight to your parents and lie about what you’ve done.”

Your next moan was the loudest of the night, overwhelmed by the nasty things he was saying to you, feeling your orgasm gaining speed and traction the longer he kept fucking you, cock moving at a neck-break pace, and fingers wet and hurried over your clit.

The combined friction of his cock and fingers had you reeling, struggling to keep yourself up as he pummeled you into the mattress. Taking great liberties in the screams he was forcing out of you, realizing that if he angled his hips with one of your legs stretched higher around his hip, then he could somehow reach even deeper, kissing your cervix and threatening to steal the breath from your lungs.

More and More. Faster and Faster. Until the breaking point was right under your nose...

The next thing you remember is a release that was so intense, you managed to black-out when it was all over, pussy fluttering around the distinct waves of pleasure, barely coherent as Changbin continued chasing his own release until he fulfilled his obscene promise to you.

Three Weeks Later

You had gotten awfully good at keeping Changbin a secret - a dirty and scandalous whisper at that.

For a while, your mother questioned your insistence on going over to your neighbor’s house to babysit, especially considering your history of being less than willing to interact with children.

“She’s not like most kids,” you lied, waiting for your mother to relent before grabbing whatever bag you needed consisting of your overnight clothes, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible when you walked over to Changbin’s house.

Your mother watched you, at first, standing on the porch as if ensuring that you made it the dozen or so feet separating your yard from that of your neighbor’s. Eventually, she gave up on trying to catch you doing something you weren’t supposed to, but you still kept up appearances, ringing the doorbell and taking a few steps to the side to leave enough room for the screen to rotate on its hinges, offering you the irresistible view of Changbin standing there in all his glory.

“You’re early,” he remarked; although he seemed to take great pleasure in seeing you as early as possible.

“Is that okay?” you asked with a knowing look, and Changbin chuckled while giving you his most arrogant smirk.

In return, you smiled back at Changbin, watching him open the door just a little bit wider in invitation.

It was all you needed before surrendering yourself to whatever delicious and mind-blowing ecstasy awaited on you the other side.

Summer of 69 indeed.

#changbin fanfic #changbinsmut #changbin imagines #changbin scenarios #changbin hard hours #changbin oneshots #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #skz fanfic #skz smut #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids oneshot #skz oneshots #mostlycompetent

711 notes · View notes

sebdoeswords · 2 years

Text

One-Man Force (Geralt/Roche) - FULL Chapter 1

Link to Ao3

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vernon Roche Characters: Vernon Roche, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Additional Tags: plot heavy, romance only comes later, Established Relationship, Kidnapping, Stealth Mission, Roche POV, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, rated mature for violence not sexy times, no sexy times in this one sorry lads, Blood and Violence

Summary:

Roche had believed himself to be above the target range for amateur kidnappings. After all, who would bring the Temerian Devil into their midst?

Vernon Roche is no stranger to abductions. Whether he himself orchestrates them, or ends up as a victim himself, he's experienced his fair share. But that's exactly why this one is so strange. Security seems lacking, and one by one, more oddities pile up. So when it presents itself, Vernon seizes the opportunity to get to the bottom of it all - and finds a letter from Geralt at the core.

Full First Chapter (Continued under Read more)

Vernon Roche was tied to a chair in an unfamiliar room, but he wasn’t worried about it. He’d been abducted on his way home, close by the city gates when he’d been distracted by a commotion near a brothel. Such a spectacle wasn’t uncommon, but he felt it his duty to break it up, should things become physical. They had, however, turned that way for him and him alone, as on his way down the street, a figure had darted from an alley. His memory of the encounter was hazy, which most likely stemmed from the fact the back of his head was throbbing with pain.

Fortunately, his chaperon had protected him from the worst of the blow, and he’d regained consciousness more quickly than his attackers had planned for. However, he’d already been tied up in the back of a wagon then. He’d remained still, pretending to still be unconscious, and thus gleaned valuable information on where he was being taken. There had been a sack over his head, as there was now, but the sound of the cart wheels had been harsh at first, but eventually turned gentler. The cobbled street had turned into a dirt road, wide enough for a cart to pass, but most definitely outside of Vizima.

There had been someone with him in the back of the cart, though they had only ever grunted when the cart jostled from a pot hole. In the front, he’d heard two people speaking of menial things, and their voices had been unremarkable, with the accents of the peasantry.

After about an hour, they had stopped, and Roche had – rather unceremoniously – been dragged out of the cart, through a set of double doors, and up a winding staircase. And now he found himself in just this room. He’d let a few hours pass, mulling things over in his head and absorbing more information. No one had come to question him, so he concluded it was not information his captors were after. No torture had been inflicted upon him as of yet, and someone intent on letting a man suffer would lock him up in a dungeon, or at least a cellar, not what Roche suspected to be a musty bedroom or study of some sort. From all this, he suspected he’d been taken to be ransomed, and under his hood, he sneered at the mere idea. Vernon Roche was not generally liked, and he knew it well. After all, he’d contributed to that public opinion himself, and done very little to counteract it. There were few people willing to pay a fortune to free a man like him, and he wondered whether his captors knew this.

While he’d been mulling over all this in his head, he’d slowly worked away at his restraints with a tiny knife he kept sewn into the cuff of his shirt. He’d been stripped of his surcoat and chainmail, as well as his boots and the rest of his armour. But fortunately, whoever had done the task had decided to leave him with a sliver of dignity in the shirt he wore underneath, as well as his trousers. A grave mistake, and it added to Roche’s suspicion that this was not an act committed by professionals.

The ropes snapped with a satisfying tear, and Roche sighed when the pressure eased off his wrists and he, for the first time in hours, could move his arms away from the back rest that had dug into his joints. Quickly, he pulled the sack from his head, the gag from his mouth and cut the restraints at his ankles. For just a moment, he allowed relief to take hold, running through him like a soothing hand

As he stood – slowly, for the blood had drained out of his limbs and made them unstable – he surveyed the room. Without the hood, the smell of old dust and bees’ wax, as well as something sweet reached his nose, and through the crack in the shutters he could see the particles floating in the air. There was a bed in one corner, and a wardrobe in another, both flanking the only window in the room.

Roche walked over to it, and examined it. It was easily opened from the inside, but the shutters beyond had been crudely nailed together and secured. Using his knife, he managed to lever the nails out and open the shutters just a crack. There were no bars in front of the window, though he was disinclined to make the forty-foot drop from the first floor down to what appeared to be an unkempt flower garden.

The sky was still dark, but to Roche’s surprise, a strip of pale lilac lit up the horizon to the left – east, his brain noted, and tucked the information away. Had he truly waited for that long before acting, or had he perhaps fallen asleep without noticing? It was a chilling thought, and for a moment, Roche wondered if he was simply getting old. That, however, made his lips twitch into a smile. He knew if Geralt heard him, he’d have some choice words in reply.

Reminded of the Witcher, Roche took solace in the fact that he must have noticed his absence by now. Geralt, over the past couple years, had gotten into the habit of staying with Vernon in Vizima for a few months in between being on the Path, and so he’d been expecting him home last night. Roche knew the Witcher could not resist a mystery, and so he rested easy knowing he would eventually find him. However, he had no intention of being idle himself, so he turned his eyes onto the landscape.

It was one of meadows, with beehives dotted throughout. He could not see the expanse of Vizima in the distance, which should have been visible even in the dim dawn light. East, his brain reminded him. The room he was in faced south-east, and with Vizima nowhere in sight, the house itself must also lie south of the city. But there were many places south of Vizima, and currently he lacked the details to know exactly where he was, so he tucked the information away.

Frowning, Roche turned back to the room and pulled the sheets off the bed. He knotted the corners together, tied one end to the foot of the bed, and let the other dangle out of the window. He did not, however, intend to use this convenient escape route he had just created. No, it was merely a distraction. He wanted to get to the bottom of this situation, and with a bit of luck even subdue his captors and bring them into Vizima for questioning and punishment.

So the first thing Roche did was check the door. He listened for a few seconds, but couldn’t hear any signs of life behind it. Though unsurprisingly, the door didn’t budge when he tried. Upon further inspection the lock seemed not overly complicated, but Roche lacked the tools. Grumbling, he wished for his skeleton key, which sat uselessly in a hidden pocket of his surcoat. Again, he paced back to the window and leaned outside to scan the façade of the building. It was smooth, with few handholds and window sills. Besides, the position would have been too exposed, and situated in a garden, no matter how unkempt, he could not be sure he wouldn’t be spotted.

Back inside, Roche pawed through the wardrobe – empty –, the small chest by the bed – locked –, and the bedside table drawer – containing only a false bottom under which he found two phallic objects that would not aid him in his quest.

Unimpressed, but also with little else to pursue, Roche turned to the bed. He was about to lift up the mattress when he heard footsteps approaching, and his heart leapt in his chest. He hurried to the door and crouched beside it, listening. The steps were soft and hasty – a servant. Right by his room, they stopped, and Roche heard a jingling of keys before the lock mechanism was undone. The door opened slowly, and Roche leaned back so it wouldn’t touch him. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and a second passed before whoever had entered rushed into the room.

“Fuck,” the young man hissed, dropped the tray of food he was carrying onto the bed. He moved on and came to an abrupt halt at the window, leaning out of it to follow the line of bedsheets down with his eyes. His bright ginger hair gleamed in the sun, and there were freckles running down his pale neck. He couldn’t be more than halfway through his twenties.

Roche used the moment of distraction and leapt forward. His hands darted past his face, one pressing to his mouth and pulling him back from the window, the other putting him in a choke hold. The man pushed back and clawed at Roche’s arm, trying to free himself, but with the pressure on his arteries, he quickly lost consciousness.

Once he was limp, Roche let him slide to the floor and bound and gagged the servant with the same restraints he himself had been tangled up in just minutes ago. He tied his wrists and ankles behind his back, hoping the limited amount of rope would still hold. Roche knew the young man would wake only too soon. Inwardly, he sighed. The Witcher had softened him – in his Blue Stripes days he never would have left a witness alive, especially not such a useless one.

Before leaving, Roche snatched the small key ring from the servant’s belt. The first thing he did was open the chest by the bed – after only a few keys, he found the one that belonged to it.

Inside the chest he discovered his coif, chaperon, and surcoat, all of which he quickly put on. If he was to sneak around, he might as well feel somewhat dignified doing it. None of his armour was present, and Roche grunted in disdain at the thought someone new might already be donning it. However, not all his tools were lost, as the inside pocket of his surcoat still contained his trusty skeleton key. As he ran his thumb over it, he felt his skin catch slightly where it had been filed down. He’d had it for many years, and even though he knew he could have made a better one nowadays, he felt a strange attachment to it. And, after all, it had never let him down.

Pocketing the key, he turned back to the chest. Lying in a jumbled heap at the bottom of it was the chunky chain holding Roche’s medallion with the Temerian lilies emblazoned on it. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand, considering the scuffed surface. A moment passed, valuable in his current situation, but offered up nonetheless to the country he’d bled his heart for over and over again. But like any moment, it passed.

Vernon Roche took one last look at the young man on the floor. A puddle of drool had gathered underneath his cheek, and he seemed to still be unconscious. But Roche knew he was racing against time now, racing against the moment when someone would stumble upon the captive by chance, or be alerted by his muffled shouting through the gag once he woke. Grunting disdainfully at his own actions, Roche turned to finally sneak past the threshold of his confinement and out into the hallway that would hopefully lead him to the many answers he sought.

13 notes · View notes

sleepynegress · 3 years

Text

On Bucky Barnes...

Okay... so what we have is another regular decent guy... Who was drafted and thus couldn’t look after his best friend whom he had taken care of for years, but also never looked down upon for his size and disabilities. Popular, a ladies man, -he goes to war He turns into a pretty good sniper, who snipes a lot of Nazis/Hydra.

Hydra notices... I need people to understand they saw him as A HUGE enemy/threat/potential recruit while Steve was **STILL** doing the USO and warbonds thang.

So, he’s captured, tortured, experimented on (that’s why he survives the fall) doesn’t give up any intel despite all this...

-Is rescued by the man who BECOMES fully Captain A for the 1st time in order to rescue him(!).

So... get this. Bucky’s heroism is buried in him being rescued by the man he used to protect.

Bucky fades into the background. Even Peggy Carter looks right through him to Cap.

STILL the man continues to humbly serve with the Howling Commandos...AGAIN sniping Nazis... SNIPING NAZIS before they could get a shot in on the super-soldier symbol STEVE and the Howling Commandos as they complete mission after mission. If you know anything about tactical... Then you know how invaluable Bucky’s sniping gifts are... I see Bucky as the Varsily Satsev of the MCU. (google him or think back to the movie, Enemy at the Gates). So, what I’m saying is Hydra didn’t get Bucky because he’s “Cap’s friend.” They got him BECAUSE HE WAS MORE IMPORTANT IN THE WAR EFFORT/ BIGGER THREAT despite not being on the poster. So, it follows that they turn this regular good man who happens to be excellent at sniping into a brainwashed assassin.... One for whom the serum worked so well, **because** he was a good man, one for whom they had to continually torture-wash into the Winter Soldier for. decades. So. This man finally comes to some recognition of his true self, decides to lay-low and find himself covertly only to be used as a pawn to destroy the most well known heroes in the land... Bucky, despite being the lynchpin in so many things, hasn’t truly been himself since his twenties in the forties. He’s stripped down to basics because the weight of that loss and what he had to do, NOT JUST FOR HYDRA but for his country w/ the Commandos is several lifetimes worth of baggage. Someone mentioned the stares are hyperviligence left over from having battled most of his life (battled more than any other character in the MCU BTW... except maybe Rocket funnily, enough. I think those two have A LOT in common... the space Gods are on a different level IMO). They are also ten thousand mile long stares. They are him faking it to make it. Bucky is just getting by, yall. When Bucky mentions calm in Wakanda... For SOME REASON fandom doesn’t really want to analyze why that is. It’s because Wakanda being the most advanced and peaceful society on the planet meant he never had to play out the kind of discomfort and hiding he had to do with Leah... because they know his history better than he does and *still* don’t interact w/ judgment. Wakanda is the only place Bucky can just be without explaining the arm, his violent history, his affinity for the 40′s etc. He literally chilled in a sunny clay hut, with his goats, local children, and a fantastic view of a lake, completed menial tasks that let his mind rest, i.e. tending goats, moving heavy shit (anyone in therapy from trauma will tell you that soft menial tasks are good for distraction and mental rest) and studied how to deal with his trauma in the healthiest and nonjudgmental of places. So, now Bucky is back in his country for conditions of his pardon...and I suspect also as avresult of Wakanda no longer being able to give him sanctuary because of changing borders and local issues post-blip/return.. and is now, literally (and unethically, -his friendship w/ Nakijima is not right, yall) trying to cross names of his list because the guilt is still there. Bucky is an unstable white dude, worse than the HULK used to be IMO (thankfully Bruce found a good balance). He is a pot always set on a low-simmer who is TERRIFIED of boiling over.

#meta #bucky barnes #mcu #tfatws #character analysis #he doesn't resent Steve for leaving him #Steve is a grown man who deserves the same rest Buck does #but... I suspect he resents what was taken from him.#Buck grappled w/ far more than Steve and endured more #but wasn't on the poster #Buck did dark shit even while on team USA

160 notes · View notes

shutupanddance · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Can I request platonic AOS Bones x reader where the reader is an intern/new to practise? Bones (both AIS and TOS) helped me pick a health science subject and I love him. Hope you're well, thank you so much for the amazing content ❤❤

This is so sweet, thank you for requesting!! I wish you good luck in your studies <333

- To say you were scared when you were first assigned to the Enterprise was an understatement. You were terrified.

- You were only learning, having no residency under your belt, and to be put on the Enterprise?? You were worried that they had made a mistake.

- But you were assigned nonetheless, and spent most of your orientation sitting in a quiet corner, watching. The hustle and bustle of the Enterprise was nothing like you had ever seen. And although it was arguably the most prestigious ship you could be placed on, everyone was incredibly nice (albeit a bit distracted by work). It felt like a family.

- After your orientation with all of the other new people, you were ferried to medbay by Spock to meet your new CO. Spock practically vanished once you arrived, and you were left alone, staring at the massive glass double doors.

- You watched for awhile, seeing how the nurses and doctors moved around in harmony. They were organizing and setting up for this next mission, chatting and sorting and cleaning. One of them wasn’t chatting, however, and you recognized him immediately: Dr. Leonard McCoy.

- Almost like you had spoken his name, he turned, and looked you dead in the eyes. There was a disgruntled expression on his face. Had you done something wrong?

“Who left the intern outside!?” He asked — practically yelled — and all eyes turned to you.

Shrugs were exchanged. A couple nurses and one of the other doctors smiled and waved. You felt your stomach flip inside of you.

- Dr. McCoy essentially drags you inside, muttering something about a “damn green-blooded hobgoblin”, and you’re now in the midst of the extremely talented medbay team. McCoy stops in his tracks.

“This is M’Benga,” he says matter-of-factly, pointing to one of the doctors. He introduces each of the staff to you in much of the same way. They all seem unperturbed by his gruffness, so you relax a little.

- Your CO puts you right to work immediately. Very little introduction, and no inspirational speeches like the ones you had been hearing since the Academy. Nope, this was just straight into the thick of it.

- You start by rolling bandages and cleaning scalpels, and normally you’d feel a bit diminished by that, but all of the other nurses and doctors are also doing the menial jobs, too. And they’re treating it like a potluck, laughing and talking and enjoying themselves.

One of the nurses turns to you.

“Dr. McCoy makes us clean and organize everything ourselves before and after every mission. He says it’s because we need to develop responsibility for everything we do here, but I think it’s just because he doesn’t trust the cleaning crew.”

- Needless to say, you get along really well with the rest of the staff. Dr. McCoy is a bit gruff, but he’s a good instructor. You spend most of your time learning about trauma wounds by practicing on the Captain (who was intimidating for all of about five seconds, before he started whining and McCoy started yelling) and really enjoy your work.

- However, most of what you do is watch and fetch instruments. It gets tiring after about six months.

- So, after one particular away mission, while there’s an influx in patients, you march up to Dr. McCoy.

“I think I could be doing more.”

He purses his lips.

“Okay. Take that guy over there.”

He hands you a clipboard and walks off.

You had a whole speech prepared, but apparently, the doctor trusts you.

- From then on out, you got to assist in major surgeries, and heard a lot of first-hand advice from Dr. McCoy. He begins to take you under his wing the more you help out, and encourages you to participate more in surgeries. You aren’t really sure why, since he has a team full of nurses and doctors that are all exceptional, but you can’t complain.

- Being the doctor’s protege has its flip side, though. A lot is expected of you. You often work extra hours, and are asked to do things that are well above your experience level. You did go to Dr. McCoy’s office once to tell him you weren’t sure you were ready for the exposure you were getting, and he would hear none of it.

“I believe in you,” he said, and then shut the door. Discussion over, apparently.

- All together, you really do love working on the Enterprise. You get so many experiences here that you would’t have anywhere else.

So, when Dr. McCoy puts in a good word (without your knowledge), and you are offered a job at one of the premier hospitals in Starfleet, you say no.

The doctor is infuriated at first, claiming that you’re throwing away your potential.

But you tell him that you feel you have so much more to learn, and you’d really rather be here….

He doesn’t like it. But he does like having you working for him. So he doesn’t complain anymore.

And you’ll never know what it does to the doctor to know that his intern wants to stay. You’re like a daughter to him, and he was kinda hoping you’d say no to the job offer anyway.

It’s true, after all. You’d really rather be here.

#star trek #star trek imagine #star trek headcanon #star trek fanfiction #star trek reader insert #bones imagine #bones x reader #leonard mccoy imagine #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy #masterlist

127 notes · View notes

femmefatalevibe · 2 years

Note

Productivity tips?

Anticipation is Key

Always have a plan with the tasks and timetable laid out

Keep your environment free of distractions (or at least out of reach)

Tackle tasks in bite-sized amounts to gain momentum

Restrict time spent to maximize productivity

Remember the big picture (and reward yourself!)

Always have a plan with the tasks and timetable laid out:

Plan out what you need to do, the deadline (or scheduled date/time), and set a date with yourself to complete the task. For work, always have a planner where you can plan out your week with your large/small projects.

Break large projects down into phases (ex. sections of a presentation, separate excel sheets, pages of a book, word count on an article, etc.). Divide these phases into sections that never take more than 1-2 hours. Only commit yourself to do one section at a time (if possible, only one per day). This allows you to have less anxiety about starting the task because you already have half of the work – the game plan – done for you.

With smaller tasks, divide them into important, urgent, and less important or urgent. Batch all of the urgent ones to clear your mind. Only commit to one important small task at a time (ex. an important email). Take a short break (get a glass of water, go to the bathroom, etc. ) in-between small important tasks to take the pressure off and your mind clear. Keep a running list of less important/urgent tasks. Schedule a time to batch these once a day/a couple of times a week as needed.

With chores or errands, make a schedule for when you will do these tasks to ensure you stick to your routine (ex. full-house vacuuming Tuesday and Saturday, laundry and grocery restock Sunday, deep kitchen clean Monday, big drugstore hauls Wednesday, etc.)

Keep your environment free of distractions (or at least out of reach):

Get in the zone. Keep your phone out of sight while working (unless you use your phone to work or you're on the phone for a work call, of course). Use a focus playlist (I love the EDM instrumental study playlist or any of the ADHD playlists by Jason Lewis - Mind Amend on Youtube. My favorite one is linked HERE). Have a glass of water (and coffee or tea if you choose), tissues, and lip balm in arm's reach, so you don't have to get up and break focus for these menial tasks. When cleaning or exercising, always have a curated playlist ready to go.

Tackle tasks in bite-sized amounts to gain momentum:

Use the two-minute rule. If you can do a task in 2 minutes or less, do it immediately – within a minute of thinking of it (or set a reminder for when you're home to do the task and then do it immediately. The 5-Second Rule and Atomic Habits explain why this works so well).

Only force yourself to do a task for 10 minutes. Stop after this allocated time if you can't stand doing it anymore, feel drained, or continuously lose focus. Your body and mind need rest if this happens. Usually, though, once you start writing, cleaning, reading, etc. for at least 10 minutes, you'll continue doing it for more time until at least 30-60 minutes of work is completed. Read Atomic Habits and The Artist's Way to learn more about this.

The Pomodoro Technique (working in 25-minute blocks with 5-minute breaks in-between) is great for clearing your inbox, organizing an Excel sheet, or completing any other repetitive, monotonous, or administrative tasks).

Restrict time spent to maximize productivity:

Focus and productivity are mental muscles. So, like in the gym, use time over tension. Set a timer for 10, 20, 30, or 60 minutes – depending on the task and your level of energy – and see how much focused, uninterrupted work you can do within this timeframe. This exercise can gamify otherwise boring, overwhelming, or tedious tasks and help them take less time overall. Rinse and repeat this practice like doing sets at the gym until you've completed the task or the amount of the project you decided to get done for the day.

Remember the big picture (and reward yourself!)

Always keep your goals top of mind. Revise them daily in the morning like a form of daily affirmations. Visualize yourself working to achieve this goal (sitting at the computer typing, cleaning, working out, etc.) with ease. Picture yourself in a calm state and that you're in a constant flow state. Visualize the moment of achievement. Relish in the feeling of satisfaction to prime yourself to start the task. Remind yourself that doing this one task gets you a bit closer to this bliss point. Make each goal into a source of emotional edging – each task will get you closer and closer to this euphoric state of contentment. This exercise primes you with some motivation and positive energy to get your head in the game.

Create habit loops – a cue to start the task (i.e. getting a glass of water to bring to the computer) and an unwinding task (aka the reward – ex. going on your daily walk, taking a shower, etc.). Sometimes, I use different styles of music as a cue and a reward to create my habit loop (aka an upbeat pop playlist before starting work and a dance party mix after work). Read The Power of Habit to learn more about this practice.

Remind yourself that time passes anyway, so you might as well spend this time doing the task rather than worry about it for hours. Plan a reward (calling a friend, making your favorite meal, going out for a walk or dinner) for when after you're done. Having this event to look forward to will help motivate you to focus and work efficiently so you can fast-forward to your moments of leisure.

Hope this helps!! xx

242 notes · View notes

kylejsugarman · 3 years

Text

wow i wasn't expecting so much kind feedback from that post :’) below the cut is the fic, “love will not break your heart”. PLEASE remember this was written five years ago and i wasn't expecting to fall back into moral orel but here tf we are ❤️

i. idolatry

"Who does that cloud look like?"

"Umm…" The brunette tilted her head pensively, tracing the arbitrary peaks and valleys of the cloud in question with a critical eye. Her expression of solemn concentration buckled under a luminescent smile as she finally identified the cloud's likeness. "It's Joshua! See the beard?"

"Oh, wow, you're right!" He pointed to an adjacent puff of condensation on the verge of dissipating under the snowy glare of winter sun. "And there's the city of Jericho!"

She giggled in agreement and rolled onto her side; verdant streaks of earth branded her baptism-white cheek. A strand of sandy hair had escaped her new red headband (he had nervously presented it to her and promptly melted at the sight of her grateful beam) and now unfurled down the length of her pearly face. He brushed it back into place, then blushed.

"Uh, sorry."

"It's okay, Orel," she said with an adoring laugh. His timid eyes--coppery pools into which one's best qualities were inevitably reflected--found her own, then flicked downwards in humility. Though she appreciated his respect for her, the reverence with which he treated her was slightly disquieting. There was something to worship in both of them, something she felt she failed to adequately express. "Orel?"

The eyes, lit dreamily by a refulgent sky. "Yes, Christina?"

She touched a hesitant hand to his face and waited for the momentary tension of his form to abate as he recognized the tenderness of the gesture. There was the inexorable flutter of panic in her gut, as if her father were crouched behind one of Inspiration Peak's many bushes waiting to snatch her and drag her back into the study, but she quashed it readily. Her love for Orel was stronger than her fear of her father and with its pristine power she could have demolished that study with a single fiery glance.

But Christina had always favored creation over destruction, so she leaned over and pressed a soft, pink kiss to Orel's mouth. She tried to whisper "Happy Valentine's Day" to establish her motive, but was immediately silenced as he braced himself up on an elbow and shyly reciprocated the kiss. He tasted like candy heart chalk and mint.

"I love you," he said after he had bashfully withdrawn his head.

The world was shiny and new, the clouds morphing cheerfully behind him into benevolent figures who would shelter the tender bloom of their love. And Christina Posabule reached up to frame Orel's face in her gentle hands and said "I love you too" for the first time.

ii. respect

"Ugh. I never did understand the appeal of French toast."

Dottie scrutinized the buffet offerings, her angelically-proportioned visage contorted into a rictus of disgust. Her plate was sparsely garnished with a serving of greens and a mimosa, which she had already taken a drag from. As she eyed the decadent bricks of syrup-drenched toast, Florence calmly forked an omelet onto her own plate and waited for Dottie to make a decision. The Valentine's Day brunch was rarely an extravagant affair, but there were certainly enough dishes to satisfy even Dottie's impossibly high culinary standards.

"I think French toast is wonderful," Florence said. She expected this remark to be met with a haughty sniff or snide comment, but Dottie abstained. She even summoned a mordant grin.

"Well. I suppose the French are the superior culture for a reason." The blonde delicately pronged a lone slice of French toast onto her plate, taking care to select the most lightly-sugared piece on display. "Alright, I'm done. Quick, before I change my mind."

Florence led Dottie back to their booth, which had been denoted by the placement of their respective pocketbooks on the table (Florence's sturdy handbag looking markedly haggard next to Dottie's designer clutch). The two women supped here together after church, a tradition that had been inaugurated shortly after the Reverend's Easter sermon. Dottie had apologized to Florence in a rare fit of humility and promised to stop berating her roommate for her figure; Florence, ever the victim, dutifully accepted her apology. However, Dottie had surprised her by making a noticeable effort to curb her cruel commentary and even started contributing to the community by taking on sewing projects. Her lovely dresses soon filled the closets of every woman in Moralton--including Florence's. The rather flattering candy-pink wrap dress that Florence was wearing now was Dottie's handiwork, a fact the blonde managed to work into every conservation.

"Darling, that dress is absolutely divine on you," Dottie said, lighting a cigarette.

"Yes, thank you." Florence smoothed down the collar and smiled at the sight of her freckled hands. A modest diamonded band adorned her ring finger.

Dottie noticed her admiring of the piece of jewelry; she pursed her polished lips expectantly. "I really think you should've sprung for something bigger."

"Oh, I think this is just lovely the way it is," Florence insisted. She elevated her hand in order to demonstrate the diamond's iridescence. A slant of noon light caught the mineral and fissured apart into chromatic prisms; diamonded specks twinkled across the laminated tabletop. It was a rather appropriate expression of Florence's own appearance, something the ring's buyer had obviously taken into consideration. "Aren't you happy with your ring?"

"Me? Why I'd rather die than have this ring taken off my finger." Dottie inspected the arrangement of jewels gracing her own finger, which were independently lustrous and set into an ingot of platinum. The colors matched the sheen of her blonde curls perfectly.

An inexorable smile pressed dimples into either of Florence's cheeks. "You really like it?"

Dottie flicked her cigarette ash into the table's decorative vase with an insouciant tap of her manicured finger. Her expression was characteristically enigmatic ("you can't let them think you're interested," she had lectured Florence as she practiced looking jaded in the mirror), but the favor with which she regarded the ring was unmistakable. Finally, she said "I love it" in an emphatically decisive voice tempered with genuine affection. An affection that Florence reciprocated with an echoing of the sentiment before cutting into her omelet and watching Dottie slice willingly into a piece of French toast.

iii. requited

"Um, anything else, Steph?"

The tattooed, pierced, and freshly dyed vision of beauty glanced up from her book, eyes lightly glazed from an hour of reading. She had salvaged a rather intriguing volume of essays about evolution from a seedy bookshop in Sinville and was determined to complete the tome before it could be snatched and tossed on the literary pyre. Forghetty's wasn't exactly the ideal location for intellectual pursuits, but Stephanie had abandoned the shop at the mere notion of Karl and Kim Latchkey requesting some disgustingly romantic apparel for the holiday and decided that she deserved some discounted Valentine's vodka for soldiering through the week unscathed.

"Another vodka would be great."

Dolly smiled warmly. "Coming right up."

As the blonde scooped ice into a tumbler, Stephanie became suddenly and acutely aware of the candy-pink heart branding the small of Dolly's neck. Despite having stitched ink into countless arms and sides, she was shocked by the heart's symmetry. It was absolutely flawless.

"One vodka," Dolly said, sliding the glass across the condensation-varnished bar. Her fingers were impossibly long, slender--piano fingers. Stephanie could not fathom why these trivial details fascinated her so, but she was suddenly pressed to learn more about the daisy-pretty bartender who had dutifully refreshed her tumbler for the past hour. Starting with that immaculate tattoo.

"Thanks. Uh, Dolly? Where'd you get that ink on your neck?"

"Ink on my--?" She palpated her neck in befuddlement before remembering the previous night and giggling wanly. "Oh, it-it's just pen. My friends thought it would be funny if I actually got a tattoo, so they had the guy draw it on, but I… I chickened out, I guess."

"Oh."

"It's not that I don't want a tattoo," Dolly quickly amended, tipping Stephanie's colorful arms an appreciative nod. "I'm just kinda chicken about needles."

Stephanie quirked an amused eyebrow. "So you would get a tattoo?"

"Well." She sheepishly wrung a damp cloth out over the bar top and made a concentrated effort to appear occupied by the menial task. "Maybe."

"That heart's pretty cute. I think it would look nice back there."

Roses bloomed in Dolly's porcelain cheeks. Though her friends had never abstained from making passively nasty comments about Stephanie's unusual appearance and proud deviance from Moralton's constrictive status quo, Dolly had always fostered a secret respect for her. There was something alluring about Stephanie, something that begged back story: Dolly longed to read the text that accompanied the illustrations trellising her arms like ivy. "You think so?"

"Definitely. And if you're scared of needles, I've got an assistant who could probably distract you," Stephanie added with a playful smirk. Orel had curbed several customers' needle anxiety with breathless sermons about the incredibleness of Jesus and anecdotes about his occasionally distressing adventures ("and then I died! Three times! It was neat!")

"Would you really give me a tattoo?" Dolly asked, equally hopeful and horrified.

"If you're up for it."

Dolly twisted the cloth in her hands for a moment. The yearning to know Stephanie--to know every corner, every fold--was blossoming urgently in her chest. She wanted more than a tattoo. She wanted to familiarize herself with the inky mysticism enshrouding Stephanie Putty and if that meant romance, if that meant public scorn and disappointment and disgusted looks, so be it. She wanted Stephanie. She wanted all of her.

"Doll?"

"Y-Yes," Dolly sputtered, visibly flustered. Then she grinned cautiously and set down her hands on the bar top, allowing Stephanie to admire their delicate whorls and pearly nails at a closer proximity. "I'd love that."

iv. infatuation

"I know you think I'm stupid, Marionetta."

They had cloistered themselves away in a small clearing that provided some margin of protection from their schoolmates' scorn. A mild sky opened above them, achingly empty, painfully wide. As he stared into its doleful depths--oppressing himself not to betray the shame making dewy his eyes--he recalled the passages he had studied about the atmosphere. His old teachers had refused to teach the subject, citing the lack of a Heaven in the textbook's diagram of the Earth's atmosphere. He imagined it was sandwiched between the mesosphere and thermosphere, an impossible realm illuminated by auroras and burning space debris. But in the absence of substantial evidence that such a place existed, he was content to call the clearing Heaven, as long as Marionetta was there.

The girl smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her dotted skirt. Even

#syd squeaks #moral orel #me putting dolly and stephanie and florence and dottie together my MIND!!!#thank y'all for all the sweet messages though

39 notes · View notes

poppinisperfection · 3 years

Text

Cool. || Peter Maximoff x Reader pt. 1 ||

Peter Maximoff x fem!human!Reader

(Y/n) is history teacher.

Requested.

Word Count: 3543

Notes: Peter acts a little strange in this, he's not being cold on purpose - so keep that in mind. Let's all presume (Y/n) is an independent woman who doesn't let an aloof guy ruin her day 💫 it's more of an introduction, so sorry if that dissapoints y'all. I hope you enjoy this extremely long piece of writing, let me know what you think. Requests are open 🙌

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @scorpionchild81

Masterlist

I flicked the indicator, as it clicked rhythmically and signaled my next turn. Grasping the steering wheel tightly, I wondered whether the direction I was heading in was the right one. My eyes drifted down to the small business card that was beginning to wrinkle from the amount of times it had been read and re-read.

‘Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center, Westchester County, New York’

With a deep breath, I pushed my foot gently on the accelerator and turned the wheel - solidifying my decision. I drove down the graveled driveway as the evening sun pierced through the acres of fields and forests that dotted the landscape. This place was unlike any school I had ever seen. I had taught at various institutions of all kinds during my training, but something about this place was like something out of a fairytale or Jane Austen novel.

The old academic building grew closer as I prepared to slow down my vehicle and stop at the entrance. I peered around, trying to see if there was any places dedicated for me to park; but as far as I could tell, this was the only appropriate place for me to stop.

I pulled out my key and felt the car’s engine fade to silence. I didn’t notice how comforting the gentle grumbles of the vehicle had been until they were gone. Now, all that was left was my mind and the thousand worries that crashed around inside it. I'm not a mutant, but I often wonder if being anxious about everything is some sort of weird useless mutation that I unfortunately had.

Before I could become consumed by my menial fears, the vintage wooden doors opened up as if on cue. A man in a chair wheeled out as his familiar face smiled at me, and I was honestly quite awe-struck by his sudden appearance. I had spoken to Professor Charles Xavier on the phone before (for the job interview), and I had watched him on television a few times, but something about actually being near him was so incredible. This man changed the lives of so many people, possibly even the world.

I took a deep breath in and returned the kind smile, opening my car door and placing my feet onto the ground - the gravel crunching underfoot.

"Professor Xavier, it's so good to meet you." I spoke nervously, unsure of what I should do with my posture. Should I shake his hand? Should I high-five him? Should I bow? Okay maybe those last two were a bit far-fetched...

"The pleasure is all mine, (Y/n)." A voice rang through my head, as if it were my own thoughts speaking to me. But I recognized the voice, a smooth English accent that belonged to the world's most famous telepath.

"Incredible..." I breathed. Some might find it intrusive or freaky, but I was quite honored and honestly dazzled by his abilities. A figure appeared behind the wheelchair-bound man, distracting me from my child-like awe.

"Don't be a such a show-off, Charles." my attention turned to a tall man wearing a pair of glasses and a smart checkered shirt. "Good Evening, I'm Hank McCoy." he piped up cheerily, holding out his hand for me to shake. I absentmindedly took it, a bit starstruck by the world-renowned engineer, scientist, blue-furry man, and genius.

"(Y/n) (L/n)." I eventually spoke up, causing Hank to raise an eyebrow at my words.

“’(L/n)’? You're the new history teacher?" I nodded at his question, "Oh wow, you came so highly recommend that I presumed you'd be a bit more... experienced?" he chose his words carefully as to not offend. I know that most people picture an old greying woman who wears outdated fashion when they think of a history teacher...

"Oh, I'm young, I know." I explained with a bashful chuckle.

“Hank, you of all people should know greatness is not defined by age.” Charles turned to his colleague.

“I read that you graduated Harvard at 16.” I blurted out.

“15, actually.” McCoy mumbled humbly. Xavier gave a satisfied smile as his point was proven.

“(Y/n) here was top of her class, and I have no doubt that she’ll be a wonderful addition to the school.” the wise mutant stated, assuring Hank and giving me a boost of confidence. “Come inside, Hank can carry your bags for you, won’t you?” the professor inquired cheekily as McCoy threw him a look of slight distain.

“Somedays I wish I wasn’t born with super-strength...” the academic man shook his head - the comment laced with light-hearted sarcasm - before heading to my car and pulling out my two bags, not even giving me a chance to politely object to the offer.

“Ignore him, he’s just grumpy because he’s not on the mission.” Professor Xavier chuckled, turning his wheelchair around and beckoning for me to follow him inside.

“I only trust myself to pilot that beauty.” Hank mentioned wistfully, probably referring to his famous aeronautical creation.

“’The mission’?” I questioned with intrigue, trailing behind him and entering the grand entrance.

“The X-Men are on a routine escort mission for the President at the moment,” my attention turned away from the antique décor as I choked on my breath slightly at his words. Of course I had heard of the famous troop of mutant heroes, but it just suddenly became so real. I was living where the X-Men lived. You know, the same X-Men that saved the world from complete destruction. “I was hoping they’d be here to show you around - but duty calls.” Charles finished.

“Oh of... of course, duty...” I managed to mutter out eventually, earning a slight laugh from the Professor. He didn’t need to be a telepath to read my mind right now. I was so obviously astonished at the whole situation. I couldn’t believe that I was finally here, after months of thinking, considering, and second-guessing. I knew it was a risk, and I couldn’t even return to my parents if it failed.

Let’s just say that my folks weren’t very supportive of my decision to teach at a 'mutant mansion', as they would call it. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was bravery; but I ignored their advice and became determined to come to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngers. Now it was my only chance, since my family won't be welcoming me back anytime soon.

I followed Charles around, as he showed me all the rooms and explained some of the history as Hank make the odd comment or interjection. Most notably that the house was actually only a few years old, owing to the fact that the school had been blown up and rebuild a year ago. That was a fact that I could’ve gone without knowing. All I could do was hope that it didn’t blow up again, or at least not when I was around anyway.

"Your classroom will be right next to the library," Xavier motioned towards a pair of wooden doors that lay open for students to walk freely into, "and feel free to check out any of the books as well - I have a few secret shelves for teachers, with some unregulated research papers on pre-20th century mutations, if that sounds interesting to you?" he added with a playful smile, as I nodded my head in admiration. This place sounded like an absolute dream, and I've only been here for less than an hour.

-------

As we strolled (and wheeled) down the wooden hallways, I noticed the students disappear one by one. By the looks of it, the early night had truly set in, and the majority of children were either in their rooms studying or hanging out in a common area.

"I suppose there's nothing more we can show you until the class starts tomorrow morning, I was really hoping that the team would be back by now..." Xavier gave a short sigh and furrowed his brows slightly, "But I suppose I've prolonged your tour as long as I could. Perhaps Hank, you could show (Y/n) to her room and she can rest in preparation for tomorrow." his smile returned as he asked his colleague for another favor. McCoy nodded his head and gave me a polite smile, still carrying around my bags from earlier. Maybe he didn't anticipate the Professor giving such an expansive and detailed tour of the mansion, so the bags must've been getting burdensome at this stage.

The spectacle-wearing teacher walked ahead of me and strolled towards the grand staircase that lead to the upstairs area (which we had previously travelled to earlier, but it's mainly bedrooms that we couldn't intrude into). I trailed my fingers along the carved bannister of the staircase, admiring the craftsmanship. Considering the school had been blown apart; this place looked as though it was straight out of a historical drama. The Professor could've went for a more modern update, like the ones you see in magazines and government buildings - but something about the simplicity of 1980s architecture just seemed cold and clinical. I'm glad they kept the historical charm alive.

"So you're really not, well, you know..." Hank broke me out of my daydreaming as he turned his head slightly and paused at the top of the steps. It took me a second to register what he was asking, but then it hit me.

"A mutant? Oh," I gave a meek smile before answering, "No I'm just a regular 'homosapien', completely boring." my sentence ended with a light chuckle at my own expense.

"Then you'll be the first non-mutant teacher here, you're making history." McCoy replied with zest as he began to walk down the hallway again.

"I thought I was supposed to teach history, not make it." I chirped from behind him, earning a snort and chuckle from the nerdy fellow (I know, I know - I'm a superb comedian).

As we passed by the student rooms, I could hear the various sounds emerging from behind their doors. One was gossiping loudly to their friends, another was blasting ABBA and singing along, and I could've swore that I heard some quiet sobs escaping through the keyhole of one door. My face fell into a frown as we passed by, and Hank paused slightly, before turning to me.

"That's Sophie Smith's room, she's homesick a lot." he whispered to me, his features showing concern. "You might have her for a class, so maybe keep an eye out if she's struggling." Hank suggested, as my heart went out for this student. I gave him a nod before we continued on our neverending journey towards my room.

Eventually, we stopped at the end of a corridor and my guide dropped my bags carefully on the wooden flooring. He twisted the door knob with one hand, and I watched as the door opened and revealed my bedroom.

"’Home sweet home’, as the saying goes." Hank uttered with a light tone. I stepped into the room and took my bags from the floor, carrying them in with me.

"It's so..." I breathed, observing the room.

"I know, we were supposed to get the curtains changed last month, but there was a mix-up and it's been dela-" he tried to explain, but I cut him off.

"Oh no! I was going to say, 'It's so perfect'." I clarified, brushing off his embarrassment at the state of the curtains (which were beautiful anyway). I stepped forward and placed my bags at the end of the bed while gazing at the beautiful room. This place was growing on me more and more with each minute that passed.

“I’ll let you get settled in for the night then, there’s a copy of your timetable on your desk - it has all the information you’ll need for classes and etcetera.” Hank gestured to the neat pile of paper sheets on the wooden desk, “There’s always food in the kitchen, feel free to eat whenever and whatever you want.” he added, as my attention turned to my empty stomach. I will definitely be visiting the kitchen after I get settled in.

“Thank you, for everything.” I beamed, unable to truly express my gratitude. He returned the smile and nodded, before shutting the door and returning to his business. As soon as his footsteps disappeared, I fell flat on the quilted bedsheets and sprawled out, giving out a pent up sigh. It was the kind of sigh that released anxiety and replaced it with assurance. From the looks of it, things were going to be alright - and there was nothing more satisfying that knowing you made the right decision.

My brief escape into my feelings was cut short, as my stomach audibly warned me that it was running low on fuel. I turned my head and looked over to the beside alarm clock, reading the time; ‘8:24p.m.’

“Hmm,” I mused as I considered my options, “I should probably read you first...” my eyes drifted to the timetable that sat untouched on the desk. My belly did not agree with this decision, as it grumbled once more. “Okay, alright... yeesh.” I placed a hand against my abdomen, trying to settle the noise. “Food first, read later.” I threw my legs over the side of the bed and resolved to make my way towards the school’s kitchen.

-------

Finding the kitchen was no problem, as the Professor showed it to me at least three times earlier. I guess he really was trying to stretch that tour out as much as possible. A few of the older students who were hanging around glanced at me as I entered the room. I couldn’t tell if they knew I was a teacher, or if they just thought I was a new student; either way, they didn’t stick around to find out. The group of teenagers grabbed their snacks and left the room once their privacy was interrupted. Honestly, I just think they were gossiping about some pop music band and didn’t want a stranger listening - so I didn’t mind their swift exit. It left me with some privacy as well, which was nice.

I noticed a small radio sitting in the window sill, and decided to switch it on to break the silence. A static noise rang out as I extended the antenna and turned the knob carefully. Soon a voice grew clearer, and I had reached a station playing something. I just let the song play out, since I didn’t want to bother with searching the airwaves for something else.

I stepped over to the pantry and surveyed the contents carefully. I was starving, but I couldn’t figure out what for. I picked up a loaf of bread and placed it on the counter, deciding it would have to be a PB & Jelly sandwich. Grabbing a plate, I began to craft my makeshift dinner. Absentmindedly, my head began to sway gently to the tune that played through the tinny radio speaker. It was one of those cheesy love songs that are always playing these days. There was something so catchy about those songs, and instinctively I began to mouth the words and drift into an MTV daydream.

My brief escape from reality faded away as I noticed a clinking noise coming from the glass and cutlery. It was almost like an earthquake, but I knew that New York was unlikely to experience that kind of disaster (well I hoped so, at least).

A bright light shone outside the window, and I stepped closer to peer out. The basketball court had opened up and revealed a massive basement beneath it. A few seconds later, a black jet descended gracefully from the dark sky and lowered itself underground while the whole mansion trembled with the power it created. I swiftly grabbed the jam jar as it almost slipped off the edge of the counter, and stared in awe.

“So that’s where they keep it...” I breathed out as the basketball court returned to its normal state, as if nothing had happened. I stood in wonder for a few seconds, still holding the jar tightly in my hands. That was probably the most of the X-Men I’d be seeing tonight. I’m no expert on presidential mission debriefing, but I presumed the team of elite heroes wouldn’t be mingling with the common folk upstairs for at least an hou-

“Ugh, this song’s a real bummer.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as a voice suddenly quipped from beside me. My attention hastily turned to a combat uniformed young man - quickly flicking through the radio stations. I stared at him, half confused and half terrified of his sudden appearance. Slowly I began to recognize his features; silvery hair, aloof attitude, and of course, the recognisable X-Men uniform.

“Hey - you’re that guy...” I tilted my head slightly as I spoke without thinking. In a split second, he appeared at the fridge wearing an entirely new outfit, this time more casual. The music had changed to something more rock-y and alternative, matching his aesthetic. I was almost certain of it. I couldn’t remember his name, but I’ve definitely seen him with the X-Men on the news. I was almost certain of it.

“Nah, you’re thinking of a different guy.” he responded without second thought, while lifting out a can of some kind of soda. I felt my mouth contort in confusion, bemused by his comment.

“I...” my thoughts paused to phrase my words correctly, “You were just wearing an X-Men uniform, you’ve got to be him.” I managed to retort, causing the confident fellow to raise an eyebrow. With the blink of an eye, he had disappeared from my sight again.

“So, you don’t even know his name - and you’re convinced he’s me?” the silver-haired guy stated nonchalantly from behind me as he sipped on his drink. I gasped and grabbed my chest in surprise, not expecting him to sneak up behind me like that. I gave a sigh and prepared to answer the question.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and wracked my brain for a moment, “Peter, right?” I sighed, finally recalling the speedy mutant’s name. I looked up at him and expected some sort of witty remark. Instead, he just stared at me for a few seconds. I avoided his gaze awkwardly and looked down at the jam jar that still sat in my hands. Clearing my throat, I placed it carefully onto the counter beside me - trying to distract from his sudden silence.

“Oh.” I mumbled at the change of topic, “I am. Only arrived here a few hours ago. The Professor showed me around earlier, with Hank, I saw all the classrooms and it was really quite-” I harped on, “I'm sorry, I'm rambling..." my voice lowered, as I watched the casual fellow open up a bag of pretzels and munch on them absentmindedly. He gave a soft chuckle at my apology.

“So, you’re new here?” for the third time, he appeared in a different location, leaving me to turn around one more time. He faced away from me, opening a drawer and surveying its content silently.

"Cool." he replied simply, placing a few more pretzels into his mouth.

"Cool." I repeated gently, trying to decipher his aloofness. This 'Peter' was blunt, distant, and almost cold. It was as if I had offended him somehow. I stared at my surroundings for a brief moment, before deciding to get off of the wrong foot.

"I'm sorry if I was rude earlier; or was it that I couldn't remember your name?" I tried to find the reason for his indifference, wringing my hands with nerves. Peter raised an eyebrow and scowled slightly at my question.

"Rude?" he asked with a shocked tone.

"Yeah, I thought I offended you?" I explained.

"Nah, nah, we're good." he shrugged my theory off and zoomed over to the bin, throwing the crumpled wrapper in it. "I gotta go now, X-Men stuff." Peter turned to me and excused himself. I gave a soft 'oh' in surprise, and held out my hand for him to shake (just a teacher habit, I guess).

"Nice to meet you anyway, Peter." I smiled at him. The silvery guy just stared at my hand and then looked back up to me - but for some reason, avoided my eyes.

"Cool." he said again, before disappearing from sight; leaving me standing there, alone, holding my hand out for no one. Slowly I lowered my wrist and cleared my throat.

"Cool..." I said to myself, still entirely confused by the interaction. My attention quickly turned to the change in music. The radio suddenly shifted from the grungy tunes, back to the end of love ballad that I was listening to earlier. He must've changed it back. I tilted my head and stared at the little radio in the window, listening and thinking.

Maybe he wasn't as cold as I thought. Maybe I'll try and get a better conversation from that silver-haired boy tomorrow. Maybe I'll get that handshake from him. Maybe.

Still, the only thing that matters right now is that I eat that PB&J sandwich.

-------

56 notes · View notes

xaharadesert · 4 years

Text

Bard MC - Headcanon

Arcana Characters (Main 6) x MC

A/N: Okie dokie, this one is for a very lovely and very patient anon! Their request for an MC who can control magic through music is super cool! Honestly, I didn’t know exactly what a bard was when I first received this request, so I’ll be adding in a couple references about that as a joke :) I also tried to leave it ambiguous between whether the MC sings or plays an instrument, but I may have failed. My apologies, these may be a bit shorter than what you’re all used too, but I was struggling with this a little bit (also I am half asleep as I am finishing this, so I’m sorry if some of it doesn’t make sense). Also, I’m very sorry about using an outdated meme, but the oppurtunity was right there and I had to use it. As always, I recognize Asra’s non-binary gender orientation but will be using he/him pronouns! Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes :) Requests are open!

❤️Julian❤️

Oh, yeah, he knows what a bard is

Like a singer... right?

Nope

When you tell him that you control magic through music, he has a small crisis and reevaluates every bard he’s ever met

He suddenly has quite a few questions about the inherent magic of music

Curious as always, he wants to learn more about how music acts as a medium for magic, which means a lot of questions

Most of his questions are based in psychology, because a small part of him that constantly doubts magic believes that you’re just a scientific genius

Overall, he supports you, of course

He loves music and the fact that you can cast spells using it is just an added bonus

Julian is already thinking about all the musical adventures you��ll have together

If you offer to teach him, he’ll respectfully decline

He’ll stick to the ordinary kind of music, thank you

On that note, unless it messes with your magic he will absolutely sing along whenever you’re preparing a spell

If this is a problem he’ll sing quietly to himself to avoid being a distraction

He’s sorry if it’s annoying to you, but he really loves singing

When he’s constantly surrounded by music he finds it hard to keep quiet

But if you’re okay with him joining in? He’ll belt some made-up lyrics at the top of his lungs

He may accidentally sing over you and your music, so even if it was originally fine, it will unintentionally cause problems

🧡Portia🧡

Oh, a bard!

That’s uh... a music thing, right?

I mean, she was mostly right

When you tell her that you can control magic through music she’s ecstatic

Magic in and of itself is super cool, but music too?! That’s amazing!

Portia wasn’t the biggest fan of music before, but you can bet your butt she is now!

She loves listening to you preform magic, and even if your not doing a spell, she loves listening to you

She wants to know what kind of songs control what kind of spells

In fact, she wants to know everything about your magic

You might as well be her official teacher because she never stops asking questions

In fact, asking if you can teach her eventually does come up

She’s a very eager student, although she often goes off track and starts inventing her own music

It’s not as effective, but she’s definitely having fun

Even if she never actually learns the magic part, she learned a cool new musical skill

She’ll create silly little songs to make you laugh

Sometimes when you use a particularly sad song for a spell, she’ll start to tear up

This can be a bit of a distraction, but she swears she’s not actually upset

You’re just amazing at what you do

Once Julian needed your help and her response was “this is so sad, MC play Despacito”

💛Lucio💛

Of course he knows what a bard is!

At least that’s what he claims

In reality he has no idea, he always referred to them as “music people”

So when you tell him about controlling magic through music he’s suddenly feeling a little afraid of every musician he made fun of in the past

He’ll never admit that out loud, though

Lucio thinks what you do is amazing

You can do magic AND you’re musically talented! That’s double the talent!

For a moment he considered mocking Asra for being less talented than you before remembering that you and Asra are friends

That doesn’t stop him from showing off your talents to everyone else, though!

Whether you really want to or not, you’ll probably have to show literally every Vesuvian your abilities at least once

Lucio himself isn’t particularly interested in learning your form of magic

He’d rather watch and listen as you preform spells

He doesn’t really want you to teach anyone else though, but he can’t really stop you if you choose to anyway

Sometimes he’ll ask you to preform a spell just so he can listen to you

He especially loves to hear slower songs for spells that ward off nightmares

When he listens to you, he genuinely feels calm and peaceful

He just exists in a perfect moment, with nobody but you and him

On a side note, though, sometimes when you’re showing off for other people he’ll try to sing along and it’ll always end up sounding horrible

💚Muriel💚

Doesn’t even pretend to know what a bard is

He never really had a reason to know, so he doesn’t

When you first tell him, he feels a bit awkward because he feels as if you expected him to know

But of course, your brand of magic was pretty unique so explaining your abilities was old hat by now

He’s not exactly sure how he feels about your methods

Of course he loves and supports you, but your magic... it’s just... a lot

It seems to require a lot of noise, and it draws way too much attention in his opinion

He would never try to change you, but he shrinks into himself whenever you gain a crowd from performing a spell in public

He starts to feel differently about it the first time he hears a slower song

When your music is soft and soothing he inadvertently feels himself relax

Knowing that you’re beside him, doing what you love, brings him a lot of inexplicable joy

Muriel doesn’t really have any interest in learning your kind of magic for himself, if he’s being honest

Although, he never minds when you want to talk about the complexities

He doesn’t mind very much if you need to practice late at night at home, because he doesn’t need to worry about other people intruding

Personally, he has no real uses for your magic so he never asks for your help

That isn’t to say he won’t accept it; if you want to use a song to help with menial tasks once in a while he won’t complain

The one exception is if you start using it for some creepy spell in the middle of the night

Then he may have a few complaints

💙Asra💙

The only one who actually knows what a bard is without your explanation

He was there throughout most of your magical growth, so he already knows a lot about it

In all honesty, if it weren’t for you, he probably would have been just as oblivious as everyone else

He loves how unique your method of performing magic is

Asra has never met anyone quite like you, and he doubts he ever will

Watching you perform your magic is one of his favourite hobbies (if you can really count that as a hobby)

Observing how your magic interacts with your music is incredible to him

He’s a little jealous, but he’d never say that out loud

You offered to teach him years ago and he eagerly accepted, but he never quite got the hang of it

In the end, he learned most of the theory behind it, but he mostly stuck to his own brand of magic

Even if he does admire your magic more than he admires his own, he does love the contrast between the two of you

(Spoilers) when he brought you back and was re-teaching you most things, your magic was one of the hardest

He felt horrible that he couldn’t properly demonstrate for you, but after teaching you the theories again, you seemed to pick it up on your own

On a side note though, helping you relearn your magic did allow him to grasp a couple of basic spells with your method, which makes him super excited

All in all he’s just thrilled that you have such a strong and unique brand of magic

He’s proud of how much you’ve grown into it, despite not having a proper mentor

Asra is a fan of quite a few unique types of music, but listening to whatever kind of music your using has definitely helped him settle on a few favourite songs

He doesn’t have a favourite kind of musical spell, so he’s excited no matter what kind of magic your performing

One time he even convinced you to cast a spell to heat up some tea faster just because he wanted to hear your music

💜Nadia💜

A bard?

As in, one who recites poetry, correct?

She uses the definition of a bard when describing what she thinks you do

Nadia is pleasantly surprised to find that your definition of bard is much more powerful, although she now has a few questions about how you go about defining words

She doesn’t have very much magical experience, so she was unaware of how unique your brand of magic was

But when she finds out exactly what it is you do?

She’s so excited

Nadia definitely loves music, although she leans toward slightly more refined tastes

She starts to question her favourite songs when she first hears you perform a spell

You manage to convey so much emotion, regardless of how long a spell or song is

She feels her heart pound in her chest whenever you use a lot of emotion in a spell

If you offer to teach her, she’ll have to politely decline

She knows how to play piano, sure, and her singing voice isn’t the worst, but she isn’t particularly interested in studying magic

She’ll just leave that part up to you

Of course, she’s always content to watch you perform, although sometimes it is a bit disruptive

If she needs a quick spell while in a meeting, a whole song can be a bit of a problem

She learns to work around this though, because she would never want you to ever change who you are

Although, she will admit she found it humorous when you chose a particularly aggressive song for a spell when trying to prove a point to Valerius

185 notes · View notes

skipppppy · 4 years

Note

I’m so fascinated by your she ra fan character! I’m trying to understand the storyline but it’s a little hard to find everything, and I was wondering if you would mind explaining it here?

Thank you very much! Her story is SUPER convuluted, I elaborated on it a bit on another ask about her relationship with Entrapta, but I’ll try to sum it up as cleanly as possible but a lot of different factors come into play so it still might be LOOONNGG. It’s also not a very happy story, unfortunately, but it would be helpful for me to get it all written down!

In terms of things that might be triggering, her backstory involves mention of a wide range of abuse. It won’t be explicit but I just want to be safe!

I’m actually gonna put most of it under the cut for the sake of anyone who follows me or any tags so they aren’t cursed with a mile long post on their timeline. I know the pain 😅

So here it is! I present A COMPREHENSIVE TIMELINE OF ALL THE BULLSHIT ARIA HAD TO PUT UP WITH!!!!

-For background context, she’s a Wingfolk, a species of Bird People native to Etheria who live in a kingdom built into a forest of giant trees named Ornithia. I could go on about them for hours but all you really need to know is that they have hollow bones to achieve flight (which is also the case for real life birds), which makes Aria’s body very light and frail. So she’s basically useless in physical combat which is why she never really defends herself. She was also a particularly weak flyer, which is why she doesn’t avoid a lot of situations by simply flying away.

-EXTRA BACKGROUND CONTEXT, Aria was born around the time the Horde landed on Etheria. Her father was a sorcerer at Mystacor, who had a reputation for ignoring ethics in the name of science. This all came to a head when a meteorite struck the surface of the planet; he rushed to the sight, stole it, studied it for a while, and after learning it had a powerful magic, decided to try a ritual in which he extracted the magic from the meteorite and fused it with his daughter’s soul. It took a few years for people to find out but when they did he was exiled for his actions, and Aria, still a child, was given to her mother.

-ONE MORE SMALL DETAIL: from about the age of 18/19 onward, she started having dreams about a mysterious figure made of blinding light who knew secrets about the universe and promised to find her one day so they could “finally be together again.” 3 guesses who THAT is lmao (hint: it’s Horde Prime)

-I won’t go into details about her childhood because we’d be here forever but the most important things you need to know are 1) Aria’s mother was a HORRIBLE parent and preferred to get blackout drunk rather than look after her children. 2) Aria had 4 younger brothers who, due to her mother’s negligence, she had to raise entirely by herself, which is why she feels responsible over others and has such a “nurturing” disposition, it was forced on her. 3) She took her brothers and ran away from Ornithia when she was 15, and built a home in a small woodland in the mountains of Dryl where she has lived ever since. 4) Throughout her childhood she befriended Princess Entrapta and the two were extremely close due to their isolated upbringings.

-When the BFS visited Dryl for the first time in Season 1, Aria was there acting as both a lab assistant and royal advisor to Entrapta, and joined the rebellion alongside her. Nothing crazy happened, but when Entrapta “died” Aria was beside herself with grief and ended up leaving the rebellion in order to go tend to Dryl, since it needed a ruler and as advisor it was her job to step up and take responsibility. Unlike the others, however, she refused to return to aid in the battle of Brightmoon, since she was kinda miffed at how the Princesses treated Entrapta (lookin’ at you, leash lady Perfuma) and was thoroughly pissed that they didn’t even TRY to go back for her, even if it was just to find her body and give her a dignified burial.

-Season 2 was when things truly went to shit. When the Horde came to claim Dryl, Aria resisted but was defeated pretty easily. When Glimmer and Bow came to scout out the situation, they saw her being hauled away and tried to save her but basically got caught in a stalemate where they couldn’t act because the Horde threatened to harm Entrapta if they acted. They told Aria to go with the Horde and promised that they would form a rescue party to save the both of them. But after they learned that Entrapta had joined the Horde by choice and had more important missions to deal with, rescuing her just..stopped being a priority. She wasn’t a rebel so they had no obligation to get her, so eventually they forgot about her entirely.

-Aria was kept as a prisoner for a while, but Entrapta found out pretty quickly what happened and went to find her. At that point Catra was growing frustrated with all the menial paperwork she had to do, and since she’d had experience being an advisor/secretary type, Entrapta basically proposed to Hordak that Aria act as his assistant in the same way she used to at Dryl. He accepted since it meant he would be spending less time running the Horde and more time building the portal. Aria was against the idea of helping him since she was still holding out hope that the rebels would come save her, but she was simply threatened with the classic Evil Horde punishments (torture, more torture, being locked in a cell for weeks without food or water, a tad more torture). So from mid-Season 2 to the end of Season 4, that was pretty much the position she was in. Being the Fright Zone’s resident desk jockey.

-Not much happened in that timespan, most of what occurred revolved around the portal incident and the aftermath. While Aria had been playing the part of Hordak’s pretty little secretary she was trying to find weak points in the Fright Zone’s security system so she could bust her and Entrapta out of there. Due to her and Hordak building the portal (and smooching lol) she’d been spending less and less time with Aria, which had been making her a little upset. She felt like someone she’d spent her entire life caring for was replacing her for something better, but her suspicions weren’t confirmed until she asked Entrapta about leaving together and she refused. That was the first small nudge towards a downward spiral. Then Catra returned with Adora and the Sword in hand and the Princesses came to stop the Portal. The rebels had come to save Adora and forgot about her. She was willing to forgive and join them, until they saw that she had been assisting the Horde, assumed she had betrayed them alongside Entrapta, and decided to leave her behind without giving her a chance to explain herself. That was the second, slightly stronger nudge that made her teeter over the edge of a breakdown. And then Catra told her that Entrapta had abandoned her to rejoin the rebels. While it was a lie, it was perfectly placed salt in the wound, and the straw that broke the camels back into her shifting allegiance and properly joining the Horde.

-Throughout Season 4 she had the same role as before, except this time she actually cared about her work, and had taken on the additional role of helping Hordak with his busted tech since Entrapta wasn’t around to do it. He had already come to rely on Aria for paperwork, but now she was helping him with his machines and they had a shared trauma over being “abandoned” by someone they cared deeply for. She was literally filling the void Entrapta left, and in a way they started to care for each other. Aria, being a hopeless romantic who had read about a trillion love stories about gentle protagonists who healed the evil monster men with their kindness, took to him like a moth to a flame and happily played the role of “the next best thing” against her better judgement. It wasn’t really a healthy relationship, but they did genuinely care for each other and found comfort in one another’s presence.

-It didn’t last, however. Catra was vaguely aware of the “thing” they had, and while she was indifferent for the most part, she was dealing with a downward spiral of her own, and she slowly became paranoid that Aria would distract him from completing their plans. In her poor, burnt out kitty cat frame of mind, the only way to deal with the situation was to get rid of her. So, deciding to kill 2 birds with one stone, she told Hordak that Aria had been jealous of his relationship with Entrapta, and SHE had been the one to send her to beast island. And Hordak believed her.

-I won’t go into detail about what happened after that, because it was VERY GRUESOME! We all saw how Hordak reacted when he found out what Catra had done in the original show. Now remember when I mentioned that Aria has hollow bones that made her incredibly frail and physically incapable of defending herself? Yeah. It was not pretty. Hordak wasn’t completely at fault, since he thought his anger was warranted, but by the time he’d learnt the truth and realised his mistake she was dead. In the space between the incident and learning what really happened he’d thrown her in the abandoned black garnet chamber with no food or water and basically left her to rot. He was EXTRA mad at Catra for pulling that with him, but he didn’t have time to grieve since he, Glimmer, Catra, and Aria’s lifeless corpse were beamed up into Horde Prime’s flagship.

-When Prime initially found her she was still dead. However, remember the healing magic that came from the mysterious meteorite that had now fused with her soul? Spoiler alert! It belonged to him. The meteorite was one of his most prized possessions, and the dreams Aria had been having were the magic’s attempts at trying to establish a connection with him across dimensions. (the meteorite was somewhat sentient. This is perfectly normal and well thought out writing I swear) And being reunited caused a huge surge of magical energy that resuscitated her, allowing Prime’s clones to give her some much needed medical help.

-After being pretty much comatose for 2 weeks Aria finally woke up, and was finally able to speak with Prime in person. When she found out that the “mysterious figure” from her dreams who had promised to find her was REAL and had just saved her life, she basically just latched onto him. She was, understandably, TRAUMATISED from the last 2 or so years of her life, so she was too scared to go anywhere else or trust anyone, so Prime didn’t even have to try to win her allegiance. He was also very happy to have his meteorite back, even if it now had a mortal body with skin and a face and a slew of emotional baggage. So she spends most of Season 5 being showered in love and affection by Prime and all her attendants, eventually being crowned Empress. While Prime was unequivocally evil and Aria was aware of that, he mostly sheltered her from what he was doing, in fear that her loyalty to him might falter. Maybe in a fun au she could’ve convinced him to leave Etheria alone so they could be together for longer, but alas, it was not to be.

-In the aftermath of the Heart being destroyed and Prime being killed, her downward spiral returned and shifted into OVERDRIVE. The people who had abandoned and neglected her took her one safe person away from her and they were being hailed as heroes for it. While she now knew that Entrapta had never abandoned her and was instead sent to beast island, seeing her get a happy ending with the man who had, to be quite blunt, physically abused and assaulted her, shattered any part of their friendship that might have been recoverable. She retreated into herself, taking over Horde Prime’s role as ruler over the Clones. She turned the Velvet Glove into their new home, trying to be civil with the other Princesses but eventually descended into a cold, bitter, vindictive Empress who ended up making terrible decisions as a cry for help.

-I’m still undecided on what to do with her after her fun villain arc, but I do know that in the aftermath she’d probably either step down from the throne so she could properly heal from her trauma, or work with her clones to fix up Prime’s flagship and get as far away from Etheria as possible and find peace in a new life away from everything that hurt her. I may also bring back Horde Prime from the dead through my sheer will to ignore canon so they can be together, since they are for all intents and purposes, soulmates. And I don’t think it would be very fair to let my poor hopeless romantic who just wants to be loved lose her handsome prince forever. I think it would be sexy if I committed necromancy I think.

ANYWAY...THAT WAS A HEFTY READ..SORRY IT WAS SO LONG, BUT THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!! I CAN COME BACK TO THIS FOR REFERENCE NOW

TLDR: babygirl has had it ROUGH

#spop oc #she ra oc #aria

34 notes · View notes