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chippedaxe · 2 years

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Title: Make Things Clear

Warnings: !TW. STEPCEST!, !NSFW!, degrading, pet names/ degrading names, swearing, teasing, etc.. Pairing: dom!George X sub!reader Pronouns: they/them GN ANATOMY Synopsis: Gnf is a bitchy step bro and this is just another one of your guys' fights, only a little more heated. And naked. Word count: 3K Note: In terms of anatomy for the reader, the only 'body parts' that will be mentioned is: nipples/chest (either flat chest or breasts) /hole (either vag hole or ass hole)/ wetness (either ass lubricant, idk the name, or vaginal lubricant)

- I kinda hate this but whatever T-T I wanted to actually write this with way more words but there was already a lot more words there than I normally write. I normally write around 1K-1.5K but this one is 3K

If this type of content offends you in any way then please just ignore it, I have tons of other content on my page that isn’t stepcest content and you’re able to blockout any stepcest content by blocking the ‘tw stepcest’ or ‘stepcest cw’ tag <3

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You stepped through the doorway, bumping into it gently as you were trying to collect your surroundings. You were still half asleep and very very tired, you didn't even know why you woke up in the first place until you were tumbling onto the fall face first.

"Ew, watch where you're going idiot" George spat at you. There's your reason for being awake, this snobby little man had woken you up with his loud obnoxious video calls! It was hard not to get up when his high pitched screechy voice was bouncing off the walls and ringing through your head, it fucking sucked having a stepbrother!

It's incredibly cliché to have the 'stepsiblings who hate each other' kind of bond that you two have but its not like you can fucking help it! George is a whole new kind of annoying that is just unbearable to deal with! You'd be a whole lot happier with a whiny baby brother who dribbles everywhere and can't do anything for himself - oh wait, you already do! Except he isn't a baby, he's a full grown man who should be doing actual things instead of tormenting you!

You groaned and rubbed at your nose, pulling yourself up off the floor. Your vision was still all blurry from the sleep in your eyes so you moved your hands to rub at them and hopefully clear your vision. As soon as you could properly see again, your eyes landed on George standing at the kitchen counter making toast. He used the hem of his shirt to wipe at his tired face so you got flashed with the sight of his stomach and chest.

"God damn."

Clearly. You weren't thinking straight.

Because obviously - you wouldn't have said that if you were.

"Ugh, what??" George turned around to face you with a disgusted look on his face. "I mean.. God damn, you're taking a long time making toast- aha." it was awkward how you were trying to explain yourself. However, George bought it, so it didn't matter how pained you were throughout that whole experience.

"Tch. Impatient much? Can't even wait for me to finish making my toast, you gotta always butt in with your neediness!" the way George spoke to you made heat rise to your face. You couldn't always tell if it was out of anger or from being flustered but neither could he which I guess is what ultimately mattered.

"My neediness?" You questioned "YES, your need to constantly obsess over me and annoy me!" George rolled his eyes at you before continuing with his toast "obsess? I never obsess over you! And you're the annoying one!" You complain "How am I the annoying one? I literally like never bother you ever" George scoffed "You're literally always scoffing at me and rolling your eyes in my direction!" You told him "And how does that bother you?" George asked nonchalantly.

"Ugh, you fucking suck! You fucking- cock sucker!" you shout out him before walking off, pausing for a bit when you hear him mumble under his breath "You're the cock sucker." he spoke to himself. "What was that!?" you walked back in immediately and got up in his face "I said that you're the cock sucker, bitch" George snapped back. "NO. You're the one who's sucking on Dream's cock, I hear you talk with him every night. Oh Dream, Come back Dream- Shut the fuck up"

"I do nothing like that with him! And why're you obsessed with cock sucking? You into me or something?" George teased you. You stifled a bit, this wasn't the first time he's said something like that to you. He normally says it to get his own way, knowing you'll give it up in fear or anyone thinking you like your own stepbrother. "Who would be into you? You're a mess!" You crossed your arms "Speak for yourself, I bet you make a mess of yourself every night thinking of me!" George accused you.

"WHAT!?" You audibly gasped, backing up a bit "I do not!" you were thinking about storming off when George did it first. He grabbed his toast and turned to walk away, putting it in his mouth before spitting it out "Gross! you made me burn it!" He shouted "Guess you are what you eat. Crusty, burned out and disgusting" You made fun of him "I'll show you disgusting you-" George turned around to face you.

You decided not to back down and got in his face as well, both of your chests pressing up against the others. "What're you gonna do? Hit me?" You taunted him "I bet you have the strength of a weak kitten" You flicked his nose and laughed in his face, George bit back and shoved you to the floor. You hit the ground "Kids! That's enough, stop fighting!" His father called out to the both of you.

"George, you apologize to your younger sibling now." he spoke up "But Daddy!-" George exclaimed "No but's George, you apologize now" George groaned in annoyance. George sheepishly crossed his arms and lowered his head, eyes never meeting your gaze as he mumbles softly under his breath "I'm sorry" he says quietly. "What was that?" You push him further "I said. I'M SORRY." George repeated again with more anger in his tone.

"Yeah? For what? For shoving me? For annoying me for the past year? For being born? For what?" You grinned at him when he suddenly had enough. He didn't shove you this time, only bumping your shoulder as he walked away. You laughed to yourself victoriously, knowing that your actions would come back to bite at you later on.

Your eyes landed on the mess George made in the kitchen, the burnt toast he spat out now on the floor. You sighed to yourself, once again you would be cleaning up after him. The adult baby. You knew it wouldn't take long but it still annoyed you, bending down to wipe the crumbs off the ground and putting the paper towel in the bin.

You slowly walked to the dining room where your stepfather was, sitting down at the table with him to have a conversation "Uh.. Dad?" you spoke up "Yeah? what's up hun?" he looked up from his book "Has George um.. Always been this way?" You asked "Well he's always shown his love differently, that's right aha" your stepfather laughed to himself slightly. It was sorta awkward but it was bearable.

"There's no way that thing could love anyone!" You commented before then remembering who you're talking to "I mean-" he cut you off "It's fine. It's just normal sibling bonding, I'm sure you'll be able to see the real side of George one day" your stepfather glanced back at his book "Did you know the main character of this story is completely different to the movie? It's super weird but it's kinda cool how they are able to show the different perspectives in that-" and that's when you knew it was your cue to get up in leave.

You tuned out the volume of your stepfathers voice, just letting him ramble to himself about his book as you walked upstairs to your bedroom. On the way you noticed George's door was open, thinking to yourself that you could berate him a bit more for his mess in the kitchen but then deciding against it. Never the less though you still decided to check in on him, knocking on the door before entering.

"God, what do you want?" George didn't even look up from his phone "Nothing. It's just uh- your dad's a dork" you joked light heartedly "I know right? He's a complete nerd for his science fiction books" this was probably the first time you saw George smile around you. Your eyes lit up a bit as you saw it "Your smiles nice, why don't I see it more?" you asked him.

George shrugged, the smile slowly disappearing "I dunno. Maybe it's because I'm normally totally miserable when I'm around you?" he glanced up at you for a moment. "Is there anything I can do to make the relationship between us better? I don't like how we're.. I don't know, so far apart?" You wanted you two to be closer but you weren't sure George wanted the same thing.

"I don't know, you're pretty annoying so maybe you can just stay away" George put his phone down now "Well how can I stop being annoying?" you ask "I don't know! It's nothing specific! It's just- everything about you ticks me off! Your smell, your hair, your voice, your stupid face!" George yelled at you. That's when your brain finally got it.

"George. That.. Sounds a lot like love to me?" you were uncertain if it was good to tell him that but the look on his face said it all. His eyebrows raised and his face went slightly red "Wha- Love? You? NO! You're disgusting for even thinking that! I'm sure you're just projecting your love onto me!" George disagreed with you.

You were sure of your thoughts, you were sure that you were absolutely correct and had no doubts about it. "Maybe I am" You responded quietly under your breath "Wh- What?" He looked at you to meet your gaze, "Maybe. I. Am." you repeated again "That's so weird! And gross! And disgusting! I should tell Dad-" You cut him off.

"Or.. Maybe you shouldn't?" You never usually had this type of confidence but I guess today is opposite day. "What're you implying here exactly?" George seemed suspicious of the whole thing, admittedly he was correct to be suspicious but that doesn't make it any less hurtful.

"I'm just saying! Is it really the best idea for your father to find out about us?" You crossed your arms, a small grin painting your face. "B-But we didn't DO anything! YOU'RE the one with the hots for your stepbrother, I don't like YOU!" George exclaimed loudly "Maybe if you say you don't like me one more time than you'll actually start to believe it!" You snickered to yourself.

"You're so annoying!" it seemed like George had almost given up with his 'bitchy stepsibling who hates the other sibling' trope but he hadn't exactly "Then I think you should do something about it and shut me up huh'?" you knew what you were doing when you spoke to him- what you didn't know was how he'd react.

George leaped at you basically, pushing you onto the floor and straddling your hips. I'm sure he didn't mean for his actions to be so sexual seeing as he still looks to be seething with anger, but you can't lie and say that him holding your wrists above your head now ISN'T somewhat kinky. "George! Let go!!" You tried to wiggle your way out of his grip but he stopped you "You told me to do something!" George smiled down at you victoriously.

After a few seconds of silence you speak up "So. Are you gonna let me up or?" You asked "Nah I'm kinda bored and seeing you struggle on the floor is entertaining me. Besides, what else would I do?" George rolled his eyes "Kiss me." You were quick to say, making George shoot a look of embarrassment and nervousness at you.

"A- A kiss?? Are you serious? That's a terrible idea!!" George was obviously now flustered from your idea, his grip slightly loosening but you didn't think to try and break free. "You're totally right! I bet you're a terrible kisser anyways" You knew it'd break him, "I AM NOT! I'll have you know that Dream says I am an EXCELLENT kisser!" George shouts out "Oh yeah? Your online boyfriend said that?" George grumbles at you "He- He's not my online boyfriend!" he puffs his cheeks out slightly.

"Well. Prove it then. Show me how 'excellent' you are" You say while also using your fingers to do air quotes (doing the best you can considering being tied up.) "Wh- Fine. I'll prove it to you!" George leans in and roughly presses his lips against yours, not even trying to find a rhythm between the two of you as he's already rushing through it. You feel desperation in his kiss. He doesn't say it but he was desperate to be kissing you.

You try to keep at his pace, roughly kissing him back. You use your teeth to gently tug on his bottom lip as you two are kissing, causing George to hesitantly open his mouth. Your tongue pushed inside his mouth to fight for dominance but quickly lost as George shoved his tongue down your throat, the two of you kissing for a while until you pulled away for air.

"So I was pretty good right? Told you" George showed off and gave a smug look "Yeah.. Really good" you hadn't meant to say it out loud but the words had made a blush creep to George's face. "Huh??" he turned his head away bashfully "I- uh- liked it a lot" you were now embarrassed too from what you were saying "Well I didn't! You sucked- you were totally too slow!" George lowered his head so you couldn't see his face.

"Well maybe it would've been easier for me to keep up if you weren't so desperate for my lips" You teased him "WHAT? H- How dare you say that!?" George seemed like he was angry again as his hold on your wrists got tighter. "George-" you croaked "What!? What is it!?" He groaned in annoyance "I want you to kiss me again, please?" It was a little bit pitiful how you were begging for him "now look who's desperate for my lips?"

You closed your eyes and waited for him to finish talking so he could kiss you, him quickly taking the hint and leaning back down to your lips. George listened to what you had said before and tried to take it slower, his eagerness still showing as he was still slightly fast at it. You couldn't help your actions. You really couldn't. Otherwise you wouldn't have done it. Your hips rolled up to meet his, making him gasp into the kiss and pull away gently.

He didn't even have any words for you.

He just stared down at you with an unreadable expression.

You slowly repeated your action, lifting your hips up but he quickly pinned them down. Your hands were now free. Not sure what to do with them, you kept them above your head. "You're such an annoying sibling, so fucking needy and horny, disgusting" George scoffed "You're acting as if you don't constantly take it up the ass by Dream" you laughed but shut up when George's grip on your hands tightened.

"That's it. You wanna act like a bitch? You can treated like a bitch. Take off your clothes now." George moved so he was now seated between your legs on the floor. You hastily started stripping off your clothes, your eagerness to get naked was quite embarrassing but you didn't notice. Your nipples hardened when they felt the air hit them, the air cold from a draft coming through the vent.

George flicked the buds as he saw them. Grinning to himself, his eyes glance up at your face to watch your reaction. You flinch slightly but not from pain, wincing at the sensitivity from them. "You're not that annoying when you don't talk and also obey me" George smiled down at you, making you shiver ever so slightly.

George grabbed at your bottoms, tugging them down and pulling them off. George giggled at your underwear for a moment "What? What're you laughing at!?" you pouted "Nothing, nothing, it's cute.." he snickered to himself once again "I just think it's funny how they're my favorite colour is all, like did you plan this?" George asked.

"No but I always secretly hoped you'd have enough of our bickering and pin me to a wall and fuck me!!" you gasped "Really!?" George's eyes went wide, you were sure that comment probably fueled his ego a whole lot more "No idiot. It's literally just a coincidence."

George sighed sadly before taking your underwear off, his hand dipping down to slowly rub at your wet hole "I'm gonna fuck your sweet hole since you think I like taking it up the ass, okay?" George said it with the cruelest tone but you knew that he was asking for your consent so you nervously nodded your head.

You feel yourself being opened gently as George slips his two fingers inside your hot hole, a lewd squelching sound coming from you as he fingers you. George seems to know what he's doing as he's stretching you open, drawing a soft moan from you "Ah- do you have experience from fingering your ass?" you asked with a playful tone "Wouldn't you like to know perv?" he replied with the same playful voice.

After a few moments you let out a breathy sigh "I think- if you're ready, you can put yourself inside.." You tell him. George tugs his pants down just enough so his cock is free, rubbing the tip on your wetness before sliding himself in finally. It felt like your whole life was now complete that you were finally fucking your stepbrother, the forbidden apple you wanted for so long. Ever since your mom first bought her boyfriend and his son to your home, you had been in love with him.

George thrusted in and out of you "A- hah- Are you sure you're not gonna get tired during this and need me to ride you?" You weren't sure why he was letting you get away with all these snarky comments but you were glad he was. George ignored you and thrusted his hips deeper, skin slapping against skin as he thrusted deep inside of you.

The tip of his cock pressed against just the right parts inside of you, making you now a writhing mess on the floor. "You look so good like this.." George groaned into your ear, his words basically sending you over the edge. George scoffed "It hasn't even been that long! You're super bad at this. Whatever, I'll just grind on your thigh to get off" George rolled his eyes "W- Well next time I'll show you and make sure you cum before me!" you challenge him.

George's eyes glanced up at you with slight curiosity "Next time?"

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Note: This is not proof read and this is unedited. This also was not requested at all, I just had a dream abt George and felt like writing this (the dream was nothing like this fic but whtvr)

#tw stepcest #stepcest cw #dreamsmp smut #dreamsmp x reader smut #dsmp x reader smut #georgenotfound smut #georgenotfound x reader smut #gnf x reader smut #gnf smut #mcyt smut #mcyt x reader smut #dsmp smut

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calaofnoldor · 3 years

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What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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jkstompers · 3 years

Text

noise complaints | myg

pairing: min yoongi x female reader

summary: yoongi is tired of his loud, video game addicted roommate, so he decides to move out and get his own apartment for some peace and quiet. but with his luck, gets you as his neighbor: a girl who plays bass in a band and hates the feeling of earbuds in her ears.

word count: 5.8k

genre: neighbor!au, producer yoongi, bassist oc, pwp ( ；∀；) i tried but rlly it’s just... smut

warnings: mature!! (18+!), explicit language, smut, making out, fingering, dom!yoongi, he’s a little mean

author’s note: hi!!!!!! in honor of yoongi’s birthday, i wanted to post this fic that i had sitting in my drafts! i hope u enjoy!! (´⌣`ʃƪ) pls let me know what u think!

banner pic creds here <3

yoongi doesn’t know how to tell his roomate, mark, that his gaming obsession has driven him to take extreme measures that consist of: moving out. he never stops playing video games. all day, all night, his eyes are fixed on the computer or tv screen, always screaming to his team mates about where to go or who’s fucking up. yoongi’s not sure if he can take it anymore.

he’s finally saved up enough to move into an apartment of his own, he’s been planning this for almost 6 months; already visited the apartment complex, discussed prices, background checks, etc. all yoongi really needs to do is finish signing the papers and start moving in.

he decides to just let mark know, no sugarcoat. as yoongi expected, mark practically begs on his knees for him to stay. his parents are paying for his share of the apartment but only if he splits the cost with a roommate, but yoongi’s gone through two years of it already, he’s over it. over the next few days, mark watches yoongi dejectedly as he packs his things.

by the end of the week, yoongi has finished packing and already signed the lease. he tells mark ‘good luck’ and leaves him in the dust, hopefully he’ll find another roommate, but that’s beyond yoongi’s concern now. all he has to worry about now is unpacking his boxes in his brand new apartment.

he looks around at the empty space, with the boxes cornered in one section. he smiles to himself, no noisy roomates, no unwashed dishes, no dirty laundry, ah, finally. peace and qui—

and that’s when he hears the blare of your speakers, it’s not loud enough for the entire complex to hear, but the music obviously bleeds through the shared wall. yoongi groans, knowing that this could be a complete repeat of mark. he’s not sure if he should knock on your door and ask you to lower the music down, it’s only his first day here. don’t you treat your neighbors with respect? why are you so loud?

yoongi decides to ignore it for now. he unpacks his things and starts furnishing the room so he can have a place to sleep for the night. when everything is put together, he feels the weight of the day; how much he’s been lifting and how he’s now renting an apartment hits him all at once. the dull pain resonates in his arms, his head starting to ache, and you’re still playing your fucking music. he can’t take it anymore, especially not with this ache getting worse.

yoongi feels his fist knock angrily against your door three times, he waits for you to open the door. except, he was not expecting a pretty girl to answer, he was expecting maybe an obnoxious frat guy; he’s absolutely flustered. you stand there and look up at him confused, “hi? did you need something?” your voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“i’m— uh, i’m your neighbor, i’m sorry to disrupt, but if you could just lower your music down a bit, i’m really tired, and—” he starts but a gasp of excitement leaves you, cutting him off.

“my neighbor?! that apartment has been empty for so long! i’m so sorry, i was just so used to no one being able to hear! welcome! i’m ___!” you greet him cheerfully, taking his hands into yours and shaking them. yoongi feels his cheeks turn pink, your hands are soft and you’re so pretty.

“my name is yoongi,” he replies, he stands there not really knowing how to respond to the way you’re so excited. he wishes he could reciprocate but his head is pounding, all he wants to do is sleep.

you pick up on his energy, letting go of his hands to wave him off, “i’ll turn the music off for today, get some rest, yoongi, if you need help, some sugar or something, you can always just knock on my door,” you smile.

yoongi nods, “thank you, ___, goodnight.”

“goodnight, yoongi! nice meeting you,” you reply, closing your door. you blush behind the door, a neighbor? a cute one at that? there’s a sudden rush of adrenaline pulsing through your veins, testing you, telling you to blast your music just so he could come back and you could look at him one more time. but you decide it’s better not to, he said he was tired, maybe tomorrow.

yoongi returns to his apartment, thankful that you kept to your word and kept the music off. his body drifts his pounding head to sleep.

two weeks had gone by before yoongi’s eyes, he spent most of it buying furniture since the apartment looked so bare. one upside to a loft apartment was that he didn’t have to buy too much furniture, a bed, a couch, a tv, and maybe a rug was enough for him, for now of course.

in the time that’s passed, he’s learned that you like playing music when you’re studying, cleaning, when you’re doing anything really. whenever he thinks it’s too loud, he knocks through the wall, you get the hint most of the time. he’s also learned that you can play the bass and that you’re in a band. speaking of that, you’re having a meeting with them right now, and yoongi can hear every word of it.

your band mates decided to barge into your apartment today, waking you from your study nap and telling you that you all need to practice. the volume of their voices is jarring, you never realized how loud you and your surroundings were until yoongi moved in. you’re suddenly conscious about your volume at all times, his knocks whenever you were loud always made you feel terrible, but you couldn’t help but blush whenever you thought of him. you were torn, be loud and get his attention or be quiet and get on his good side.

“___! grab your shit and let’s go!” jungkook shouts. he’s the guitarist and lead singer of the band; he gets impatient sometimes.

“oh just let her daydream for a little bit, she’s probably thinking about her hot neighbor,” seulgi teases. she’s the drummer and your best friend. you don’t let her comment pass so easily, but you try to ignore the way your face heats up.

“you think he’s hot?” you quip back. a smirk on your face as you zip your bass into it’s case. yoongi is surprised at the way he can hear your voices so clearly, he wonders if you guys always talk this loud or if the walls are really that thin. “you haven’t even seen him yet,” you lug your bag over your shoulder.

“he sounds hot.” she shrugs, taking a bite of the apple she stole from your fruit basket. jungkook grows more and more antsy the longer you both talk.

“where’s taehyung anyway?” you ask. the realization comes to you when you feel a missing presence, knowing your 4th member would say something about yoongi.

“how nice of you to finally ask, he’s been waiting in the car for you slow pokes, let’s get going.” jungkook rushes, pushing you and seulgi out of the door. you turn to lock the door when you hear the door to your left slide open.

“oh my god, jungkook look, he’s hot.” seulgi smacks jungkook’s shoulder to make him look. your eyes are glued on the figure standing outside of apartment 77.

“hi— hey, yoongi,” you greet him while locking your door. it’s embarrassing the way the three of you are all almost drooling at the sight of him.

“hi, ___,” he sends a small smile to you, looking over to your bandmates hesitantly. yoongi notices jungkook, an assumption is made in his head almost immediately, boyfriend?

you scramble next to them and introduce them, “yoongi, these are my bandmates, seulgi, she plays the drums, and jungkook, he plays guitar and sings, there’s taehyung too, he plays guitar too but he— he’s um, in the car.”

“ah, nice to meet you.” he nods, greeting them as well. “i actually have to get to work, but it was cool meeting you all,” he excuses himself. you all wave to him.

“way to be fucking awkward guys,” you scold them when you’re all walking to the car. taehyung looks up from his phone to see the three of you walking his way, he starts the car once you open the door.

“hey, not our fault he’s good looking,” jungkook shrugs and seulgi holds her hand up for a high five, which he gladly gives her.

“not fair! you guys got to see ___’s hot neighbor while i was stuck in the car? i knew i should have just came in,” taehyung grumbles, pulling out of the apartment complex’s parking lot.

“it just so happened that he was leaving his apartment the same time we were, maybe you’ll meet him too tae,” you rub his arm. a somewhat sarcastic tone in your voice. taehyung rolls his eyes, starting the drive to the studio.

the music in the car was overshadowed by taehyung and seulgi arguing about when you and yoongi would finally hook up. you had to remind them that he hasn’t even been here a month yet, and that you guys barely talk besides the small hellos and awkward run ins when you’re doing laundry. it seems to keep them quiet, taehyung parks in the lot and you all move into the studio, making your way to the practice room the owners thankfully let you use to rehearse.

a couple songs are played and you all vote for a break. taehyung and jungkook having a guitar battle, seulgi leaning back against the wall on her phone, and you, need to pee! you leave the room and use the bathroom as usual, but a familiar bleach blonde head turns the corner and starts to walk down the hallway towards you, the breath you’re holding turns into a gasp when you realize it’s him. “yoongi?! why are you here?”

he looks up from the ground, looking as surprised as you when he realizes you were talking to him, “i work here, why are you here? are you following me?” he grills, you scoff at the question.

“i’m with my band, we’re rehearsing,” you explain. he raises his eyebrows, you’re not sure what it means. “you don’t believe me?” you pose.

“it’s just a little suspicious,” he shrugs, yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing. he hopes his hint makes sense to you, he’s never really been good at flirting. a familiar feeling erupts in his stomach, one that people could call butterflies whenever he saw you. he really just wants to see you play, and to hear you sing, that’s what he wants the most.

“uh, i can bring you to them? i promise i’m here with my band,” you laugh, warmth spreading to your cheeks. there is no way in hell that you’re going to play in front of yoongi. you were confident sure, but your embarrassing crush on him will make your fingers shake when you try to press the strings down. it’ll be a shitshow!

“can i pee first?” his small laugh brings a smile to your face. boys pee fast, you’ve learned that over time, so yoongi doesn’t take long. you’re both walking back down the hallway, “your boyfriend isn’t angry that you’re with me?” the random question makes your steps stutter.

“i’m sorry, what? boyfriend?” your eyebrows are furrowed as you stare up at him, his face isn’t showing any sign of humor, he’s serious.

“you’re not dating one of your band mates? isn’t that how it usually goes?” his lips purse as you continue to walk to the room that your band is occupying, he’s so serious that it makes you laugh.

“oh my god, yoongi, i’m single as a pringle, they’re my best friends, our number one rule is to never date within the band, that’s how things get messy,” you explain. a weight is taken off of yoongi’s shoulders, it wasn’t his fault he thought of it; you’re beautiful and surrounded by people that probably want you as much as he does.

“oh,” he answers, you both turn the corner and approach the door, “good to know.” the door opens to your three members looking at the two of you with raised eyebrows.

“oh my god, it’s him,” seulgi points to yoongi with her drumstick. you wave your hand to signal her to put it down, ‘it’s rude!’ you mouth.

“are you yoongi?” taehyung asks, taking his guitar and putting it down on it’s stand. yoongi nods, holding his hand out to shake taehyung’s, which he doesn’t take. instead taehyung pulls him into a hug, yoongi doesn’t expect the sudden action of affection, his arms not knowing what to do. “it’s so nice to finally meet you! ___ talks about you a lot,” taehyung’s confession makes your face flush.

“taehyung! what the fuck!? i’ve talked about you like twice, yoongi, i swear,” you defend yourself, pushing taehyung off of him. you laugh awkwardly, yoongi shoots you both a gummy smile.

“nice to meet you, taehyung,” he completely ignores your defense. he finds it cute, your flustered face as you try to tell taehyung to shut up.

“anyways,” you huff. “yoongi thinks i followed him here, so i am showing proof that i’m actually here with you guys and not stalking him.”

your friends snort at the same time, “actually, yoongi, we have no idea who this girl is! i think she’s following you,” taehyung whisper-shouts, you smack his shoulder.

“no but really, ___ we were just gonna call it a day, seulgi said she has to go to a family dinner soon and taehyung said he was hungry,” jungkook speaks up. it’s then that you realize that their instruments were almost all packed. yoongi looks down at you, a small smile on his face once he realizes what they’re trying to do.

“i leave to pee for five minutes and you guys hatch a plan to ditch me?!” you cross your arms over your chest.

“well… we just told you, so, technically we didn’t ditch you, also i can’t drop you off, yoongi, you can drop her off, right?” taehyung smiles to him.

“i—“ yoongi starts but you cut him off with plans to scold your members. they knew exactly what they were doing and you weren’t having it.

“taehyung, you’re dropping me off, let’s not bother yoongi,” you move to pack your bass but yoongi shakes his head.

“i can drop you off,” he smiles.

“oh, see! perfect! thank you, yoongi.” taehyung grabs his hand and gives him a good shake, before you know it your members are out the door.

you sigh as you lift your case and sling it over your shoulder, “it’s okay, yoongi, i can walk.”

he rolls his eyes, “don’t be ridiculous, are you hungry? we can eat first.”

his hand is outstretched and you’re not sure what it means, does he want to hold your hand? but no, he’s asking for your bass, so he can hold it instead of you. you reject his offer, “i can hold it.”

“you’re really stubborn,” he notes. it makes you snort.

“you’re not into stubborn girls?” the joke slips from your mouth before you can think.

this is the perfect time, yoongi thinks. “if it’s you, maybe i’ll make an exception.”

you try your best not to show any type of reaction, but you can’t really ignore the way your heartbeat quickened. yoongi leads you to his car, putting your bass in the trunk as you get comfortable in the front seat. he follows you soon enough and is driving out of the studio parking lot.

“you don’t have to work?” you question. getting into the car of someone you barely know is quite risky of you, but he was your neighbor, and he was hot. that doesn’t give you a reason to trust him, though for some reason, you think you can rely on yoongi, it’s a gut feeling.

“technically i work all day, i’m on my own schedule, i basically spend the entire day in the studio,” he explains. his focus is on the road but from his peripheral he can see your body turned to him, and your eyes glued on him.

“workaholic?” you guessed, he smiles.

“you could say that.”

“that’s good then, i’m giving you a reason for a break!” you clap, your nervousness fading as you start to get comfy with yoongi.

a friendship blooms from that lucky, odd encounter that day.

you forgot how long it’s been since you officially met yoongi and spent the day with him, maybe two months? three months ago? you never kept track. but you do remember that things changed after that. the two of you so obviously flirting with each other whenever you had the chance. yoongi would offer you a ride to the studio, which you greedily took whenever he asked; because he was a cool guy to be with, and in all honesty you were trying to put the moves on him. you’re not sure if he’s taking the hints though, you’ve never been good at the shy type of flirting, most of the time you’re upfront.

speaking of being upfront: yoongi hasn’t really been complaining about your noise lately, and it’s been eerily quiet on his end. no knocks on the wall when your volume was a tad bit higher than usual, no texts telling you to ‘be quiet’ when you were practicing late at night, nothing. you figure it’s because the two of you have grown a lot closer. hanging out together and even making some inside jokes together type of close.

it’s soon that you figure out why yoongi hasn’t been upfront, complaining to you about your noise, because he talked to your apartment manager about it. you knew namjoon well, he was one of your classmates in college. his father originally owned the place, so he’s been taking over for him. you’ve grown close to namjoon due to situations that left you outside of your apartment multiple times without your keys. his master key saved your ass one too many times. so, when you received a letter from him in the mail this morning with a big red ‘important’ stamp on it. you knew you were in trouble.

the words noise complaints, your neighbor, and eviction were the only ones you needed to read for you to be stomping towards yoongi’s apartment. you didn’t care that it was ten in the morning and you’re banging on yoongi’s door. you knocked nonstop until he opened up. his sleepy face scrunched in confusion as he stood before you.

“___? what’s wrong?” his morning voice could have made you melt, if you weren’t so fucking angry. you step past him, moving inside his apartment. “okay, come in, i guess,” yoongi says as he shuts the door behind you.

“you complained about me?! i got a fucking letter from namjoon! he never sends letters!” you raise your voice. it’s too early in the morning to be yelling, your voice is a bit rough, it sounds like you’re croaking.

it’s also way too early for yoongi to be dealing with this, so his voice is soft when he says, “be quiet, we’re gonna get complaints from the other neighbors now too.” he walks up to you and your very angry expression. he just looks so kissable right now, it’s making you angrier. how could he look so perfect when you’re mad at him? that’s so rude!

you lower your voice when you ask, complying to his demand. you cross your arms over your chest, “why would you do that?”

yoongi laughs.

it makes your eyebrows furrow. was he not taking you seriously? you loved this apartment, you needed to live here. it makes the anger boil a little hotter. “you think this is funny, yoongi? i’ve—” your voice is raising once more.

this time yoongi rolls his eyes. “shut up.” his voice grew deeper than it already was, the bass traveling straight to your lower belly.

you try to act as if it had no effect on you, but your small silence before you spoke made things a little obvious. “excuse me? shut up?” you scoff. your feet carrying you closer to yoongi, breaking the distance in effort to intimidate. yoongi wasn’t one to be scared, if anything, he found it funnier.

but the way that your pretty face looks when you’re angry makes yoongi want to do more, wants to push and push because he can feel the tension between you both. you can too. “yeah, you’re so goddamn loud all the time, shut the fuck up.” he moves a little closer, the distance between you both is almost none.

it makes your eyes flicker to his lips. here you were, thinking that you were gonna teach yoongi a lesson, yet you want to kiss him. “want me to shut up?” your eyes move back to his, making eye contact. he licks his lips in anticipation. “make me,” you press.

you feel his soft hand against your cheek first, leading you to his lips. then it was the plush of his lips against yours. this feeling could definitely make you shut up. before you knew it, you were pushing yoongi over to his couch. he breaks the kiss to plop down onto the couch, you follow suit, straddling his lap.

“if you wanted to make out with me, you could have just asked.” you spoke before reattaching your lips.

he smiles into the kiss, “where’s the fun in that?”

the kiss deepens, tongues exploring each other’s mouths and small whimpers escaping your throat. they go straight to yoongi’s groin, you can feel his hard cock against your core through your sweatpants. instinctively, you grind down, the feeling makes him groan out.

his large hands move to your ass, running over them and trailing up to your waist. his hands sliding under your shirt, you know you aren’t wearing a bra, and yoongi finds out soon after. his thumbs running right over your hard nipples, “eager?” he smirks.

you roll your eyes, “i’m just cold.” the lie makes yoongi scoff, tweaking your nipples between his thumb and index fingers. now, goosebumps raise over your skin, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

“take your shirt off,” he speaks against your lips. usually, you weren’t one to follow orders, your rebellious spirit screaming in your head, telling you to take control. but you’ve never wanted anything more than to let yoongi have you, let him do whatever he wants to you. because outside of this, he just seems so nice, never mean, never demanding. you can’t help but indulge in this new side of yoongi you’ve discovered.

so you’re taking your shirt off, the breeze created by his air conditioner makes you shiver, but yoongi's warm hands are there to comfort you. running them over your breasts, squeezing them just right as he kisses down your throat. “y-yoongi—” you whimper. his lips find a certain spot that has you grinding harder onto his dick.

“you aren’t very patient,” he speaks against your skin. “i’ll let it slide this time.” a tender kiss to your neck is placed before he lingers on the spot a little longer, sucking and licking, making sure to leave a pretty red mark. he makes his way to your nipple, wrapping his mouth around the bud and sucking. the feeling makes you throw your head back, his hand tweaks your other nipple, refusing to neglect it.

it was true, you were not patient. you hated waiting too long for something, just like how you hate the feeling of your warm core go uncared for. the grinding wasn’t enough at this point, you wanted more, needed it really. “are you gonna fuck me or not?” you push him gently off of your nipple.

an almost annoyed gaze is painted on his face, “are you going to beg?” he quirks an eyebrow.

you weren’t one to plead, “no.”

“then no,” he asserts. you purse your lips, complete dissatisfaction displayed on your face. “don’t worry, kitten, i’ll make you feel good.” yoongi gives in. he didn’t know how long he could hold back, your attitude makes him want to check you, make you cum as many times he wants you to until you’re obeying.

the nickname makes you drip. he’s pushing up from below, his leg kneeling onto the couch as he lays you down. your head lays against the pillow he has on the couch, yoongi gives you a swift kiss before he moves down, trailing kisses on the valley of your breasts and your stomach, stopping just before the waistband of your sweatpants. “yoongi,” you mewl.

“hm? wanna beg now?” he challenges. his fingers teasingly slipping under the band. your body reacts so easily to his touch, your hips slightly jerking up at the graze of his hands.

but you’re stubborn, not wanting to let yoongi win even though the only thing you want right now is for him to make you feel good. “no, never.” you shake your head.

yoongi doesn't verbally reply, instead, nodding and smirking to himself. “can i eat you out then?” he asks. you don’t trust your words, so you nod, knowing you’ll fall into the trap yoongi has set. “i need to hear you say it, kitten.”

“yes,” you quickly say.

yoongi quirks a brow. “yes, what?”

you roll your eyes, just once, you tell yourself. “yes, please.”

“good girl,” he praises. you hate to admit that you liked the way he called you a good girl. your sweatpants and panties are pulled down at the same time, revealing your wet pussy. “so pretty, baby.” he positions himself between your spread legs. you bite your bottom lip in anticipation.

kisses against your thighs and pubic bone are what he starts off with, then a brief kiss to your clit that makes you gasp. “oh, god—” you lean your head back against the couch.

“also, just to let you know, the letter was a joke,” yoongi breathes. mouth ghosting your lips, where you need him the most.

at first you didn’t pay attention to what he said, a hum leaving your lips until then you realized, “what?!”

“i thought it’d be funny to scare you a little bit, namjoon and i are friends, i asked him if he could do it for me.” he explains with a smile on his face.

you rolled your eyes. you knew it was too serious to be namjoon, his style was more so speaking, not letters. you couldn’t be mad at him, at least you weren’t in trouble. but you play it up for the fun, “will you make it up to me?” a sly look on your face.

“what do you want?” he leans his head against your thigh, waiting patiently for your answer. his fingers ever so gently running up and down your thighs.

“your cock,” you demand with a mischievous smile. your hands run through his hair, eyes pleading because you won’t allow your mouth to let the words out.

yoongi acts like he thinks about it, but all he truly wants, is to devour your and make you feel so good. “you don’t deserve it.” he denies you of the pleasure you want, but he surprises you, running his tongue along your slit.

“oh— oh, yoongi,” you mewl. your hands moving to play with your boobs, but yoongi knocks your hands away. he directs them to his hair, telling you to pull. his hands replace yours, playing and tweaking with your nipples as his tongue does the work.

“taste so good, baby.” yoongi loves the sight of you so vulnerable in front of him. you’re bare, naked while yoongi still has all his clothes on. he loves it. your eager body twitching from the ministrations of his tongue. he pulls away for a second, “don’t cum until i say so.”

“that’s not— umph!” you start but yoongi retracts his hands from your breasts, bringing them back to your thighs to spread them further apart. your lips reveal your sweet spot for yoongi to take, and he’s relentless. the taste of you on his tongue drives him crazy. “that’s not fair,” you moan out.

yoongi doesn’t care. he loves being in control. so when your phone starts to ring, yoongi thinks this is the best time to assert dominance. “answer it,” he commands. he pulls away from your pussy, the loss of the feeling of his tongue makes you groan out in displeasure. in turn, yoongi rubs his middle and ring fingers against your clit. it makes you gasp. he slips the fingers in, your walls pulsating against his fingers. another moan leaves your lips. you were completely ignoring the rings coming from your phone. he repeats himself, “answer the phone, baby.”

“but,” you spoke. your worry being that you were so wound up and yoongi’s fingers were still residing inside of you. you knew it would be way too obvious.

“they won’t know,” he assures. a gentle touch against your thigh comforting you, making you believe this was a good idea.

your fucked out brain obliges, your hand moving to reach for your phone. jungkook’s contact name displayed on the screen, you press the green button and place the phone next to your ear. “jungkook? what’s up?” you answer. yoongi’s eyes locked onto yours as you speak.

“speaker,” he mouths. you nod, mindlessly obliging. taking the phone away from your ear and pressing the speaker button. his fingers dangerously still in your pussy, ready to cause chaos whenever he felt like it.

“dude! guess fucking what!” jungkook shouts over the phone. yoongi pushes deeper, bottoming out his fingers. it makes your eyes roll back, a quiet gasp escaping your lips.

you’re moving the phone away so he doesn’t hear it, but yoongi is pushing your hand back into position. “what?” you cough, trying to cover the noise.

“you okay? you sound… weird.” jungkook snorts over the phone, you can hear seulgi and taehyung in the back, their bickering all too familiar.

“i— i’m good.” you nod even though he can’t see you.

“okay, well, this guy from a record label called earlier, he said he wants to take us all out to eat and talk about our future!” jungkook informs. your eyes widen. a record deal?! even yoongi reacts, a cute, surprised look on his face. how funny was it that you were receiving this news with yoongi’s fingers fucking you.

“you’re lying.” you sit up a little bit, leaning onto your forearm. yoongi decides to be nice, letting his fingers stay stagnant in your hole so you can enjoy the news.

“i’m serious! we’re on the way to yours right now to pick you up, be ready in five minutes,” he tells you.

“right now?!” you exclaim. yoongi smirks, starting to pumping his fingers in and out of you, making your breaths a little more labored. “oh— fuck,” you groaned, you tried to cover it up by making it sound like you were annoyed. but anyone could be able to tell what you were doing, the squelch of your pussy loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear probably.

“what the hell are you—” jungkook starts but you cut him off, yoongi’s fingers moving faster and the string in your belly about to snap from the tension.

“okay, jungkook! bye! love you! see you in a bit!” you rush the words out and press the big red button to hang up, throwing your phone onto the floor as yoongi leans over you with a smile on his face.

“congratulations, baby.” he punctuates his sentence with a quick circle around your clit. you’re so wound up, you could feel tears starting to build up in your eyes.

“yoongi, please, please let me cum.” you beg, giving in to his desires. the sound of your begging is music to his ears. he smirks, quickening the tight circles around your clit. your legs spreading wider if that was even possible.

yoongi’s plans were cut short due to your new plans, but he didn’t mind. he was happy for you, and he’s never wanted to make someone cum as much as he does now. “alright, kitten, cum whenever you want,” he whispers in your ear. his fingers coated in your wetness gliding against your clit, it feels way too good. the string in your belly snapping as soon as he gave you permission.

you found yourself letting out some of the loudest moans because yoongi was just that good. “holy fuck, yoongi,” you gasp. your chest rises and falls quickly, taking in as many breaths as possible.

“good job, baby.” he kisses your neck, letting you recover before slipping his fingers out and bringing them up to your lips. at first you furrow your eyebrows, this isn’t something you usually do; but when he says, “open,” you find yourself obliging easily. “good girl,” he smiles as you suck your cum off of his fingers.

you pull his fingers from your mouth when you’re sure you’ve sucked them clean, “i got a record deal dinner, min!” you rush to put your clothes on. yoongi tries his best to help, but all he wants to do is give you a big hug. he lets you put your clothes on before he’s holding you in his grasp, while you’re trying to make your way to his door. the two of you wobbling to his door.

“let me kiss you first, rockstar.” he smiles, his hand gently taking ahold of your face and giving you a kiss. it tastes just like you, the sultry memory that will live in yoongi’s brain for as long as it’s able.

he tries to kiss you once more, but you’re pushing him away. “i gotta go, yoongi,” you giggle. his hands holding you close to him, your back pressed against his front door as you kiss each other sloppily. “yoongi!” you smile, more laughs erupting as he helps you open the door. as soon as the door slides open, yoongi’s eyes move behind you, a sly smile on his face.

you turn to see your three band mates, all of their mouths agape. “i fucking told you! pay up, idiots!” seulgi smacks the both taehyung and jungkook’s shoulders.

your face blushes tomato red. you try to hide your face as you open your apartment door. before you turn the key, you hear yoongi congratulate the four of you. “good luck at your label meeting! make sure they don’t scam you,” he advises. your bandmates laugh, thanking yoongi and moving into your apartment. they don’t let you live down the embarrassment for the entire night.

when you come back home, you sit on your couch. a smile taking over your face when you think about how great the day was. you think the dinner went perfect, and when you hear a knock on your door, it has you rushing to open it.

yoongi stands outside your door with a cupcake and a single lit candle stuck in it. “congratulations!— it went well right?”

you stand in front of him, a sweet smile on your face as you nod. “i think they loved us,” you pull him into your apartment.

“of course they did! you guys are amazing!” yoongi hugs you, holding the cupcake above your head so it doesn’t get in your hair.

the rest of the night you and yoongi enjoy each other’s presence and the two of you talk about everything and nothing.

yoongi says the cupcake is just for you, but you take a knife and split it, “for us.” you give him a quick peck before eating your half, and then kissing him once more.

for us. it repeats in yoongi’s mind.

us.

yeah, he’d like that.

500 notes · View notes

midnightsconspiracy · 3 years

Text

Stubborn

Stubborn - @midnightsconspiracy

Summary: You and Hank as both so stubborn. So arguments can be tough, but eventually one of you always caves in

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1078

Requested: Yes!!

‘Where Hank and the reader have gotten into a huge argument and since both Hank and the Reader are both stubborn. Eventually, one of them cave in you can say the rest’

A/N: If you haven't listened to ‘wie wird man seinen Schatten los’ from Mozart! The musical, specifically the one by Oedo Kuipers, I highly recommend it. I'm currently obsessed with it, although it is in German and I don’t speak the language! :)

Masterlist

You and Hank were both extremely stubborn individuals. Everyone who had met you learned that within a couple of hours of knowing you, not wanting to cross you both from that point on. And although you and Hank's relationship was great in most aspects, that one certain trait seemed to be the only downfall you had. Neither of you were ever willing to admit to being in the wrong or compromise to change your opinions at all, which led to more arguments than necessary. Sometimes it was just petty things like accidentally leaving the milk out or forgetting to do the dishes, but others it was over bigger things, that although seemed stupid afterwards, seemed huge at the time. This would lead to a huge blowout of shouting, throwing things, slamming doors, all the works. After a couple of hours or in the worst-case scenario, days, you would get back to normal, both of you reluctantly apologising before returning back to tranquillity. The arguments never seemed to have a lasting effect on your relationship, thankfully, but the days afterwards you both would walk on eggshells around each other, but that never stopped either of you from loving ferociously.

Today was another one of those days where a fight broke out, this time it was over him bringing home the animosity from work and lashing out on you. It had been a particularly tricky case, you’ll give him that, it had involved the trafficking of children. In the midst of having one of the offenders in the cage, you got in his way, telling him that it would better if the guy went through the proper authorities so that Hank would not get any repercussions for the actions he was about to commit. But he hadn’t liked that you interrupted him, just wanting to give the offender a proper beating to satisfy his need for justice. Alas, you had done it anyways ripping him and Olinsky away to hand him over for the FBI to deal with him properly. He couldn’t see past what you’d done though, thinking you incredibly stupid, keeping his grudge from the moment it had happen till after you had finished work.

You had been cooking dinner for the two of you, trying to make small talk as you went. But each time you tried he denied you, either blatantly ignoring your conversation or grunting in response. That left you raging. So you went at him, explaining your point of view from earlier today, and in your mind everything you were saying made perfect logical sense. You weren’t even being that stubborn this time, completely seeing where he was coming from but not wanting him to get into any more trouble than he was already in. He was blinded though, his old way of doing things not allowing him to see through the angry that came from your actions. That had led to the shouting, loud and obnoxious, probably waking the neighbours in the process, not that either of you cared. The shouting had led to throwing, plates, his coat, his keys. And that had finally led to you slamming the door in his face, shutting him out of your shared house to go spend the night anywhere, for all you cared.

The next morning was luckily a Saturday, meaning you didn’t have to face Hank for two days, allowing you to cool off from the argument last night. Unbeknownst to you, Hank had managed to convince Olinsky to let him sleep on the couch in the garage, which turned out to be a mistake considering it was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever slept on. But the lack of sleep had allowed for him to think about what had happened, and for once in his life admit that maybe what he had done was idiotic, he was just too stubborn to accept that he was wrong in the situation. So in the early hours of the morning, he decided he would return to the house and apologise to you, knowing this would linger on if not.

As he headed back over to your shared house, he planned out what he would do in his head. First, he would apologise and be sincere whilst saying it, and secondly, he would shower you with praise, making sure you knew how much he loved you despite the argument. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open, slowly walking into the house in order to work out your whereabouts. Finding you sat at the kitchen island, he cleared his throat to get your attention, trying not to frighten you in the process. You turned around, surprised to see your husband standing in front of you, especially after the turmoil between you two, but there he was in his full glory looking as though he was about to say something.

“If you’re gonna keep arguing with me you can leave again Hank,” you said not daring to look at him yet.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything about that, what I was going to say though is that I’m sorry. I was stupid yesterday and couldn't see past how angry I was, but now I can see that you were right, and it only took a night on Alvin’s downright disgusting couch.” He rationalised, laughing shyly at the sofa situation as he took your face between his palms, bringing you to look at him. Tears brimmed your eyes, last night was harsh on you, just wanting to protect him, since he was your husband after all. Him apologising though was a huge feat, his stubborn nature usually not allowing him to do such a thing, leading you to always do it, despite hating doing that with a passion. This was not a light thing, so the tears fell from your eyes as he wiped them away, bringing you into his arms and cradling you.

“Why are you crying sweetheart?”

“Thank you for apologising, I love you Hank so so much,” you expressed, wanting to totally overlook everything that had happened and just spend a nice, quiet evening giving and receiving affection.

“I love you to Y/N.” he replied as he hugged you, realising that arguing over menial stuff like this was pointless, it just took time away from the one he loved. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and the days away from each other were just one less in the limited lifespan they both had.

----------

Taglist: @mileika @redpoodlern @ohitshanksgirlxo @Chazubagi @scarletsoldierrr @cindydoll2 @Anotherfan07

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157 notes · View notes

nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

dance me to the end of love (i)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show

series masterpost: here

a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x

Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.

Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.

☼☼☼☼

The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.

Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.

The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”

Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”

The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”

She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.

“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”

Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”

Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.

“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”

“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”

“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”

Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”

“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.

“Who’s Gravy?”

If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.

The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.

A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”

Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”

“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.

The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.

It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.

Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.

“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.

☼☼☼☼

“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.

Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.

“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.

The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”

Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.

There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.

Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”

“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”

The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.

Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.

“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”

Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.

“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”

The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”

Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.

It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.

“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”

The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.

Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.

Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.

“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”

Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”

The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.

The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.

“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.

“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”

He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”

She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.

☼☼☼☼

Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.

“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.

“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”

Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”

There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”

“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.

Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.

There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.

“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.

If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.

“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.

Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”

The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.

A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.

“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.

It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.

“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.

Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.

Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!

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imaginedxlan · 3 years

Text

Pike (George Weasley)

a/n: i have an addiction. i’m sorry. take this platform away from me. anyway ENEMIES TO LOVER BITCHES.

You’ve always hated George Weasley. You can’t quite explain why, but the two of you have had bad blood since the moment you met freshman year. it’s nothing either of you said or did, just the general presence of the other always set something off in the two of you. however, you weren’t going to give up partying at his frat just because you hated the red haired boy.

warnings: alcohol & cussing, unconsensual touching but it isn’t graphic(not by george obv), mentions of sex and assault/sexual violence, violence and fratboy!georgie

i’m very serious when i say do not read this if you’re easily triggered or impacted by the theme of sexual assault. there is nothing graphic in this fic but i know it is very easy to be triggered by even the smallest mention. if you ever and i mean EVER need someone to talk to about anything pertaining to the topic, my messages are always open. dealing with sexual assault in any form is one of the most traumatising things a person can go through. please never hesistate to reach out if you’re struggling. i love you guys so much, i never want to go suffer in silence.

if you or someone you know if struggling with a rape or sexual assault, you can call 800.656.HOPE (4673) to be connected to a sexual assault service provider in your area. all my hugs and kisses to you all, i love you with all my heart❤️

saturday nights on campus are nothing short of lively for you and your friends. whether you’re testing your fake ids at every bar on the main street or dancing in a sweaty frat basement, there’s never been a dull weekend.

pike has always been your favorite fraternity to attend . you’d become close with some of the pledges on your floor your freshman year and have become obsessed with shutting down every function they hold at the house. there is one part of pi kappa alpha, however, that you could do without. george weasley.

the six three, red haired monster has been getting under your skin for an entire year now. since you met in your first semester of freshman year, you and george had never been on good terms. between the constant teasing from him or your drunk screaming matches that you’ve initiated almost every weekend, it’s safe to say that you two need to be kept as far away from each other as possible.

your friends have never understood the feud. they’ve always described george as one of the nicest guys they’ve ever met. he takes their coats at the door of every pike party to hide in his room to keep them safe from the drunk kleptomaniacs or vomit that inevitably spews from the mouth of a freshman girl. he’s always kept an eye out for your friends, but when it comes to you he swears if murder was legal you’d be six feet under by now.

as you and your friends got ready in your shared apartment for the night ahead of you, the annual pike’s peak ski themed party, you loathe the fact that you’ll be forced to see him again. you wish more than anything that he wasn’t so close with your friends, but alas, he is.

“y/n, can you please promise me something?” Angelina pleads, making you pause your makeup routine to look at her as if to say ‘go on.’ “no fighting with george tonight, we all need one night when the two of you aren’t at each other’s throats.”

if only it were that easy. there have been times in the past when angie and katie have convinced you to play nice with the boy, but he always ends up starting some type of fight with you.

“angie i’ve told you, i have no problem ignoring him for the good of the group,” you reiterate the countless times you’ve tried to prove to the girls that you’re the bigger person. “it’s him you should be talking to, he always starts it.”

katie sighs, already imagining the screaming match that will ensue tonight. “well if he starts something just walk away, easy as that.”

you mull it over for a minute. as much as ignoring him will make it seem like you’ve run out of insults, your vocal chords could use the rest this weekend. you agree to try and keep your mouth shut around george.

the three of you zip up your obnoxiously bright ski jackets over the black sports bras and jeans you’re wearing. you loved pikes peak, you could put in virtually no effort and still look like you spent hours getting ready.

the pike house is already buzzing with the bass of whatever mix oliver wood put together for the party. it’s not a pike party without ollie behind the dj booth. the high that you’re on as you walk past the pledges fades as your faced with george weasley.

just ignore him.

“look at my most beautiful groupies,” he says with a smile, scanning over angie and katie. “and...whatever that is.”

you can already feel your cheeks heat up with rage and your fists tighten. you take a deep breath and repeat katie’s words just an hour ago, ‘walk away.’ you roll your eyes at the boy and move your way through the party, eventually taking your spot next to ollie behind the dj stand.

“well hey there miss y/n,” ollie greets you, resting his headphone around his neck and pulling you into a hug. “half expected you to be beating weasley to a pulp by now.”

you laugh at his honesty, everyone expects some huge blow up between you and george within the first few minutes of a party. “trying something new, ignoring him for the night. can’t tire myself too much.”

ollie just smiles and goes back to the music. you’re adding songs to the queue and laughing along with him. you almost forgot how much you missed spending time with him, most of your interactions with the boy group ending with a fight with weasley without even being able to talk with the other boys.

across the room, george is watching you actually enjoy yourself and is fuming. he’s so used to being able to get under your skin, so you blowing him off was a major knock to his ego. he thrives on your reactions to his teasing, feeling like he doesn’t even have a purpose at this party now that you’re ignoring him.

you eventually leave oliver behind the booth and find angelina and katie, luckily they’re now where near george, rather dancing with his twin. you’ve always liked fred, but your constant arguing with his brother makes it hard for you to have any sort of friendship with him. this is the first pike party you’ve been to all year that you’re genuinely enjoying yourself. dancing with your friends, drinking without a care. the night is actually starting to look up.

you tell angie and katie that you’re off to the bathroom, the beers and seltzers finally catching up to your bladder. as you make your way through the crowd of people, you finally make it to the bathroom which is in the furthest corner of the house. before you can reach for the handle, someone is grabbing at your wrist.

“let’s go to my room.” the boy slurs, you turn to see a tall boy, far taller than you. you recognise his face but don’t know his name.

“no than-“

“i wasn’t asking,” he cuts you off and grabs your hip with his other hand. “come on i know you want to.”

“no just get off of me!” you yell trying to push his hands away from you but his death grin on your body doesn’t seem to be loosening. using your free hand you start beating the boys chest and that seems to just make him angrier. “you’re hurting me! just get off, i’m not coming to your room!”

even though you feel like your screaming the loud music seems to drown out the noise from anyone who could come and help you. even though the boy is obviously stronger than you, that doesn’t stop you from continuing to hit him in the hopes that his drunken state will take him off of you. your efforts are to no avail as his mouth connects with your neck, sucking harshly, making you scream out again. your head is thrashing, continuing to attempt to free yourself from his grasp.

“no! stop get off of me, please!” you shriek, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. before you can realize what’s going on the boy is ripped from you and pinned up against the wall. you don’t even look to see what’s happening, just trying the catch your breath.

“she said no!” you immediately recognize the voice. george weasley. he fist connects with the boys jaw, almost knocking him unconscious as he’s still pushed against the wall. “what the fuck is wrong with you pucey! don’t you ever fucking touch her again!”

george still screaming as the boy you know realize is adrian pucey, is wailing in pain as george’s fists continue to meet his body. you don’t want to watch this anymore so you grab george’s hand before he can hit adrian again.

“stop, please.” it’s softer than you wanted it to come out but george still hears you. he drops adrian to the ground and takes a hold of your shoulders. even in the dark he’s examining your face for any sign of adrian’s abuse, his eyes land on the growing bruise on your neck and his fingers lightly trace over the mark. his other hands goes to your face, using his thumb to wipe the stream of tears.

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, eyes still trained on the hickey adrian unconsensually left on your neck. “i would’ve killed him.”

“why are you doing this, weasley?” you step back from him, crossing yours arms over your chest. “go on and tell everyone how you had to pull pucey off of me. how i was crying like a little baby. how helpless i was, i know that why you’re here.”

a flash a hurt crosses his face, he shakes his head. “is that really what you think of me?”

“of course it is, you’ve never given me a reason to think anything else,” you reply, wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks. “just leave weasley, i can’t take whatever’s going to come out of your mouth, not tonight okay? i could’ve handled this myself.”

“yeah you were doing a great job of handling it before i came it,” he scoffs and goes to walk away, kicking pucey one last time for good measure, but stops himself. “would you just stop arguing and follow me?”

you go to protest but figure you’re not in any mood to argue with him. he reaches his hand out to guide you through the sea of people but your arms stay folded against your chest. he rolls his eyes and leads you up the stairs and into a bedroom. you’d never been in his bedroom before. he goes into his closet to pull out a sweatshirt and tosses it your way.

“i’m not wearing this,” you tell him, throwing it back at him and he groans at your stubborn attitude. “why am i in your room, weasley?”

“does the word thank you not exist in your vocabulary?” he asks with a bitter tone. “i don’t care if you wear it, i’m leaving.”

he slams the door behind him and leaves you by yourself again. you look in the mirror on his wall at the disheveled sight looking back at you. your mascara collected under your eyes from your tears, the dark hickey from pucey on your cheek, bruises forming on your wrist and hip. you thought you had cried all the tears out before but seeing the damage he had done pulls sobs from your lips. you’re shaking at the memory of what happened, the thought of what could have happened. you collapse on george’s floor.

almost immediately the door swings open. you’re hoping maybe george told angie or katie and they were coming to take you home but it’s just george standing there. he never left his door, seeing pucey attack you like that made him fear that it might happen to you again. he quickly shuts the door behind him and crouches next to you as you struggle to catch your breath.

“hey, hey what’s going on you were fine a few second ago,” he tries to read your face but it’s hidden in your hands. “look at me, y/n, please.”

you lift your face to look him in the eyes. your puffy eyes and red cheeks make his heart sink. this is the first time he’s looked at you and felt something other than utter annoyance. you look so sad.

“i-i’m so s-scared,” you stutter through your speech. “if you hadn’t come he could’ve, it would have turned into -”

“don’t talk like that,” he begs you, still staying a bit of a distance from you. “i was there, i stopped it. you’re safe now.”

once you calm down he pleads for you to lay down and get some rest. you finally take the sweatshirt from him and wrap it around your body. he leans down to crouch in front of you, your eyes still welled with tears. he pats your head and goes to leave. in reality he would be posted outside the door for the rest of the night, but he’d never tell you that. As he shuts off the lights and opens the door, you squeak out a plea, “can you stay? please.”

george hesitates, he knows showing any kind of compassion for you in this moment will inevitably put a rift in your strict enemies only relationship. the one he’s been so set on keeping since he started developing feelings for you last semester. the only way he could keep you close while also concealing his feelings was to pick those fights with you every weekend. this would change everything.

however, seeing you curled up in his bed, shaking under his blankets, your eyes wide with fear broke something in him. he let out a deep sigh before closing his door again and locking it behind him. he stands in place for a minute, unsure of what to do from here.

“george,” you call out, voice cracking. you hadn’t called him by his first name in months. “thank you.”

“you haven’t called me george in a while.”

“shut up, weasley,” you immediately reply, making george chuckle. he decides to sit on the edge of his bad facing you, watching you continue to shake as sporadic sobs come from your frail frame. it’s breaking his heart. He eventually comes up to lay beside you, careful not to touch you. partly due to the fact that he knows you’re probably traumatised by pucey’s attack on you and also partly due to him knowing he may not be able to control himself from taking you in arms until you stop your terrible shaking.

it wasn’t george that first moved closer, it was you. you weren’t sure if it was the fact that he just saved you from a potentially life shattering situation or the fact that his room felt like subzero but you wanted to be close to him.

“why is your room so cold?” you ask with a shiver. “i feel like i’m in the arctic.”

“don’t be such a baby it’s not that cold,” he scoffs, giving you the same tone he always has. something in you is disappointed, partly hoping that maybe this changed something. maybe you were overthinking him being so doting on you tonight. of course things wouldn’t be different. why would you want them to be? what he did tonight he would do for any girl in thai party. while you don’t get to see that side of him, angie and katie have always talked about how protective he is, you just never thought it would extend to you.

“why’d you help me?” you ask, staring at him dead in the eyes. his breath hitches, he’s not sure why. he would do it for anyone, no questions asked. he’s never been the guy to look the other way when a girl is hurting, but what was he doing all of this for you. surely he wouldn’t bring just anyone up to his room, he wouldn’t stay if they asked.

“i wasn’t going to let pucey hurt you like that, i wouldn’t let him do it to anyone,” he replies, hoping you’ll be off the topic from now on.

“you would’ve killed him if i hadn’t stopped you.” george thinks back to the moment. how angelina had pleaded for him to find you after you’d been gone for so long. how he heard your cries over the music, you screaming no. how pucey had himself attached to you and the rage bubbled over in him.

“would you come off of it?” he asked sternly, fearing if this conversation moved any further he would be confessing that he’s never actually hated you. “i forgot how annoying you were for a second there, i’m getting out of here.”

your heart sinks at his words. you were already in shambles and he decided to be his same old asshole self. it hurt. you immediately sat up and watched as he grasped the door handle but didn’t turn it.

“classic, something gets hard and you’re running away,” you spit at him. you needed someone there, you needed him there, and he was running off. “go on weasley, be the little bitch you are, run off and tell everyone how big bad george weasley beat up pucey just to leave me up in your room where he could for sure do it again.”

“you just love running that fucking mouth of yours don’t you?” george snaps, his face beginning to heat up. this is always how it starts. his tone is playfully arrogant until it switches completely. “you think i would just leave you in here where anyone could come in? are you really that stupid? i would’ve staid outside the fucking door all night if that’s what it took for you to sleep after ehat happened, i just can’t be in this fucking room with you.”

you roll your eyes at how dramatic he is. as if staying in a room with you for one night would kill him. in his mind, however, it might. seeing you curled up in his bed, in his clothes, begging for him to stay, it’s all too much for him to handle.

“yeah sure you would. you wouldn’t go chasing after your brother the second he called that some girl was asking for you. this is all for show, you’re trying to make me seem like the one you can’t coexist with you,” you shout. “then everyone can blame me for this stupid fucking fight we’ve been having for an entire year. you can be the innocent one, that’s it isn’t it?”

george can’t believe how blind you are. how you’ve failed to notice that every time you get up in his face to yell at him he loses his breath. that you can’t see that teasing you is his only way to keep you coming back to pike. that he almost killed pucey because he likes you. he so painfully likes you.

“you’re an idiot you know that?” he yells, taking his hand off the doorknob. “seriously how dumb can you be? you really think i’m doing all of this for my image?”

“then answer my fucking question, weasley,” you spit at him, becoming angrier every minute that he won’t admit his own obsession with how everyone perceives him. “why. are. you. helping. me.”

every word comes out dripping with the venom of your rage. getting george to admit he’s a self centered, self serving asshole will give you all the evidence you need to show katie and angie that this feud is his fault, not yours. he begins to pace around the room, hands going to his hair as he looks deep in thought. your eyes never leave him, watching as he slowly unwinds in front of you. it’s happening, he’s going to admit it.

“you want to know why? you really want to know why i’m doing all this? why i dedicate my fucking saturday nights to fighting with you? that’s what you really want?”

“that’s what i asked isn’t it?”

“because i fucking like you, okay?” he shouts, making your heart stop. your jaw is practically on the floor, this is not the confession you were expecting. his face softens along with his tone, “i like you.”

he’s quiet, almost inaudible over the muffled bass of the music coming from downstairs. you face hasn’t changed, your brain is empty. your completely unable to move. you begin to shake your head after a minute, repeating the words ‘no’ and ‘you’re lying.’

“fuck this,” george finally speaks up, going back to reach for the door. “have a nice life, y/n, don’t bother coming back here after tonight.”

“george stop!” you yell which makes him stop in his tracks. his first name again. it makes his heart ache. he can’t get involved, he can’t fall into your trap. he continues to make his way to get as far from you as he possibly can. “george i mean it! stop running away from me.”

you’re now off the bed, following close behind him. you’re swimming in his sweatshirt, the material falling just below your knees. you don’t know why you suddenly have the urge to touch him, to be with him but it’s there. him threatening you to never come back made your chest tighten, not because you’ll be missing parties, but you’ll be missing him. memories of your screaming matches flood your brain, the absolute high you’re on as you’re staring up at him after shouting something offensive his way. the way you can never seem to catch your breath when he’s around you. the fact that you continue coming back, knowing he’s going to hurt your feelings in some way or another, because it means you’ll be with him. as toxic and backwards as it seems, you’ve never hated george. you were utterly obsessed with him. when you finally reach him, grabbing his hand to stop him fleeing, his whole body snaps to turn toward you. he looks wild.

“what could you possibly have to say to me?” he shouts, making you step back. his words are fueled by anger and hatred. when he sees you back away from him, he immediately regrets his tone. “come to gloat? to make fun of me? save it, y/n. i don’t want to hear it.”

you don’t say a word. on the crowded staircase of your drunk classmates you do the last thing you could have ever imagined doing with george weasley. you kiss him.

he’s completely taken aback, freezing in his place as soon as he feels your soft lips against his. one hand is wrapped around the back of his neck and the other is holding his cheek. eventually, reality hits the boy and he’s pulling you into him by your hips. you wince in pain from the tender bruise aching on your hip from pucey’s hands and george immediately pulls away to see if you’re alright.

“god, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i didn’t realize he hurt you so bad,” he starts to ramble on, keeping his hands off of you to keep from hurting you. “y/n, i’m — i just — i don’t know what to say.”

your hand is still on his face, your thumb stroking over his cheek bone. you can’t believe you had just kissed the boy you had sworn to hate for the rest of your life. pulling your hands away from your body you take a hold of his that are hovering inches away from your hips. you move they to lay against your waist and move yours to return to his face. you lean yourself back up toward him again, capturing his lips for the second time tonight. he didn’t hesitate this time, pulling you closer to him.

as soon as you pull away from each other, you’re soon walking back to his room hand in hand. he closes the door and flicks on the lights. being with him now feels astronomically different. the tension that once plagued any room you two shared has melted away.

“i didn’t want to pressure you into doing that,” he says softly, his palm resting on your cheek as the two of you sit only inches from each other on his bed. “especially after what pucey did to you, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

you stop him from spiraling any further into a pit of blame. “i feel safe with you georgie, i wouldn’t have stayed in here with you, kissed you, if i didn’t. you know i’d be the last to admit this, but you saved me, i owe you one.”

a small smile tugs on his lips. he can’t help but feel his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s going a thousand miles and hour. “consider the debt repaid,” he replies, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “i don’t think i would’ve ever been able to face you after tonight if you hadn’t come running after me.”

your smile mirrors his, unable to contain the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. the two of you just stare at each other for a while, trying to imprint this moment in your memory forever.

“can i kiss you again?” he asks, his lips so close that you can feel his breath against yours. you nod against his forehead, silently begging to feel his warmth again.

kissing george is like nothing you’d ever felt before. you spent your entire life kissing boys that meant nothing to you, this feels like home. his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring every inch of you, memorising how you feel as if you’ll be stolen from him at any second. he’s thought of this exact moment for months, every time you fought, every time he spoke to you, he imagined what it would feel like to have you like this.

“still feels like a tundra in here,” you tell him after you pull away. he takes you by your good wrist and urges you to lay next to him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body wishing he would never have to let go.

“better?”

“better.” you reply, letting you hand rest against his chest, feeling his heart beat. “this is not how i imagined this night going.”

“neither,” he says, running his fingers up and down your side. “never thought i’d get to hold you like this.”

your cheeks heat up, not from your usual rage but from the sudden rush on nerves. you don’t know how to act around him when you’re not about to beat his face in. he gently pulls your face from where it’s hiding in his chest to admire you. he presses his lips softly against yours, then moves to either cheek, then to your forehead.

“what happens now?” you ask, suddenly hit with the realization that you can’t go on with the feud that’s been bubbling between the two of you for the past year. you’ll have to tell your friends that you don’t hate each other anymore, that you did the unthinkable and kissed george weasley.

“i don’t care,” he says simply. “we could continue fighting until my dying breath, i just don’t want to be without you. ever.”

“what a little sap-fest you’ve become,” you tease holding yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at the boy. “who knew the george weasley could be so sentimental.”

“oh shut up,” he nudges your shoulder, pulling his arms from around you to rest behind his head. “you’re the one who kissed me, y/n, you started this.”

you let out a giggle, resting your head against his chest. you talk for hours about everything and nothing at all. eventually you hear the music die from downstairs, your phone buzzing with texts from angie and katie worried sick about where you ran off to. you tell them you’re fine and you’ll explain tomorrow. it’s an unspoken assumption that after all these months of fighting, you’ll be sleeping in george’s bed, cuddled up to him like you have been for the last few hours. you turn from your phone to see him stripping his shirt from his body, going to pull his khakis from his body and your heart stops.

“george i-” you start, not being able to form a coherent sentence. “i’m sorry but i can’t do anything like that, not tonight, not after what happened.”

his face turns down in worry, swiftly pulling a pair of sweats from his drawer to cover his bare legs. “oh my god, no y/n that’s not where i thought this was going at all. i usually sleep without a shirt on but it that makes you uncomfortable i can put one on. i’m so sorry i wasn’t even thinking.”

you sigh in relief, of course he wasn’t going to ask you to do anything like that after what he saw. you can’t believe you assumed that of him.

“no, no i’m sorry i know you would never,” you reply, rubbing your face between your palms. “i’m just on edge.”

he sits next to you, already holding a pair of boxers for you to wear and places them in front of you. he runs his hands up your arms. “don’t apologize to me, you’re allowed to be on edge after that. i should’ve been more conscious of that. i can go to the bathroom while you change if you want, unless you want to stay in your jeans.”

you shake your head, pulling the denim off your legs and replacing them with george’s boxers. you’re safe with him, you remind yourself.

“thank you, george,” you say quietly. “for everything.”

“i’d do it again, a hundred times over if i had to,” he tells you, pulling you into his arms to hold you. “do you want to talk about it?”

you shake your head no and he nods. he lays the two of you back and pulls his blankets other you. your head lays against his bare chest, feeling the most secure you have in your life. george’s breath eventually steadies as he slips into a deep sleep. it’s the easiest he’s ever been able to fall asleep, feeling completely comfortable with you in his arms. you fall asleep soon after him, the arms of george weasley and the walls of pi kappa alpha lulling you into the sweetest dreams.

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #frat boy george weasley #george weasley modern #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #harry potter imagine

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 7/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

The city he had chosen to stay in was terrible.

It was noisy, it was crowdy, and the constant heat was making Levi go insane.

And while the city’s loudness and the amount of people in it made it easier for him to blend in, get lost in plain sight and all that bullshit, the heat— the fucking heat, gods, it was killing him.

Levi didn’t like cold weather, despised all the layer of clothes he had to put on just to get to the nearest supermarket and buy instant noodles, he hated the snow with passion he carried since his childhood, he thought that winter was the worst season of them all.

Oh, how wrong he was.

The heat was making his skin crawl. Even in just tank top and shorts, he felt too hot. Drinking cold water, taking cold showers, none of it helped. Levi turned the air conditioning in his room on maximum, but the motel he was staying at was shitty, his room was shitty, and, as a result, the air conditioning was shitty too.

Levi was sick of it. His skin was constantly clammy and sticky, he couldn’t sleep at night, there was never enough air around him, and walking around the city during the daytime made him seriously consider whether he was actually a vampire.

The sun… could it really burn so much? It didn’t used to be so unbearable before.

But apart from that… Levi was starting to accommodate to his new life.

Leaving his hometown behind, he decided to let go of his previous habits too. He got himself a job - not a respectable, but at least an honest one.

Being a janitor in a shitty bar after spending most of his life as a thief was almost… therapeutic.

The vomit on the walls and piss on the floors were enraging him to the point of seeing red and sometimes he wanted to break a leg of every asshole who didn’t know when they had enough and went to make a mess in the toilet, but… working there was therapeutic nevertheless. And a definite improvement too.

At least, his life wasn’t in danger anymore and he didn’t have to run away from police.

Although, he wouldn’t mind running away from a certain police officer. Perhaps, this time he would let her catch him. Perhaps, then his heart would stop clenching in pain every time he thought about Hange.

Perhaps, then he’d be able to let go.

He tried letting go, forgetting about Hange, just as he tried to put behind his life of crime. Unfortunately, putting Hange behind proved to be that much harder.

Some nights, when the heat was especially bad, he felt especially lonely and the shitty whiskey at the shitty bar he was working at didn’t do the trick, he’d snuck a look at how Hange was doing. He’d open his phone, scroll through a news feed. If he’d get lucky, there would a recording of some press conference with Hange at the center of it all.

Apparently, she was doing well. Her shoulder was almost healed, although sometimes she still winced, when gesticulating too frantically. But the paleness in her face that was present when he had visited her at the hospital was long gone, and at the few press conferences that allowed Levi to catch a glimpse of her, Hange’s cheeks were adorned by healthy, rosy blush. Her hair was just as wild, just as messy, and her voice carried the same inspiring conviction.

Whether Hange found out the truth about him or not, he didn’t know, but she had moved past Ackermans’ case and during the time Levi was getting used to his new life she alredy solved two robberies.

She was working on a new case now, something about a young girl who had mysteriously vanished. Levi didn’t bother to find out the details, the name Krista Lenz meant nothing to him, but nevertheless, he wished that Hange would succeed. She deserved that, her quick wit and determination were meant to be recognized and celebrated.

That bright, happy smile on her face, the one she was sporting during the conference that discussed one of the solved robberies, it suited Hange so much. Levi wished she’d wear it more often.

He wished he’d see it more often, but well… some things just weren’t meant to be.

Strangely so, Kenny didn’t contact him even once. No obnoxious phone call, no mysterious messages or weird gifts. There was no sign of him for almost two months, and Levi would have started worrying, would have tried to contact the man himself, if… if Kenny wasn’t Kenny.

His uncle was like a cockroach, Levi was one hundred percent sure that nothing and no one could cause him any harm. And if there was someone who actually could do this, Kenny would have harmed them back, ten times worse.

Still, the thoughts about Kenny lingered at the back of his mind, and memories about Hange did the same irritating thing. It made Levi feel awfully nostalgic sometimes, borderline melancholic. And fairly quickly he found out there was nothing he could do about it. No amount of whiskey or dirty toilets could chase that sadness away. That sadness was a new part of his new life.

Maybe, it was better than always living on the edge.

Luckily, he didn’t feel so lonely all the time, his colleagues at the bar made sure of that.

And while his boss, a bald, gross man called Shadis definitely wasn’t a joy to have around, two others – a barmaid named Sasha and waiter Connie were so much better.

They were annoying in their own right, of course. Sasha had a weird obsession with food, Connie’s sense of humor left much to be desired, and together both of them were so damn loud, but for brats who barely stepped into adulthood, they provided a fairly enjoyable company.

They let Levi take his mind off certain things, and they kept him from falling into the abyss of loneliness and depression.

They also opened up the side of him that Levi wasn’t even aware of.

Connie had once mentioned in a passing that his mother had died years ago, and whatever happened to Sasha’s family, she wasn’t living with them anymore, sharing a small flat with Connie and another guy, Jean.

In Levi’s humble, unbiased opinion, Jean was a self-centered, pompous jerk. He wasn’t working in the bar with his two friends, and instead had involved himself in some shady shit with a local gang, which apparently terrified the whole neighborhood. Levi wanted to tell the boy that he was a fucking idiot, if he thought that messing with criminals was a good idea, but he doubted that Jean would listen. Luckily, Jean wasn’t around too often and visited the bar only, when he was miserable about some girl he had a crush on, or whenever he wished to get drunk for free.

It was a good thing that Levi barely interacted with Jean. The boy was so annoying. And also – too damn tall.

He didn’t hear about any other friends of theirs, and as far as Levi was aware, there was no actual adult watching over Sasha and Connie, so… he kinda, unwillingly, of course, took that task upon himself.

Obviously, he made sure to remain discreet. He didn’t want the brats to know that he cared, because he didn’t, naturally.

He claimed that he simply cooked too much food and the leftovers would go to waste, if he didn’t give them away, when he brought them pasta or soup. He mentioned his insomnia and pretended that long walks helped him sleep better, when Sasha and Connie went home after midnight. He lied about having experience in bartending when Sasha got stomach flu. He said that he was just accidentally passing by their apartment, when later that day he visited to check on her.

The brats were too dense to notice his subtle attempts anyway, or so Levi hoped. They had never brought it up, and that had to mean something, right?

And that time when Connie tried to fix Levi’s air conditioning, or when Sasha brought a whole jar of his favorite tea, or all those evenings when he felt blue and homesick and they helped him clean the bar and took him out to dinner, surely it was nothing more than a coincidence.

The brats had their moments, Levi had to admit, and sometimes their presence was almost pleasant.

But sometimes they made him wish they shut their mouths and never opened them again.

Right now, that desire was more prevalent than ever.

“Say, Mister Levi,” Levi hated when they called him that, it made him sound even older than he actually was. He told them to stop it, many times. But the brats didn’t care. He slowly raised his eyes to show that he was listening. As soon as he did, Sasha put a fist underneath her chin, forgetting about the important task of cleaning the glasses to stare at him curiously. “Do you have someone?”

“Someone?” he had an inkling of what Sasha was asking him about, but he didn’t wish to discuss that with the damned brats. He didn’t wish to discuss that topic with no one, ever. Because… there was nothing to discuss.

“Yep, someone!” Connie chimed in. “Like, hm, a significant other?”

“A beloved!” Sasha agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

Levi felt the migraine coming. “I don’t have any kind of someone,” he gritted. “And I never did.”

“Really?” Sasha tilted her head to the side, looking so skeptical that Levi was ready to get offended. Was he not convincing enough? “I thought you do. It’s just that sometimes—”

“When you think no one is looking!” Connie swiftly added.

“Your face seems so much softer, and your scowl almost disappears, and you look—”

“Just like Jean when he thinks about Mikasa.”

Who the fuck was Mikasa? And what face was Jean making? Levi couldn’t be making the same one, could he?

“But if you say there is no one,” Sasha sighed, returning to her task of cleaning glasses. Wearing the same sad face as she did, Connie went back to gathering dishes from the tables. “Then I guess we’re wrong.”

Damn right, they were. There was no one, and whatever face they thought he was making, it couldn’t possibly be related to a certain police officer from the other side of the world.

“And if there is no one you have to think about,” Sasha winked, like she was seeing right through him. “Then let me make you a drink. It’s a new recipe I found, it involves tequila, vodka and—”

Levi raised a hand to cut her off. “Just surprise me.”

Sasha nodded and went to work. She frequently let Levi taste her new cocktails. He was the perfect man for it – he didn’t get drunk too fast, and he was the only Sasha’s friend who tasted something better than cheap whiskey or a beer from a local supermarket. He also never shied away from telling her when the drink was fucking awful.

Sasha hummed as she mixed the drink, some song Levi vaguely recognized from the radio. She was smiling too, she did that frequently, and something about her, be it the ponytail that jumped up and down when she was excited, or her easy-going, cheerful personality reminded him of Hange.

These days, lots of things reminded him about Hange. There were days when almost everything reminded him of Hange. It seemed like today was exactly a day like that.

“You’re making that same face again,” Sasha whispered, as she handed him the drink.

Levi scowled, glaring at the girl, as he put the glass up to his lips. He finished it in one go. “It tastes like shit,” he told her. “Put it on the menu.”

Sasha beamed, refilling his glass. “Knew you’d like it.”

“By the way, boss,” Levi wasn’t their boss, as far as he was aware, their actual boss was getting drunk in his office, all the while mumbling incomprehensible gibberish about some Carla. But Levi had to admit, being called boss was so much better than the godforsaken mister Levi. "Are you free tonight?"

Levi was free every day and every night, when he wasn’t working in the bar with Connie and Sasha. It wasn’t like he had any friends or even acquaintances beside two brats. However, saying it out loud would make him look even more pathetic that he actually was. So Levi shrugged, and said, as nonchalantly as possible, “Depends.”

“Would you like to come over for dinner?” Connie asked, looking at him with a smile so hopeful that Levi was ready to say yes right that instant. God, they already had him wrapped around their fingers. How embarrassing. At least, Kenny wasn’t here to witness it. He’d have a laugh of his life, if he found that Levi was adopted by two teenagers. “Jean is away on a trip, so we’d be glad to have some company.”

“He went to see his family?”

From the way Sasha bit her lip and Connie refused to meet his eye, Levi knew – their friend didn’t go on a simple trip. He sighed, taking a sip from his glass and letting the bitter liquid burn his throat. Admittedly, it was none of his business. He shouldn’t care about it, he wasn’t their father, for god’s sake. But… a friendly piece of advice wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Your friend plays with fire. And if he continues doing so—”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie crossed hands on his chest defensively. “He is smart.”

Levi couldn’t help but scoff. “Just being smart is not enough. There will always be someone smarter.”

“Jean knows what he is doing,” Connie repeated stubbornly. “He’ll be fine.”

Maybe, he will, maybe, he won’t. At the end of the day, Levi had no say about it. He might call them brats, but they were already adults. They were allowed to do as they wished. They were bound to make some mistakes.

“Tell him to be more careful. Otherwise, you’ll suffer too.”

Levi left it at that, not wanting to antagonize Sasha and Connie any further. Besides, it was time to open the bar, or the drunkards all across the block would start banging on their doors. Worse than that, Shadis might come out of his office too. His sour face was the last thing Levi wished to see.

“Let’s get to work,” he nodded to the kids, and took his drink to the dark corner of the room, where he usually spend his shifts, waiting until the patrons start making a mess he’d have to clean.

Surprisingly, the evening came and went, but there was no mess for him to deal with. No one vomited, no one shitted all over the toilets. No one spilled their beer on the floor, or even a table. Were their patrons starting to learn how act like people, and not pigs? Or were they so well-behaved because it was just the beginning of a week? Or did the heat finally get to them and turn them just as slow and tired as Levi himself felt?

However, the weather was more merciful that day. The temperature was still high, too high for Levi’s taste, but just after the sunset the wind was starting to pick up, the storm slowly brewing. During the smoke break outside the bar, Levi could see the lightening, illuminating the far edge of the sky. The rain was in the air, and he allowed his lips to curl up in a pleased smile. Perhaps, he’d finally be able to sleep through the whole night and not toss and turn, feeling like the bed turned into a scorching pan.

When he went back inside, the bar was almost empty, just a few regulars left, nursing their half-finished drinks.

“Do you want to have pizza or sushi?” Sasha asked, as he started sweeping the floor. “We can order both if you wish.”

Levi rolled his eyes with a disgusted tsk. “Eating so much takeout is unhealthy. Let’s finish here and go to supermarket. I’ll cook you something decent.”

Connie yelled a loud yahoo, while Sasha squeezed him in a suffocating hug. The heartwarming moment was cut short, when the door to the bar was thrown open with a loud bang.

It let inside the gush of wind and drops of freezing rain. With a broom still in his hands, Levi turned sharply to the door, ready to rip the unlucky drunkard a new one, the bar had closed almost an hour ago, the sign was right there for everyone to see.

All harsh words died on the way between his throat and his tongue. Levi froze on the spot, and in the silence that followed the lightning strike was as sudden as a gunshot.

Sasha’s distressed cry and Connie’s shocked sob put him out of the stupor.

Throwing the broom away, Levi moved, catching the falling, bloodied boy into his arms.

“Jean!” Sasha was the first one of the two to snap out of it. She ran to Levi, with trembling hands lifting up her friend’s face.

“What the fuck had happened?” Connie kneeled next to them, his eyes wide and scared as he stared at Jean.

Jean looked awful, there was no way around it. His cheeks and jaw were bruised, his right eye was already swollen, and his light brown hair had too much red in it.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, too weak and injured to offer something more than a shaking whisper. “I’m sorry, I’ve fucked up, I didn’t know where to run and now they’re coming here, I didn’t mean to do this, I didn’t think, I—”

He could continue that nonessential ramble for the rest of the night. But if they, whoever those they were, were truly coming, Jean and his friends didn’t have that much time. Carefully, Levi lifted Jean’s arm, wincing when he saw that the boy’s shirt was bloodied too, and threw it over Connie’s shoulder. Then he took the key from the back pocket of his shorts and thrusted it into Sasha’s palm.

“Take him to my room in the motel.”

“And you?”

Levi pushed the hair away from his face, already hating himself for his next words. Kenny was right, he cared too much, and it was his biggest weakness, one that would probably get him killed one day. Perhaps, that day had already arrived.

“I’ll stay here and buy you some time.”

“No!” Jean protested, frantically grabbing Levi by the elbow. “It’s my fuck up, you shouldn’t get involved, you don’t know—”

“I do know. And unlike you, I can actually take care of myself.”

Perhaps, he was too harsh, but it was necessary. Jean had fucked up, and whatever he had done, he had to own that mistake and learn from it. That was the only way he would survive through another one of his mistakes.

“Hurry up,” he told Sasha and Connie. “I’ll meet you as soon as I’m finished.”

Thankfully, they didn’t try to argue. Connie wished him luck and Sasha made him promise to come back, and that was it.

As soon as they had left, Levi hopped behind the bar counter to pour himself a shot of whiskey. He lighted up a cigarette, waiting for the front door to swing open and Jean’s persecutors to arrive. Hopefully, they’d do it without guns blazing.

He was just finishing the first glass and was thinking of getting himself a second one, when the mighty kick almost as loud as the thunder outside pushed the door open. Three men tumbled inside a second later, their faces transformed by fury into caricature masks.

“Where is that son of a bitch?” roared one in the middle, their leader, Levi assumed.

Levi was in no hurry to answer. He took the last drag of the cigarette, meticulously put it down against the surface of an ashtray. Then looked at the men in front of him. “The bar is closed. There is no one here but me.”

“Stop fucking with us!” the asshole on the left shouted. “We saw him run inside!”

“If that fucker isn’t here, perhaps we should look around for his friends,” the third man offered. “I know they’re working here.”

So there was no way around it? Levi sighed, walking from beyond the counter. “Just so you know,” approaching the men, he cracked his knuckles. “I don’t condone violence.”

One of the thugs started laughing, the other two immediately followed. Levi didn’t expect any other reaction. The men were burly, large, they definitely weren’t smart.

“What are you going to do to us, midget? Do you seriously think you can beat us up?”

The insult was followed by a punch, a careless, blundering one. Levi effortlessly dodged it, delivering a vicious kick to the stomach of his attacker. The man - who upon the close inspection had yellow teeth and reeked of cheap alcohol – staggered. He caught himself at the last second, holding onto nearest table with white-knuckled desperation. Levi hit again, this time with his knee. With a gasp that turned into a groan, the man fell onto the ground.

Luckily, he stayed there, and Levi turned his attention to the other two.

The one who stood at the left attacked instantly, aiming his enormous fist at Levi’s jaw. There was an unfinished bottle of whiskey on the counter right behind him, and Levi grabbed it, smashing it against the man’s head. The resulting sound was loud, almost deafening. Levi tried to forget about the mess of spilled whiskey on the floor and let himself enjoy that pleasant sound for another moment.

That was a slight miscalculation on his part, because the last man apparently was armed with knife, and he swung it without hesitation. Levi jumped to the side, but wasn’t quick enough. The knife’s edge kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of blood behind it. A mere second later, the knife was in the air once again. Levi was ready for it this time, but as he prepared to take a swift step back, his ankle refused to budge. He looked down to see that one of the defeated men was back in the game, still laying on a floor, but holding Levi in one place. Levi quickly dealt with him, using another leg to kick the man’s head. It took him no more than a moment, but it was enough for him to lose sight of his last attacker. Whatever plan of retaliation Levi had, he lost it, when the knife embedded in his forearm, making him hiss and cuss. Irritated, he roughly grabbed the hand that held the knife, twisting the arm at the wrist.

There was a loud crack, then the even louder scream.

Not too elegant, but, at least, it did the job.

Yanking the knife out of his arm, Levi threw it away, allowing it to clutter on the ground.

“Get the fuck out of here!” he snarled at the men, who weren’t laughing anymore. On the contrary, their faces were panicked, frightened. They pathetically scrambled to their feet, pushing each other to get outside as fast as possible. “And don’t come back!” Levi shouted to their backs.

When the door fell closed, Levi slumped back against the counter. The spot on his cheek was tingling unpleasantly, his arm was hurting like a bitch, and the whole bar had turned into a mess – the shards of glass and spilled whiskey were all over the floor. The blood from his arm was creating a small puddle too.

Levi viciously cursed and grabbed a towel, making a make-shift bandage. It had to do for the time being.

One mess was dealt with, and now another was awaiting him. He’d be lucky if the dirty floor would be the biggest of his troubles tonight.

But somehow, Levi knew that it was just the beginning.

***

Levi never considered himself to be a philosophic kind of person, he never pondered on the meaning of things, never felt the desire to look at the problem at hand from all possible angles, never reflected on his feelings and emotions.

He did however notice that the small room he had rented in a shitty motel at the edge of the city never felt to him like home. It was a place to live, it had a bed to sleep, it held some of his belongings, but it wasn’t a home, it didn’t provoke in him the feeling of belonging that he found inside the walls of his and Kenny’s old apartment.

He spent a little more than two months, living in that shithole, and never once he thought – I’m home, never once he felt – I belong right here.

But something very similar was blooming in his chest, when he passed the threshold of his shitty motel room and fell right into the arms of Connie and Sasha.

Sasha started cleaning his wounds right away, while Connie rushed to get the new bandages for his bloodied arm.

“You should have been more careful,” Sasha chided, and, fuck, he really got adopted by a couple of kids just like that.

“We could have dealt with this ourselves,” Connie said, and then, after a little pause, added, “Probably.”

Levi hummed and resisted the urge to ruffle the hair on their heads. He didn’t have that much affection for the little shits. Probably.

Just as they finished, Jean appeared, unsteadily walking out of the bathroom. He stopped not long after, leaning against the doorframe. Patched up and cleaned, he still didn’t look like his usual, confident and complacent self. Now he reminded Levi of a puppy who was thoroughly and viciously kicked. His hair was now clean of blood, but the shirt was still covered in red patches. Levi would have offered him one of his own t-shirts, but… on Jean’s lanky body it’d look more like a crop top. Or a child’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured, not meeting Levi’s eyes. “I didn’t know it’d lead to this.”

Yeah, they almost never know. Levi sighed, there was no point in scolding boy any further. He had realized his fuck up already, his buddies from the gang made sure of that.

“What the hell happened?” Levi asked, his back turned to Jean, as he went to prepare the tea for all of them. It would help to soothe some of Jean’s injuries, and it would also help to relieve Levi of the building tension in his shoulders.

“I… wasn’t quite ready for this life, I guess,” Jean sat down on a bed, covering his face with hands. “There is a guy I’ve been working with, he stole some drugs he was supposed to sell, and other gang members found out and decided to punish him, make an example out of him, but that guy… he was my friend, sort of? We hanged out a lot, and I just couldn’t see him get hurt like that…”

“Oh my god!” Sasha’s hands flew to her face and her mouth opened wide. “Did you get beat up because you tried to protect Marco?”

Connie snorted. “I see you’re getting over Mikasa pretty quickly.”

Behind his hands, Jean’s face started to gain color. “I just helped a guy out.”

“And didn’t even ask for a kiss after the heroic rescue?” Sasha teased.

“There wasn’t much time for kisses after the whole gang started running after us.”

“You poor thing,” Connie patted Jean’s head, sharing a mischievous look with Sasha. “Didn’t even get a kiss for all the trouble.”

The two boys started to bicker, and Levi watched the scene, feeling the pounding inside his head increase. It’d be a long, long night. The one he’d have to spend sleeping on a floor, because there were three brats in his room and only one queen-sized bed.

He raised a hand, putting a stop to the argument that was starting to raise in volume.

“Is the other guy alright?” he asked Jean, as he handed him a cup, filled with steaming tea.

Jean accepted the drink with a grateful nod, but didn’t answer the question right away, staring inside the cup thoughtfully. “He managed to get out of the city. The assholes that beat me up caught me just after he got on a bus.”

Well, that was certainly good news. The only one they received since the beginning of this evening.

“You have to run away too, preferably for quite some time. Those guys won’t forget about you so easily. Do you have a place where you can hide?”

“Well…” frowning, Jean rubbed his neck, “My parents have a summer house…”

“Excellent, does anyone know about it?”

“No, not even these idiots,” Jean answered, pointing at Sasha and Connie.

“Then take these idiots, because your gangster pals know, where all of you live and work,” Levi grumbled. “And get out of here first thing in the morning. Spend a few months in the countryside, wait until this shitty storm is over.”

“And what about you? Now they know about you too.”

What about him… good question. And a very easy one to answer. He’d have to change cities again, luckily, he already had some experience with that. Sure, it was an inconvenience, but… better than live his life and have to constantly look over his shoulder, or die in some dirty alleyway. Perhaps, he’d be able to return some day, when the tensions were long over.

“I’ll leave the city,” he told them. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You had to run away before?” Connie asked, awe written all over his face. “So cool!”

“And you beat up all these guys for us!” Sasha agreed, adoration shining in her gaze.

“You aren’t just a janitor, eh?” Jean stared at him with narrowed eyes.

Levi saved from answering by a loud shrill of the phone.

Everyone in the room tensed, Levi felt his heart pounding inside his chest, a relentless boom, boom, boom. He wet his lips, his throat suddenly too dry, and stood up.

“No!” Jean grabbed his arm, stopping Levi from picking up the phone. Levi understood his panic, it was the middle of the night, who in their right mind would call him at this time? Who would call him period, all the people Levi knew in this city were sitting next to him. Unless, it was Shadis who got out of his drunken stupor and decided to have a friendly chat with a janitor from his bar?

And if it wasn’t Shadis, then…

Acutely feeling his every heartbeat, Levi pulled his arm out of Jean’s grasp. Swallowing that persisting lump inside his throat down, he put his hand on a phone handle. Slowly, holding in his breath, he lifted the phone and put it to his ear.

“Is your name even Levi? Or was that another lie, you asshole?”

That voice. Her voice. Levi helplessly fell back in the armchair behind him.

“H-hange?” the crack in his voice was heard and analyzed by a bunch of kids, who now all stood beside him. Levi waved them away, drowning out the intrigued murmuring, and focused on a person on the other side of the line.

“You still remember my name, I’m flattered, Ackerman,” ah, so she found out. Not surprising in the slightest, but disappointing nevertheless. But how did she find out? And when? And why she was calling now? And how she managed to obtain the number of a motel he was staying at? So many questions, Levi wanted to ask them all at once. He didn’t even know where to start. “And just a piece of friendly advice, next time you go into hiding, don’t go around asking police officers on a date.”

Well, that was one question answered. Only one hundred remained.

“Are you going to arrest me now?”

“No, unfortunately,” Hange bitterly replied. “I need you, Ackerman. For work,” she added, before Levi could get any ideas and just before his heart started racing like crazy. “Take the first flight back to city, if you don’t want me to drag you out of there by force. I’ll be waiting for you in the airport.”

Hange was going to end the call, Levi could practically see her finger hover over the button. Before she did, he cried out, “Wait!” and then, much more calmly he added, “What do you need me for?”

“Your uncle went missing. I need you to help me find him.”

The line went dead immediately after that. It took Levi another moment to pull himself together.

Kenny was… missing? Kenny, his ruthless, unstoppable uncle? And Hange was looking for him? Too much was unknown, too much was unclear, too much was yet to be explained.

One thing for sure, he wouldn’t find the answers here. Well, one problem was solved then, he didn’t have to change cities anymore. He’d just have to return home.

“So.”

Just a short word, but so much meaning was put in it. With a feeling of dread, Levi turned to face Sasha. He shuddered at the sight of her wide, shit-eating smile.

“Hange, hm?” she asked, twirling a lock of hair.

“Hange is your someone, right?” Connie excitedly exclaimed. “Your Mikasa?”

“Hange is his Marco,” Sasha corrected, earning a vicious curse and a middle finger from Jean. “I guess it’s all over with Mikasa.”

It was all over with Hange too. There was nothing with Hange to begin with. And there would be nothing, because apparently she hated him now. For a good reason too.

Fuck. Kenny, Hange, the brats, they all caused Levi a massive headache. And there was no running away from it, they’d find him whenever he ran.

Perhaps, it meant that he had to stop running. And come back home.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he told the kids. “A long journey is ahead of you. And ahead of me too.”

“You’re leaving? To your Hange?”

“Hange is not my someone, I’m just leaving,” Levi grunted, turning off the light. “Go to sleep before I knock you all out.”

Thankfully, they listened and got on a bed without a word of complain.

“It’s good that your Hange found you,” Sasha mumbled, already sleepy. “Maybe, now you won’t be so sad anymore.”

Sasha seemed to fall asleep immediately after, not waiting for Levi’s answer. Or, perhaps, she wasn’t interested in it.

Soon Connie was out as well, and even Jean, after a few of tosses, turns and more than a dozen pained groans managed to settle in comfortably and fall into deep slumber.

Levi didn’t get so lucky, the thoughts about what tomorrow would bring swirling in his mind and keeping him awake.

But, well… at least his melancholy and homesickness wouldn’t be a problem anymore. After two months of being away, he was going home at last.

Strangely, the prospect didn’t seem that thrilling.

#remember when i said that sasha and connie are my literal favorites? yeah it's a chapter dedicated to that #levihan

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haydensdelvca · 3 years

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hiiiii can you please write a Tremmett fic of them going camping as like a vacation but it’s anything but that!

Camping - Tremmett

Thanks for the prompt! I'll admit it was a bit challenging at first - it had me looking up everything from camping movies to raccoons. I enjoyed writing it though - I really hope you like it :)

Emmett scrolled through the list '30 Fun Date Ideas during the Pandemic' which he'd found online. Both him and Travis had taken 3 days off to treat themselves to some well needed time together. With the pandemic, and the exhausting shifts they had lately, they needed to get away for a few days.

Ideally, they would've liked to spend their holidays abroad, however the pandemic they were currently in made that a bit difficult.

"What about camping?" Emmett asked casually, eyes still on the screen.

"Um, no."

Emmett, surprised by how quickly Travis had come to that conclusion, looked up at him, "Why not?"

"When I said I wanted a vacation I meant a nice, relaxing resort or hotel near the sea not the woods," Travis complained.

"Well do you have any better ideas? You know, considering the pandemic and all," Emmett replied. They had been sitting there for an hour trying to come up with something and had gotten nowhere, there seemed to be some sort of limitation for every idea.

"Yes!" Travis exclaimed, serious for a few seconds until his face dropped into a pout and said, "No, no I don't."

Emmett laughed, shaking his head at his boyfriend "You know... the last time I went camping two people got attacked by a bear," Travis reminded him.

"Yeah, I'm so glad I wasn't on that trip," Emmett laughed, lucky to have joined the fire station a few weeks later.

"Are we seriously settling on going camping? I mean, no toilets, no electricity, no internet. Not to mention it's uncomfortable sleeping in a tent."

"But you'll be with me."

"Ok fine. On two conditions though, we make smores and cuddle in the tent."

"Deal," Emmett agreed, smiling at his boyfriend's antics.

"Ok I think we're almost there, get the map out so we can find that spot we picked out."

Emmett reached back and rummaged through one of the many bags they had packed full of things they probably wouldn't even touch. "Oh no."

Travis flipped his head around to look at Emmett, saying "Please don't tell me you forgot the map."

Emmett gave him a guilty look, saying "I swear I packed everything. I'll try look it up on my phone."

"We're not gonna have any signal over here." Travis sighed, parking the car. He rested his head on the steering wheel, letting out a fake cry.

"Ok, ok, we'll figure something out. We can just start walking and find a decent spot," Emmett rambled, annoyed their trip already had a rough start.

As they walked along the path, not wanting to deviate too far from their car due to having no map, they looked for a spot to take post.

"Do you recognise any landmarks from the photos we saw of this place?" Travis asked.

"I don't know, all the trees look the same," Emmett shrugged.

Travis turned to look at Emmett, shaking his head at how useless the both of them were at navigating through the woods without a map.

"You know, at least I didn't forget the food or some—" Emmett started until he felt himself falling forward, grasping Travis' arm to stop himself from falling face first.

"What the — are you ok?" Travis asked as he helped him get back to his feet whose boots were now covered in mud.

"I'm ok, I didn't realise the mud was covering up a slope," Emmett replied hastily as he looked down at his legs covered in mud. He looked up at Travis who had gone from being concerned to trying not to laugh. "Oh this is going so well," the blonde said sarcastically.

"Am I allowed to say I told you so?" Travis smirked back at him.

As the sun started to set, Travis and Emmett had set up their tent in a quiet place and arranged all their belongings. They began picking up some wood to set up a campfire near their tent.

Suddenly, they head loud music coming from a few metres away.

"Oh no, not teenagers," Travis grumbled as he caught a glimpse of a few young girls setting up a tent in the distance.

"Looks like they had the same idea as us," Emmett shrugged.

"Did they seriously have to come so close to us? Now we have to listen to this obnoxious music on our trip!"

"I hate this music as much as you do," Emmett replied, wishing they had picked literally any other place to put their tent.

Travis froze, suddenly hearing loud moans coming from one of the tents in the distance, coming to a realisation of what he was hearing.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"If anything is going to make this trip any better it's smores." Travis said as he brought the sticks and marshmallows over to the campfire, sitting next to Emmett on one of their blankets.

Emmett smiled, resting his head on Travis' shoulder. "Hey, at least it's a bit less noisy now," he added, while holding his marshmallow over the fire.

"I have to admit, this definitely tops my last camping trip. We didn't even have marshmallows last time." "What is with your obsession with smores?" Emmett laughed, finding his boyfriend awfully cute when he complained about the smallest things.

"Hey, when we're out in the woods, miles away from our warm, comforting home I like to have something that's warm and comforting ok?" Travis replied playfully, kissing Emmett as they laid down, looking up at the stars.

"Is that a constellation? It looks a bit like a horse." Emmett said, finally feeling more relaxed.

"I'm pretty sure you didn't discover a new constellation babe," Travis looked at Emmett beside him, admiring his beauty under the starry sky.

"True, it might just be my imagination," Emmett chuckled.

"Do you hear that? A rustling noise," Travis said as he sat upright once again, looking around. Upon further inspection, he noticed what seemed to be a small raccoon piercing holes in a familiar set of boxes, rummaging for food.

"Oh my god what do we do? It's taking our food!" Travis shouts as he realises what it was doing.

"What?" Emmett exclaimed as he quickly got up too. "Oh shit, this is bad."

Thankful that they had remembered to pack all their comfortable blankets and pillows to make the sleeping bag in the tent more cosy, they entered the tent at around midnight. Travis cuddled up against Emmett, trying to conserve as much body heat as they could.

Every few minutes or so, Emmett would hear noises from outside, and flinched slightly each time.

Travis, realising that each noise was scaring Emmett, held him more tightly and said, "This was to be expected, considering we are quite literally in nature and all."

"I know, I know, I keep thinking some sort of creature's going to come get us. I probably shouldn't have watched Friday the 13th that night with Vic before we came here."

"You probably shouldn't have," Travis chuckled as he opened his eyes to look at Emmett. "So a raccoon took half of our food, there are a bunch of loud teenagers having sex across from us, and we'll probably get lost finding our way back to our car tomorrow morning."

"Maybe we should cut the trip short and just book an afternoon at a spa resort tomorrow," Emmett admitted that they did indeed encounter some obstacles.

"Good idea," Travis smiled.

"You still had fun though right? We did meet both your conditions - smores and cuddles in the tent," Emmett winked as he ran his fingers through Travis' hair.

"Of course I did - how can I not enjoy myself when I'm with you?" Travis replied, closing his eyes as he rested against the younger man.

#travis montgomery #tremmett #emmett dixon #travis x emmett #station 19 #camping prompt

18 notes · View notes

1kook · 5 years

Text

late fee

jeon jeongguk x (f) reader

summary: “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.” tags: f2l, flirty kook, jk’s obsession w/captain underpants, he’s a fuckboy but he’s a soft fuckboy dont get it twisted, campus boy crush jk(yes again), jk abuses the FuCK out of pet names, miss koo1aid actually writes some PLOT warnings: much flirting, nsfw bc of a lot of heavy petting, pussy eatin’, a lil dirty talk, very s l i g h t coochie sniffing, BUT!!! protected sex :) wc: 10.3k

i wrote another fic (applause) and the entire thing is based off my belief that jungkook 10000% would enjoy captain underpants books. not proofread bc i am a hermit and speak to exactly 0 ppl on here, que dios los bendiga

“Helloooo, sexy librarian,” Jeongguk says the moment he steps through the door, lopsided grin adorning his features as he swaggers over to obnoxiously lean against your desk. You can’t even pretend you didn’t see him, his presence so blaringly consuming, and evident in the way some dorky high schoolers glance over to gawk at him.

“What book are you checking out today, Jeon?” You muse instead, leaving your desk chair to head over to the stack of new books that needed to be stamped. As you turn, Jeongguk whistles at the sight, and you don’t even have it in you anymore to retort back the same way you would when he first started bugging you. “Also, are you aware that your copy of Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants is due tomorrow? It’s a dollar for every day it’s late—”

“You needn’t worry longer, baby,” Jeongguk interrupts, and the loud smack of a hardcover against the desk catches your attention. There lies Jeongguk’s Captain Underpants book, alongside the paperback copy of Beloved that has definitely seen better days.

You furrow your brows. “When did you check out this one?” You question, checking the spine to make sure the book belongs to your library. Much to your surprise, there’s no barcode on the side, and no stamp on the inside.

Your question goes unanswered as Jeongguk jumps into a full-length novella recapture of the hot frat party he’d been to last weekend, and how the Zeta Theta Psi guys knew how to party. That Jimin fellow that Jeongguk frequently mentions had apparently snorted a line of coke off their friend Seokjin’s broad shoulders just to prove his friend had godly proportions. It’s weird, but Jeongguk says it’s because you have to ride for your bros. You try to act uninterested, but Jeongguk’s a funny guy, really, and you can only hide so many chuckles with the sound of a stamp.

He’s in the middle of trying to cover up of one of his frequent trysts after accidentally exposing himself—”Don’t get it twisted, baby, I just took her upstairs to call her friend.”—when Namjoon comes out of the back room looking for you. He barely glances at your guest, before handing you a list of overdue books.

“Would you mind calling these people?” He asks, voice soft, just as everything else was about Namjoon. “They’re all a week past.”

“Yikes,” you say, eyes scanning over the list. Surprisingly, Jeongguk is still there, hovering over you as if waiting for you to dismiss him. “Do you mind, Jeon?” You say, channeling your best customer service voice. As much as Namjoon was wary of him, he still considered Jeongguk a patron in your establishment and hated to see him treated poorly, no matter how many library rules Jeongguk broke.

“Of course,” he sighs, and you miss the hostile glare he throws Namjoon when you whirl around for a highlighter. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart,” he says when you turn back around, stretching ana rm in your direction.

Half of you knows exactly what he’ll do, but the other half of you, the one trying desperately to act like his advances have no effect on you, have you placing your palm in his. You’re not super surprised when he tugs your hand upward, pecking your knuckles with a flirty wink. “Adios, Juliet,” he smirks.

“Wrong language,” you inform him, rolling your eyes nonchalantly even though your heart is beating one hundred miles per second. Jeongguk cackles, loud as all hell in the silent library, before making his exit.

It’s silent for all of twenty seconds before Namjoon jumps right into it. “So are you seeing him, or…” he interrogates, trying to act like he’s hardly interested, but you’ve known and worked alongside Namjoon long enough to know he’s secretly the community gossip.

You ignore him, choosing to jam the buttons on the phone instead.

The weird thing about Jeongguk, was that, although he was notoriously known amongst the undergraduates (and even some graduates, because he just had it like that, you suppose) as one of the biggest fuckboys, he was different. Not to sound like every teen romcom you’d ever scanned, but he genuinely was. For starters, he’d fuck your brains out and then make you his best friend the morning after. He definitely had a very peculiar, and backwards, way of doing the whole one night stand thing.

All this you’ve gathered from your friends, who, at one point have had some sort of encounter with Jeongguk. Dahyun’s was last spring at a club event, when he’d oh so smoothly flirted with her for a solid hour before realizing she didn’t swing that way. Which is how they become close friends, which is how, by association, Jeongguk set his sights on you.

Your introduction to Jeongguk wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; he’d been tagging along behind Dahyun like a lost puppy, begging her for some class notes, and had subsequently followed her all the way to your favorite meeting place. From then, he’d dropped his petulant, childish act and put on his macho face, chest puffed and eyes hooded as he devoured your very presence.

The next time you see him, it’s at a frat party where some guy had been harping on you go upstairs with him. Another weird thing about Jeongguk, he hated when other fuckboys didn’t utilize their brains. You assume it’s because it gives the fuckboy community a bad rep as a whole, but Jeongguk hated when guys were overbearing. So he’d taken the initiative to snatch you away from that fellow, guiding you all the way back to Dahyun and friends just to make sure you were alright. Somewhere along the way, you’d informed him you worked at the local library—”The one that does bingo on Tuesdays?” “That’s for senior citizens only, why do you know that?”—and he’d never left you alone again.

This time, he spots you in the dining hall.

“You come here often, dollface?” He says the moment he slides up beside you, instantly zeroing in on the burrito wrap on your plate. Like the little immature baby he is, his hand immediately snakes out to touch the precariously wrapped white tortilla holding the deliciousness inside, and you have to physically slap the offender away. He jumps, bumping into a girl standing in line behind him, not that particularly cares. “So, it’s fuck Jeongguk hours, huh?” He huffs, adorning his face with that uppity glare he mastered from watching Mean Girls on repeat a few months ago.

“Your plate is stacked, but you wanna grab the one thing on mine,” you point out, and his lips curl into a smile at your response. “By the way, your book is past due.”

At this he gasps, all real, no Regina George effects added. “You’re lying,” he chokes, switching his plate to his other hand, and you nearly jump when the muffin balancing dangerously on top shifts. He tugs his phone out of the pocket of his sweats, scanning through his remind app until he sees that his book is overdue by three days. He groans, staring at the ceiling in shame.

You nod, breezing over his inner meltdown. “Was wondering when we were gonna get the wedgie winner, or whatever its called, back.”

He scoffs, giving you an unimpressed glare. “Wrath of the Wicked Wedgie Woman,” he corrects, looking so disappointed that you don’t have these bizarre titles memorized. “For such a pretty librarian, you sure are ignorant to these literary masterpieces.”

This makes you cackle, and your cheeks flush when at least three people turn to stare at your outburst. “You aren’t seriously calling these Captain Underpants books masterpieces,” you snort. Jeongguk shrugs, and you begin to wonder if he really is as airheaded as the characters he admires. “Jeon,” you try to reason, giving him a pleading look, because arguing the credibility of kids novels in line for lunch simply does not seem real. You must have been warped into another dimension where all pretty boys are as dumb as the movies make them out to seem.

“Listen,” he says, smiling when you grow desperate for him to prove you wrong. “I’ve read a lot of good books, but nothing tops a hypnotized superhero principal fighting crime in his underwear.”

You sigh, paying for your meal, and then, surprisingly, waiting for him to pay for his. You tell yourself it’s because you want to finish this conversation, but part of you just genuinely enjoys being in Jeongguk’s presence. Gag.

“I saw you with Beloved last week,” you carry on the second he’s done giving flirty eyes to the middle-aged cashier. “Now that’s a masterpiece.”

He nods in agreement. “But, baby,” he purrs, and the sudden switch from weird, 12 year-old literary enthusiast to grown as hell, suave bastard has you jolting a step that you try to play off by pretending to look at something on the ground. “How else will you remember my face?”

You blank. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Jeongguk gives you a pointed look. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t remember a damn thing about me if I did what every other stuck-up bastard did trying to pick up chicks at the library.” You tilt your head in confusion. Jeongguk sighs. “If I went in every rainy Friday and checked out a Tale of Two Cities, or Oliver Twist, or some other Charles Dickens shit, you wouldn’t glance my way.”

“Do people still read Dickens?” You say instead, glossing over the fact that apparently Jeongguk’s visits were apparently blatant attempts to flirt with girls. Finally, you find a suitable spot at a long, dinner table so you don’t have to sit completely alone with Jeongguk.

“You know damn well better than I do that that those wannabe sophisticated books have waitlists.” He shoves half a pizza slice into his mouth, and you hate how your eyes immediately laser in on the strong movements of his jaw. “My point is,” he says through a greasy mouthful. “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.”

You cradle your burrito in your palms, rolling his words around your head for a bit. Jeongguk doesn’t particularly seem like he’s awaiting an answer, munching through the mountain of food on his plate as you revel in your thoughts.

It’s right when you go to take your first bite that you finally come to a conclusion. “But have you ever considered I’m interested in you because I think you’re funny?”

Silence. Jeongguk stares at you through his fringe, pizza slice slowly going limp in his hold as he absorbs your words. Before you know it, his ears flush red. He splutters. “I-You think I’m funny?” He asks, cheeks slowly growing rosy as well, and his lips quirk in a cute way to the side, as if he’s trying desperately to hide his excitement.

You nod, because it’s true, why would you lie? “Duh. You come in every week and just talk about your day, Jeongguk,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I think you’re very interesting and entertaining without trying.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, and for the first time, you’re thrown off by how adorable this man looks, lips pressed tight to contain a smile from your compliments.

Realization hits you all at once, but you’ve long since trained in the fluid art of avoiding your emotions.

“There’s a party tonight,” Dahyun announces from her desk, not even bothering to glance at you when you return from the showers. You hum, not really that interested in whatever is going on this fine Thursday evening. You plop down at your own desk, starting your skincare routine.

Dahyun lets you relax in the soothing motions of self care for all of three seconds before she adds, “Jeongguk wanted to know if you’re coming.”

You press down too hard on the pump of your moisturizer, sending a large glomp onto the tips of your fingers. “That’s nice,” you say, trying to play it off, but you doubt Dahyun hadn’t heard the little spaz you had, or that she couldn’t sense the way your body immediately lit aflame at the mention of him and you in the same sentence.

She turns in her seat, and you catch sight of her in your mirror. You avert your eyes right away, because Dahyun had many talents, and her best one was reading your mind with a single gaze. You maintain an aura of unbothered and uninterested, finishing with the rest of your skincare.

Just when you think you’re safe, Dahyun pounces.

“Y’know,” she says, and you can hear the grin in her voice. “He hasn’t slept with anyone in almost a month. In fuckboy time, that’s the equivalent of two years.”

You roll your eyes, putting away your products before trying to busy yourself with anything else. “He probably has, but with people who know how to keep their mouths shut.”

Faintly, you hear Dahyun’s chair scrape against the carpet, and then suddenly she has you in a headlock. “Admit you like Jeongguk or I will throw your toothbrush into the toilet on the third floor.”

You choke, grappling her arms in an attempt to pry her off. “No,” you huff, switching tactics to tangle a hand in her silver locks. “Why would I confess to something that isn’t true?”

She shrieks when you give a sharp tug, sending her careening sideways against the foot of your bed, but not without taking you with her. “You are lying to yourself and to the entire librarian community, you sick fuck.”

You snort. “The fuck does Namjoon have to do with this?”

“He told me Jeongguk’s been bringing you Starbucks.”

Her reveal has you halting in your tracks, cheeks flushing at being exposed. “That gossiping fuck,” you seethe, finally loosening your grip on your friend. Somehow, you’ve ended up sprawled on the floor of her side of the room, nestled into the stupidly fluffy carpet she thrifted. She rolls onto her belly, propping herself up on her elbows to narrow her eyes at you.

“So it’s true,” she sighs. You shrug. “Well,” she claps her hands together. “Shimmy into that sexy dress from Windsor, we’re going out.”

You groan, rolling over in metaphorical agony. “Dude, I just washed my face. No way in hell, I’m putting on makeup now.” She considers your point for negative three seconds.

“The Glow Kit is in my bottom left drawer,” she announces right as she exits the room with her towel and shower essentials in hand.

The Glow Kit is in fact in Dahyun’s drawer, which is a little suspicious considering it’s the same one you thought you lost three months ago. Nonetheless, it never lets you down, and by the time you’re done with your makeup, you’re looking like a shimmering, little succubus in the hot dress from Windsor.

Normally, you and your self-esteem were rivals; never on the same page, always bickering, sworn enemies from birth. But right now, as you admire yourself in the closet mirror, you can’t help but marvel at how good you look in the slightly loose dress.

“Damn,” Dahyun says as soon as she returns, all fluffy in her towel. “You will fuck tonight, or else.”

“Hey, baby,” Jeongguk smiles at you the moment you walk in, hooded eyes raking over your body in an agonizingly slow manner. Dahyun chooses then to do her party trick—disappearing without a word.

“Hi…” you respond, voice meek in this party setting. There’s more people than you anticipated, which is weird because it’s a Thursday and surely some of these people have morning classes. You can’t comment, though, because you’re here knowing damn well you have an eight am tomorrow.

The music is blasting, so loud you can feel the bass shaking the floor, sending jolts up from your toes to your head with every beat. There’s people in every crevice of this household, some even taking refuge on the staircase leading up to the bedrooms. Someone brushes by you, and you instinctively step closer to the wall to avoid being in the way. You should have known Jeongguk would follow.

He ducks down to shout into your ear. “Wasn’t sure if you were coming tonight,” he tells you, right as one of his friends rushes by, thrusting a cup into his hand that Jeongguk doesn’t even stop to question. He takes a sip, then offers you some.

“Dahyun didn’t wanna come alone,” you lie, tentatively sipping from his cup only to realize it’s worse than any alcohol here: it’s Sprite. Jeongguk seems amused by your subtle disgust, immediately taking the cup back. You send out a light prayer for his stomach and his skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be out pulling hoes or something?” You say, trying to go for teasing and playful but missing by a mile.

Jeongguk grins. “Why would I do that when the only girl I want is right here,” he motions, and then does that cliche move where he places a hand by the wall behind you. The worst thing is, even though Jeongguk seems intent on pulling every cheesy act known to mankind, your heart actually races.

“Shut up,” you laugh, “you just like that I don’t charge you the late fees on your books.”

At this, Jeongguk genuinely smiles, nose scrunching up as he gazes at you. “False,” he argues, and then leans forward, same stupid dopey smile on his face. “I love a woman who snorts milk out of her nose.”

“Jeon!” You shriek, smacking his arm as embarrassment washes over you. “You said you would forget about that!”

Jeongguk cackles, all boyish and rough like he does when he’s around Hoseok for too long. Somehow, knowing you’re the cause of that charming laughter has your annoyance fading away, a soft smile crawling onto your features.

“I hate you,” you say instead, looking up and meeting his gaze dead on for the first time that night.

Jeongguk smirks. “Do you now?” He throws back, then takes a step forward. Your shoulder touches the wall when you take a tentative step back. You give a half-assed shrug, entranced by the playfulness that lurks behind his eyes. He gives you an exaggerated pout. “That sucks, because I,” he steps closer again, and this time he’s looking down at you over the bridge of his nose, “really like you.”

“I…” you trail off, too hypnotized by the pink tongue that swipes across his lips as he gazes at you. There is no hesitation on his face.

When you don’t say anything for another moment, Jeongguk ducks down. His nose bumps against yours, his breath warm as it fans across your face. “Y’know, I’d treat you so right,” he suddenly says, and your panties immediately turn into Niagara Falls at the newfound deepness of his voice. You feel lightheaded from his close proximity and promising words. “Could make you feel so good, baby, if you just let me.”

You shiver, nearly jumping out of your skin when a hand snakes its way around your waist, tugging you forward gently. Not overbearingly, because you know the last thing Jeongguk would ever do was want to make you uncomfortable. He pulls you close enough that it ends up being you who steps completely into his embrace. Your trembling hands find their place on his shoulders, and Jeongguk has never looked more content.

“You... only want sex,” you softly accuse, and the only reason your quiet voice doesn’t get lost in the noise is because of how close the two of you are.

Jeongguk bites his lip at your words, and you wonder if part of him is surprised that you’d so openly say such a thing. “Not with you,” he says eventually. “Wanna hold you like this forever, ___. And if that leads to you cumming on my tongue every now and then, well,” he smiles, “all fine by me.”

“Jeon,” you scold, scared that someone might have heard him.

“What?” He grins, pressing impossibly closer. His lip gives the slightest pucker, and you find yourself unconsciously leaning closer, the hand around your waist tightening. “I want you, baby.”

You can’t hide the lovestruck expression on your face as you look between his mouth and his eyes, and you wonder if he’s being honest.

Right as you’re about to throw all your doubts out the window and kiss him, you’re bombarded with the sound of obnoxious air horns from a DJ who obviously knows shit about, well, DJ-ing.

You jump at the sudden sound, bumping your head against the wall behind you. Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “Oh shit, are you okay?” He fusses, all traces of that suave, heartthrob replaced with a fretful Jeon.

“I’m fine,” you say, though you’re not because you’re absolutely dying right now. From the fact you almost gave into Jeongguk but also the embarrassment of hitting your head. “I-I need to find Dahyun,” you announce, and give Jeongguk no time to process that before you’re bolting into the crowded house like you just broke something.

jeon tell me you got home safe jeon please

You pause in the middle of removing your makeup, one eyelash on to symbolize the mess you are right now. Dahyun is humming some tune as she does the same, the both of you clad in your pajamas and fuzzy socks. Carefully, you pick up your phone.

you im home! me and the girls ubered home lol you sorry i didnt get to say goodbye :(

jeon dont worry abt it babe jeon just happy to know ur ok

“You better be texting Jeongguk, since you failed to complete the one job you had tonight,” Dahyun calls and you curse. You whirl around to face her, and she snorts at your one eyelash.

“Be honest,” you say. “If you were the campus crush who could get coochie every time he breathed, would you leave all that for me?”

Dahyun freezes. “Well, not when you’re only wearing one eyelash.” You groan, flopping into your seat uncomfortably. “Babe,” Dahyun sighs, as if sensing the gravity of your dilemma. “You’re hot! Everyone knows this except you.”

“But am I?” You whine. “Am I attractive or do you just feel obligated to say that because you’re my friend, be honest.”

“Oh my god,” she huffs, climbing into her bed, phone in hand. She doesn’t even bother looking your way when she’s all settled in. “You have this weird idea that Jeongguk is some intangible idol, as if you haven’t seen the dude deepthroat an entire bratwurst at the diversity fair. If anything, you’re the dream girl on campus, you stupid bitch.”

“The only true thing I heard is me being a stupid bitch,” you mope, and Dahyun throws a pillow at your face. You take this attack as initiative to finally take off your other lash, finishing your cleansing and moisturizing (for the second time) routine.

“Listen,” she says, setting her phone down to stare you dead in the eye. Her voice is devoid of any emotion. “If it makes you feel better, he wrote JK + __ on our group handout last week.”

You don’t sleep that night.

The last person you’re expecting to see at this secluded cafe on a Saturday morning was Jeon Jeongguk, yet here he was in all his delicious morning glory. By morning glory, you mean the soft, sleepy eyes that stare at you from across the table, voice so deep and husky.

“Why are you here if you just woke up?” You interrogate, settling into the empty seat in front of him. Carefully, you begin pulling things out of your bag, trying your best to not look away too long. This sight was rare, Jeongguk usually being at an energy level of about eighty seven at all times. To see him so tired and sluggish was unheard of.

He gestures over to where Taehyung is in the middle of what looks like a job interview. “Moral support,” Jeongguk informs you. You nod in understanding, before returning your gaze to the sleepy angel in front of you.

He’s ridiculously tired, eyes dropping shut every time you so much as pause for a second. He seems apologetic too, murmuring I’m sorry I’m sorry whenever his eyes flutter shut. Your heart was going haywire at the sight. “Jeon,” you say softly, and get one, soft hum in response. “I think you should go home, Taehyung seems fine.”

He shakes his head. “Needs me,” he murmurs, trying desperately to snap his eyes back open to no avail. Eventually, you make the call, packing your things up way earlier than usual. You haul Jeongguk out of his seat, him sleepily trailing after you as you drag him out of the shop. He sleeps on the short bus ride back to campus, and even almost sleeps on the elevator up to his dorm.

“In we go,” you announce, unlocking his door before nudging him inside. His roommate is nowhere to be found, oddly enough given the early hour. Jeongguk stumbles inside, plopping down on his bed right away. “Sleep.”

He lets out a high pitched whine the moment you turn to leave. “Come cuddle,” he huffs, face pressed against his pillow. His hair’s haloed around him, pout smushed against the cushion as he stares at you.

“You need to sleep,” you point out.

He rolls onto his back, patting the mattress beside him. “Wanna feel you,” he says. Your cheeks flush red. As if realizing the meaning behind his words, sleepy little Jeongguk takes the initiative to push you further. “Pressed against my body,” he drawls, his deep chuckle resonating throughout your body. “C’mon, baby, too scared to be in bed with me?”

You scoff, though your cheeks are warm. “You wouldn’t do anything anyway, you’re half asleep.”

Jeongguk shrugs, lips quirking to the side as he motions to his side again. “So? Can tell you like it slow anyway,” he grunts, before sitting up and shuffling to the edge of the bed and assuming a sitting position. Without warning, he catches your wrist in his hand and tugs you between his spread thighs.

He’s more awake than he’s been all morning, and part of you is happy but the other is anxious. God, was this boy dangerous.

“You’re half asleep, Jeon,” you say, trying to diffuse the sudden sexual tension. Jeongguk smiles up at you.

“Cmon, baby,” he exhales, and one fluid tug has you plopping onto his thigh. You startle at the sudden change, grabbing onto his shoulders for support. All he does is laugh some more, nuzzling his face against your neck as your heart goes into panic mode. “Bet I could get in so deep,” he murmurs, breath tickling your neck and you feel your legs turn to jelly.

“G-Gguk,” you try to warn, but it ends up sounding more like a plea. For what, you’re not entirely sure.

A sudden kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder has your spirit ascending into another plane. Jeongguk smiles at your pliant body. “Look at you,” he continues, kissing down your neck until your body is physically quivering. “So sensitive. No one ever touched you like this before, doll?”

You shake your head no, and nearly jump out of your own skin when a hand clasps onto the inside of your thigh. “Jeon, we shouldn’t…” you choke out, even though your traitorous hand clamps down on his and pushes it closer to where you need him most.

“We shouldn’t?” He teases, and then cups your sex.

You transcend.

Jeongguk laughs, airy chuckles fanning across your jaw. “Then stop,” he tells you, the both of you watching as your hips unconsciously grind into his palm. Even when you tell yourself you need to stop, your body feels heavenly being touched by him, so you physically can’t.

“I can’t,” you reiterate, and muffle a moan against the side of his face when he presses a finger down on where he knows your clit is hiding. The thin leggings you’d worn did nothing to spare you.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he sighs, watching you work yourself on his hand. He traces his index finger over the seam of your leggings, where your folds meet and you moan again. “You gonna let me finish you off, princess? Gonna let me finger your tight little pussy until you cry? But I bet you’d make the prettiest noises if I licked you down there. Or are you gonna cum in your panties like this?”

All the different ideas he stuffs into your brain are overwhelming, especially when the only thing you really want is to be stuffed with his fingers and cock. “J-Just do it,” you beg.

“Do what?” He plays, watching the way your face contorted with every brush against your mound.

“Whatever you want,” you cry, biting down on your fist to stop any more noises from spilling out.

Jeongguk smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Such a simple gesture, but it has your stomach somersaulting. God, you needed this. You were practically sobbing for his dick, which was embarrassing in itself, but actually getting dicked down sort of cancelled it out. PEMDAS or whatever.

Just as his hand creeps to the hem of your leggings, there’s a rattle of the doorknob, and you jump. The cloud of lust that had engulfed you two fades away and you’re suddenly aware of the jingling of a key outside.

“What the fuck,” Jeongguk whisper-shouts, looking absolutely scandalized that his roommate is coming home at this moment of all moments.

“Should I hide?” You whisper back, never having been in such a situation before. Jeongguk looks at you like you’re stupid.

“Just,” he sighs, standing up. He ruffles his hair anxiously. “Just… act natural.”

You sit perfectly still. “Not like a Sim!!”

“Captain Underpants and the Invasion of the Incredibly Naughty Cafeteria Ladies from Outer Space (and the Subsequent Assault of the Equally Evil Lunchroom Zombie Nerds),” you read, gasping for breath by the end of it. Jeongguk beams at you. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope,” Jeongguk says, leaning over the counter and watching as you scan his book under his name. “I’ll let you know how it is.”

You roll your eyes, writing down the return date on a piece of paper you stuff inside. “Please do, I’m absolutely dying to read this book.”

You hand the book over to Jeongguk, and try to ignore the way he stares at you for a second too long. Namjoon chooses this exact moment to take his lunch break, sauntering off whistling the the Angry Birds tune.

Right before Jeongguk can jump into an interrogation, the door swings open and Jisoo from your sociology elective saunters in, carrying the same mountain of books you had checked out for her two weeks ago.

“___, hi!” She exclaims right away. She, too, was infected with the same bimbo disease as Jeongguk, the one where they both had no concept of being quiet in a library.

“Hi,” you greet back, immediately standing to take the books from her. “Did you actually read through all of these?” You ask, trying to make polite small talk. You’re not particularly close to her, but it’d be rude to act like you didn’t know her.

She laughs at your comment. “Oh god, no. I just open random pages and reference them for essays,” she admits.

You try to make more small talk with her as you scan through her books, but the girl literally almost hit the material limit, which is fifty books, so you soon become consumed in scanning the barcode, briefly flipping through the book for any damage, and then repeating it all over. You’re not surprised when she drifts away, and you’re mentally cursing Namjoon for going on break now of all times.

It’s about ten minutes later when you’re all done, the computer’s library system going haywire on you, the same way it had when she first checked out all these books. You look away from the screen, standing to face Jisoo, only to find she’s drifted to the other end of the welcome desk, where a certain someone had gone to while you served her.

Oh.

You’re not anticipating the wave of jealousy that hits you watching gorgeous, smart Jisoo talk to Jeongguk. She matches him perfectly, both so beautiful it hurts. It’s when she says something to him that you snap out of it. “When can I come over again?” Soft enough that you wouldn’t have heard if you hadn’t been paying attention.

Jeongguk’s toying with a bookmark stand, but you still see the quirk of his lips on his face when she says that.

All you can do is watch from the sidelines, so close yet somehow miles away as he says something back to her that gets drowned out by the thundering of your heart. You suppose it’s only natural for a guy like Jeongguk to flirt with girls, and he’d never said he only, exclusively wanted you. Really, you shouldn’t be as surprised.

But you are.

You’re surprised and, dare you say it, discouraged by the scene. He’d been so eager to finally win you over the other night, so much so that he made you feel special with every word he uttered and every look he gave you. You’d almost believed in his sincerity, but seeing him so easily converse with Jisoo about whatever past they have, served as a cold reminder that you and Jeongguk believe in two completely different relationship styles.

So you sit back down, gnawing on your lip as you try to do other duties, clicking around uselessly on your computer until eventually, Jisoo wanders back.

“Am I all set?” She smiles, and you can’t even find it in you to dislike her. You plaster on your best customer service smile, nodding and handing her back her library card. She thanks you three times over for the hassle, before waving goodbye to you and Jeongguk.

When the door falls shut behind her, you immediately drop the facade, though Jeongguk doesn’t seem to notice. “Whew. She left a lot of work for you,” he laughs, eyeing the big stack beside you. You don’t even bother responding, as, at that moment, Namjoon returns from his lunch break.

(How convenient! You swear this fucker had a sixth sense for knowing when work was about to become hard.)

“Joon, I’m taking my break now,” you announce, and Namjoon stares at you like a deer in headlights, the last bite of a sandwich raised to his mouth.

“Uh,” he says, 140 IQ and all. He glances behind you at Jeongguk, who also is confused as all hell. “Okay, then.”

“___?” Jeongguk questions. You stalk off, pushing the gate away from the desk before bursting into the employee break room right across from it.

You cry the moment you get home, and Dahyun jumps ten feet out of her bed in shock. Her girlfriend, Momo, is sitting on the floor painting her toes. “Oh no,” she cries, sweet and understanding in all the ways Dahyun wasn’t. “My poor baby, what’s wrong?” She asks, waddling over in the my-nail-polish-hasn’t-dried-yet way to hug you.

“He was flirting with another girl,” you sob, dropping your bag by the door as Momo continues fawning over you, wiping your face with tissues. Dahyun gets out of bed, cracks her fingers, and promptly announces:

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Initially, you would have let her. But after a while you manage to calm down, loud Kim Kardashian sobs fading into tiny hiccups as the two of them coddle you. You tell them all about what terrible, good for nothing Jeongguk did, and in true female solidarity, they vow to kick his ass for you. Eventually, you settle on not whooping his ass, just cutting any romantic notions with him off to avoid further heartbreak. After all, you were kinda friends before you had your little crush revelation.

It’s later in the night when you announce you maybe got 2% over him, which the girls count as an absolute win, but then Jeongguk texts you and they groan at the way you jump for your phone.

jeon hey can we talk ? jeon did I do something wrong today? jeon felt like u were mad at me lol, and then u took a really long break and I had to leave for class so I didn’t even get to see u again jeon just wanna know if everything is ok

You read through the messages a couple times, and wonder if he’s being serious and didn’t see anything sus with his actions, or if he’s just toying with your emotions. Momo tugs Dahyun away to give you some sort of privacy, and then you’re left alone in your thoughts.

you everything’s fine ! you I just wasn’t feeling well lol

He responds right away.

jeon please don’t lie to me ___ jeon I know what you’re probably thinking and I just want to say it’s not like that

For some reason, him saying he knows you enough to know your thoughts irritates you. He obviously didn’t know shit about you if he was out here making you look like a clown. Your fingers type before you can even think.

you lmao you thats funny

jeon ?

you you most def do not know what I’m thinking so please just take my word when I say I felt sick

jeon lmao. what do you mean...

you you barely know ME besides the fact I work @ the library and dorm w Dahyun. don't say u know what I’m thinking, bc that would imply you know me on a closer level which you don’t

jeon ok seriously what's up with you? jeon im trying to make sure ur okay but ur just being difficult as fuck

you I’m not being difficult I’m just being real

jeon ur not tho, ur being defensive for no reason at all

you so? we’re barely friends and we barely know each other, how I feel is none of ur business

jeon lmfaoooo, so now we’re barely friends?

you thats what I said didnt I

You set your phone aside when you don’t immediately see the texting dots appear, assuming your dry response is probably enough to ward Jeongguk off. Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from frustration or anger, but you guess it’s both. You’re not sure what set you off, the fact Jeongguk wants to act like he knows you, as if he wasn’t just chasing after you for some pussy, or the fact he wanted to act like some all-knowing being when it came to your feelings.

Eitherway, you’re extremely heated, grinding your teeth together when five minutes pass and he hasn’t texted you back. As if sensing the tension, Momo and Dahyun abruptly announce that they’re going to the ice cream place down the street, offering to bring something back to which you decline.

They leave, the heavy door slamming shut behind them. You get exactly two seconds of peace and quiet before your phone starts going off like crazy, all from Jeongguk.

jeon you’re starting to piss me off jeon drop the attitude baby. jeon bc I can be just as mean as u jeon and I won’t hesitate to make you cry

You blink. Every ounce of your body that had been consumed with an unknown anger slowly fades away as you stare wide eyed at Jeongguk’s messages. This was nothing like the Jeongguk you knew; he was soft and playful. He never raised his voice at you, and he’d never been anything less than a sweetheart.

you I don’t have an attitude

Is your feeble reply, too scared to reply to any other part of his message because you truly had no experience with this Jeongguk.

jeon so then put your big girl pants on and tell me what’s wrong jeon enough w this other shit

You sigh, snuggling into your covers as you absentmindedly tap the back of your phone.

you nothing is wrong

He doesn’t reply for a couple minutes again, but Dahyun sends you a text letting you know her and Momo decided to go to an event on the other side of campus, and telling you not to wait up. You reply back a simple ok right as Jeongguk responds.

jeon ok. so let me tell you what’s wrong then jeon you’re mad bc I was speaking to Jisoo today and she asked abt coming over jeon she comes over all the time jeon bc she is my roommates girlfriend

Your mind goes blank.

How embarrassing to have your mind read word for word, even more so when apparently, your worries weren’t even plausible. God. Instantly you feel stupid, replaying today’s entire scene and trying desperately to find something to catch Jeongguk in a lie. But other than asking that one question, there had been no other interesting talk between the two.

Your phone pings again, and you scramble to type a response, only to freeze at the words on the screen

jeon what blows me is that i don’t even owe u shit especially not an explanation jeon u don’t give 2 flying fucks about me. U just like the attention I give u and watching me make a fool of myself for u jeon I bend over backwards chasing after you, trying to get you to notice me, but you’ve done nothing to show me u feel the same jeon but you’re the one allowed to get mad when I speak to other girls? like u said “ that’s funny ”

Oh, no. Immediately your heart comes crashing down, and your fingers tremble as you watch Jeongguk slip away right before your eyes.

you Jeongguk you it’s not like that please you I like you so much, it’s just hard for me to

jeon to what? Get over your stupid stereotype of me?? jeon lmfao. Yeah that must be sooo hard jeon it’s whatever tho bc I had one of u too jeon my dream girl

This is not what you expected when he said he’d make you cry.

“Honey, you just have to talk to him,” Momo says the next morning, pressing a cucumber slice onto your eyes. You flinch at the initial iciness, but then relax when she brushes your hair out of your face. You’d gone to sleep a wreck, crying and sobbing as you thought desperately on how to win Jeongguk back, but everything he had said was true.

You’d done nothing but reject him since the beginning, had only just begun treating him as a friend, yet you instantly placed the blame on him at the first signs of trouble. God, he was right. You’d been selfish this entire time, and now he wasn’t responding to your messages anymore.

Dahyun nods from her cocoon at the foot of your bed. “I’m sure it’ll be easier in person, text convos are always weird,” she tries to comfort you. “But keep those slices on, those bags under your eyes are no joke.”

Momo smacks her calf. “Be nice! She’s going through a crisis.”

Right as you’re about to pay for your meal and sprint back to hide in your dorm, you spot a coconut head of hair facing the windows in the far corner of the dining hall. Fuck. Faintly, you can hear Dahyun’s voice shouting for you to stop being a pussy and go talk to him. You pause by the exit, one leg in one leg out, before saying fuck it. If worse comes to worse, you transfer schools and live with heartbreak and three cats for the rest of your life.

“I-Is someone sitting here?” You say before you can chicken out, and mentally curse yourself for stuttering. Oh, the social horror.

Jeongguk visibly jumps at your voice, wide doe eyes staring at you as if he expected to never see you again. After all, it’s been a week since your little fight, three days since you last tried texting him. He shakes his head, turning his attention back to his plate, but not before tugging the hoodie of his sweater over his head in a classic self defensive tactic.

You slide into the seat, staring at the plate of food like you’ve never seen it in your life, never mind the fact you picked it out less than fifteen minutes ago. You accidentally scrape your fork against the bottom, and the both of you cringe.

Jeongguk clears his throat, hands clasped together between his thighs as he stares out the window. “Don’t you have work?” He asks, voice raspy.

You shake your head. “I took the week off,” you confess, hoping he doesn’t press for more, because then you’d have to tell him your reasoning was due to heartache.

“Oh. That’s nice,” he says, and then you fall into a pit of awkward silence.

You push the food around on your plate, hoping he’ll say something, anything to save the two of you. In the end, he stays silent, sleepily glancing out the windows.

When you look closer, though, Jeongguk doesn’t look much hot than you. He’s got the same bags as you under his eyes, and his hair looks messier than his usual messy style. The fact he’s wearing his blue crocs out in public only confirms your theory.

After a solid five minutes of silence, even your hungry stomach managing to stay quiet, you decide enough is enough.

You shift ever so slightly, until you’re somewhat facing him and clear your throat; Jeongguk barely spares you a glance. “The Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People,” you blurt. Jeongguk blinks, face slowly morphing into one of confusion. Your cheeks feel hot under his gaze, having missed his brown eyes in the past week. “It’s your favorite one,” you announce. “Of the Captain Underpants books.”

After a moment, Jeongguk snorts, turning his attention away from you. “You’re not gonna win me over with that,” he says curtly, and your heart tightens at his emotionless tone of voice.

But you’ve done your research, and you’re not letting it go to waste. “You like George more than Harold because you think he contributes more. You love the characterization of Mr. Krupp the most, but you hate his theme song. You think the cover art could use some work, but you enjoy the overall art style. You hated the movie adaptation because Kevin Hart was in it,” you list, recalling every bit of information you’ve ever heard Jeongguk share about the stupid novels.

There’s a small quirk in the corner of Jeongguk’s lips, but it’s not the one you’re aiming for, so you switch tactics. “You hate the smell of bananas because you don’t think it should have a smell. You can’t put your left sock on first, because it’s bad luck to you. Your mom still washes your sheets for you. You know the lyrics to the original Dragon Ball series in three languages. You like wearing rings because it makes you feel like a pimp. You hate when Hoseok calls you the baby, because, according to you, you bench press his weight times two.”

“And a half,” he softly corrects, gazing at his hands, cheeks slightly tinged with red. You bite your lip, tentatively reaching a hand out to place on his arm. He looks at you right away, doe eyes so vulnerable and scared, like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

“I said we barely knew each other, but that was a lie,” you chuckle humorlessly, suddenly feeling your eyes tear up just remembering the conversation. “I know so much about you because I love listening to you talk. I love hearing your voice, and watching you wrestle with your friends, and fight with Dahyun. But I never tell you,” you bite your lip, blinking your eyes to backtrack the tears.

“And you’re right, I made you do all the work and I’m sorry, but I’m just so scared, Jeongguk,” you admit, voice cracking on his name. Your press a hand over your mouth, trying to collect yourself. Suddenly, a soft hand gently pats your thigh, and you find yourself reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “You can have anyone, Jeongguk, and you obviously know this,” you sigh. “I’m scared that I won’t be enough for you.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jeongguk says, voice soft in the way you’ve missed so much. His hand, shaky and unsure, reaches up to brush a tear from the corner of your eye. “Look at me,” he commands, and you do. “I think we’re both stupid, because I feel like I’ve never been enough for you,” he confesses with a chuckle you try to replicate through sniffles.

Suddenly, he’s close, forehead pressed to yours. “And maybe it’s true,” he says. “You won’t be enough for me, and I’ve never been enough for you.” Your heart aches at his words. “But that’s okay,” he assures, squeezing your thigh between his fingers. “We don't have to be right now, but we can try.”

You nod, clamping down a sob. “God, I hate how optimistic you are,” you laugh, and he smiles, cupping your face in his hands.

“And I hate watching you cry,” he says, fingers wiping your cheeks. Before you can say what you’re thinking, he’s snatching the words right out of you, “yes, I know I said what I said, and I felt like such a dick typing it, I made Jimin flick my forehead right after.”

You giggle, and he beams that dreamy smile at you again. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he announces, and your heart thunders in your chest faster than the wings of a hummingbird.

And he does.

“I don’t know, I think Kevin Hart sounds great in this,” you mention, and you feel the hard scoff Jeongguk lets out from your position cradled on his chest. “It’s not the worst thing in the world,” you defend.

“You’re sick,” he says, then pauses the Captain Underpants movie to engage in your third debate of the evening. You’re barely fifteen minutes in. “You think that weirdo did George justice? How? In what world?”

“Babe, it’s just a voice actor,” you placate. “No one died because Mr. Hart voiced him.”

Jeongguk splutters. “Mr. Hart—you don’t know this man! And something did die! My hopes for a sequel!”

You shush him, pressing your index finger to his lips. “Enough complaints, Rotten Tomatoes. We won’t even finish at this rate.”

Jeongguk hits play, grumbling under his breath.

Just as you’d predicted, you don’t even make it to the halfway mark before Jeongguk’s got you on your back, plush lips working yours until they’re bruised, tongue halfway down your throat. “The mov—“ you mumble.

“Fuck Mr. Hart,” Jeongguk says, kissing down your jaw like he can’t allow himself to miss a single spot. When he reaches the collar of your shirt, he wastes no time tugging it off of you. You whine, instinctively covering your chest. “Don’t be shy,” he chuckles, “here, look-,” he tugs his sweatshirt over his head, and you’re met with the strong muscles of his abdomen and pecs, “-twins.”

You roll your eyes. “Just kiss me, Mr. Jeon,” you tease, wrapping your hands around him to bring him closer. He chokes, and mumbles something about saving that for another time.

Before you know it, he’s kissing between your thighs, soft lips producing the most erotic sounds with every smooch he gives. “Can I take these off?” he asks, one lone finger creeping beneath the hem of your panties, right where your hip is. You nod, biting your lower lip hard the moment he begins sliding them down. His hands are soft as they glide over your legs, and when he finally tugs them away from your ankles, he wastes no time nudging your legs open for him.

“Don’t just look at it,” you whine, jabbing his ribs with your foot. Jeongguk grins.

“Sorry I stare, you’re just so pretty,” he smiles, and you muffle an annoyed groan into your palms. “Gonna eat you out now,” he announces, finally, and you uncover your face to watch the way he lowers his mouth onto your throbbing pussy, pink tongue coming out to lick at your clit.

The first press of the wet muscle has your toes curling, back arched. You’d been craving this for the longest, and just as you’d expect, it’s better than any fantasy. “Right there,” you moan, reaching down to tangle a hand in Jeongguk’s wavy hair, the other fisting the pillow beneath your head.

Jeongguk absorbs all your tiny reactions, toying with your clit just how you like it. He rolls his tongue around it, making sure every part has been in his mouth at least once. When he suctions his lips around it and moans like this was getting him off, your body melts. “Fuck,” you cry out, your thighs quivering around his head. Part of you wants to slam them shut, hide from his tongue and all its devious ministrations. But the other part has never felt so good in your entire life.

When Jeongguk decides he’s pampered your swollen clit enough, he gives it one final kiss, wet and slippery. “Good?” He smiles up at you, lips slick with your juices. You nod, probably already looking fucked out. He smirks at your response, and your heart backflips in your chest, when he reaches up to knot your fingers together.

He kisses your knuckle and you whine. “How many fingers do you want?” He asks, and you blurt out the first number you can think of.

“Eight,” you choke, and immediately flush in embarrassment afterwards.

Jeongguk laughs, dropping his head to your thigh in a fit of giggles. He looks absolutely ethereal there, soft brown hair sprawled across your skin like an angel. “Smaller numbers, baby, please,” he chuckles. You shrug, so he decides for you. “How about I just use my tongue instead?” You think you might love him.

He settles back down, lips pressing against your mound one final time, before he’s diving in. You mewl right away, body becoming one with the mattress beneath you at the first brush of his tongue.

“Oh, Jeongguk,” you gasp, hands burying themselves in his scalp again. He hums in response, and the sound has every nerve in your body lighting up. His tongue prods against your folds, slowly licking his way deeper and deeper into your cunt.

The worst comes when he sighs against your pussy, literally sighs, like he’s so blessed to be there. “You’re s-so good at this,” you cry out, trembling fingers twisting his hair so tightly that you manage to pull him off just an inch. He pinches your thigh in warning, before stuffing his tongue into you again, absolutely plunging into the depths of your hole.

Just when you think he couldn’t possibly outdo this, he jolts up suddenly, nose brushing against your clit. His eyes go wide for the slightest second, as if he really hadn’t planned that, before flickering at you.

To your utter embarrassment, he takes one long whiff, eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure.

He pulls away from your dripping hole. “You smell so fucking good,” he informs you, spreading a fiery blush across your cheeks.

“Thanks?” You say, and he grins, shuffling onto his knees all of a sudden. You mope the loss of his tongue on your pussy, but forget about it the second he reaches for his desk and returns with a condom.

He tears the foil packet open with gentle hands, eyes weirdly zeroed in on that only. You nudge his hip, and when he meets your gaze, he instantly averts it. Like he’s suddenly shy.

Oh he was gonna be the death of you.

You tug his boxers down and get to revel in more of those bashful glances, but you soon forget about that when he grips his rock hard member in one hand, jacking it to its full potential. “Ready?” He says, one hand gripping your hip, the other his cock. You nod, and then shift up onto your elbows to watch him sink into you.

You can barely keep your eyes open, the second the tip of his cock brushes against you your eyes roll back into your head. You moan, letting yourself flop back against the mattress, chest heaving with each inch he sinks in. “Fuck, you’re big,” you cry, biting down on your fist.

Jeongguk chuckles. “Yeah?” He grunts, and then stills as he waits for you to catch your breath. He gives you exactly four seconds before he’s thrusting the remainder of the way in.

Your back arches off the bed, a high-pitched moan ripping itself out of your throat. “Jeon!”

“Relax, relax,” he croons, releasing your hip to lean over you, peppering your face in kisses. You’re heaving for air, so overwhelmed with emotions. “You’re doing so good for me, doll,” he comforts, kissing every inch of you until you regain your wits. “So wet and warm for me, you have no idea how bad I wanna just ram my cock into your tight, little pussy.”

You huff, heart still skipping by the time you grow familiar with the sheer size of his dick inside of you. When you’ve finally come back down to earth, eyes fluttering at Jeongguk, he gives you one affirmative nod before he begins really fucking you.

He starts carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll break you with one push. You’re thankful that he’s at least somewhat aware of his own bear strength, but you’d prefer if he picked up the pace. Before you can file a complaint, he’s hiking your thigh up onto the crease of his elbow, and ramming himself into you.

“Could already hear some smart ass comment coming,” he groans, snapping his hips into you with a newfound intensity. You moan, trying desperately to reciprocate some movements back.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything,” you gasp, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders, scratching lone lines down his back. Jeongguk snorts, pushing in, and then grinding your pelvises together deliciously.

He rolls his eyes, then chooses that exact moment to capture your lips in his. You groan softly, body boneless beneath him at the gentle way he kisses you, like his entire life depends on this single kiss.

When he finally releases your lips, he’s huffing against your mouth, hips having not stopped a single time. You know he’s tired and so riled up; you’d felt the brush of his half-hard member from the moment you first laid down to watch the movie.

But Jeongguk was a gentleman, through and through. You’d felt the brush of his cock, and heard the thundering of his heart, but he hadn’t pushed you further a single time. He basked in your presence, waiting until you crept your hand beneath his shirt to finally pounce.

“I’m close,” you tell him, reaching down to toy with your clit. Jeongguk had treated it like the finest treasure earlier, but now your gentle caresses feel mediocre compared to the way he’d touched it. Jeongguk nods, the tips of his wavy hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. You abandon your quest to finish yourself off and focus on brushing his hair away from his face. “You’re so good to me,” you moan, lightly picking the corner of his mouth. “Don’t deserve you.”

He rams his cock into you, the arm not holding up your thigh weakening, until he’s leaning on his forearm over you. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, and you wonder if his orgasm is as close as yours.

A particular brush of his cock against your cervix has you seeing stars, thighs clenching around him. “Just a little bit—more,” you beg, body writhing beneath him, pushing yourself up to meet his thrusts.

“So perfect,” he praises, kissing along your jaw. “Come for me, baby.”

You nod, but not before cupping his face in your hands, and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. He makes a soft little sound of surprise, smile pressed against your mouth, and the heat in your abdomen finally explodes. You disassociate for all of one second, consumed in a wave of bliss never before heard of, his pistoning thrusts working you through it.

You nearly cry from how good it feels, throwing an arm around his neck to pull him closer. You’re babbling like an idiot, saying shit you won’t remember later. What you do recall is the chuckles Jeongguk had muffled against your neck, hips never faltering as he chased his own high.

He finds it a few beats later, the muscles of his back suddenly going rigid. He moans your name, somehow making it sound like it’s the best song in the world, before his hips begin stuttering in their mission. He eventually goes slack, slumped over you without completely crushing you beneath the weight of his muscles.

By the time you’ve fully recovered, he’s sliding out of you. Right as you go to speak, he stuffs two fingers into your sensitive cunt. “Jeon!” You wail, reaching down to push him away before you come again.

He snickers. “What? It’d be a waste to let it out,” he says, letting go when he’s decided he’s done his job, popping the digits into his mouth. You groan, trying to quell the excitement that builds in your chest from watching him suck your cum off his fingers.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, snatching his t-shirt off the edge of the bed to tug over your bare form. Jeongguk tugs his underwear back on, retrieving yours from where he’d flung them across the room. When you’re settled into the blankets again, you’re not expecting the laptop to return as well. You raise a questioning eyebrow.

Jeongguk shrugs, nestling into your chest. “Hit play, this is when Professor Poopy Pants begins attacking the city.”

#kpopwonderlandtag #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jjk♡#jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #mine

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seriouslysam8 · 3 years

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For the ask game, would you please answer questions numbered 2, 8, 14 (all of your titles have such cool names), 18 (I hope Abditory isn't one of them as that story rocks), 21, 24, 29, 30, 33, 34, 44, 51, 62, 76, 82, 85, 88, 90, and 98.

Sorry for asking so many, but I love your work! Entombed gave me so many feels! I found your stories because author Breanie said to read them in her author's notes. Best rec ever! Thank you for answering.

Wow, that is a lot of asks! Thank you so much for wanting to know so much about little ole me. I think I hit them all in this and my apologies if I missed one. Let me know if I missed one. @breaniebree is awesome and my writing BFF. She is amazing, and I love her.

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one?

So, I’ve written for The X-Files, Supernatural, and Harry Potter. I currently only write for Harry Potter. I would say Harry Potter has always been the most fun.

8) Where do you take your inspiration from?

Random shit. Brontide came to me because I was browsing the HPFanfiction subreddit looking for a story suggestion and someone asked for a story where Harry was addicted to Felix. Only one unfinished dimensional time travel story was listed. It idea sparked me to write my own version. Entombed came to me because I was rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Buffy was buried alive. I knew I wanted to bury Ginny alive. As I stated in the author’s notes of last Kalopsia chapter, I drew inspiration from the Djinn storyline in Supernatural. I write about things I know, too. I have young kids at home so I like writing the Potter children as young because I can mimic their mannerisms in my writing. I’ve even asked my kids to say certain words to emulate their speech pattern in my writing if I’m writing that age group.

14) How did you come up with the title for the XXX? You can ask about multiple stories.

I HATE coming up with titles. My newest trend has been to literally Google “unique words”. There are a ton of Pinterest accounts who make fancy word and definition pictures. I scroll through all these little unique words and pick out ones I think fit a story. Sometimes I Google a unique word for BLANK and see if I can get a cool version of that name. @breaniebree actually helped me with Entombed.

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

Sadly, I would put Abditory in this category. Never say never though. I think about it from time to time. Honestly, I abandoned it due to such a negative response I was receiving and the lack of positive response. I became discouraged. It wasn’t even negative response due to my writing, it was literally a bunch of “why would you waste your time writing a story about the biggest plot hole in the books? JKR butchered the whole SK storyline and it’s unbearable to read.” So, basically, my reviews and PMs were filled with JKR hate over that plot point in the books. They heavily outweighed the positive reviews I received. Honestly, I think that’s why a bulk of stories get abandoned - lack of positive reviews or enthusiasm for a story. If I didn’t get so many great reviews for my stories, I don’t know if I’d be able to finish them or continuing writing new ones. Fanfiction is free, (as it should be) but it’s a lot of time and hard work. A little appreciation goes a LONG way. So, my advice, review everything you love reading and encourage writers to keep writing. I always say in my authors notes that reviews make me want to write and inspire me. That’s the truth. The moment I stop getting reviews will probably be the time I take a writing break again.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

@breaniebree. I mean she’s dedicated years to a single story with so many plot lines and characters that I’m amazed she did it. She’s a fantastic writer, and I definitely consider her my writing BFF. I feel like I’ve learned a lot from her and enjoy talking about writing with her so much. I’m so glad we’ve become friends.

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes?

Horrified. Anytime I get a little steamy in my stories, it goes immediately to @breaniebree who usually adds way too much smut and then I cut it down to still be somewhat PG-13 in order to appeal to a wider audience.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

I feel like Kalopsia isn’t getting as much love as my other stories. I’m way behind in my normal review count per chapter. I wonder if it’s just the confusing storyline or if it’s just not as fun to read? But I was definitely worried it wouldn’t get the love I thought it deserved when I started writing it and it’s lived up to that expectation.

30) In contrast to 29, is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

Cronus Rising. People still recommend it occasionally and I still get random reviews. I’m like, “why????” Its horribly written and a stupid plot line. I literally was getting back into writing after not writing for a good five years, so it’s abysmal. I’ve often wanted to rage delete it.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

When someone tells me I should write an original novel and they’d buy the hell out of it. I do have some original novel ideas floating around (one I’ve been writing since I was like 15), but crippling fear of rejection from publishers have stopped me from ever actually finish an original novel.

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

I got some criticism in Brontide for having drama for drama’s sake with no real purpose or goal for said drama. I felt my drama served a purpose, drove the story along, and I add a lot of fluffy and cute family moments. I feel like in real life, when you to your loved one is going through sometime, it feels like nonstop drama and bad news and like a dark cloud just follows you. I wanted to emulate that in real life. So Harry’s POV was often drab because HE was the one going through something horrific and it was all doom and gloom for him.

44) What is the last line you wrote?

“You never think I listen to your ramblings, but it’s kind of hard to block out, mate.”

51) From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

Um... I’d say a 3. I think I have some good and unique plots for stories but sometimes I struggle on how to execute those on paper effectively. I struggle with descriptions, action, and showing rather than telling. But I do think I’m good at dialogue and capturing a character’s personality. So, 3.

62) Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

A lot! I have a Teddy/Victoire stalker story in the works that I’m excited about. I have (this is going to sound weird) but an outsider rom-com planned where Ron/Hermione breakup right before Hinny’s wedding and Hinny struggles to get them back together before the big day. I have a Potter family vacation fluff/comedy story planned. I have a game night one-shot planned. I have a short story about Luna’s wedding. So many that I want to write and don’t know which one to write first!!

76) Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

I’d say no. I’ve always tried to write my ideas down. Some I’ve never finished because inspiration peters off and some I plan on finishing once my newest big project is done.

82) Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

Harry goes through some shit, and Ginny is his soulmate.

85) Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I don’t understand why people don’t ship Harry/Ginny more. I don’t understand the Harry/Daphne obsessions (like just why???) or the Harry/Hermione ship at all. I always see people asking for story recommendation and they specific say “no Harry/Ginny”. They are literally perfect for one another and they are soulmates.

88) If you could ask one other fanfic author three questions about their writing, writing process, or works, what would they be and who would you ask?

@breaniebree .

1.) How do you organize all your charts? Send me the ALL the charts. Because I don’t understand how you keep everything straight!

2.) How do you write so much? You’re like a little writing machine in a cute little package.

3.) Where do all the ideas come from? In a dream? Just thinking? Driving? Do you write everything out in your head like meeee? Can I have some of your writing mojo?

90) How do you process and deal with negative reviews?

I obsess over them. I analyze them. I may get bummed out and not write for a few days. If you don’t like what I write, then don’t read or review. It’s a hobby. I do this for free. I’m not asking you to critique me. Give me a nice review or ask me a question, but don’t be cruel or mean because you can hide behind a keyboard and be a bully to make yourself feel superior.

98) If you had to give up either snacks and drinks during writing sessions, or music, which would you find more difficult to say goodbye to and why?

Music. I grew up with three older brothers. My house was always rowdy and loud and obnoxious. I need it to be loud. I can’t stand the silence or focus when it’s silent. I need music to help me think and write. When I’m home alone, I always turn on the TV or music, because I can’t stand when it’s silent. I think I’d go insane.

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haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles · 4 years

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Unspoken: Chapter One - Oikawa Tooru x f!reader

Oikawa has been in love with you since you became a manager for the university’s volleyball team, but keeps it to himself in fear of what his fan club might do to you if they found out

genre(s): college!au, mutual pining (mostly Oikawa), friends to lovers, angst, eventual smut words: 3k+

a/n: don’t worry folks, i just got carried away with this fic and felt it would be better to split it up. chapter 2 is complete and will be up tomorrow 💖 with a bonus smut ending if you are a heathen like me. enjoy ~ J ✨ i am also sorry i made the fan club so bitchy

taglist: @takingyouruwus @kurosarium @apollochjld @afterglowkuroo (lmk if you’d like to be added to my general or a specific taglist!)

Chapter 2

The Oikawa fan club is definitely not a fan of you, and you certainly aren’t of them. Not because you have a crush on him too but because they’re obnoxious and take the best seats at volleyball games. It also doesn’t help that they outright despise you. They don’t even try to hide it. Snickering in the hallways at school or passing quick remarks whispered amongst them at games. You really aren’t a fan of that. You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care—you chant to yourself to keep your tongue locked behind your teeth. It isn’t worth your time or the effort.

Not until you hear one of them hiss today at the game, “What is she even doing up here? I thought she’s the manager,” a scoff. “Guess the team likes Miko better.”

Your fists ball instinctively. You can’t sit down there, as much as you’d like to. If they knew anything deeper about volleyball beyond Oikawa’s killer serve and being obsessed with his ‘pretty hair’ they’d know that you might be a manager but there is a senior manager who outranks you and only one is allowed on the bench down on the court.

Though you have to admit, sitting up here in the bleachers with the Oikawa ogling brigade in front of you—the manager—fawning over his every move is degrading. You don’t necessarily have to sit directly behind them, but god dammit you want to see the game too and are willing to grin and bear it for the sake of the team. You can’t sit in the normal cheering section crowded with students either since you arrive late and would have to sit at the back of the stands. So, this is the better of two options, even if today the fan club is being particularly petty.

“Or maybe she’s just a wannabe,” another snickers, loud enough that you know she is intending you to hear it.

That pushes you over the edge, making you abruptly stand up. You’re wearing a university volleyball club jacket for fucks sake! Are they really so shallow as to start slinging rumors like that around? They jolt at your sudden movement, glaring back at you, clearly with no intention of apologizing. They so obviously just want you to leave.

You want to watch the game, support the boys you watch work so hard and work hard for yourself, but you don’t want to be around for this bullshit. You know shouldn’t care, but you do, and it fucking ruins the game for you.

Instead of giving them some mean remark like you’re itching to throw at them, you just turn on a heel and go. You stride up the steps and towards the exit right as you hear the crowd gear up for Oikawa’s serve. You stop once you reach the doorway, fists clenched and trembling with anger, furious at yourself for letting them get under your skin. Exactly like they wanted to. You should have stayed as a silent ‘fuck you’ to them, but you can’t stomach going back either. Not like they even care anyways, probably too wrapped up in Oikawa’s serve. Now a sigh escapes you; forcing your hands to unfurl and stretch the ache that formed from how tightly you had them clenched.

You need to take a breath and move on. You have nothing to prove to them, all the matters is that you know where you stand. It also makes you feel better that the team actually knows you, they can pretend it isn’t true all they want but that doesn’t change that you get to spend time with the team, and inevitably, Oikawa. A fact they loathe.

You end up lingering in the hallway near the entrance to the gym, waiting for the game to finish. Usually you can be a part of the between game meetings if you want to, sometimes you can’t get down there fast enough but sitting here in the hallway, you’ll make it today. While you wait, you slide down the wall to sit, leaning against it and pulling your legs close to rest your chin on.

You like to think that you have tough skin and their words can’t hurt you, but they do. And while you may not put the same about of blood, sweat, and tears the boys do into the sport—you put in your fair share for them, and it’s hard to be met with scoffs and sideways glances purely because of jealousy. You’re appreciated enough by those who matter, so why are you so bothered by the fan club? Shaking your head at the fleeting thought that it has anything to do with Oikawa, you convince yourself it’s just annoyance that you can’t enjoy games like you’d like to.

Interrupting your thoughts, the whistle blows to signal the end of the game and you perk your head up. You’re grateful for the distraction, not really wanting to delve deeper into your thoughts about Oikawa, and peek into the gym. Miko notices your head in the doorway and waves you in to join the huddle.

Ha, take that fan club. Wannabe my ass.

Miko’s movement catches Oikawa’s attention. He looks to where her attention is drawn and watches you beam before throwing the door wide and joining the huddle by Miko’s side. He wonders what you were doing waiting by the door, normally you wait until the last possible moment before bolting from your seat in the bleachers to join the huddle. You never want to miss a single second of the game, which he finds rather endearing. And he can’t remember the last time you skipped out on a game early.

He stares at you, trying to get your attention, but you’re fixated on the coach, no doubt trying to soak up as much information as possible. It makes his mouth curve ever so slightly at how eagerly you listen during these huddles. When you do briefly slide your gaze over to him, he gives you a questioning look to which you just shake your head at and point discretely at the coach.

Ah. Your way of saying, ‘shut up and listen’.

He supposes he likes that about you. Your bluntness.

So, with an eyeroll, he fixes his eyes on the coach, fully intending on pestering you later about it. He tries to grab you before the next game, but you hurry away as soon as the whistle is blown, and his fingers grasp empty air.

The team wins the next set, winning the match without going to the 3rd set. As customary, he lines up with the team to thank the spectators and Oikawa gets the chance to pick you out in the crowd. He spots you off to the side, and he’s noted since meeting you that you don’t sit with the cheering crowd, but rather on your own. It’s never too hard to find you, your face split in two by a smile as you clap for them. It’s then that he notices who is sitting directly in front of you.

He fights the urge to frown. He likes to think he’s a polite guy, having always given attention to his so called ‘fan club’. He got used to it in high school, the constant barrage of placating a group of fans, but had been secretly looking forward to hopefully leaving it behind. Only to have a new one re-emerge within the first few months of school. The other guys on the team weren’t too keen about him for a while after that. It took him forever to convince them to tolerate him again.

And he hates that they give you trouble. Ever since they discovered you interact with him outside of school, it seems they deemed you an enemy. He tries to stay away from you during regular school hours, keeping it limited to volleyball only, but lately the two have started bleeding together. He simply can’t help himself, however selfish that may be. Gathering his things, he wonders if they’re the cause for your weird behavior earlier.

He glances at you helping Miko put away the chairs, a tight feeling constricting his chest. God—if he ever told you how he actually feels about you, what would his fan club do then? How miserable would they make you? But damn him to hell, he’s selfish, and it doesn’t stop him from striding over to you cooing your name.

Without hesitation you reply, “Oikawa-san~,” in the same sing-song voice he uses for you. You don’t even bother to look over your shoulder at him, continuing your task.

“What was with the little peeping tom imitation earlier?”

You’re glad to be facing away from him, your skin prickling with the thought of having to explain to him that his fan club was pissing you off. Surely earning yourself a more prying follow-up question that you definitely do not want to answer. So instead you shrug, brushing off his question, “You guys were so far ahead, and I was sure your serves would end it, so I figured I’d actually be a part of the entire huddle.”

He squints, finding that to be rather out of character for you. “You missed my serves though!” He pouts, deciding it’s better for him to let you off the hook than continue to pry. He doesn’t think you’d tell him anyways, no matter how much he pesters you.

“Oh, big baby. I missed what? Two?”

“What if they were my best yet!” He protests, leaning around you so you can see his impressive pout. It delights him that he elicits a smile from you, peering at him from the corner of your eye, clearly finding his antics amusing. “Guess you’ll have to help me with serving practice to make up for it.”

You stick your tongue out at him, which he hates to admit he watches very closely as you answer, “Fine.” Though, truthfully, he’s not really pulling your leg too much. You like helping him practice.

He can’t help how his mouth turns downward into a frown as another member of the team, a bold freshman, butts into the conversation. “Need any help?”

Though he does find immense delight at the way your face falls to a neutral expression, giving him a curt, “I’m alright, thank you.” You don’t even turn to him, instead tilting your head to look at Oikawa continuing, “Oikawa-san is more than enough help here. Why don’t you see if they need help putting away the net?”

The freshman slinks away and Oikawa has to physically restrain himself from doing a victory lap as you shove a chair into his hands grumbling to yourself. The muttering continues as you move to put away more chairs, loud enough that he catches you say, “Is he ever going to get the hint?”

“What?”

You almost drop the chair you’re holding, turning wide-eyed at Oikawa, not realizing you’d been talking out loud to yourself. “It’s nothing.”

He frowns. “Is he bothering you?”

God he’s talking so loudly, making you nervous that the underclassman might hear him. “Can you talk any louder?” You hiss. Oikawa’s expression doesn’t change, however, and you groan really not wanting to get into this right now. “He’s been at it for a couple weeks now,” you say, trying to play off the situation as best you can. You’ve never had someone as persistent in pursuing you as he is, or someone as oblivious to your subtle rejections either.

You vaguely wonder if this is how Oikawa feels all the time with his fan club.

“Wanna pretend to date for a while?” He suggests harmlessly in your opinion, but very selfishly in his. And while he knows he isn’t joking in the slightest—you certainly think he is and bark out a laugh at the idea of fake dating him to get the underclassman off your back. “What?” He pouts. “Is it so crazy of an idea?”

You’re laughing even harder now, enough that people are beginning to look your way, so you swallow you remaining laughter and wipe your eyes dramatically. “It just don’t want to be murdered in the dead of night by your fan club, that’s all.”

You go back to collapsing chairs and don’t notice Oikawa stiffen. He doesn’t like being reminded that his fan club will literally rip apart any girl he is even remotely interested in. And he isn’t just interested in you. He likes you. A lot.

Clearly not thinking anything of this conversation, you say over your shoulder, “What are all those muscles for if you’re not going to carry more chairs than me?” He blinks back to reality and makes a show of picking up way more chairs than you and putting them away faster too. That only earns him a scowl in response, but he knows it’s only for show.

“Oh, pleeeeeease?” Oikawa almost gets on his knees begging you. Practice is done but he wants to stay late and hammer in more serves before the night is over. And sue him if he thinks it’s way more enjoyable if you stay to help him. “You promised last week!” You groan, scrunching your eyes tight, not wanting to look at his stupidly adorable pouting face that usually breaks you. It doesn’t help that you can feel he is standing very close to you. “You’re going to have to open your eyes sometime.”

“Nope, I’ll walk all the way home like this.”

He pleads your name again. “You’re going to miss the rare sight of Oikawa Tooru on his knees for you!”

You don’t budge. “Nice try.”

“I’m serious!” Now he really does get on his knees, dramatically putting his hands together to beg you. “This is a once in a lifetime chance!”

He keeps it to himself that you could definitely get him on his knees for many different reasons.

He’s sure that he’s broken you when you groan loudly and peek an eye open at him. Upon seeing that he is being serious, both of your eyes widen, and you have the audacity to start giggling at him. “I should take a picture.”

That makes him scramble to his feet, sticking his tongue out at you. “You better not.” It just makes you grin and his heart soars at the sight. He can’t help that your smile makes his stomach do somersaults. He takes you by the arm and drags you further into the gym before jogging over to the other side of the court and grabbing a ball from the cart.

He loves that he doesn’t have to tell you what to do. You’re already digging through your bag to find objects to place around the opposite side of the net for him to aim for. He notices that you’ve placed some of them very meanly—some sitting just barely on the outside line, others in spots that he has a record of having trouble hitting. And while it makes his chest swell with pride you even notice his performance, the scowl across his face betrays his annoyance that you aren’t making this easy.

If you’re going to help him—he’s going to have to work for it.

And hell, if that doesn’t drive him wild.

“Those good?” You ask, stepping off to the side, a smug smirk splayed across your lips.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

He levels a look at you that you return with a sickeningly sweet yet utterly terrifying smile. “You’re going to have to do better than that, I’m afraid.”

Your smile transforms into something that makes his stupid fucking shorts tighten, holding his gaze steadily as you challenge, “We’ll see.” Then you tear your eyes from his and he feels like you’ve ripped his chest out with it and like he can barely get enough air into his lungs. He knows the challenge is to drive him to do better, to perform the best of his ability, but damn—he’ll give 110% for the rest of his life if you ask him to.

You will never admit how much you love watching Oikawa play volleyball. Watching him shift from his teasing, easy-going smile, to this intensely serious and calculating gaze that while foreign to you—is also so strangely familiar. You feel lucky to be able to watch him up close, someone who has honed their craft, yet is ever looking to be better. When it comes down to it, you truly admire Oikawa and want to be there to watch him grow and see where he goes. Because to you, the sky’s the limit for him.

Where the hell are those thoughts coming from?

The sound of a volleyball slamming onto the court, sending the notebook you placed on the line skittering across the floor, startles you. “Hey! Pay attention!” Oikawa scolds. You quickly apologize, knowing full well how much a stray volleyball can hurt. “And make sure you’re watching! I’m going to hit every single one of those first try.”

You nod, a bit blankly, still reeling from the thoughts tumbling through your head. He tosses another ball up, his powerful thighs straining as he thrusts his body upwards, hand meeting the ball at the perfect point—the sound of his hand cracking against it almost as loud as the sound that reverberates around the gym when it connects with the floor. It all happens in the blink of an eye, but you feel like you’re watching it in slow motion until his feet touch the floor and you’re jolted back to reality.

God, what the fuck is going on with you tonight?

Oikawa isn’t blind. He knows you’re watching him. And it sends such a thrill down his spine he doesn’t know what to do with himself besides channel as his energy into his serves. Otherwise he’s going to do something very stupid tonight.

You’re uncannily quiet for the remainder of the night. Just watching him serve over and over again, and when he’s finished, helping him pick up the balls and set up the targets so he can start again. He is desperate to know what’s going through your head, but he lets you stew, just as interested in what conclusion you might be coming to on your own.

It’s not his fault that his imagination runs absolutely fucking wild that night. He can’t sleep, theorizing what changed today—if anything did. What were you thinking about as you watched him so intently? What flipped the switch? Are you thinking about him right now, lying awake in bed like he is? It torments him even in his dreams.

He does keep you awake that night. You can’t get the image of him out of your head. His voice either. It’s infuriating. You try to convince yourself he’s just a friend. That all those late nights in the gym, all the times he’s walked you home, all the bus rides you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, are harmless. He hasn’t wormed his way into your heart, he hasn’t made you fall in love with him slowly and quietly and its only now hitting you like a tidal wave—has he?

Fuck. Has he?

You’re grateful your roommates’ room is down the hall, giving you the freedom to scream into your pillow.

Are you a fucking Oikawa fan girl now?

You don’t know the difference between you and them is that he’s been in love with you a lot longer than you can even imagine.

#oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru imagine #oikawa tooru scenario #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu #oikawa tooru

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fruitylibrarian · 3 years

Text

quest of the spear live rewatch!

i already spewed my pre call to adventure flynn thoughts all over a text post but I would like to repeat: pre-canon flynn my beloved <3

yes he is a bit of a bastard but he just loves his books and he’s so genuinely just like. passionate and like…. Big? does that make sense? like i mean inside. not literally. bright

flynn’s mom is so fucking funny

and she’s Trying Her Best

you know one thing I don’t understand, I assume that flynn could afford to keep going to college because of like grants and scholarships since he’s all smart and like, even if his mom is well off, no one below the morally bankrupt millionaire line can pay for 22 degrees and not die of no-money-itis otherwise known as Starving

but like. why not become a professor or some other academia position?

you’d be incredibly overqualified and you’re a white dude, so while academia isn’t exactly bursting with new spaces to fill I’m sure you could find something???? and like. a professor in particular, while baby flynn might not be great at the connection part, seems like a natural progression to at least try for considering it keeps you in that comfort zone and familiar space just in a different albeit familiar role, and allows you to go on long lectures people can’t interrupt. and like, professors literally like, part of their job is research and to continue learning, so like. it seems like the natural choice for him to go for?

don’t get me wrong, baby flynn in particular might not be extremely well suited considering his lack of people skills, but plenty of professors are brilliant slightly odd smarties who give long, super engaging theatrical lectures (sounds like him!) but suck at one on one meetings and talking to people or may be accidentally insulting, but like, their class is genuinely interesting and they grade decently so like, I think he could get past that hurdle is what I’m saying

obviously he’d have to work at it and get the skills necessary but you know what that means? MORE SCHOOL, BABY! just in a different direction! like just? it seems like the obvious choice for his situation

ah yes!!! magic letter!!! it’s kind of funny they do this, it’s a great hook and way to make applicants go Uh Excuse Me and want to know more but also like, there’s no proof magic happened either?

although you’d think some people would get obsessive like let me tell you if i encountered real ass magic like that i wouldn’t stop until i had an answer

ah the Incredibly Long Interview Line. it’s kinda how funny how like. Not Special he is but at the same time he is?

“never been treated so badly in my entire life!” what did you say to him charlene

i’m sure he deserved it i just want to know

wait oh no i just realized

all these people are dead

every single one of them got murdered in the first episode of the series

jesus that’s dark

not gonna be able to stop thinking about that one huh

also love how it’s pretty evenly men and women

although it’s still mostly white

fuck that lady just left crying I know they’re doing this to turn up the drama but DAMN, charlene

god he almost gave up. remember the timeline episode where he never became the librarian? weird.

Gkjlfkgjhfglh Where Do You Think You’re Going? (weak gesture like “me?”) Yes You. Get In Here amazing how can she even see him she’s around the CORNER. camera? magical surveillance? why? just to freak people out? amazing.

i do so love charlene, it’s a shame she wasn’t in the show more

also she literally never explains shit. What Makes You Think You Can Be The Librarian he doesn’t even know what that means, charlene

He Doesn’t Even Have A Library Science Degree

oh wow he does actually have librarian qualifications lmao

why did i not remember that

DLKFGJDFG I did remember him sherlocking her tho

wait her MARRIAGE? to WHO?

i thought her and judson were a thing despite jenkins being into her or something?

huh

also why does this qualify him to be The Librarian™ like oh he can sherlock? ok?

maybe it’s just bc he had the balls to do it

well, the sherlock thing is also not completely unhelpful it just doesn’t seem central to his skills, or at least, not the way he uses it (do we see him use it like this again? he usually applies more obscure knowledge then ye classic deduction sherlockian skills if I remember correctly which I may not because my brain is smooth)

judson is such a fucking drama queen

LKDJFGLKDJFGLDKFJG I FUCKING FORGOT HE LITERALLY JUST FUCKING REPEATED HIS MOM’S LITTLE PHRASE AMAZING

also why did he seem to think her sending everyone home meant he didn’t get it why would she stop all interviews because you fucked up

he just fucking walked out of a wall judson you are so dramatic

also warehouse 13 vibes huh. welcome to a world of endless wonder

I could do a whole fucking thesis on warehouse 13 and the librarians or—well that’s a whole other tangent

anYWYA

this interview was remarkably easy tho, it’s not like he wasn’t impressive but it wasn’t mindblowing either????? this coming from a big fan of flynn

the big shiny wonderous eyes as the library lights up……flynn my beloved

also his floofy hair ldkfgjdlkfgj

he’s like this is too good am I being prank’d

why the mona lisa?????iIs the mona lisa magic??? It only became famous because it got stolen why would it be magic??? Is this one of those we make it magic by believing it or some shit things???

Flynn Do Not Open The Random Box In The Library Of Incredibly Dangerous Artifacts

oh hello excalibur !!

oh rip flynn immediately being like “oh im not worthy, trust me” with 100 percent certainty im hurt oof

KSJFLGKDJGLKDJG THE APPLE “the apple from the garden of eden…….” *judson takes a bite* “actually I just left this here”

excalibur hello properly!!!!

judson is such a fucking DRAMA QUEEN he’s so casual!! and cal you too you slippery bitch!

ah the jetpack.

DLFKGJDLKFGJ “it usually takes a new librarian four hours to find the jetpack. you did it in three! congratulations” love the implication that every librarian (at least since it was added to the library) has done this no matter how serious like the bad guy of this movie… *checks notes* edware wilde? jetpack. darrington dare, probably? jetpack. i like to think jenkins did it too (not technically a librarian, but you know)

flynn thinking of himself as embarrassing… ☹

HIS MOM IS SO PROUD OF HIM

part sweet, part funny, part rip

I don’t know what she was expecting when he said librarian tho like. originally he literally looked at shit for FRY COOk degrees don’t always mean shit you know

and librarian is up there with professor in Perfect Jobs For Flynn like what did you expect??? Like even if he’d become an archaeologist (a “cool” job) it’s not like that pays super well either as far as I know??

he was never going to be Traditionally Successful

he’s still the same person he still has the same strengths and passions of course he would go into academia and do something like librarian like????? her reaction saddens me.

just be happy for him!! look at him!!!

ok first of all even normal non magic librarians don’t just put books on shelves and that’s a condescending reduction of the job, and second of all, he is so happy!! he has a job, he’s taking responsibility, he’s meeting people, isn’t that enough??? isn’t that literally what you wanted??? even if it WERE what you think it is why couldn’t it just be a good first step??? like??? fuck??? you did been know that he was doing all those fancy degrees because he loved them not because they’d get him some super fancy job??? I mean egyptology is not the most profitable field you know this isn’t med school or whatever

god.

flynn’s mom, visibly not proud and very upset: of course im proud of you!

ok im being a little unfair, she’s trying and clearly she’s been supportive of him, if not straight up enabling of him, but like this is clearly being presented as like. normal person who is normal forced to take care of freakish strange son who is so nerdy and strange and a loser and she is so tired of his shenanigans and all that WORK she put in and he’s NOT FANCY AND CHANGING TO CONFORM TO HER IDEALS OF A GOOD SUCCESSFUL SON/MAN?

and that’s just all very. sigh.

the snake brotherhood are such obnoxiously cheesy villainous villains they’re even called the snake brotherhood

also I think we’re supposed to recognize him as the previous librarian from the painting but if I didn’t already know that I for sure would not know that

smartass flynn is a smartass

I never got people bringing someone coffee to impress them unless they knew their order like there’s no way you know who she likes her coffee so you could so easily get it wrong—like even if you don’t know exactly how much sugar she wants, you could also just get it entirely wrong like assume she likes black coffee but she likes it super sweet, or vice versa, or whatever. it can go wrong so easily!

or she could go “I Hate A Kiss Ass”

she did take it anyway tho so.

ah i did forget (or just not actively think about) how much like… christian mythology there is in this show :/ I mean we did been knew (excalibur and arthurian legend are pretty important to the mythology)

not that christian mythology is inherently bad it just gets a) annoying, b) boring, and c) y’know, very western centric and all

but then trying to reconcile di—you know what that’s a tangent for another time

then again I do assume no one is going to read this

the library really does just throw new librarians into death and go “hope this is fine!” huh

did they just imply god is canon in the “the librarian” universe

you were so cryptic with the no one thing!! just say NOONE

he’s scribbling in his notebook and mumbling out loud what a mood and I love him. what a nerd

ldfkgjdlkjg god sexy jazz music and a breeze this is so dumb

I do hate the forced love interests in all these movies it’s always like Some Hot Girl Is There And They Get It On!

like he really had chemistry with eve and banter but here it kinda feels like that wish fulfilment and then the nerd gets the hot chick the end and im saying that as the nerd

it doesn’t help that each movie has a different one who immediately is dropped as if she never existed afterwards

maybe it’s not as bad as I remember but. sigh

my instant impression of her is to not like her sorry nicole :/

she’s just so rude? she’s like. hot (derogatory)

i get there’s gender politics here with like. she’s used to being treated like a piece of meat and generally like, why not reap the benefits when you are going to get the creeps too, but like, also she’s just so unnecessarily rude—I mean rejecting his clumsy flirting is one thing but you know—ok I won’t even get into that the point is I just don’t really like her that much even tho I don’t think she’s necessarily a bad person or anything you know

but to be fair I think she got better and I remember her being compelling in her return to the show

and like. I do like how the trend in this franchise is “smart little nerd librarian and badass lady guardian kicks ass” but I do wish that it turned around occasionally. we do get cassandra but like. more lady librarians

wow an air marshal? aren’t they rarely even on flights?

sorry im being nitpicky there for sure lmao. please delete the cinamasins ding my words probably summoned from your brain

I get why shoving him out was necessary but also Wow

Gjklhkjfgh imagine sitting next to some mumbling nerd the whole flight and then you see him fly past the windows

LFKGJDLKJDFG he brilliantly lowers our expectations then jumps without a chute! remarkable!

hilarious or commentary on men getting credit for womens’ competency? why not both

i really thought that she was going to be a lying liar the first time I watched this

ah naïve boy. “uh that’s against the law”

flynn’s greatest strength isn’t just his knowledge but his like. breadth of different topics, just like, passion for learning of any time, and like. the ability to not just know a lot of different things but cross-reference and apply them to each other and use them in tandem to understand a greater whole

and we love that for him!

ah flynn therapizing himself lmao

why would she take him going “this bridge is rotting and physically cant support our weight” as a challenge

or him being cowardly like THE STRUCTURAL SUPPORTS ARE ROTTING

YEAH WHAT DID YOU EXPECT OF COURSE HE FUCKING FELL

ok i lied i like nicole i just don’t love their dynamic

i get what they’re going for i just. not my thing

like with eve there was still a clear mutual respect? i guess? idk

maybe it’s just because i’m more sensitive to mean banter? i don’t like mean banter, even when it’s like, def 100 percent well meaning and not mean spirited and no one is actually offended or hurt

although despite not liking their Thing I do a) think it’s very cute how he looks at her, b) their vibe as they start to get to know each other is Better, c) the end of the movie scene where she rides in for maximum drama? now that was good shit.

oh he’s sherlocking her in a shy attempt to impress her but it’s only going to piss her off, right?

oh she’s just sherlocking him back

KSGFJLDKFGJ LMAO “nerd” and that’s it. fair

Cutting Off His Head damn that’s hardcore

hmmmm cringe,

and more cringe

and cringe.

her waking up to him gone right after telling that story about waking up to her librarian gone and then killed—oof

love the serpent brotherhood lady being like wow!! he’s SO COMPETENT!! (cuts to him screaming)

do these ancient traps just have infinite arrows?

also I do love the whole waltzing across trope what can I say im a sucker

DFLKGLDKFGJLDKJG fucking CHUCKS SOMETHING AT IT and immediately where he would be standing is crushed by a huge rock amazing

he literally just chucked a rock at it and it fell over

ah the classic “let the hero get it for us” move

oh there he is! rip

why does he look like macpherson

not really but kind of

also contrast between the lady always being like “omg the librarian is so smart” and him assuming nicole is the one who did the smart thing

“your tears were perfect” how much more of an asshole can you get

They really could have played him as more sympathetic—“oh, we’re always around these powerful artifacts but we never use them for good! I had to do it, I was sick of sitting back and doing nothing” or like “all those years of danger and guarding powerful things and what good did it ever do me? what do I get for my service?” or anything but nah hes just like “mm power good babes. anyway I love sex and being mean”

to be fair flynn he was the librarian too—a real librarian? I mean yeah edward was corrupted and ultimately failed his duties but he had to have been qualified and actually got the job for a reason

flynn I know you think you sound badass but you really don’t

god not shangri-la again. everything the show did with that was. Bad. yikes

why is—god, I should really learn her name [checks notes] lana fangirling so much?

also following the lamia tradition of “serpent brotherhood second in command who is more interesting than the main evil white guy and also a pretty woc” huh

never got like “this is literally impossible” “well do it or I [generic bad guy threat]” like usually that means nothing lmao

LDFKGJLDKFJLDKFGJ ok first of all god is me? bitch?

second of all. me in english? on this fucking ancient very much not english thing? I mean I guess a) it might not be literal, even though he did say “m, e” by letters, b) it is a christian myth so maybe planted later??? but like?????

dude. giving the super powerful artifact to your prisoner? bad idea. if you’re worried about booby traps have a minion do it.

oh yes your gun is so scary in the face of a temple collapsing

why do heroes always think the whatever is safer with them than the temple that’s guarded it for a thousand years

I get it’s been discovered but like. fuck. still

You Are Going To Crash This Helicopter

SLKGJ HORRIBLE HIGH VELOCITY PIE OF DEATH

flynn and judson…..wholesome

oh here comes more forced romance

just let them be friends who grow to mutually respect each other blease

it is very fucking funny that the mom is like ….. oh my god…. oh my god,,, a WOMAN AJUST ANSEWREDM Y SDONGS PHONE?????????OH MY GOFD?????

he is bisexual. but it’s good he’s getting out

ah floofy hair

cahooting,

Yes You Do Need Clothes

that’s a teleporter sir

god eddie wild is such a boring fucking villain and person

and his plan SUCKS

also the serpent brotherhood (why BROTHERhood?) sucks and hates the library why would they just let this guy, a librarian, literally be their new leader

wow he just stabbed a guy on his OWN TEAM for no reason

great going asshole

love how lana is just like…. O-O

we stan lana. she hasn’t done much and she’s technically a bad guy i just love her

“at last we can be one” what does that even mean

why would lana or any of them want to help him he just killed one of their own for no reason hes clearly tripping on power and leaving yall to die

lfkgjdlkfgj flynn dodging so hard while the others is fight and then PUNCHING A GUY

dfglkjdflgkj wait it’s the professor dude why is that so funny

is he WITH THEM??? I think I just missed something

hold on a sec

yeah I think he just appears??? And flynn just fucking broke his nose iconic

wait so was he with them or is he just here going WHY ARE THERE RANDOM PEOPLE IN MY PYRAMID????????????

oh right he built the—ok I got it

Wait what

I mean I did think lana was neat and she seemed impressed with flynn but what shes just like, in love with him now? that makes zero fucking sense why would she want them to Be Together

Is it just so there can be a catfight between the two hot chicks?

seriously tho? morally pure blonde blue eyed girl versus Evil Asian Chick? really?

for the record NOT THAT IT MATTERS but lana is way cuter im just saying

ah badass judson

THE COMEDY OF THE CAPSTONE CRUSHING HIM DLFKGJDLKFGJ

oh………….pulling out excalibur…. predicable but so good

oh the painting….the very Parenty way of revealing it…… wholesome

oh did NOT like that transition

oh here comes the badass fucking entrance with his gf busting in on his mom trying to set him up with girls

HER ENTRANCE IS SO UNNECESSARAILY DRAMATIC I LOVE THEM

I just love the mom’s face ldfkgjldfkgjdlkfgjdlkfjgd shes like WHAT THEGUFVCJK

again I don’t love the vibes of “oh my weird loser son is finally normal!” but to be fair im exaggerating a bit from just facial expressions it’s just. sigh

but ngl the vindication of him being able to be like. yeah that’s right im a badass now and my gf is cool as fuck is still good

him and nicole do have not terrible vibes at the end but if I remember correctly that mission (time travelling ninjas and hg wells’s time machine) is the one that separated them so rip I guess

overall: good movie! as cringe as I remember but I still love flynn so much

#flynn carsen #the librarian: quest for the spear #going to bed now. perhaps the others tomorrow

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