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training4theapocalypse · 7 months

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Tiny Stitches (Adrian Chase x gn!reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: SMUT, Graphic injury detail, Handjob

Summary: Your Halloween plans are cancelled last minute. You’re ready for a night alone eating Halloween candy until Vigilante comes to your door needing stitched up.

A/N: Based on this ask by @impossibleheartflower - thank you! No pronouns are used but the reader is wearing a slutty nurse outfit. It’s pretty nondescript (e.g. no specific mention of skirt or pants) so the slutty nurse outfit can be whatever you want it to be. Maybe the real slutty nurse outfit is the friends we made along the way.

Masterlist

Chapter text

You dip your hand in your bubble bath to test the temperature - it’s not exactly going to make up for the fact that your Halloween date flaked at the last second but you know you’ll feel better when you take off this ridiculous costume and sink into the bubbles.

You hear a distant knock from your front door and turn off the tap.

It’s sort of late for trick-or-treaters. Right? Maybe your apartment is the last stop for the kids who live in your building. You don’t want to end up on a register somewhere so you pull on a robe over your sexy nurse costume.

“Coming!” You rush out of the bathroom to unchain your front door.

You let out a gasp of shock when you open it. Thud. A man’s body falls backwards into your apartment.

“What the fuck?!”

Is he… dead?

Dread fills you as your eyes ping over every part of his figure, looking for signs of life. But it’s hard to tell when he’s dressed in a black and teal Halloween costume with his face completely concealed by a mask.

Almost completely.

His eyes are just visible behind the red visor on his mask. He blinks up at you. He blinks. He’s alive.

The man dressed up as the masked Vigilante of Evergreen groans. “It’s me... Sorry.”

That voice is familiar. “Who- ?”

Vigilante stares up at you standing over him. He knows he’s got more pressing matters to worry about than being offended that you don’t recognise his voice but he can’t help it. He’d know your voice anywhere. Hell, he even recognises the way your keys jingle in the hallway when you get home from work.

“I’m your neighbour… from across the hall.” He clutches his side with one hand so he can rip off his mask with the other.

Oh.

‘Hot guy’ is the stupid thought that pops into your head when you stare at his upside-down face lying across your doorway. You realise who he is now after all, under his Halloween costume, with his dark, curly hair and sharp jaw - all that’s missing is his glasses. You’re not even sure of his name - you’ve been so used to referring to him as ‘Hot Guy Across The Hall’ in your friends’ group chat for months that you’re more accustomed to calling him that in your head.

‘Hot Guy Across The Hall took a package in for me today.’

‘I bet you’d like to take a package from Hot Guy Across The Hall.’

You snap out of it when you see a trickle of blood drip onto your floor. You look at the gloved hand clutching his side - he’s holding a wound on his abdomen. A dark puddle of blood leaks through the fabric, staining the white parts of his gloves crimson. A new terror sets in as you realise he’s been attacked.

“Please, I need a nurse.”

“This…” You look down at your red and white polyester outfit and the plastic stethoscope around your neck that’s visible underneath your open robe. “This is a Halloween costume.”

“I know that. I’ve seen you in scrubs.”

“I’m a vet.”

“Uh, thank you for your service?”

“A veterinarian.” You stick your head out the door and look up and down the hallway, worried about anyone stumbling upon the bloody scene. “Get in here.” You slip off your robe so you can move freely, then bend down and drag Hot Guy Across The Hall by his underarms into your apartment, sliding him across your wooden floor and shutting the door behind him. Fuck, he's heavier than he looks.

Shit, what was his name?

“Aidan, right?”

“Close enough.” He groans, staring up at your ceiling.

“Can you get up if I help you?”

“Mhm,” he winces in affirmation and you bend down to put his arm around his shoulder. He inhales sharply, holding onto his side as you help him across your small apartment into your bedroom. You’re glad your apartment is clean. Not that you’d admit out loud that you’d tidied it specifically just in case your date had gone well tonight.

You help him onto your fresh bedspread. The blood is definitely going to stain your new sheets. Perfect.

“Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” you say, tossing the plastic stethoscope aside and sitting beside him on the edge of the bed so you can assess the wound. “Wait, is your costume a onesie?”

“No,” he groans. “I just need to take off the belt-” He swears when he removes his hand from his side to unfasten his gunbelt. A jolt of adrenaline courses through you when you realise that attached to him are real guns.

“Okay, let me do that. You just keep applying pressure.” You firmly move his hands from his belt to his wound. The sound of metal on metal clicks in your silent bedroom when you gently unthread the belt from the loops. “There we go, you’re doing great,” you soothe as you place the belt and his gun on the floor and roll up the top half of his suit. Your fingers tremble slightly when you realise the fabric under them isn’t cheap polyester. It’s thick. Lined with what you expect is Kevlar. This is no bargain bin Halloween costume.

Oh shit.

There’s a long but shallow knife wound running down his ribs. It doesn’t look like there’s any damage to his vital organs. But it’s gruesome. “I’ll get my car keys - I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“Wait!” He tries to sit up but yelps in pain and lies back again.

“Please, I can’t go there… Too many questions.”

It confirms your suspicions.

“You’re not dressed up for Halloween.” It’s not a question but you look up to see his response all the same. You’ve been so focused on his injury that you haven’t noticed the way his green eyes have been searching your face. He slowly shakes his head and looks at you beseechingly. Ugh. You can’t say no to those pretty eyes. It’s why you ended up becoming a vet - you just can’t resist the stupid, puppy-dog eyes.

“I don’t have any anaesthetic. This is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep that sentiment in mind when you’re screaming in a second.”

You leave him and boil some water while you busy yourself finding your medical supplies and a bottle of vodka. You set up your things on the bedside table while you sit on a throw pillow on the floor next to the bed.

“God, this is always the worst bit.” He says, squinting at you dipping the gauze in the boiled water, getting ready to clean out the wound.

“Don’t you normally wear glasses?”

“They’re in my pocket.”

You reach into his pocket and carefully place them on his face. “Better?” He nods. “Or maybe you don’t wanna see this?”

“Aren’t you gonna clean it out with vodka first?” He asks as your hand hovers over his wound, holding the gauze.

“Hell no - that’s only in the movies. Alcohol can damage your tissue. This is for us.” You open the bottle with one hand, take a quick swig and shudder before handing him the bottle.

“Shouldn’t you be sober for this?”

“Hey, the dogs never complain when I turn up to work drunk.”

“They don’t?”

Your face cracks into a smile as you take in the sincerity of his look. “A joke. I’m joking.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He takes a long gulp of vodka, screws up his face and passes it back to you.

You clean his wound and he clenches his fists, breathing heavily.

“So, you said you’ve done this before?” You ask, trying to distract him.

“Yeah,” he says through gritted teeth.

You scan his toned lower abdomen and spot a gruesome-looking scar just under his navel. “Oof, I can tell. That looks like shit.”

“Hey-” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale when you give the wound one last wipe.

You thread the sterilised needle. “You ready?”

“Wait.” He extends his arm towards the vodka and you pass it to him so he can take another drink. He shakes his head. “Ready.”

“I’ll be quick. I promise.”

He groans when the needle breaks his skin. “So, what’s your name? If it’s not Aidan.” If you keep him talking, you can take his mind off the pain. Keep him conscious.

“It’s Adrian.”

“How about that? I was close.”

“I know yours. I get your packages sometimes.” He says your full name and address as if reciting a poem.

“Well remembered,” you say, furrowing your brow in concentration as you make the next stitch. He grabs your shoulder instinctively.

“Sorry,” he whimpers.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so good.”

His grip tightens at that.

“Anyway, how come you’re home more than me? You always get my packages. Doesn’t doing all this keep you busy?”

“I work nights. Mostly. Evenings too at my other job.”

“You’re a waiter, right? I’ve seen your uniform.”

“Busboy.”

“That’s cool,” you jabber on, focusing on keeping him distracted. “Must be a pretty convincing secret identity.”

“Right?!” He perks up at your compliment, extremely pleased that you think his secret identity is a good one.

“Bussing tables in the evenings then committing murder at night?”

“It’s not murder.” He grimaces again. The grip on your shoulder is now vice-like. “It’s holding people accountable.”

“Sure, sure…” you say. You feel strangely calm. It’s as if the shy, awkward dude on your bed is just cosplaying as Vigilante. Even though you’re currently stitching up his fresh wound from whatever the fuck it is he’s been up to tonight.

“...You’re not gonna, like, tell anyone, right?” You feel his eyes studying your face as you continue stitching him up.

“That depends. What are you gonna do for me?”

For some reason, his cheeks turn crimson and he blinks rapidly behind his glasses.

“Uh, like what?” he blusters.

“Does your job have any perks?

“Uh… Do you need me to kill someone?”

“No!” And despite the absurdity of the question, you laugh. “I meant like free pink lemonade for life in exchange for stitching you up.”

“Ohhhh, right. I dunno. I might get asked a lot of questions if I give you free drinks.”

“More questions than you’d get at the hospital if I took you there instead?”

“Uh, no, probably not.” He chews his lower lip seriously and it makes you feel bad for teasing him in his sorry state.

“I’m kidding, dude. My lips are sealed.”

The fact he’s Vigilante doesn’t scare you in the way you know it should. You know you should absolutely phone the police. But you kind of enjoy sharing this. A dirty little secret between the two of you.

“Pink lemonade is overhyped,” he says after a few beats.

“Is is not! It’s like the best kind of lemonade.”

“It is - ow! Sorry! Okay, sorry for saying it’s overhyped! Pink lemonade is great. Jesus.”

“That wasn’t on purpose - sorry. It’s just the last stitch… Keep holding onto my shoulder if you want?” Before you even finish the suggestion, his blood-stained gloved grips onto your white nurse outfit. “You’re being so brave.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers.

His whimper makes you feel flustered in a way you hadn’t expected. And you’re pretty sure it’s nothing to do with the task at hand.

You can’t think of a response to comfort him. Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired - usually, your patients are much fluffier. You stop short of calling him a good boy and patting his head

Finally, you tie off your last stitch and squeeze some antibacterial ointment onto the neat row of stitches.

“Done. Now take a look at this.” With difficulty, he hoists himself into his elbows to look at his stomach. “Evenly spaced stitches, not too tight, yeah? Now look at these.” You point at the scar on his lower abdomen. “Tiny stitches. They’re too tight. And you shouldn’t make X’s when you sew yourself up. Not bad for a second try, though.”

“That was like the fifth time I’ve done it,” he pouts. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Look, you can feel how it’s gone all bumpy.” You trace your fingers along the scar, feeling the way the skin has healed unevenly under the trail of hair on his stomach.

He flushes again as he looks down at you, your fingers brushing his abdomen.

“What?”

“Sorry.” He lies back again, determinedly looking at the ceiling.

“For what? Oh.” Your forearm brushes against something hard in his pants as you remove your hand from his stomach. “My bad.”

“It’s not - ” he winces, trying to sit up further but changes his mind mid-way through. “Fuck.”

“Does it hurt?”

“My… my boner?”

“No!” You crack up laughing again and he joins in uncertainly as if not sure why. “Your very recent knife wound?”

“Oh. Yeah. I mean - no.” His eyes linger on your body and you suddenly feel very aware of the fact that you’re kneeling at his side wearing not very much clothing. He swallows and looks away quickly. “Y’know, I should go. I don’t wanna ruin your night.”

You laugh like it’s nothing. That this whole situation is totally in your comfort zone.

“Don’t worry about it. I was supposed to be going to a Halloween party with a date but they bailed.”

“They bailed on you?”

“Eh, it happens.” You shrug. “They mighta had a better offer.”

“Than you?” He looks at you seriously and pushes his glasses higher up his nose. “No way. Not possible. You’re, like, a ten.”

You tilt your head and look at him carefully. He takes a sharp inhale of breath when you get up from the floor, sit on the bed next to him and place the back of your hand on his forehead.

“Wha - what are you doing?”

“You don’t seem to have a fever…” His eyebrows scrunch together as he gazes up at you through his wire-rimmed frames. “I just thought you might be hallucinating.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not hot.”

“You don’t have to compliment me just because I stitched you up.”

“Am not!” he protests like you’re teasing him. “I’d compliment you all the time if you didn’t run off every time I saw you.”

It’s your turn to protest. “I do not ‘run off’.”

Although it’s not strictly true. You sort of do. You just thought he hadn’t noticed.

“Uh, yeah!” he says. “When you picked up that package last week? It was kinda impressive how fast you sprinted across the hall.”

You feel heat rising in your neck as you remember it. He had answered the door wearing just a pair of grey sweatpants, grinning as you read the indiscreet label plastered on the front.

‘HOSPITAL HOTTIE - ADULT FANTASY LINGERIE’

You had stammered a quick thanks before fleeing back to your apartment where you shut the door behind you and leaned against it, eyes closed, not sure whether to text your friends immediately with this news or to strip off and take a cold shower.

You look down at your almost bare legs and smooth out the front of your outfit, now wishing you hadn’t so hastily thrown off your bathrobe. It must look ridiculous.

“Y’know when I saw the label, I thought a lot about what was in that package.”

Your eyes dart up instinctively to see if he’s making fun of you. He’s smiling. But sincerely. It’s a cute smile. With dimples.

“You did?”

“Tch - Hell yeah I did. I sort of… I dunno. Fantasised about this, I guess.”

Your throat feels dry. “About this?”

“Yeah, I mean I thought I might have been dreaming when you actually opened the door like that.”

You look at him suspiciously. “Adrian… did you - did you get stabbed on purpose so I’d take care of you?”

“What? No! I never get stabbed.”

“Never?”

You touch the scar on his lower abdomen again and this time - intentionally - your forearm rests on his crotch.

“Well, hardly ever.”

“You should let me stitch you up from now on,” you say, as your fingers dance down his stomach. “The next rare occasion you get stabbed.”

The heel of your hand barely grazes the tip of his hard cock through his pants. When his eyes lock onto yours, you know you’re not being slick. He swallows. You freeze. You’re worried you’ve overstepped.

You both stare at each other for a few seconds.

You realise you’ve been holding your breath. “What else was in your fantasy?” you whisper in an exhale.

“Fuck.” He closes his eyes like he’s throwing caution to the wind. “This.” His gloved hand clamps on top of yours faster than you’d have expected in his injured state and he firmly moves your hand over his cock.

Fuck it.

Your hands work urgently, unzipping the suit hugging his waistline and suddenly his warm cock is under your palm.

He suppresses a groan of pain and you look up in alarm, worried that you’ve hurt him somehow but you can see he’s trying to sit up.

“Lie back - you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“It’s - ow, fuck - it’s worth it if I can kiss you.”

You push his chest back gently so he’s lying on your pillows and kneel on the bed to kiss him. As soon as your lips meet his, he tries to lift himself up again, lurching himself deeper into your mouth. Your tongue slips into his mouth as you push, more firmly this time, onto his chest so he can’t sit up.

You lean your forehead against his and his glasses push into your brow. “Keep still. Nurse’s orders.”

“I thought you were a vet,” he says breathlessly.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

You lick your palm, wrap your hand around his cock and slide it along his shaft.

“Oh fuck... Fuck - you’re so hot. Where - where have you been all my life?”

His eyebrows knit together in a beautiful, pathetic sort of way that makes your lower tummy burn dangerously.

“Across the hall in this slutty little outfit. Waiting to take care of you.”

“Holy fucking shit.” He tenses his thighs and jerks his hips up into your slick fist with a laboured groan.

“Don’t. Stay still,” you tell him sternly. For some reason your reprimand makes him clench his jaw.

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yeah? I bet you do. I bet you’ve been jerking off thinking about it.”

“Y- yeah,” he gasps. His cheeks are flushed pink. You don’t think it’s from embarrassment - you have a feeling he doesn’t embarrass easily so you press on.

“Tell me.”

“I’ve been - shit - I’ve been jerking off thinking about you.”

“Doing what?” Your hand picks up pace and he squirms underneath your touch.

“I told you. This.”

“Just this?”

“Fuck. No.”

“Tell me then,” you repeat.

“I wanted to - oh god - when you ran across the hall, I wanted to grab you.” His voice strains. “Pull down your scrubs and fuck you so hard you wouldn’t forget my name again.”

You feel yourself dissolving then and there. “Shit. I would have let you.”

“Ah - fuck,” he whispers as he throbs under your hand. “Let me. Please.”

“No.” You stay in your kneeling position on the bed - one hand bracing against his chest to prevent him from sitting up and the other pumping up and down his cock. “You’re hurt. Lemme take care of you.”

He whimpers and pushes his head back into your pillows. The muscles in his pale neck tighten as he swallows hard. You can’t resist leaning down and pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses on the exposed sensitive flesh of his throat.

“Relax, Adrian,” you murmur, your mouth pressed against his skin.

When his name leaves your lips, his groan vibrates in his throat against your mouth in response.

“Fuck - fuck - you feel so good.”

“You know where’d feel better, right?”

Adrian’s hips jerk up into your hand again. You don’t scold him this time - you let him squirm and work his hips in sync with your fist. He can handle it.

You kiss along his jawline and meet his lips again.

“Cum for me and you can fuck me when you’re healed,” you whisper.

And quicker than you’d expected - he does.

A shaky gasp leaves his lips and without really realising you’re doing it, you pant with him, breathing each other’s air as spurts of warmth coat your fingers. Your hand flexes along his length as you milk every last rope of cum from him and he collapses back onto your fluffy, white pillows.

Grabbing tissues from your bedside table, he lets you clean him up without complaint as he breathes heavily, staring at your ceiling.

“Better?” You give him a wry smile and he brings his gaze back to you.

“Yeah…” He looks down at his new stitches apprasingly. “I just wish I hadn’t been stabbed.”

“Yeah, well I’m kind of glad you were.”

He laughs so hard that he winces in pain and holds his side again. “Fuck. You’re kind of a freak, you know that, right?”

“Maybe I just like helping injured little things that give me puppy dog eyes.”

Adrian exhales a gentle laugh and fixes his glasses.

“Did you mean what you said about stitching me up again?”

You meet his green eyes. “Did you mean what you said about fucking me so hard I’d never forget your name again?”

“Uh, yeah? Obviously.”

“Then sure.” You toss the used tissue into the trash can and kiss him again. “Fucking sounds good. Pink lemonade is overhyped, anyway.”

#adrian chase x reader #adrian chase #vigilante #vigilante peacemaker #vigilante x reader #smut #halloween

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user13131313-13 · 1 year

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It’s still the same day as my previous entry I’ve got a lot on my mind.

I’m frustrated. None of my 4 parents bothered to tell me I was diagnosed with autism as a child and just turned a blind eye and pretended I was neurotypical??

I could’ve spent twenty years learning coping skills and shit but instead whether it was out of fear of alienation by my peers if I knew or had access to resources all this time, instead of skimming my childhood medical records for fun one day after getting them for continued care. And low and behold. My legal name right next to a diagnosis of autism in my assessment notes from a doctor visit I don’t even remember attending honestly.

I wish I weren’t so naive. Like, I’ve struggled to make and maintain friendships and relationships my whole life. And when I realize I’ve been betrayed, I’m quick to burn that bridge. I have four estranged siblings I haven’t spoken to in over ten years each for their own reasons I won’t get into. It makes me sad the people I grew up being closest to are and have been strangers for so long now. It’s weird. I’ve allowed too many friendships to wear me down, hold me back, or kept me around for whatever use they had for me and then I’d be disposed again. Same with relationships.

The only exes I’m on good terms with, were teenage relationships that ended because one had realized she was a woman and wasn’t attracted to me and was so apologetic and sweet when she broke up with me, we’re still good friends. It’s because it was never some big toxic dumpster fire like most of the relationship or friendship endings I’ve had. I’ve fallen into toxic friendships, relationships, unhealthy codependency’s with people who can’t even show up for themselves.

I used to be such a ride or die for my friends but I realized not one of the ones I cut off recently ever initiated anything first. Never texted first, unless it was to vent and then go back to ignoring me. Never made plans, or followed through, or flaked if they agreed to the plans.

I understand it’s hard to be social, it’s hard for me to leave my house. I get that.

But. I feel like I’m not irrational for being upset that the same people who stress me out with their problems, and constantly and continuously avoid me at all costs for over a year each of them. They never checked on me either. I stopped texting first 4ish months ago and guess who I haven’t heard from?

They don’t even know I’d been hospitalized a few times they ignore when I explain I’m struggling with leaving my house and asking them to visit me. I’ve offered gas money when that was a issue, shot down. I eventually even offered to come over to either of their houses despite my absolute dread-level anxiety I feel the moment I leave my front door- I wanted to see them and they would never. Yet they constantly post themselves partying and hanging out together and with other mutual friends and such

So when the excuse they’ve been avoiding me for a year is ‘mental illness’ it’s hard to believe when they’re consistently clubbing every weekend, hanging out with other friends as well as mutuals and even people who LIVE CLOSE AS HELL TO ME. I’m upset I didn’t see it sooner I’m upset I let these people who honestly probably never cared about my well-being stress me out so much for so long.

Since I cut them off, the only thing that’s changed is I have 2 less contacts on my phone and socials. Nothing else has changed really.

I’d rather die alone in a lush field than be surrounded by fake plants.

(I always thought fake plants were tacky. The texture is nice sometimes, but I just don’t get it really. Why get a hunk of plastic that resembles something else that costs about the same? There’s so many beautiful low-effort plants for forgetful plant parents… I don’t know)

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dynamoe · 2 years

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Boy Genius on AO3 | Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2 ←You Are Here | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

Billy muttered, “You’ve had that corporate day job too long.” (This entire chapter is a PowerPoint presentation)

more words from an episode of a Billy & White prequel. It's easier on your eyes to read on A03, but share, comment and post anywhere that suits you.

↓ Chapter 2 is below the fold ↓

Assume trigger warnings comparable to source material — adult language, nihilism, cruel jokes at the expense of an innocent, body horror, bad parenting, etc.

The sound of the generator clicking on and the porchlight shining through the slats of the bathroom window jarred Billy awake. He was on the floor, stagger-step from the toilet, as his brain fog slowly receded allowing him to piece together the last few hours.

He definitely threw up– he remembered (and still tasted) that – a firehose spurt of almost purely Zima clearmalt alternative beverage. Maybe could resell his output as Crystal Vomit™. Quaking with panic-sweats, he crawled onto a pile of towels on the floor and dropped off into dead-to-the-world sleep for three– maybe four hours. Very dignified.

He had really weird dreams. He dimly remembered his mother strapping him head-first into some contraption that was halfway between a supermarket shopping card and a wire Orgone meditation pyramid. Then she chased him around that apartment they lived in back then, screaming at him... did that really happen or was it an overloaded Jungian symbolic salad his subconscious just threw together? He had a headache.

The least he could do is brush his teeth, so he did. Catching his reflection in the medicine cabinet, he looked like death warmed over. But now his mouth tasted better.

A sheet of 8.5 x 11 slipped under the bathroom door. Under an embossed, glitter-flake Conjectural Technologies letterhead (White, you idiot. How much did this cost us?), the following memo:

ATTN: All senior staff Conjectural Technologies, LLC.

Please convene in the executive boardroom (aka breakfast nook) at the at 4:00 PM (aka now) for an essential status meeting and presentation regarding next quarter’s new initiative.

Promptness is appreciated.

Regards, K. Peter White, Jr. CEO Conjectural Technologies, LLC

“Now that our esteemed CTO has arrived, let’s start call this meeting to order,” CEO K. Peter White, Jr., (the “K.” and the suffix being a new affectation he was beta-testing) said judgmentally and Billy crawled into the booth across from him.

“Where the hell did you get all this?”

A projector tethered to a mile of cable plugged into an IBM ThinkPad 300-something, a suitcase-sized plastic brick of a laptop, sat on the built-in table. The room smelled like ozone and melted plastic, usually a bad sign.

“Lifted it from work,” Pete smirked, fiddling with the folding screen he had set up in the kitchen. He leaned back to the laptop computer and clicked enter on Microsoft PowerPoint 3.0.

A blue gradient appeared with bold yellow Helvetica title: “SO YOU WANT TO PASS AS SOMETHING YOU’RE NOT.”

Pete stood next to the screen to redundantly read aloud, “So you want to pass as something you’re not. A detailed expert guide from a professional who’s been there.” He pointed at himself and flashed his shit-eating game show grin.

Billy muttered, “You’ve had that corporate day job too long.”

“Tell me about it,” White agreed, “I would have fired me by now,”

Pete White was a master at nailing job interviews (performed in full “melanin-drag,” naturally), but a nightmare of an employee (he gave up the make up soon after being hired, claiming ‘I’ve been sick.’). He was pushing new boundaries in the 2-3 hour lunch hour, making long distance calls on the company dime and hiding in the employee bathroom playing GameBoy (he’d easily logged 10,000 hours on Adventure Island II alone). Despite this, White somehow made twice as much as Billy did, as if height, stupid confidence and a college degree were all that mattered.

“If you’re passing, you’re filling a role,” he lectured, “You meet the viewers’ expectations enough and their brain blocks out contradictory evidence. “

He walked back to the laptop. He pressed enter. A wipe cleared the old slide in a flurry of chunky pixels as a new slide appeared:

“OBJECTIVE: POSING AS A BOY GENIUS AFTER THE AGE OF MAJORITY” was flanked by unnecessary Jr. High Sex Ed textbook diagrams.

White scrambled back to stand next to the screen, regretting he forgot to steal a remote.

“FACT: for the future success of our scientific think tank and independent research facility— Conjectural Technologies, LLC— we need to attend the World SuperScience Conference being held in Seattle.”

A bullet point faded onto the slide as he narrated, followed by text repeating everything he just said aloud. A second one appeared as he continued.

“FACT: For the future health of Super Science as a whole, we need to attend as the voice of the alternative, independent, unconnected, underrepresented—

“—Underpantsed—”

“— Super Scientist. So our act of minor dishonesty is an acceptable sacrifice for the health of our industry.”

On the screen, clip art of a white-haired elderly businessman pointed at a disproportionately huge clip art scales-of-justice.

“Is that guy supposed to be you?” Billy said, bored, his finger up his nose.

“Ehhh, sort of. The image gallery doesn’t have a lot to choose from.”

“And I’m … some kind of a squirrel holding a nut?” Billy asked, pointed at a second clipart figure next to the businessman

“It was either that or a map of Delaware. The squirrel was a better color match,” White shrugged, “We’re getting off topic. We need to outline a plan to get you to convincingly pass as a boy genius for the duration of the event… and possibly for the rest of your life.

A hand-shaped dog silhouette appeared on the screen, open and closing its finger-mouth.

“Mnam mnam nammmm… I’m eating your clip art.”

“Don’t be childish, Billy. I’m trying to explain how you’re gonna pass as a child.”

“I know all this stuff already, White. We talked about it. This whole ‘presentation’ is pointless. I say I’m a child. Get the discount admission. Go to the conference. Done.”

“The conference is full of observant, professional, intelligent scientists– they’re gonna notice. You think you can slide in on a skateboard, wearing a backwards ballcap and say ‘Don’t mind the crow’s feet and my passion for NPR, I’m totally underage! Cowabunga!’”

“Pretty much. Minus the cap. Not much of a ‘hat guy.’”

“We’re not gatecrashing, we’re attending. We need to keep this con believable for three straight days. If we’re ejected as soon as we get there, we won’t be able to network and show off our research, whatever it is.”

Billy sulked. He hated being lectured. Billy hated more when White knew more than him about something (which happened extremely rarely).

A new slide dissolved in. Same gradient, new text “BE THOROUGH!”

“This is the first step in a long-con, so attention to detail is KEY. You can’t be out of character from the minute we get on the plane. No drinking. No smoking. No picking up girls.”

“Ha. Like that was even gonna happen,” Billy muttered sarcastically while rolling another American Spirit.

“I mean it, Billy. No cracks in the armor.”

“If I can pick up girls because I’m supposed to be, like, eight or whatever, what’s gonna be your excuse when you can’t even score with Super Science skanks at an open bar?”

“You’re just being a dick to me because you fell asleep on the floor of the bathroom. You slept in pee.”

“Why would there be pee on the floor? Are you peeing on the floor?”

Stone-faced, White clicked to the next slide.

Next slide: “CONJECTURAL PRAXIS - NOW TO THE FUTURE”

“Praxis?” Billy asked flatly, “Really?

“It means ‘doin’ stuff.’”

An irritating buzz and the tinny clank of tiny gears grinding erupted from Billy’s mechanical hand. He poked around his index finger joint with the end of a ballpoint pen as White listed the next steps for their deception, “We need to get you a new ID, birth certificate, passport, and Social Security card with your doctored age. I know some guys.”

Billy looked up startled, “Don’t use my real name. An alias.”

“Why? Who cares?

Billy looked sheepish, “I don’t want my mother to find out. She has connections, she’ll find me.”

“Paranoid?”

He busied himself with the pen, driving it deep into a crevice between metal plates on his wrist, “Lots of Super Scientists work under nom-de-guerre.”

“Fine,” White relented, “What name do you want?”

“Whatever. Fuck it. Write ‘Quizboy.’”

“‘Billy Quizboy.’ A pretty big giveaway to your real identity isn’t it.”

“It was five years ago. That’s ancient history in tabloid time. No one even remembers that game show,” Billy pulled a mangled ‘resplendent' magnet from inside a joint.

“I think you’ll find it’s a beloved television classic,” White argued, insulted.

“Fine. Consider the name-change a memento mori. ‘Remember thou art mortal.’ Every time I see my name it’ll say ‘Remember thou once got kicked off a crappy game show for cheating even though it totally wasn’t thine fault.’”

“You really know how to wound me, pally,” Pete continued, going back to his to-do list, “Wardrobe and Styling – I can get the outfit, but you’re finally getting that damn haircut.”

Billy sighed, blowing his overgrown bangs out of his face.

“And you gotta shave.”

“No duh,” Billy said dumbly. He hoped he’d look older with a beard but it just doubled the ‘Where’s your pot of gold/gimme your Lucky Charms’ taunts shouted at him at the bus stop. Lucky the Leprechaun (created in 1963 and premiered in a 1964 television campaign by agency Dancer Fitzgerald Sample) didn’t even have a fucking beard!

“No, I mean, you gotta shave.”

Pete slid a chunky pink plastic bottle over the conference/breakfast table. Billy read the label: “Hair-Off! Hair Removal Lotion/Chemical Depilatory”

“Oh no fucking way!”

Pete clicked one slide back – “BE THOROUGH!” – and pointed authoritatively, “You’ve got to… BE. THOROUGH.”

“I’m not going to be naked at the World Super Science Forum.”

“What if you get locked out of your hotel room, huh? You’re in the shower and a fire alarm goes off but unbeknownst to you a jealous husband was hiding under your bed because he mistook your hotel room for the Honeymoon Suite where his wife was having an affair with the vicar. So you run in the hallway wearing only a towel and its a red towel and a bull got loose in the hotel and chases you through a glassware exhibition attended by a group of nuns and —”

“I don’t live inside an episode of Benny Hill, White.”

“You don’t know that. Anything can happen.”

Billy crossed his arms back at him, resolute.

“If it was me, I’d do it. For the good of the company.”

Billy scowled harder.

“I’ve put bronzer places no man should,” White said, haunted.

to be continued ⟶

Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 |

Author's Note

I've never drawn Grunge!Pete with his baseball cap off. ↑ That's probably the outfit he wears to work, but with different shoes. (Bosses use to be real hard-ons about wearing sneakers at work.)

If this was a script, this chapter and the last (and probably the next one) would be cut down to :30 of screen time (3-4 lines), but since this is prose I can dick around doing nothing for another 10 pages. I'm fully committed to: less action, more circular conversations.

Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

#rosencrantz and guildenstern of venture bros #ao3 fanfic #AO3 #illustration #master billy quizboy #pete white #microsoft powerpoint #1990s #powerpoint #writing #fiction #venture bros #venture brothers

90 notes · View notes

dearestjake · 3 years

Text

Bye my first – Lee Jeno

Pairing: roommate/boyfriend! jaemin x reader x roommate/best friend! jeno

Genre: Fluff/Angst/College AU

Trigger Warning: swearing/unplanned pregnancy

Word count: 6.2k

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AUTUMN

“Hey,” You mumbled, looking at your reflection in the mirror as you held on to the pregnancy test in your hands – the two red lines evident in the tiny space in the middle of the said stick, indicating that you are pregnant and carrying your boyfriend’s child. You were practicing your lines, looking for the right words to say when you face your boyfriend but to no avail, you couldn’t find the right words to say; your mouth runs dry and you stutter at almost every word that escapes your mouth.

“Fuck this.” You muttered under your breath as you heaved a sigh, heading outside your bathroom and making a beeline towards your apartment’s balcony, letting the autumn wind brush through your hair as you sat down, admiring the sunset.

“Long day?” Jeno, asked as he sat down beside you, handing you one of the cans of cold beer he had brought for the two of you.

“Yeah.” You sighed, taking the beer he offered you and placing it down beside you.

“What’s up?” He asked, taking a sip from his beer.

“I’m pregnant.”

He stops for a moment, putting his beer down, averting his gaze from the setting sun to face you, his lips forming into a thin line.

Sighing, he scoots closer towards you, patting your back softly as he picked up his beer and taking a sip from it.

“Yep. Saw that coming, are you going to tell him?”

“Yeah… But I don’t really know how.” You sighed, resting your head on your best friend’s shoulder.

“You can just tell him like how you told me, y’know.”

“It’s not that easy.” You sighed.

“I know, but you have to tell him. It’s his responsibility – You’re his responsibility.”

“What if he doesn’t want it? You know he’s aiming for med school.”

“Then I’ll take care of it. I’m your best friend. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Psssh. Thought you wanted to be an engineer? Didn’t think you’d want to be a dad.” You said, giving him a weird look.

“Yeah. I do, I want to be an engineer. I’m just saying that if he doesn’t want the kid, we can raise it together like how our moms raised the both of us. I mean, it’s not like you can kill a child that easily– unless if you want to get an abortion, then I support it.” Jeno said, shrugging as he took another sip from his beer.

“No, I can’t do that. I–” You sighed.

“You have to tell him. You don’t have to worry; I got your back.”

“You’re not going to beat the shit out of him, are you?”

“I know Jaemin’s my best bro, but you’re my best friend too. He can’t fuck your life up just like that.” Jeno sighed, pausing for a moment to take another sip. “And yeah, I’ll beat the shit out of him if he refuses to take responsibility.” Jeno said, making you chuckle a bit.

“I’ll tell him when he gets home. Promise you have my back?”

“I promise. Really.” Jeno said, giving you a soft, reassuring smile.

Sighing, Jeno stood up from his seat, patting your back before disappearing to his room, leaving you alone in the balcony as the sun sets before you. It was a pretty sight – it was beautiful, but seeing the sun set and the darkness devour the entire city scared you, for that meant that Jaemin will come home and into the front door any time soon. You sigh, hugging your knees as you watched the buildings and the streetlights light up and brighten up the dark night. You sat there, staying still for another ten minutes, staring at the lights from the buildings and streetlights that brightens up the dark night skies of Seoul. You were just about to get up and head to your room when you heard a door open and close, making your heart race at the thought that it could be Jaemin coming through the front door but it wasn’t; it was just Jeno coming out of his room to go to the kitchen.

“Y/N.” He called out from across the kitchen counter.

“Yeah?’ You replied, averting your gaze from the bright city lights to look at him as you stood up and brushed your clothes.

“I’m feeling kind of lazy and we’ve run out of stock. I thought maybe we could order some takeout. Do you want anything?” He asked, leaning over the kitchen counter.

“I don’t know. Anything edible would do, I guess.” You shrugged.

“Is Chinese good with you–” He asked, getting cut off mid-sentence by the sound of the front door opening.

It’s Jaemin. He’s home.

“Hey.” Jaemin greeted, kicking his shoes off at the doorway. “I bought dinner for the three of us. I hope the both of you are okay with Chinese food.” He said, smiling as he lifted up the plastic bag that contained the ever-so-greasy-but-very-delicious Chinese food that he brought home.

“Chinese food’s fine. We were just about to order takeout.” Jeno said, leaving you alone in the kitchen to take the bag of takeout from Jaemin’s hands – just so that Jaemin can take off his coat and hang it on the coat rack by the door and so that he can set the food up.

“Hi.” Jaemin greeted, giving you a quick peck on your left cheek.

“Hey.” You said, flashing a small smile.

“Are you okay? You look kinda pale.”

“I’m fine… but… uh… we have to talk– I mean, I have to tell you something.” You said, bringing a hand up to your forehead to massage your temples in hopes of stopping yourself from thinking about the random thoughts that crossed your mind.

“O-Okay. Yeah, for sure. What is it?” Jaemin said, a hint of concern? confusion? maybe fear too, evident in his tone, but still he tried his best to smile his usual bright smile.

It was obvious that he was scared. He didn’t know what was going on in your head. He was afraid you’d break up with him when he loved you like you were his own world. You were everything to him, you were the first thing in his list of important things and med school was the third right next to his family.

“I-uh… I think it would be best if we talked in private.” You said taking a quick glance at Jeno who stood by the kitchen sink, giving you a nod, reassuring you that everything will be fine.

“Yeah, sure. That’s cool.” Jaemin said, swallowing the imaginary lump in his throat as he loosened his tie.

Taking a deep breath, you sighed, signaling Jaemin to come follow you to your room. You held the door open for Jaemin, waiting for him to get in. Jaemin sat himself down on the corner of your bed as you closed the door behind you. With how you were acting, walking back and forth across the room, Jaemin, being the worrywart he is, was looking at you with a worried expression plastered on his face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, stopping you in your tracks and cutting your train of thoughts.

“Wha– Yes. I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t know how to tell you.” You said, biting the skin around your nails.

It was evident that you were nervous and Jaemin knew that because you only bit and picked at the skin surrounding your fingernails during times when you were nervous or scared, and he knew for sure that it was the former because he was sure that there was no reason for you to be afraid of him.

“Calm down. Sit beside me. Breathe.” He said, patting the vacant space beside him.

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what? If anything, I think I should be the one afraid because you pulled the “we need to talk” card on me. Who knows? I don’t know what goes on in your head, maybe you’re planning to break up with me.” He joked, trying to lighten up the mood.

“What? No!”

“That’s good then, I guess.” He said, chuckling a bit.

“So…” You started, taking a deep breath and heaving a sigh.

“Yeah? Tell me babe, it’ll be fine. I promise.” He said, smiling a small smile as he held your hand.

“I’m pregnant, Jaemin. It’s yours.” You said in a low voice, though still loud enough for him to hear.

“I–” Jaemin started, stopping himself to swallow the imaginary lump in his throat, evident that he was taken aback by the sudden news that you are carrying his child.

He couldn’t say anything; not because he didn’t want it, and not because he didn’t see it coming. He knew it was bound to happen, he just didn’t expect it to happen now, considering the fact that he used a condom when you did it. But hey, condoms aren’t a hundred percent effective, there’s still this slim possibility that one can get pregnant even with the use of a contraceptive – you just happened to be that one person.

“I mean, whom else would it be? You’re the only one I’ve slept with–” You said, rambling on and on, getting cut off by Jaemin giving you a quick kiss on your lips.

“You’re rambling again.” He said, cupping your cheeks with both of his hands as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“What do we do?” You asked, bringing your hand up to place on top of his, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb.

“Whatever you think is right for the both of us.” He said, smiling a small smile. “What options do you have? Did you consider getting an abortion? Did you consider keeping it? Did you consider putting it up for adoption? Whatever you do, I’ll stand by you.”

“I don’t want to kill it. I don’t want to give it away either because what if it ends up in an abusive household? I want to keep it, Jaemin, but I also don’t want to hold you back from med school. I mean, you’re only a year away from getting into med school. If you’re not cool with it, then I’ll raise it by myself. I mean, my mom raised me by herself and I turned out fine.”

“What?– No! Of course, I want to be part of my child’s life. I mean it.”

“But what about med school?”

“Med school isn’t going anywhere. I can go to med school later. I’ll look for a job as soon as I graduate. I’ll get my nursing license. That’s good enough for me, as long as I won’t lose you. You know that I love you, right?”

“You can’t just throw your life away for me, Jaemin.”

“I’m not throwing my life away, Y/N. Just think of it as starting a new chapter with you and our kid. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Jaemin, for deciding to not flake on me.”

“Of course. Why would I flake on you?” He said, chuckling a bit as he pulled you in for a hug. “Now let’s eat our dinner, shall we? I hate cold noodles.” He said, pulling you up from your seat and out of the room, towards the kitchen counter where Jeno was sat, enjoying his bowl of noodles.

“So, guess what?” Jaemin asked, smiling from ear to ear. His eyes were glistening with joy, and excitement, and positivity.

Yes, he smiles a lot. That’s a given. Jaemin is a happy person, but it’s only once in a blue moon that you see his eyes glisten with pure joy and excitement. Even though you’ve been friends with Jeno and him your whole life; growing up together, going to the same schools and university and all that jazz, you’ve only seen the same exact expression whenever he got a new toy that he wanted so very badly from his mom, when he’s about to try a new kind of food for the first time, and when he passed his nursing college exam. Seeing that made you happy, because that made you sure that he wouldn’t leave.

“What?” Jeno asked, not bothering to look at Jaemin. He was too focused on eating his noodles.

“I’m going to be a dad!” Jaemin said excitedly, smiling over at Jeno who stayed unfazed by the news, as he stirred the noodles that he got for you.

“Hmhm.” Jeno hummed, nodding as he took another mouthful of his food.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Jaemin asked, his excited smile turning into a bored expression.

“Hmhm.”

“You’re no fun. You could’ve at least acted surprised you know, even though it’s fake.” Jaemin said, pouting as he handed you the bowl of noodles that he had mixed for you. “Kinda bummed that you knew before I did.”

“Dude, I saw it coming even before she told me. She made me run to the drugstore mid-shower.”

“I did not.” You gasped, appalled.

“Yeah, you did.” Jeno said.

“Oh yeah, I did. Sorry about that. I panicked.”

“Who wouldn’t? It’s cool though. I understand, I’ve been through this–”

“What?” Both you and Jaemin exclaimed, cutting Jeno off.

“I know what you guys are thinking. No. I didn’t get anyone pregnant. I’ve never even had a girlfriend. It was for my sister.”

“What about that Yeeun girl? Didn’t you go to prom with her? I’ve always thought that she was your girlfriend because you guys were always together even though she was our senior.”

“Okay, first of all, she wasn’t my girlfriend. Second, even if she was, I would never sleep with her, because I was just seventeen back then. And third, yes. I did go to prom with her but just because the girl I wanted to go to prom with already had a date.”

“Who did you want to go to prom with?” You asked.

Jeno sighs, pushing his now empty bowl on the side so he could rest his arms on the counter. “Just this girl that I liked for a really long time.”

“Come on, tell us. Who was it?” Jaemin asked, taking a mouthful of his now cold noodles.

“Just… someone.” Jeno sighed, taking a quick glance at you before getting up from his seat, taking his bowl with him to the sink, washing it before he stormed off into his room.

It was you. He wanted to go to prom with you. Yeeun was just someone who liked him a lot and tried to force herself in his life; he just went to prom with her in hopes of making her stop following him everywhere he goes – which fortunately did happen, after he told her off while keeping as polite as he could. Thankfully though, Yeeun took it well, swallowed up her pride and did her best to understand Jeno’s situation and wished him luck. Yeeun was a good person; she was smart, kind, and she was a very nice person in general. In fact, he did like her, but only as a friend. It was you he liked the most. You were his person and he knew that. He wanted you to be his partner in crime, his other half, the moon to his stars, the peanut butter in his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he wanted to give his whole life to you – it’s just that Jaemin beat him up to it and never got the chance to tell you how he truly felt about you.

Shutting the door behind him, Jeno flicked the light switch off, leaving his room illuminated by the dim LED lights on the sides of his ceiling. One second, it’s red, then blue, and purple, and green – it changed every second, very much like the emotions he felt when you told him you were pregnant. He wasn’t completely sure whether he should be happy that Jaemin decided to raise the kid with you or not. He knew that he wanted to be happy for you, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it a hundred percent; because to him, that meant that he had to say goodbye to you, his first love.

Sighing, Jeno swiveled his gaming chair towards his desk, flicking his desk lamp on as he grabbed a pen and his notepad.

“Love I only have you

When I said

I’ll put my life on the line

To prove you will be my last love was yesterday

It was a clumsy first love, love

I’m always by your side, next to you

I followed you around everywhere I might as well stick to you

I thought everything would work out if we did everything together…”

He hummed as he wrote along his notepad, tapping his pen every now and then whenever he had to think of the right words that would go well with the song he was trying to write. Like all of his other compositions, he wrote this one for you. Well, it’s not like he could tell you how he felt about you for the past ten years; you already had Jaemin and he knew very well that you loved your boyfriend a lot, so he writes songs – about you and how he felt about you.

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WINTER

“Y/L/N. Is There a Y/N Y/L/N in here?” The nurse from the nurse’s station called out.

“Yep. That’s me!”

“Dr. Qian will see you now, please head to the ultrasound room.” The nurse said, placing her clipboard back down on her desk.

“Okay.” You muttered to yourself as you got up from your seat in the waiting room, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you made your way towards the ultrasound room.

“Hey, welcome back! How have you been feeling lately?” Kun, your gynecologist, greeted as soon as you went in.

“Hey, I’ve been good. Tummy’s starting to show up a bit, now that I’m in my twenty-first week.”

“Shall we get started?” He asked, leading you to the examination bed.

“Yeah, but can we wait for my companion? He went to the washroom.”

“Sure. But please, make yourself comfortable and let’s get you prepped up for the examination and then we’ll start when he gets back.” He said, smiling politely as he applied the warm gel across your stomach.

“Hey.” Jeno greeted as he silently went in the room, taking a seat at the seat beside you.

“Shall we start now?” Kun asked once again, earning a nod from you.

There it was, the tiny human being living inside you on the screen with its tiny hands and feet. It kind of looked like it was waving its hands “hello”, making you feel a sudden wave of emotions simultaneously, making you tear up a bit.

“Are you okay?” Jeno asked, holding your hand, smiling a small smile as he looked at you with concern plastered on his face.

“Yeah, just a bit emotional.” You said, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“Don’t cry ‘cause if you keep that up, I’ll end up crying too.” Jeno joked, making you chuckle a bit. “Look at it, it’s so cute and terrifying at the same time. I heard it has fingernails too.” He said, scooting his chair closer to you.

“They do. I mean, they do have fingernails.” Kun chimed in.

“Damn, I thought that was fake news.” Jeno said. “Did you hear that baby? You have fingernails! You better not scratch your way out your mom’s belly. That’d be bloody as heck.” Jeno said, moving closer to your belly, pretending to talk to the baby but much to your surprise the baby started kicking upon hearing Jeno’s remark, making the both of you laugh.

“The baby kicked! I guess the kid likes to joke around with its dad.” Kun said.

“Oh, I–I’m not the dad.” Jeno said, awkwardly scratching the nape of his neck as he leaned back on his chair.

“Oh.” Kun said with wide eyes as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. My mistake. Anyway, would you like to know the baby’s gender?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, please.” You said, nodding.

“Well, your baby is a boy. He’s completely healthy; heart rate’s normal and all, so you don’t have to worry about anything.” He said, wiping off the gel from your abdomen. “I’ll see you again in four months.” Kun said with a smile as he handed you a clear photo of your ultrasound.

“Thanks Dr. Qian, I’ll see you soon.” You said as Jeno helped you get up from the examination bed.

The walk on the way to the bus stop was silent; it wasn’t awkward or anything, it was rather comfortable and it was silent just because you didn’t really have anything to say and neither did Jeno. The two of you just simply walked together with both of your hands stuffed in your own coat pockets, gripping at the now cold disposable hand warmers that Jeno had gotten the both of you earlier before you went to the doctor.

You let out a soft sigh, bringing your hands up to your mouth, breathing into them in attempt to warm them up a little bit, but to no avail, it didn’t really do anything.

“You good?” Jeno asked for what seemed like the nth time, looking at you with concern.

“Yeah.” You said, letting out a sigh, shivering when the cold wind hit your skin.

“Give me your hands. You can have my hand warmers, they’re still a bit warm.” He said, giving you his hand warmers. “Do you feel better now?” He asked.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to give me your hand warmers though.”

“You need it more than I do, so I want you to have it. Wear this too, your scarf’s too thin, your neck’s gonna get cold." He said, smiling a bit as he wrapped his thick scarf around your neck. “You have to take good care of yourself. You know, you have to keep yourself healthy, for the baby and all.”

“Thanks, Jeno.”

“It’s all good. You don’t have to thank me.”

“Still, I want to thank you. For always being there.” You said, smiling over at Jeno.

He didn’t really say anything, instead, he slung his arm around your shoulders as he smiled, pulling you closer to him and taking your bag to carry it himself. Afterall, looking after you and being there for you was the least that he could do as your best friend. As usual, just like what the two of you used to do when you were in high school, the both of you sat at the back of the bus, you on the seat by the window, and Jeno on his spot by the aisle. As for Jaemin, he would either stand and use the hand rails, or sit on the seat next to yours; and just like now, it was always Jeno by your side.

You were greeted by the warmth of your apartment when you opened the door; the lights were off, it was quiet – the only thing that could be heard was the jingling of your house keys and your faint breathing.

“Do you want me to start the fire?” Jeno asked, tossing his keys to the kitchen counter.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to if you don’t feel like it. It’s a lot of work anyway.” You shrugged, plopping yourself on the couch.

“Nah, I’ll get the fire started in a bit. Just give me a minute to get out of these clothes. I’ll change into something more comfortable. You should get changed too, though it’s much better if you took a warm bath to remove the gel from earlier. I’ll get the hot water running.”

“Thanks, Jeno.”

“It’s no big deal.” He said, smiling a small smile before disappearing into the bathroom.

It wasn’t that long before Jeno came back to the living room in a fresh pair of sweatpants and his favourite blue hoodie with his guitar strapped around his torso.

“Hot water’s ready, you should take a bath. I’ll get the fire started.” He said, sitting next to the fireplace, setting the firewood and lighting it on fire.

You nodded, flashing Jeno a small smile, hugging him from behind.

It’s just a hug; it wasn’t much but it made his heart jump – the butterflies in his stomach, went into some type of frenzy as if they’ve been released for the first time after being locked up in a lepidopterarium for a very long time. He felt the same feelings he felt when you were both seventeen, when you kissed him on the swings of the local playground after you ran away from Mark’s 18th birthday party. He remembers it like it was yesterday; Afterall, it was his first kiss – you were his first kiss, and he was yours too, you were just too drunk to remember that because you’ve had a few drinks that night.

“I–I think you should take a bath now.” Jeno said, clearing his throat as he slowly removed your arms around his waist.

With that, Jeno sighed as he placed the matchbox on top of the fireplace, watching you walk on the way to the bathroom. Plopping himself on the couch, Jeno cleared his throat as he picked up his guitar on the floor, placing it on his lap, making it a table for his notepad as he wrote lyrics for his song that he never got to finish.

“Ooh I know everything everyone else knows…now that I am not young… I told you to trust me, Love doesn’t end with experiences. I don’t think I’ll get over it...” He hummed, biting his pen before scribbling the lyrics onto his notepad.

“I think that sounds… okay?” He muttered to himself, scratching his head as he adjusted his glasses. “I guess I’ll have to try playing it. That’s the only way I can find out.” He said, sighing as he placed his notepad aside, clearing his throat as he started stumming his guitar.

“Fuck this.” He muttered to himself, annoyed. “Why is it that I can’t find the motivation to finish this fucking song?” He said, grunting as he covered his face with his notepad.

“Maybe it’s because you lack inspiration? Maybe you need to go somewhere to find inspiration?” You said, lifting his notepad off of his face.

“What? – No!” Jeno exclaimed, eyes shooting open as soon as he heard your voice, snatching his notepad from your hands.

“Hey!”

“No. You can’t read the lyrics.” He said, hugging his notepad tightly.

“Why? You always let me read it.”

“Not today. It’s not yet done.” He said. He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t being completely honest as to why he didn’t want you to read it either – he was afraid that it was too obvious that the song was about you.

“Okay, chill. I won’t read it if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you.”

“Instead, can you play something? I heard it’s good to make the baby listen to music.”

“Sure.” He said, strumming his guitar, playing a familiar tune.

You knew what he was playing. It was all too familiar; you just couldn’t put your finger on it. You knew what it was but you weren’t sure where you heard it. Not until he started singing the lyrics.

“Come with me, my love

To the sea. The sea of love.

I want to tell you, how much I love you…”

It was the song that his mom always sang to the three of you when you were kids; the song that always put you to sleep, the song that comforted you whenever you were sad. It was the song that Jeno always played for you on his guitar when you were in high school. It’s been a while since he sang this song.

“How could I forget that?” You thought to yourself, shaking your head lightly before humming along to Jeno’s singing.

For the second time, Jeno repeated the same lyrics he sang earlier, only this time, he looked at you dearly as he sang the words “I love you”. You didn’t think too much about it, he always did that every time he sang this song for you and you always thought that it was nothing. Afterall, you’re already in a relationship with Jaemin. Though it didn’t mean anything to you, for Jeno, it meant a lot because that’s the only way he could tell you how much he loved you without you noticing it.

It’s selfish of him to love you while you’re in a relationship with his best friend. He knew that; but he also knew that he loved you first, it just so happened that Jaemin asked you out first. It just so happened that his timing was off and all he can do now is to look after you from afar, love you in secret, take good care of you as his best friend, and be there for you in your happiest moments even though it hurt him deeply. He knows it’s selfish to hang around you, but he just finds it hard to let you go even though he wants to wish you the best. He’s happy to see you happy but it hurts him to see you happy with another person when you were happier with him before you and Jaemin got together.

“Jeno! He kicked! The baby kicked.” You said excitedly, pulling Jeno’s hand and placing it on top of your baby bump. “Feel it.”

“I don’t feel anything–” Jeno shrugged, getting cut off mid-sentence by the baby kicking. “Oh, shit!” Jeno said excitedly, chuckling a little bit.

“I guess he likes the song too.”

“Maybe he does?” He shrugged. “You like it, don’t you?” He asked, moving closer to your belly as he talked to the baby, earning another kick.

“Woah, I guess he really does like it. He’s quite a kicker though.” You said, laughing a bit.

“Well, I’m glad to know that I have a fan.”

“Hey! I was your first fan–” You said, punching Jeno’s arm playfully, getting cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing. “Jaemin!” You exclaimed, jumping up from your seat, running towards Jaemin, leaving Jeno alone in the couch.

“How was your appointment?” He asked, kicking his shoes to the side of the doorway as he gave you a quick peck on your lips.

“It was fine, Jeno helped me carry my bag so it wasn’t hard going there and getting home.” You shrugged, resting your hands on your waist. “Oh! And I have something for you.” You exclaimed, running to the living room, fishing through your bag for the picture of your ultrasound.

“Here.” You said, handing Jaemin the photo.

“Wow.” He smiled, tracing the outline of his son’s tiny hand with his index finger. “Did your doctor tell you the gender?”

“Yeah. It’s a boy. We’re having a boy, Jaemin.” You said, excitement evident in your tone.

“That’s amazing!” Jaemin said excitedly, wrapping you in a tight hug as he smiled excitedly.

Jeno couldn’t do anything but sigh as he sat alone in the couch, watching you share your news to your boyfriend. He was hurt because of the fact that he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he could’ve been the one to celebrate this news with you if only he didn’t hold himself back from telling you how he felt back then – but then again, what’s done is done. He can’t bring back the past, the only thing he can do now is to be happy for you, so he gathered his things and went to his room. Putting his guitar aside next to his full body mirror, Jeno walked towards his computer, plugging in the speakers that he got from his sister on his birthday last year, playing his playlist before plopping himself on his bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling before eventually falling asleep.

It was already two in the afternoon when he woke up the next day; it’s not like it mattered though, besides, it was a Sunday and he didn’t have any classes.

“Jeno?” Jaemin called out from the other side of the door.

“Yeah?” He replied, groggily rubbing his eye with the back of his hand as he turned off his music that had been playing since the night before.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute.” Jeno said, ridding of his hoodie as he changed into his oversized batch shirt. “Come in.” He said, opening the door for Jaemin.

“Can I talk to you?” Jaemin asked.

“Sure. About what?”

“About this.” Jaemin said, fishing a small velvet box from the pocket of his sweatpants. “What do you think? Do you think she’ll like it?” He asked, revealing a silver ring with tiny diamonds surrounding it upon opening the box.

“W–Wow.” Jeno gasped, speechless. “I guess this is the end.” He thought to himself. Clearing his throat, he answered, “Yeah… I think she’ll love it.” He said, flashing Jaemin a reassuring smile.

“Glad that you think so.” Jaemin said, letting out a relieved sigh as he closed the box and slid it back into his pocket. “I have a favor though.”

“What is it?”

“Can you drive Y/N to the local amusement park at four o’clock?” Jaemin asked, looking at Jeno as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“Yeah, for sure. Four o’ clock. Yeah, got it.”

“Thanks, Jeno. Take her to the middle of the amusement park, okay? Right by the gazebo.”

“Got it.” Jeno smiled, letting out a sigh as soon as Jaemin left his room.

“Fuck.” He sighed to himself as he brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his temples as he looked at the floor beneath his feet.

As much as it hurt him, it’s not like he can do anything about it so even though he hated the idea of it, the only thing he can do is to do what was right to make you happy – that being, driving you to the amusement park two hours from now and watch you get engaged to the father of your child. For this he knew that he had to get ready, physically, emotionally, and mentally. Physically – he needed to take a shower and change into new clothes, wear a coat, look nice for one of the happiest moments of your life; mentally - he needed to accept that it’s the end for his unrequited love for you; and emotionally – he needed to stop whatever it is that he feels about you and just be happy for you. With that in his plate, he dragged himself to the bathroom to take a shower, slid on a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and the coat that you got him for Christmas last year.

“Hey, Jaemin told me to bring this to him in the hospital, can you drop me off?” You said, swinging Jeno’s door open.

“I was just about to tell you to get dressed because Jaemin asked me to drop you off.”

“Oh. Let’s go, then.” You said, leading the way out of your front door with Jeno following you from behind.

The drive on the way to the amusement park was silent, it wasn’t awkward, it was comfortable – just like how it always was. The only thing that could be heard was the faint sound of the wipers on the windshield, the faint sound of your breathing, and the sound of the hot air coming out of the heater.

“This isn’t the way to the hospital.” You said, watching the buildings pass by.

“Just trust me on this one.” Jeno said, making a u-turn towards the entrance of the local amusement park.

“Jeno, what are we doing here?” You asked as Jeno stopped to park the car in an empty parking slot.

“Just trust me.” He said, hopping out of the car and holding the door open for you. “Follow me.” He said, holding your hand as he leads the way to the center of the park.

“Jeno, stop. I have to bring Jaemin’s medical kit to the hospital–” You said, getting cut off mid-sentence my Jaemin calling out your name.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?”

“I asked Jeno to drive you here, don’t worry.”

“I thought you were at the hospital. What are you doing here?”

“I just thought that…” He said, pausing for a moment as he got on one knee, fishing the same velvet box he showed Jeno earlier in the pocket of his slacks.

“Jaemin…” You gasped covering your face, knowing fully well what he’s doing.

“Y/N Y/L/N, you know that I love you, right?” He asked as you got teary-eyed, making him chuckle. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You said, nodding excitedly, earning loud cheers from the people that gathered around to witness Jaemin’s grand proposal.

This was it. The end. This is the end for Jeno’s feelings for you and he knew it.

“I hope you’re happy. I’ll love you, forever and always, remember that. Goodbye, my first.” Jeno said silently to himself as he walked silently back to his car.

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lovelylexipedia · 4 years

Note

I would love a jackson avery x reader fic where the reader is pregnant and jackson is running around after her at the hospital to make sure she isn’t putting too much pressure on herself so he takes her to the on-call room for a rest and it’s really fluffy because he talks to her belly? i’m sorry if this was really long! welcome to tumblr!🥰❤️

Rest is For The Weak – Jackson Avery x Fem! Reader

Type: Imagine (2,200+ words)

Requested: Yes! by @elljmaybank

Summary: Expecting her to stay home, Jackson leaves his pregnant wife home alone to go to work. When he catches her at the hospital, he does everything in his power to get her to stop and relax.

Warning(s): Grey's Spoilers, Fluff (lots of it!), Protective Figure, minor Angst

Note(s): Reader is 30 weeks along with Jackson's baby. Thank you for the request! I really hope I did it justice. I kinda rushed it at the end, but I hope it's okay :)

———

I hear the bathroom door close slowly and scrunch up my face. I try to fall back asleep, but the small noises throughout Jackson and my's bedroom keep me from it. After a while, I let out a small yawn and open my eyes, blinking to adjust to the light coming in from the rising sun.

I make an attempt to sit up in bed, but my back protests, sore and achey. I let out a small groan and catch Jackson's face pop out from behind his closet's doorframe.

"Y/n, crap, did I wake you?" Jackson winces, taking quiet steps toward my side of the bed.

"No no no, my back is just killing me, this little stinker won't let me get comfortable. I tried reasoning with him, but he won't give." I groan again, laying on my right side.

Jackson sighs in relief and walks around the bed to my side. He kneels down and kisses me on the cheek, running a hand through my hair.

"Maybe he'll listen to me." He leans down to my tummy, removing the white comforter covering my body and lifting up my oversized pajama shirt. Jackson taps at my tummy and I giggle at the sight. "Hey, buddy," He whispers, "you gotta let your Momma rest... She's already cranky enough."

I laugh and roll my eyes, pushing Jackson's shoulder, and causing him to stumble over. "Okay, maybe no more talk time for you."

Jackson steadies himself with a chuckle and and stands up straight. He brushes off his dark jeans and zips up a grey jacket, fixing up the hood.

"I made breakfast and happened to have some left over. It's just some eggs and toast. I put it in a little container and left it on the island if you want it later." Jackson says as he makes his way to the other side of the bed to grab his keys from the nightstand.

"Thank you, you gonna be okay leaving me here alone?" I ask as Jackson walks over to the bedroom door.

"I don't know, are you gonna be okay alone?" Jackson replies sarcastically. I grin. "Alright, if you need anything, you can call me and I'll try to get here. If you can't reach me, try my mom."

"Okay, okay'" I say quietly, pushing myself up to sit up in bed despite the pain.

Jackson notices and frowns. He walks over again and leans down to kiss me. "Don't do anything too strenuous, okay? Just get your rest."

I scoot back against the headboard and nod, looking him in his bright green eyes. "Okay, I promise."

"I love you, Y/n." Jackson smiles, kissing me one last time before heading out.

I yell back an 'I love you' and wave as he leaves the room. I hear the front door shut a few seconds later and sit in silence. Every few seconds, I shift and scoot around, trying to find a way to ease the aches.

Jeez, bud, parenting better be less painful than this. I complain to myself.

After a few minutes of sitting alone with my thoughts, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I set my feet down and push myself up, holding onto my belly with my free hand in the process.

I decide to take a few steps, wobbling here and there. After what feels like hours, I finally make it into the kitchen. The eggs and toast sit inside a clear plastic container and I nearly gag at the smell.

No thanks...

I take it upon myself to make myself breakfast. I throw out the toast and eggs in the trash can and ponder what to eat. I find a nearly finished bag of Corn Flakes and take a bowl, pouring the cereal and eating it like popcorn. After that, I snack on a frozen Pop-Tart and drink a glass of milk.

Settling myself on the living room couch, I flick through TV channels, bored out of my mind. Minutes pass by like hours and I end up falling asleep on the couch.

The nap ends after an hour and a half, when I suddenly feel a few sharp pains in my right side. I rub my stomach and lean my head back, trying to calm myself down.

You're okay, bud. You're okay, Momma's okay. We're okay.

I take deep breaths, trying to keep my composure. I grip the arm of the couch with one hand and force myself to stand. I stumble across the house, still rubbing my side and making small, calming affirmations to myself and the baby.

This is the fourth time this month...

I make it back to the bedroom and force myself to change into some baggier clothing. The pain subsides slightly as I begin putting on my sneakers. I groan, taking my set of keys and phone from the dresser in front of our bed.

I make my way around and out of the house, locking the door behind me. I force my keys into my pocket and dial my OB, Carina DeLuca.

"Y/n! What's going on? Are you okay?" Carina answers quickly, concern laced in her voice.

"I just wanted to come in... as a precaution," I say as I walk into the building's elevator. "I've been, getting these shooting pains for the past month. I just want to check if the baby's okay."

"Do you want me to make you an appointment?" Carina asks.

"No- I don't want Jackson to know, he might find out somehow. Could you just squeeze me in quickly?" I bite my lip, tapping my foot as I wait for the elevator doors to open at the bottom floor.

"Okay... Okay, I can try. Right now is perfect. Just tell the nurses up front it's an emergency and they should let you right in." Carina explains.

"Oh, thank you, Carina. You're the best. I should be there in a few." I gush, trying to rush off the elevator.

"Y/n, are you gonna be driv-" I hang up the phone before Carina can finish and try to rush out to my car.

———

"Carina, is he okay? Is my baby okay?" I ask urgently, looking between her and the ultrasound machine.

Carina continues moving the wand around where the pain would be. "He looks buono e sano, good and healthy, Y/n/n."

I let out a sigh of relief, laying my head back against the headrest. "Oh, thank God... But what could those pains have been?"

Carina purses her lips and removes the wand from my stomach, cleaning off the residue. "Could be stress, could be the hormones, different foods, your muscles could be constricting because they've had to work so hard with supporting the baby."

I shake my head. "Oh, I was so scared. I didn't want to go into early labor. Thank you for squeezing me in, I really appreciate it."

"No problem, amica mia. Now are you sure you don't want to tell Jackson?" She removes her gloves and I can feel her gaze from behind me.

"No, it's okay. I'm probably just gonna head home." I say, scooching off the examination table and grabbing my clothes to change back into.

———

I tug on my baggy shirt and put my phone in my back pocket, looking up to decide which way to go to get to my car.

Before I can even make a decision, Schmitt runs up, panting like a madman.

"Dr. L/n! We need Ortho. We got a trauma in, motorcycle accident, rider's right and left legs broken in 4 places each, right shoulder dislocated and left arm broken in two places."

He looks me up and down and his face grows red. "You're supposed to be on maternity leave, aren't you?"

"Doesn't matter now, Glasses. Let's go!"

Schmitt ushers me towards the trauma bay and adrenlaine rushes through me. The pain immediately evades my body and everything after is a blur.

I pull on a trauma gown over my loose clothes and tie up my hair into a ponytail. The patient is located in Trauma 1 and I rush in, finding Owem, Meredith, and Amelia already assessing the biker.

"Y/n! Shouldn't you be at home? I thought you were on maternity leave?" Amelia cocks her head to the side and I shake my head.

"Just back for the day," I say quickly. I turn to Schmitt, asking for reassurance, "So, what do we have here?"

He begins, "Multiple broken bones, bruising and cuts everywhere, he's practically roadkill."

"Well by the time we're done with him, he'll be just fine. Let's get an OR booked, order an MRI and page Plastics too!"

———

Jackson and I met when I transfered from Seattle Presbyterian a few years back. I was a 5th year and he was a Plastics fellow.

By the time I became an Orthopedics fellow, we had already established ourselves as the power couple of the hospital, despite not being a couple yet.

Wherever he went, I was likely to follow. Our cases were often linked and we spent a lot of our time together outside of the hospital as well.

When he first asked me out, it was during a surgery of ours together. We spent our one year anniversary watching over an ICU patient. He proposed to me in an empty OR after a successful surgery. I told him I was pregnant in the Attendings lounge. Our whole story was based in the hospital.

I wait outside OR 4, eyeing the elevator from the corner of my view. Any second now our motorcycle guy would be wheeled in and I'd get to scrub in.

"Y/n! Y/n!" I hear him yell from the elevator, trying to get my attention.

Oh shit.

Jackson jogs over to me, concern washed over his face. I frown slightly, feeling bad that he's so worried about me.

"Jackson, hi, um, how...how did you find me?"

Jackson ushers me into the scrub room and closes the door behind us.

"Y/n, you can't be working, remember? You're on maternity leave. Go home." Jackson grabs me by my shoulders, looking me up and down.

"Jackson, I am fine! It's just one surgery, it's not that bad-" I pull out from his grasp and cross my arms under my chest.

"'Not that bad'? Y/n, that surgery could take more than a few hours. You could barely get out of bed this morning!" Jackson's motions to the operating room, raising his voice and I sigh.

"Jackson, we will continue this conversation at home. Preferably, after I finish this surgery." I say stubbornly. I turn to leave and Jackson follows me. I spot Owen and Amelia walking toward us and smile. "Hey, where's the patient?"

Amelia sucks in a breath. "We're holding off on surgery. He's very touch-and-go, so we're holding him in the ICU until tomorrow."

The both of them frown at me and I nod sadly. "Oh, okay. Thanks anyway, you guys."

"Y/n. Let's go." Jackson says sternly, looking only at me.

"I hope it all goes well tomorrow."

———

My breathing steadies after I sit on the bottom bunk in an on-call room. Jackson shuts the door behind us and opens the shutter slightly, letting a bit of the setting sun seep into the room.

I keep my head down, eyes closed. Afraid he'll be angry at me.

We're silent for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to say to each other. He starts first.

"Y/n, you know that I love you, right?" Jackson kneels down in front of me, I can feel his gaze resting on me.

"Yeah," I mumble, slowly lifting my head so we can meet each other's eyes.

"And you know that I'm taking your maternity leave so seriously because I want what's best for you and the baby, right?"

I groan and nod, covering my face with my hands. "Yes."

"Is it wrong? To want you both to be stress-free and healthy? Look at me when you answer, please."

Jackson takes my hands off my face and holds them, kissing the the backs of them before I respond. "No, it's not."

"Carina paged me, she said you came in. That you were worried about the baby. She told me he's okay. That you're okay." I can see tears forming in Jackson's eyes. He bows his head down and still clutches my hands tightly.

"Please, just promise me you'll take these last 4 weeks off. Completely. No work, no stress. Just bed rest and someone waiting on you." Jackson pleads softly, searching my face for an answer.

I lean in and kiss him softly. I take my hands out of his and wipe his tears from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just miss being at the hospital, on my feet, ready to go wherever I need to be. This little guy just sucks the energy right out of me." I chuckle, holding Jackson close to me.

He kisses the top of my head and rests his cheek there for a few seconds. "Can I talk to him really quickly?" Jackson asks quietly, I'm barely able to hear him.

I let out a small laugh, remembering this morning. "Go ahead, but no Momma slander."

Jackson grins at me and we sit beside each other on the bottom bunk. He lifts my fresh navy scrubs up to the top of my belly and I hold them there for him. He taps again, lightly and clears his throat.

"Hi, bud. You doin' okay in there...?"

We stay there, taking turns talking to the little guy, excited for the day where we get to call ourselves parents.

#grey's anatomy x reader #grey's abc #grey's anatomy #jackson avery #jackson avery x reader

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heyheydidjaknow · 3 years

Text

If I bounce my foot, it makes this chair sound like someone is doing unspeakable things. Also, it has been a hot minute, but I have a chapter written now, and that's what matters. Hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner than later.

Chapter 16

You are going to kill him.

“That is absolute fucking horseshit!” You pace back and forth in front of the restaurant. “His ass was the one who invited me!”

You can practically hear his eyes rolling on the other end of the line. “How is it my problem if he flaked?”

“You’re guilty by association!” You cross your arms. “It’s a favor to you! How is it not at least partially your fault?”

“Because he said he’d be there.”

You hang up on him. You have been standing here for half an hour, and only now do you hear that he can’t be there because of something about a movie. While, under different circumstances, you would be relatively understanding, standing outside in a dress in November is making you a bit less amiable.

You sit down on the step, letting your hair down and leaning forward on your knees. ‘What a waste of a perfectly good twilight.’

You pull out your phone. It’s your father’s birthday back home, ironically enough. You smile bitterly. He and your mother told you when you were younger you wouldn’t be allowed to date until you were eighteen— something about them being worried about you getting in a bad situation— and here you were, flouting their rules, sitting alone on the steps of a restaurant with just enough money for food. ‘Does this count as disrespectful?’

Nobody online has said anything about it. No messages hoping he rests in peace, nothing from extended family.

You set the phone down at your side, quietly watching people walk by. You had your cast taken off today. The people at the hospital gave you some sort of weird juice, and now you can walk around with only the occasional ringing in your ears and half-decent handwriting. ‘Not that my handwriting was that great before,’ you muse. ‘Maybe I’ll finally be able to sit in a car without wanting to jump out.’

“Something got you down?”

There is a thing you have noticed about people’s voices thus far that, until now, you have not thought about in detail; people do not sound exactly like their voice actors back in your world. For example, Donatello does not sound like Rob Paulsen, but the way he shapes his words, the tone of his voice, and the general pitch is relatively similar. He sounds like a teenage boy who happens to talk like his character, and it is by this you have been able to identify voices.

Oddly enough, she sounds nothing like Kelly Hi.

Your blood goes cold. “Yeah,” you sigh, desperately keeping your voice steady. “My date bailed on me.”

Karai sits down next to you on the steps, looking out with you. “That sucks.” She chuckled. “Why’s that?”

“No clue.” ‘Why is she trying this?’ You rest your head on your knees, hands clenching and thoughts going a mile a minute. ‘I’m not made by the Kraang, and the guys shouldn’t have messed with her anyways, so she shouldn’t have my— but I did kill— but she doesn’t care about that, and neither does Shredder.’

“Well,” she sighed, “that’s teenagers for you.” She points back at the restaurant. “Can I get you something? My treat.”

You swallow thickly. “Sure.” Your hands are shaking despite your best efforts. You hope you do not look as completely terrified as you feel. “But I can pay for my own food.”

“Are you alright there?”

‘Sadist.’ You nod.

“Are you sure?” She chuckles. “You’ve gone pale.”

You scramble for a plausible excuse. “I’ve been fasting.” That is not a good example of an excuse. “I need to start getting more iron in my diet.”

“I’m sure some food inside will have iron in it.” The smile on her face— she is not a good liar herself— tells you all you need to know, all venom and quiet pleasure. You seem to shrink next to her.

It is not a request. It is a veiled demand.

You get to your feet. You will not make it far if you run. “Have you been here before?” You force yourself up the steps, opening the door for her.

“No,” she admits, nodding thanks, “but it’s supposed to have good reviews.”

“So you were here for the food?”

A shrug. “You could say that.”

The two of you settled in a booth not terribly far from the door, on your insistence. If you are putting yourself in this situation— ‘At least Casey knows where I am. Why did he have to suggest someplace where I know nobody?’— you may as well not make it easy for her. She orders a milkshake— you can not hear her very well over the roaring in your ears, but that is what she gets— and you drink water exclusively from the straw because your hands are currently incapable of holding anything. ‘What was even the point of all those dexterity-based exercises,’ you cannot help but internally whine, ‘if as soon as I need to be coordinated, I get all flinchy and shaky?’

“I didn’t catch your name.”

Your head rises too quickly. “Huh?”

Another smile. You hate her. “Your name,” she repeats herself. “You haven’t given me your name.”

“Y/N.” As soon as you say it, you know you messed up. “Y/N Collins.”

“Collins?” She leaned against her hand, quietly staring you down. “What is that?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, what country is that from?”

‘Great question.’ You strain to smile back. “No clue. My parents haven’t ever brought it up.”

“Really?”

Your face burns at how easy the clinking of her fingernails against the glass puts you on edge. “Is that unusual?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She took a sip from her drink. “I don’t have many friends, you understand, and I’m from overseas to boot. I don’t know much about what’s normal.”

“Yeah?” You follow her example. “What’re you here for?”

A shrug. “My father’s here on business. Cutlery.”

“For restaurants or?”

“Sure.”

‘If I call Casey, he— but then I’d have to be in his van.’ You clear your throat. ‘Bathroom. Maybe the bathroom has a window.’ “Do you mind if I step out for a sec?” You stand up. “I have to use the restroom.”

“Not at all.” She looks up at you through her eyelashes. “Want me to come with?”

You shake your head, trying not to trip over yourself as you make it to the back of the restaurant, purse over your shoulder. ‘Maybe she won’t think anything of it.’ You lock the door behind you, exhaling as you look around the small room. As is typical of your luck these days— though, you suppose, fighting back tears, it’s not so much these days if it’s been going on for months; you miss your mother— there is none. Graffiti, sharpie illustrations, no toilet paper, and no window. No plan for if the date went badly in the first place— you kick yourself for having forgotten that essential step— and no ride home. You have money for the ticket home— he said he would pay— and a phone and a charger and it is at times like these where you wish you valued your life more. The only chance you now have, as far as you’re concerned, is to either run or fake a phone call at the table.

You just got out of a cast.

You take a deep breath, walking back onto the floor, thanking her for her patience. She nods, waves it off as no trouble, and starts talking again as she drains her drink. You listen, you try to keep the conversation going the best you can, drink right alongside her.

You do not remember when you start having fun, when you start laughing along with her at something or other, but you are now.

“So,” she sighed, lacing her fingers together under her chin. “Who was the lucky guy?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The guys you were here to meet.”

“Kid from Bio,” you answer. “Can’t remember his name.”

She nods. “Do you have many guy friends?”

“A couple, I guess.”

“What’re they like?”

“Busy.” You smile slightly. “Most of them are, anyway. The guy that set me up is free most of the time.”

“What about the others?”

“They’re into martial arts.” You glance down at your glass, and for a moment, you swear it looks slightly blue. “Their dad’s into it.”

“What’re their names?”

You blink, picking the glass up and placing it on top of your hand. “Reese and Donnie and Legoshi and the other one.” ‘Why is my drink blue?’

“The other one?”

You nod, eyes drooping slightly as you struggle to rationalize the color change. “Can’t remember his name.”

“Michelangelo, maybe?”

“Maybe.” You take another sip, trying to taste what it is. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t remember from what.” Something with salt.

“You said your name was Y/N?”

You nod again. ‘Water isn’t blue, right?’

“Then, Y/N,” she smiles again, eyes slowly drilling holes into your skull, “do you know who I am?”

“Legoshi’s sis, right?” You look up at her. “You’re Karai Hamato.”

Your eyes are too blurry to tell exactly what is happening with her face. “What?”

“Your name.” You take another sip. “Karai Hamato. Or Missy. It’s one of the two.”

“I’m not a Hamato.”

“Yeah, you are.” You giggle before the words slip out of your mouth. “You’re fucking— well, not fucking— you let stepbrother, right? Half brother?” You are forgetting something important. “Are you two blood-related?”

“We aren’t.”

“You sound angry.”

A blink. “I do not.”

“Do too.” ‘I don’t like her for some reason.’ “You’re getting all red in the face.”

“Because you’re accusing me of something I’m not.”

“Fuckin…” you grin. “If you’re into that shit, I’m not gonna fuckin judge you or nothin, but at least fuckin… uh… own up to it.” Your eyes drag across the table lazily.

“I’m no Hamato.”

“You are too.”

They land on a plastic bag.

‘Oh. That’s why.’

“Who told you I was?”

“Your stepdad.” You get to your feet, holding your bag. “Or dad, I guess? I dunno, whichever one didn’t kill your mom.”

There’s something else in her voice as she gets up, following you out. “How do you know that?”

“I just said how.” The cold air outside hits you like a brick. ‘Run.’

“So you know where—“ You shove your weight back on her, slamming her body and in turn her into the brick wall and run.

She grabs your something. You fall, head slamming painfully against the ground. You kick her, she grabs your hair. In what you might later describe as a drunken effort, you reach your hands up towards her face. You feel something squishy, a cry, and she’s facing you now, dragging you into somewhere considerably darker than outside at night. You feel something in the back of your head, she covers your mouth as you cry out, and you do the only thing you can think of.

You taste something again. Something is in your mouth. She stumbles back. You trip up to your feet, and you fall in the direction of the nearest subway tunnel.

The things happening around that time are swirling around in your head, now, face held in your hands as you quietly curl up on the subway. You do not remember entering a train car, or buying a ticket, or even what happened to the object in your mouth, but the crying you remember. You remember someone touching your shoulder with a soft voice, looking up with your mouth covered in sticky, dried stuff and fingers covered in red and clear goo, and that being enough to have them get off at the next stop.

You do not know how long you are on the train. When you finally feel yourself again, your phone is almost dead. Hours must have passed. You do not remember leaving, but you remember the ringing in your ears again as you dial someone, sitting on the sidewalk in what used to be the only dress you owned. You are reasonably sure you are going to burn it.

—

“Is this okay?”

“What?”

“This.” Mikey gestures around himself. “What we’re doing.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They’re people, right?” He looks over at his brother, currently skimming the same magazine again. “The Kraang, I mean.”

It takes a second for him to process the question, but Donnie does not have to look up from his sewing to know his brother’s reaction.

“It’s just a question.”

“A fuckin— do you hear yourself?”

“I’m just—“

“Leo,” he turns to his older brother, “is killing the threat to all of humanity wrong?”

“But we just blew up a giant ship of them though.” He crisscrosses his legs. “Aren't we killing a ton of people, then?”

“Mikey,” Leo sighs, not looking up from the TV, “there are more people in New York than there are Kraang that we could ever kill.”

“Eight million.” He sincerely hopes the gloves are not too large. “For number's sake, it’s eight million.”

Leo shoots his brother a thumbs up, glancing over at his brother’s project curiously. “Thanks, Donnie.”

“Even if we were actively going on a killing spree and mowing them down that way, there is no way in hell any of us could kill two million Kraang per person even if we wanted to. That’s not even talking about the number of people who would be fucked once they were done with New York.” Raphael punctuates this with a pointed and aggressive flip to the next page. “End of story.”

“But—“

“And even if they stopped at New York,” he continues, cutting him off, “that would still be eight million people dead because of us getting cold feet.”

Mikey opens his mouth again, sighs, and closes it. “Fine, okay.” He leans back against the concrete, eyes going back to his phone. “Anyways, why do you keep getting water on your thing?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean the gloves.” His taller brother looks up. “It’s easier to get the needle through it when it’s warm and wet. Plus, it makes the— stop laughing!”

“Then you thought it too.”

Heat rushes to his face. “You’re so immature.”

“But you thought it too. That's hypothetical.”

“You mean hypocritical.”

“I said what I said.”

Michelangelo’s phone rings.

He puts a finger, bringing it to his face. “Hel— hey, slow down.” His brow furrowed, the other three leaning towards him. “No, wait, what— who’s she?”

There’s a pause.

“She did— wait, hold on.” He tosses the phone to Donatello. “It’s for you.”

He catches it. “Hello?”

“Could you pick me up?”

He blinks. “What, with the Shellraiser?”

Your voice is paper. “Yup.”

“You hate the Shellraiser.”

“She wants to go in the Shellraiser?”

Donatello waves his younger brother off, letting you talk. “I hate Karai more, currently. Please pick me up.”

Leo pipes up. “What happened?”

He ignores him. “Where are you?”

There is a pause as she checks, his brothers watching for his reactions. “One-oh-three Saint Corona Plaza.”

“Got it.”

“What happened?” Raphael, this time.

“Need me to stay on the line?” With a pointed glare at his siblings, he climbs into the ‘raiser.

“Please.”

He calls behind him at his brothers. “I’ll be back before two.” The phone is brought back up to his face as they moan about a lack of info. The machine is spurred into motion. “What are you doing in Queens so late?”

“No idea.” He can hear your strained smile. “Ask Karai.”

His heart stops. “What happened with Karai?”

You repeat your statement.

“She didn’t—“

You cut him off. “I’m not back in the hospital, no.”

He resists the urge to sigh in relief. “Did she follow you?”

“I’ve yet to be hit over the head, so I’ll hasten to say no.” There is something off about your voice, a certain quality about it that he cannot quite pin down. “I’ve been essentially useless the whole time, what with her drugging me and all.”

“She what?”

“I think she did, anyway.” It is incredibly disturbing to him how calm you sound. “Unless water’s blue and kinda tastes salty now. I don’t imagine it would be though,” you ponder, chilling years off of his life, “even if you guys messed up the mission. It would be green, since that’s the color of the acid, right?”

He mumbles something out about indicators, head reeling as he tries to not hit a street lamp.

“That’s what I thought.” You sigh. “Say, have you got any hydrogen peroxide at your place? No, wait, scratch that, I’m burning the dress anyways.”

“Dress?”

“Yeah.” You huff. “Last time I’m letting Jones set me up on a date. Last time I’m going on a date period until all this gets worked out, actually.”

‘It is not okay to feel happy that she had a bad date.’ Still, he tries to steer the conversation away from the horrifying for a minute. “What happened?”

“I got stood up.”

“Why?”

“I forget. Where are you?”

He glances up at the street sign. “Still pretty far.”

A pause.

“You know,” you swallow, “I should really stop doing this. It’s not exactly great of me to have to ask for your help all the time.”

“None of us mind.”

“That’s not the point.” He hears a car on your end whizz by. “I should be able to go a week without making you go out of your way for me. You guys manage.”

“We’ve also been training in ninjutsu since we could walk.”

Tired, he decided. You sound tired. “Other normal people manage.”

“You’re not a normal person, though.”

“Sure I am.” Your words sound slow to him. “I keep interesting company is all.”

“That’s a word for it.”

“What, don’t count yourself as interesting?”

He turns a corner. “Not the first word I’d use, no.”

Another long silence. Occasionally, he notes, you will him something into the phone, say a quiet, unintelligible word of phrase he cannot quite make out, presumably in an effort to continue looking like you are on the phone to passers by. The streets, like most nights nowadays, are mostly empty, save for the occasional cop car or kid, making the commute a relatively uneventful one. It gives him time to think, anyways, and after a while of quiet contemplation and forced slow breaths so he did not look quite as panicked as he felt once he picked you up, a question quietly surfaces.

He would have come in a heartbeat. He was not exactly sure what he would have done, but he would have come running, regardless of if he could help. Why would you not call? Why would you try and deal with that sort of situation alone? Did you not trust he would come?

His fingers tighten around the wheel. What had you been thinking going out alone, anyway? After all that was happening, you thought it was a good idea to go on a date without a plan for if it went south?

Another sharp turn. If nothing else, he thinks, he can not say you are no longer naive or lacking in innocence. Maybe you are just incredibly prideful. Regardless, it will get you in more trouble than you had to be in.

What would he do if you got yourself irreparably damaged?

—

You are not having a good time.

You have managed to convince yourself that this is not, in fact, anything like the car. For starters, it is less aerodynamic; it is a metal box on wheels, designed for subway travel and is, therefore, not designed for optimum wind resistance, meaning it cannot go as fast with the same amount of energy. The inside of the vehicle is also distinctly dissimilar to a car, its origins blatantly obvious, and was entirely lacking in windows. While this is enough to convince you currently that climbing into the machine is not as serious a death sentence, the fact of the matter is that, yes, it is a metal monster on four wheels that drives on roads. If you keep your eyes shut, maybe you will not vomit as soon as you stumble out of the door.

Your stomach hurts. A lot of your body hurts, actually. You do not remember the “fight” with much clarity, but you do understand your head hurrying. You have yet to get a good look at yourself, but if you had to guess by the stains on your fingers that you can now identify as blood, the bad taste in your mouth that you are fairly sure is vomit and the flaky stuff on your face that also looks suspiciously blood-like, you would hasten to guess the answer is “not great”. You certainly do not feel great, if that is indicative of anything.

He has not said a word so far.

You do not force conversation, now. You would prefer not to talk about the ordeal, anyways.

There are monitors that he is staring at in order to steer. Why he would not just get an actual steering wheel or the old hull of a car from a junkyard is beyond you, though you guess a hippie van would not offer the same armored protection as a subway car.

“We got molested by a sea monster today.”

You look over at him, eyes half lidded. You want to sleep. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes are focused on the screens. “Apparently it liked my submarine.”

“That’s… a thing.” You rub your hands on your thighs absentmindedly. “How did that work out?”

“Fine. It wasn’t all that strong.”

Your lips curl up into a weak smile. “That’s good, then. The mission went alright?”

He nods. “Without a hitch, funny enough.”

“That’s cool.”

The conversation dies as quickly as it starts.

The drive from that point on is an uncomfortably quiet one. You pick blood from under your nails, thumbs occasionally tracing the scars on your fingers— you are still not used to the difference in texture— as the hum or an engine rumbles underneath you. You are reminded of a memory from when you were younger, driving down the hallway, basking in the warmth of your own body heat with your arms tucked to your chest from under your top layer. The machine you were in now was colder, staler, but the hum of the engine, the time, all reminded you quietly of simpler times.

You swallow thickly. ‘I’m such a coward.’ You shut your eyes gently, stomach churning. ‘I’m going to get the people I care about hurt, aren’t I?’

Donnie says something.

The Shellraiser is stopped. You look up at him. “Huh?”

When he was younger, he and his brothers did not know the limits of their own strength. When they were first learning to fight, when they were first sent to spar against one another when their sensei was asleep, they would often go a step or three too far. He was never one to get involved— his brothers were stronger, more enthusiastic fighters— but he remembered distinctly what they would look like the morning after a fight, cheeks and eyes various shades of purples and blues and blacks. They would ask him, on occasion, after particularly brutal brawls, for him to paint over whichever brother’s face— usually Raphael or Leo— to hide them from their father. He got used to the sight, got better at understanding their anatomy, which chemicals mixed together would do which things.

He is getting sufficiently tired of seeing you hurt the worst he has ever seen.

You look so small in the seat, face black and blue, hands shaking. Your skin is paler than when you two first met, less healthy, a thin coat of sweat coating your skin and hair stuck to the back of your neck. Your dress— he has never seen you in one— is stained with rust, hidden poorly from under your jacket. He can tell already which bruises will take a while to disperse, where she had busted your nose and slammed your head against something hard. You need a shower and water and a blood test to make sure you do not die from whatever Karai gave you.

He clears his throat again. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“You’re doing me a favor. You have a right.”

He does not look you in the eyes. “It’s just… can I ask a question?”

You sigh. Even your voice sounds tired. “Shoot.”

His fingers trace the rim of the steering wheel. He takes a slow breath. “Why didn’t you call?”

“When she cornered me, you mean?”

A nod.

He glances over at you, staring down at your hands, turning them over. “You were on a mission. I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“I would’ve come, you know.”

“I know.” You smile ruefully. “That’s why I didn’t.”

His fingers grip the wheel again, trying to not openly overreact. “Y/N,” he says carefully, “if a mission fails because we need to come save you from Karai, then we fail the mission.”

“How many people in New York would die if you guys did fail?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is.” You look up at him. “You get yourself in a lot of trouble because of me. You have to make sure I don’t kill myself all the time. Think logically, Donnie.”

He snorts, heart pounding in suppressed, almost overwhelming frustration. “Are you going to say something about thinking logically?”

“Fair point. But you get mine, right?”

“I don’t, actually.” He leans back in his chair, fingers gripping tighter still. “The only reason we’re messing with the Kraang at all, the only reason we started all this, is because I saw you and wanted to help you.” He counts on his fingers. “The only people I really, honestly care about this much are my family and you, and I know that, if I had never met you,” and he looks you dead in the eyes now, “I would just make a filtration system for my family and that would be the end of it.”

Your eyes are still gorgeous. Behind the bruises and the blood, you really are stunning.

“Sure,” he concedes, “maybe Leo would’ve gotten involved because he’s that selfless. I would’ve gone along with it, since he’s my brother and all, but if that were the case…” He takes a slow breath to calm down. He never thought it would come out right now at all times. “If that were the case, I would’ve never tried red velvet cupcakes. Mikey wouldn’t have a friend outside of the family. I never would’ve learned about crime movies, or had talks about science with anyone but myself, or any of the thousand other things you’ve given us.” He does not know exactly when he grabs your hands, but he is now, and you are so warm and alive right now. “I care about you. We care about you. You have to know that. For fuck’s sake,” he laughs, “I’ve told you outright, before!”

You open your mouth to say something. No words come out, for once.

He squeezes your hands. He cannot tell if your heart feels like his does, the straining against his chest, the aching feeling. He was never good at reading people or emotions or any of that.

But it’s time now. He can barely think. If he does not now, he might not ever.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Table of Contents

Chapter 15

Chapter 17

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sabraeal · 3 years

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Climb to the Rooftops

[Read on AO3]

Written for @another-miracle; a birthday fic that is COMING OUT ON TIME would you look at that (though I am definitely doing some fancy footwork to make it work out in both time zones 😂 Yixin asked for the Post-Rescue Tanbarun Tree Scene for WFB, and then I said, I could give you that, but what if I told you about a secret scene instead...

And then Yixin told me to write whichever one was Obi POV

He knows her.

That’s what keeps running through his head’s hamster wheel as he clomps up the student center steps. He knows her; he’s always known her. If he reached out on that park bench, if he’d grabbed her with both hands and just said, don’t leave me--

He would have been laid flat on his ass, courtesy of that mean right hook her dad taught her before he bounced. And there’d be another demerit on his record to boot, one more instance of anti-social behavior to make him even more unadoptable than he already was. Doc was always destined to go to a loving home, complete with cozy hideaways and towers of books, with warm firesides and even warmer grandparents, and he...

Well, he wasn’t meant for anything like that, no matter who he clung to. Sometimes shit just happens, and no wishing on stars thirteen years gone can change that.

It’s good to see her though. He’d always wondered what happened to his muppet girl, whether she’d gone off and had her happy ending just like she said she would. And now he knows she did.

He glances down at the peanut butter canister in his hand. Well, at least for a little while. That’s the thing about happy endings; they don’t really stick.

Obi hesitates, one foot poised over a step up, his hand wrapped around a ruddy safety rail. “Um, Doc.”

It takes her three steps to bounce to a stop, just enough to let her look down instead of up or across. He’s got double vision for a moment: Doc in the here and now looking at him with so much hope and anxiety that he’s half-afraid she’ll shake apart like a Hot Wheel in a blender; superimposed over the little girl in his memory, round face beaming up at him and her worries far behind her.

She’s got more freckles now, though most of them are hidden beneath her coat, fading without the direct application of summer sun. More inches too, though not as many as he’d given her in his head; for once he’d given more benefit of the doubt than nature could provide. And her hair-- well, that’s the same. Red. Fluffy. Muppety, too, if it’s the morning.

“Obi?”

He should really be paying attention to this conversation he fucking started, instead of just staring at her like a creep. “I just wanted to check in.”

“Oh.” She goes rosy under the freckles he can see, shifting the urn from her hands to her elbow. “I’m-- I’m fine. I’m glad that we could find--” one arm juts out, trying to encompass both them and the containers-- “everyone.”

“Yeah, I got you, but I meant...” He angles a pointed look over her shoulder. “Why are we going up?”

Doc’s jaw drops, and he sees it, the way panic crests right behind her eyes.

“Not that I’m suggesting we don’t.” He takes the next step slow, just enough to put them on equal standing. Except it doesn’t, it puts him a little above her; the beginning of really looking down. His heart flutters in the exact way it shouldn’t when he’s carrying human remains. “I’m just saying, if we’re going to carry geriatrics up a few flights, the elevator’s better for their hips.”

He expects her to laugh at that one, or maybe even roll her eyes, but instead Doc breaks out into a full-body Chihuahua tremble.

“Obi.” Her eyes are so big in her face they might swallow him whole. “We can’t take the elevator.”

“We...can’t?”

Her head jerks in the scarcest side-to-side. With one long, steeling breath, she informs him, “We’re going to do something a little illegal.”

His brows raise. “Illegal?”

The urn bobbles treacherously as her hands fly up between them. “Only a little!”

“You cashed in your favor with me,” he repeats slowly, savoring the thrill that zips through him with every syllable. “To do something illegal.”

Doc deflates with all the gravitas of a popped kiddie pool. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if that would be okay. Especially with, um...”

She’s far too polite to say, your presumed preexisting criminal record, Doc just hasn’t realized it yet. Not when she doesn’t know for sure whether it does exist or not. It’d be easy to help her along, but it’s kinda satisfying to watch her flounder, fishing for the pieces of him she does know.

“If it’s a problem,” she says finally, lifting her eyes to his. “You don’t have to--”

“The only problem is how hot that is, Doc.” He wraps a hand around the rail beside her, leaning in close enough that her eyes nearly cross watching him. “Are you gonna get into your old field hockey kit and punch a girl up there too?”

She blinks, heels clunking into the concrete rise. “I don’t think it would fit. The skirt would be too short, at least.”

Are you sure, he wants to say, stretching every last inch over her, but instead he rumbles, “Honey, you’re saying all the right things to me--”

“Hey.” A finger presses into his nose, hauling his words up short like a pileup. “No call list.”

“Ahh.” Her mouth twitches as he pulls back, rubbing at his nose. “Haah. You know I hate that.”

“Then stick to the list,” she informs him pleasantly. “Besides, are you really trying to flirt with a girl in front of her grandpa?”

“Well.” He holds up the tin, giving it an experimental shake. “You think they’d mind?”

There’s a quality to the silence in the stairwell that clues him in to the fact that he’s cocked up real good this time. First with the tomb joke, now asking if grandma might be watching from beyond the grave, objecting to his game. At least he knows he never had a chance; otherwise he’d have to go take his hopes out behind the woodshed--

“No,” she hums, confident. “They’d like you.”

It’s a good thing she doesn’t get it in her head to try the nose trick again; it’d push him right over. He can survive a lot, but four flights is pushing it. “Doc,” he huffs, scratching the bristle at the back of his head, “I don’t think--”

“Well...” She’s thoughtful when she puts her back to him, bouncing up the next couple of stairs. “Opa would. Oma would think you needed to be fattened up.”

He laughs, but even to his own ears it sounds busted up, wings broken. “Sounds like my kind of lady.”

“Ugh,” Doc sighs from one landing up. “She’d love that you said that.”

“That just makes her even more--”

“Don’t.”

RESTRICTED ACCESS, the doors says, bright red letters fading against the plastic sign. ALARM WILL SOUND.

Doc’s been bullish these last few flights, pushing a pace that makes him want to remind her he’s a hitter, not a runner, but now--

Now she shuffles on the stairs, daunted. “Do you think it will really...?”

Obi thinks this might be a private university, funded by mommy and daddy’s pockets to keep their babies safe, but alarms go off all the time. Unless this building has a rent-a-cop watching daytime TV down in the atrium right now, it could take hours for someone to answer the call, especially mid-afternoon on a Saturday.

“Who knows.” He’s not sure what she’s got up her sleeve that involves two dead people and a rooftop-- especially when even Doc is quick to admit it’s got at least a toe on the wrong side of legal-- but it probably won’t look good if they’re interrupted, even by the Diet Coke of the law enforcement vending machine. “Maybe you should plan to keep the fancy speeches to a minimum.”

“Eulogies.” Her thin fingers flex over ceramic, white where they press in. “You mean a eulogy.”

“Gesundheit.”

Doc turns her head, real slow, letting him soak in every drop of her disapproval. Well, that’s one pigtail successfully pulled.

With a breath so deep it makes her pea coat really earn the name, Doc nods. “Right. Okay. I think...”

Obi expects some dithering, some real soul-searching doubts being dragged out for airing right here in the stairwell. Doc likes that sort of thing, taking everything out of her head so she can fold it all up real nice again, but instead--

Instead she barrels across the landing, plowing right through the metal door, a whole stretch of gray winter sky stretching out before her. There’s one blink, two, and then-- well, the sign wasn’t kidding. The alarm does, in fact, sound.

He catches the door with a hand; it’s weighted, ready to swing right back into place and-- if he knows his doors-- lock right behind her. Not that it’d be a problem if he meant to stand around on the stairwell and act as look out; a role he’d be happy to play if that’s how Doc wanted this whole show to run. But right now she’s slumped at the ledge, every last ounce of her usual moxie wrung out.

Maybe she might tell him to stand back, that this is something she’s got to take on alone, but Obi knows every aching line of that pose by heart. A car can keep going for fifty miles once it hits empty, but that just means you’ll never know when the tank runs dry. That’s where she is right now, stalling out at her limit.

And that’s what he’s here for, to push her that last inch over the finish line. Besides, he can’t just stand back, not when he’s grandpa’s ride.

“So.” There’s a shim in a corner-- a naughty thing to have around an emergency door like this, but Obi’s not about to tattle. He’s perfectly happy to wedge someone else’s problem right where the paint’s flaked off the door. “What’s the problem?”

Doc blinks, one hand trembling on grandma’s lid. “W-what?”

He settles grandpa on the ledge, arms folded around him, taking in the sprawl of buildings below. Clarines isn’t as big as one of those state universities, but it makes Tanbarun look like a college playset instead of a campus. Both of them have those stuffy brick and marble buildings they like up here, the kind that say academic and too good for you loud and clear, but whereas Obi’s walked across Clarines for thirty minutes and still never hit the edge, it looks like he could lap this place in twenty. No wonder Doc was miserable here; the real mystery is how she managed an entire year in this fancy rat cage.

“There’s got to be one.” He knows better than to look at her; if he’s going to make her talking about feelings, the least he can do is give her the privacy to have them. “You were all gung-ho a minute ago, ready to do your thing even if you had to punch out a cop to do it--”

“--I didn’t say that,” she murmurs--

“--but now you’re just standing here.” He shrugs, chancing a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Looking lost.”

“I just...” She shifts, head twisting toward him, he doesn’t need to meet her gaze to know it’s wild, desperate. “It doesn’t feel right that they don’t go together.”

It’s his turn to stare now, lost. “O...kay.”

“What if...” Her teeth fold over her lip, worrying at places already worn. “What if I left them go, and they don’t find each other?”

“Ah...?” It seems like a bit of an oversight now, not asking what the plan is, but he ventures, “You mean...the ashes?”

Her mouth twists up, annoyance in every wrinkle. “It sounds weird when you say it like that.”

“No, no, I’m just...” He glances down at the tin between his arms. “I’m just putting things together. There’s nothing wrong about how you feel, Doc. Not like anyone’s really written a book about how this works.”

She looks up at him, so guileless. “Of course they have, Obi. There’s a whole section in the bookstore for it. It’s just that they’re all written by charlatans and quacks.”

Whatever the conversational version of whiplash is, Obi’s experiencing it now. For a minute all he can do is stare, taking in the abject disapproval rumpling her face, and then he-- he--

He laughs. Because this is what he’s into. The sort of person who pumps the breaks and spins the conversation 360 without even a courtesy ‘buckle up.’

“Listen, I’ve been thinking...” He taps the top of the tin, the metallic ting drowned out by the blare of the siren. “What if we just...mixed them? Then when you release them--”

“--They’re already together.” Doc blinks up at him, eye shining like he’s her savior, the center of her world, the answer to her cosmic question--

The way she really shouldn’t, when she already belongs to someone a hundred times better than he’ll ever be. Not when she’d never mean to get his hopes up.

“Thank you, Obi,” she breathes, a smile dawning on her lips. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”

Like all his good ideas, it’s easier said than done. On the ground, it’d been breezy, the sort of gentle push he’d come to expect from New England right before it got its first good snow, but up here--

“Here, take this.” Obi shrugs off his jacket, hurriedly pushing it into Doc’s boneless hands, but it’s too late-- they’ve already lost a bit of grandma. “Hold it up.”

She stares down at it, thumbs rubbing over the leather in a way that makes his shoulders itch. “Hold...?”

He swings out one arm-- the one not holding a geriatric-- yanking it wide. “Like a wind screen. I don’t want to lose Oma’s pinky toe or something.”

Doc blinks, stretching the coat between her hands. “Pinky toe?”

“Wouldn’t that make you cranky in the afterlife?” he asks, shaking more of Oma loose in a lull. “Losing a toe? Or a finger. Like just the last knuckle. A bit of your nose.”

The leather starts to ripple as the wind spins back up, and Doc stomps a foot down on the end of it to keep it from smacking up into his face. He appreciates the effort; it’s hard enough trying to pour from a large container to a small one without his zipper clocking him over the eyebrow. “Would that really matter?”

He shrugs. “To some people, probably. I got plenty of nose to spare.”

Doc mouth curves shyly, hunching down to hide behind his coat. “I think it’s fine just as it is.”

“Haah.” It’d be nice if she could give him a heads up when she plans to make his heart pound like that. “Think you might be the first to think that.”

“I don’t know,” she hums, eyes electric with some mischievous spark in their depths. “Maybe I’m the first to say so, but you certainly weren’t getting any complaints a few nights ago--”

He huffs. “Drunk college girls aren’t exactly arbiters of taste, Doc.”

She fixes him with that steady stare of hers, the one that’s so earnest it makes his heart make a bid for freedom through his throat. “I think,” she says, each word weighed before she lets it free, just like a good scientist, “that they did just fine.”

He smothers a whimper into a sigh. “Maybe your grandparents don’t mind me flirting,” he mutters, hunched over that stupid peanut butter tin, “but I’m sure they wouldn’t like you returning the favor.”

She blinks, head cocked. “Did you say something Obi?”

“No,” he says, just a little louder. “Just talking to myself.”

“You know--” he sets down the urn, wiping the sweat off his forehead-- “this would have been a lot easier going the other way.”

“We can’t.” Doc’s mouth twists up into that troublesome knot. “Opa always said he never wanted to be in one of those big fancy vases. And even if he would never know, I...”

Obi sighs, hanging his head. “Yeah, I know, I get it, just...complaining to complain. You know how it is.”

She stares down at him like he’s a fish on a dock telling her about the dangers of air. He shakes his head, stifling a laugh. Of course Doc wouldn’t get it; she could lose a limb and she’d still be thankful for the other three. Probably point out how much better things were now that she didn’t need to keep track of all of them. He might complain like it was as easy as breathing, but Doc-- Doc would take every last uncharitable thought to the grave.

Haah, give her some time. A few more months around him, and she’d discover some things to complain about. People always did.

“So,” he says, picking grandma back up. “Why here?”

Doc blinks. “Huh?”

“You know, on top of the roof of the campus center at one of the prestigious universities on the East Coast?” He raises a brow. “I know you used to go here, but most people just settle for leaving dog shit on the stoop when they want to send a ‘fuck you,’ you know.”

Doc unleashes a sound that can only be termed a squawk. “What? What do you mean most people--?” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t-- I mean, it’s not supposed to be a, um...”

“Fuck you?”

“Ah...yes. That.” She grimaces. “They met here. And when I tried to think of places they might want to be...”

Her words drift to a stop, but it’s gentle. They don’t abandon her, leaving her high and dry, but she just...stops saying them, letting the wind carry them away.

“I couldn’t think of any place else,” she admits, fingers tightening in the leather. “They always talked about Tanbarun so fondly, and I...I always thought it sounded like paradise.”

“But the roof?” Obi asks, incredulous. “Is it just easier to scatter the ashes, or...?”

“It’s where they met,” she repeats, like that makes any sense at all. “They used to have movie nights up here, played on one of those reel projectors,”

Her gaze swings out over the concrete like she could see it; all the hippy bean bags piled up, big screen pulled down and movie hardly able to be heard over the wind. Not a bad picture, he’ll admit. Wholesome, just like he’d expect out of the people who raised this Precious Moments doll of a person. Doesn’t really explain Mukaze, but well, shit happens. Half the people who raised him don’t deserve the person he’s become either. “Nice story.”

She’s hardly here with him, eyes hazy and distant, stuck in a past only she can see. “That’s what I always thought. I always wanted...” Her voice trails off again, but this time her smile falters, topping like china from a wobbling shelf. “I always wanted to have a story like that too. But it, um, didn’t really work out that way.”

He shouldn’t say anything. He’s not some neutral party, here to give her that impartial, unbiased pick-me-up she wants to hear, like telling her won’t rips a strip right off his back, so-- he should keep his big mouth shut.

But he’s never been good at any of that being smart shit. “It’s not like you didn’t have your own meet cute, it just wasn’t here. It was, er...”

Huh, now would you look at that. He’s never actually asked.

“At a record store,” she supplies slowly, like she has to think on it too. “Between the aisles after I missed my bus. No--” she laughs, more bitter than he’s ever heard her-- “after I chose to miss it.”

“See?” he hums, vibrating the knife deeper. “That’s already a good start.”

Her lips press thin. “I suppose...”

“No supposing about it.” He taps grandpa so the ashes sit flat before he starts another pour. “If I know anything about your Oma and your Opa-- and I don’t know nothing besides what you told me--” and what he saw a decade ago, sitting on that park bench-- “I don’t think they care whether you met your person at a rooftop movie or in a Walmart--”

“Record store.”

“They have CDs too,” he informs her, just as prim as Doc gets with him when she indulged the one pedantic bone in her body. “But the point is, they wouldn’t care where it happened, they just wanted you to find what they had.”

“I...” She deflates, the leather bowing over her legs. “I know. I think they used to worry that I wouldn’t, especially since I wasn’t really, ah...”

“Looking for it?” he offers.

She nods, relieved. “Yes, that. After my parents, I think they expected a much more, um, active interest in...anything. And I wasn’t.”

He doesn’t need to hear her say it to know that there’s more to it than that, that what she means to say is, and I don’t think they understood.

“Well, nothing for them to worry about anymore, is there?” She blinks up at him, alarmed, and he adds, “You and chief are kind of a done deal right?”

“Ah!” It’s hard to tell with the wind slapping both their cheeks red, but he could swear Doc’s blushing. “I don’t-- it’s not-- we haven’t really talked about--” she heaves a heavy, resigned sigh-- “I mean, I...I guess?”

“As done as it can be without getting PR involved.” He gives her the sort of eyebrow Kiki might. “I’m sure that if they’re out there floating on clouds or whatever, or, i don’t know, free energy in the universe, molecules just bumping around...they’re happy for you.”

“Right.” Her reply’s so faint he nearly misses it, but the wind that snatches it away carries it right by his ear. “Yeah.”

“All right, I think I’ve done as much as I can do.” Obi levers himself to his feet, brushing off his lap before handing her the tin. “You ready for this?”

Doc stares down at the canister, jaw set, the same way he’s sure it looked right before she threw herself out a window. Certainly looks the same way it did when she tried to bean Itoya with her purse.

“Yeah,” she breathes, fingers tightening around the metal. “I think I am.”

The wall’s not tall, but neither is Doc; she has to go up on tip-toe to throw an arm over it, the wind already pulling at the ashes laying loose at the top. Her brow furrows, mouth working for a good minute before she manages, “It’s time to say goodbye, I think.”

Obi stares. Sure, he’d said to keep it short and sweet, but if it’s taken this long for the rent-a-cop to hustle up, maybe she can spare the people who raised her more than--

“Thank you.” He’d thought it might be hard to hear her over both the alarm and the wind, but somehow all her words fly true, brightening the air. “For...everything. I don’t really know how you...”

Her breath catches, but her eyes are clear, no tears streaking down her face. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? You did everything and more. But I think...” She sniffs, taking a moment. “I think I can take it from here. I’ll miss you, Oma. And Opa...”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I forgive you. For whatever still needs forgiving. Rest well.”

Her hand tips, just the barest degree, and the ashes scatter, wind whipping them past, twisting high over the quad.

“Hey.” Obi steps up beside her, shrugging his coat on over his shoulders. If it’s a little gritty-- well, good thing Doc thing thinks Oma would like him so much, because part of her might linger until the next wash. “I’m pretty sure it’s super illegal to scatter human remains like this.”

“Oh,” Doc hums, shoulder bushing his arm. “It absolutely is without a permit. I was not joking about the slightly illegal thing.”

Obi grins. “Well good thing that no one ever came to check on the--”

As if summoned by the mere mention of potentially having something approaching good luck, the door bar rattles, accompanied by some creative cursing.

“Who the fuck is leaving this open?” A gruff yet feminine voice demands, as if she might be able to shake down the universe and pick up the answers from what fell out of its pockets if she just rattled it hard enough. “Bill, is it you? God, what did I say about using the roof for your smoke breaks--?”

The door swings all the way open, and there she is, a security guard with shoulders that could have dropped straight from the Lowen family tree. Obi would take a picture if he wasn’t sure that would get him thrown in the campus drunk tank.

She takes one glance at them, then another angrier one. “Who the fuck are you?”

“UM,” Doc shrills informatively.

“No, wait.” One broad hand waves in front of her. “I don’t care. What are you doing up here?”

Doc flounders in the face of authoritarian disappointment-- which is fine by Obi. This is his wheelhouse, after all. It’s nothing to reach out, cinching Doc’s waist against him, grin wide. “Sex, obviously.”

If it were possible for a body to choose the time and place of its expiration from this earthly dairy aisle, Doc’s mortified stare suggests she might curdle on the spot. “Obi.”

The guard’s glare is a study in skepticism, taking in the both of them, and then the concrete wasteland around them. “Here? With your clothes on?”

“It’s our kink.”

“Please,” Doc mutters against his shirt. “Don’t talk.”

The guard spares them one last weary look and sighs. “You know what? I don’t care. Just get out.”

Doc certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. Obi’s got his mouth open, what can’t you let us finish first about to spill right out, but her small hand clamps around his, and she drags him right off the roof.

“SORRY,” she yelps as they pass. “WON’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.”

“Yeah,” Obi agrees with a grin. “Next time we’ll fuck on some other roo--”

Doc pauses for one moment, just long enough to raise a finger and inform him “DON’T.”

This time he lets her drag him off, grinning.

They’re halfway down the stairs when Doc finally slows, her cheeks reaching a shade of red that looks more lipstick than lobster dinner. Her hand wraps tight around the rail, and it’s not until he saunters down the last couple steps to stand beside her that he realizes-- her eyes are screw tight, breath coming in ragged bursts.

“Hey,” he murmurs, trying to ignore the spark of alarm zipping under his skin. “Did you just realize we could have used the elevator?”

Her fingers, already wrapped tight around his palm, squeeze. “Obi...”

The muscles in his arm lock, the way he’s sure lizard tails do, right before they drop them off and run. “Doc?”

Her head turns toward him, and when her eyes flutter open, they’re bright, clear. “Thanks. For being there.”

“No. No, no,” he murmurs, his fingers spasming against hers. “You’ve got it all wrong. I should be the one thank you for letting me. No one...”

No one has ever asked me to be there, he doesn’t say. No one but you.

It’s too much when she’s looking at him like this, like he’s not just a stand-in but her first choice. Like there’s more to how he feels than some one-sided over-investment. It brings him so close to feeling like someone, like the kind of guy who might be her person--

And maybe he could have been, if he hadn’t let some asshole rip her right out her arms in the middle of the night. If he had a record of being something other than a professional disappointment.

The grin doesn’t sit right on his face when he says, “No one’s ever asked me to get rid of a dead body before.”

Doc blinks, then rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she sighs, tugging his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Back to the hotel?”

“Well,” she wheedles. “That. And I dropped the tin when the guard surprised us...”

“Ah I see.” He slips his hand from hers, grin finally sitting the way it should. “So we’re adding evidence removal and obstruction of justice to our list of crimes.”

She tips a dubious look back at him. “Are you complaining?”

“Doc,” he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. “I would never. I’m touched that you would even think that I could--”

“Come on, Obi,” she laughs, hopping down the steps in front of him. “I’d like to do this sometime today.”

His mouth curls as he watches her back. “Your wish is my command.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #The Wide Florida Bay #modern au #ans #this has been a scene I've had on my radar since I started plotting out this fic #i knew that Tanbarun Arc needed to end with a request #but a request to come back to this old college didn't make sense #so i wanted to make it purposeful rather than a promise #an invitation to stay in her life #and I knew she'd cremate her grandparents #but hadn't done anything with the ashes #so i wanted to drop the hints in the sanddollar fic hoping someone would seize on it #but the sand dollar part proved too interesting 😂#though not to worry i'll be coming back to that part too #but when Yixin asked for this Joanna was like ASK HER IF SHE WANTS TO ASHES SCATTERING PART THOUGH #SO HERE WE ARE

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yunhostinyuyu · 3 years

Text

come closer

pairing: frat boy!yunho x fem reader

genre: colleague au/frat au, suggestive

wc: 1.5k

synopsis: another friday night, another boring party you find yourself at. Only for a certain person to turn up next to you to turn everything upside down...

warnings: alcohol, weed, smoking, mentions of other drugs, teasing, yeah that’s it

—

„This party sucks. Mingi really hasn’t learned a thing about how this is supposed to work...“ you mutter to yourself, wandering through the hallways of the giant frat house, intertwining almost like a maze. It’s questionable why you even attended tonight’s party in the first place, but there were two good reasons to always show up at Song Mingi’s gatherings: alcohol and drugs. Despite the latter being hard to come by, since the most frat boys keep the good stuff to themselves.

The small group of friends you came with already got lost in the crowd or are crazy drunk, which leaves you alone, trying to waste time until it’s late enough to fashionably excuse yourself to go back to the dorms.

You busied yourself with observing the other people: drinking, smoking, blowing, talking, screaming, making out, groping each other - it looked like a mess you didn’t want yourself getting involved with, even if you were desperately hoping to find something to smoke, so your attendance wasn’t completely useless. It has already been too long since the last time you had some and you truly needed to take some pressure off - with all the final exams already lining up and stressing you out of your mind.

As it became a little too crowded at around 1:00 am you decided to go out onto the balcony, finally breathing fresh air into your lungs. Not the smell of sweat, weed and rum stuck in your nose anymore. Looking down at the neighboring houses and more-or-less silent area as you leaned your elbows on the railing and dangling your almost empty cup above nothing. Enjoying the silence and view of the moonlight illuminating the garden below.

“I thought nobody would be here at this hour... guess I was wrong.” you turned your head around as the unknown voice spoke from far behind you. A tall, handsome boy leaning against the glass door, his messy hair and droopy eyes indicating he just got out of a rather intense crowd. He reached to push his hair aside, but not helping at fixing the disheveled look, only adding to it.

“Intense party, huh?” You joked, already turning your back towards the tall stranger. Taking a few steps, he mirrors your posture and turns to look at your face.

“I have never seen you around here, are you new?” he asked curiously. You were quick to shake your head and chuckle: “No, actually, I come here quite often. But I mostly stay quiet and go home early so... are you new?” You throw the question back, turning your head to the right, now scanning over his facial features as well as you could in the darkness, only scource of light coming from inside the house.

“New to Mingi’s parties yeah. We were friends before college but his parties are still shit. I’m Yunho, by the way” he swiftly introduced himself with a sly nod. “Y/N.” you replied sweetly and he smiled to himself.

You watched him with big eyes as he took out a little plastic bag, filled to the brim with flakes of weed. “Figured this would be the ideal place to smoke one of these.” he explained, not taking his eyes of the little piece of paper and the green stuff he is presicely sprinkling onto it. You just stand there, watching silently. Secretly hoping he would offer you a hit or two once he was finished, but instead brought the stick to his own lips, licking it slowly and closing it before lightning it. Taking long, deep drags as he puffed the smoke out through his nose.

Damn, you thought to yourself, he sure looks good while smoking like that. But you had to act quickly if you actually wanted to have a change with getting something between your lips and into your lungs sooner rather than later.

“Can I have a drag?” looking at him with puppy like eyes, as he slightly tiled his head to meet your eyes. Blinking a few times before he decided.

“Sure, enjoy yourself.” he said as he held his hand with the joint towards you, but pulling it back again as your hand darted out to snatch it from him. Eyeing the tall one, your gaze clearly confused.

A coy smirk appearing on his round lips before speaking up again: “Come closer, I won’t bite... unless that’s what you’re into.” Ignoring his flirty comment but following his request. Now you’re standing closer to Yunho, shoulders almost touching as you finally got hold of what you desired the most. Slotting the joint I between your lips and taking a long drag. “Ugh, this is so good, it’s been so long since the last time I had some...” you explain as you handed the stick back to him.

“At least Mingi knows what good weed is.” he laughs, bringing the stick back to his own lips. You want to get the stick back for a second hit, but he doesn’t let you have it as easy as before, and you feel yourself slowly getting impatient, pouting slightly.

Yunho shifted his form to face you, yourself following along as he took a small step even closer towards you. Looking up to him, joint still in his mouth. His fingers dance up across the skin of your arm, looking out for any sign of discomfort at his action, but there are none.

His hand moving upwards until he reached your face, his thumb grazing your bottom lip gently, and his other fingers rest against your chin. The stares are growing more and more intense, eyes glued onto each other. His pupils darting down, inspecting your lips, softly pushing them apart. He takes the joint away from his lips, leaning in to blow the faint smoke into your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut, enjoying the moment for as long as it lasts, the tension rising with every passing minute. The palms of your hands are growing sweaty from his presence and aura alone, and his ministrations only added to that.

You catch yourself quickly before slipping into indecent thoughts, and this time you’re actually quick enough to grab the joint from him. Repeating the action to him, opening his mouth eagerly when he realized what you were doing. Your hand resting on his shoulder and his hands still on your chin, the other one finding it’s place on your left hip.

“This shit is so hot.” He comments, you slowly reach your hand with the toxic stick towards his face and putting it inbetween his teeth and lips.

“Do it again” you almost plea, tone quiet, only for him to hear your words. Without wasting another second, he takes another drag, taking his hand away from your chin to hold the joint. Grip on your hip growing tighter as he pulls you even closer than before. Bracing yourself at the sudden movement, your hands dart to his chest to keep yourself steady. He leans down towards your face, lips ghosting over yours as he blows the smoke into your wet cavern, breathing in slowly.

Yunho wants to kiss you so badly, the vision of you infront of him, smoke slowly descending out of your mouth not helping much with calming that urge, but making it worse for him to hold back. The only thing you can hear is the faint noises from inside and heavy breathing from the both of you. Your eyes are blown out at this point, waiting on him to make the next move.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice deep and raspy from smoking. Swiftly moving your hands from his chest, around his torso and up his back, pushing yourself even closer against the soft material of his hoodie and his strong body. Looking up to find his eyes again, pupils big and dark.

As you nod your head, his lips smash onto yours without hesitation, enjoying the taste of you to the fullest. You hum into the kiss as it grew sloppier and needier, continuing the movements until you ran out of air. Pulling apart for a second, before returning to each other. Yunho’s giant hand grabbing your ass harshly as he wets your lips with his tounge before he slips it into your entrance. The older one being in charge of the kiss, submitting to him completely the moment his wet muscle started moving in sync with your own. It all happens so fast, and you’re truly amazed how quickly he had warped you around his finger, pushing the blame onto the weed that is clouding your head.

Being occupied by each other’s mouths and exploring hands, while occasionally taking turns with the magic stick that was still intbewteen his pointer and middle finger, you don’t realise how much time passes. Then, a loud bang accrued out of the blue, followed by the sound of glass shards clatter. Pulling away from each other, eyebrows furrowed in worry and confusion of what the hell just happened.

“Alright everyone, party’s over.”

—

an: sorry I had to delete the read more bc tumblr kept on duplicating and deleting sections :( hope everyone still enjoys <3

#ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fic #ateez au #ateez yunho #jung yunho #ateez writing #college au #ateez fluff #ateez suggestive #ateez smut #yunho is hot while smoking #still don’t know what else to put here

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serendipityunho · 4 years

Text

Lick

× genre: smut, everyone is filthy rich × pairing: San x Reader (fem.) × word count: 4.7k × warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, smoking, fingering, oral, clit play, dirty talk, explicit sex, marijuana use

× synopsis:The only excitement at this boring extravagant party was the taste of a random kid’s lips on yours mixed with the devil’s lettuce, who happens to be the son of the CEO your parents partnered with. It couldn’t get any better than that.

☁️: i don’t smoke weed, but that shit is lowkey hot, especially when you end up shot-gunning with a slicked-back-blonde-hair san.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You never knew what the point of holding such extravagant parties was. Did they really donate proceeds to charity, or was that another cold lie your parents fed the guests apart from the disgusting over-priced cheese and caviar?

It was nights like these where you wanted nothing but to go home and empty the fridge or possibly passed out face flat onto a lawn at some random frat party you found yourself in. Anything would be better than standing in feet-aching heels at a party with no one to talk to.

If you earnt a dollar for every time you welcomed guests and greeted them with your million dollar realistic fake smile, you’d become a billionaire, rich enough to buy your parent’s company and probably two others. Your cheeks were aching just as much as your feet with the number of times you had to smile through the pain of talking to business people about their stupid taxes and so on.

“You might want to slow down on the tarts, dear, there are guests you know” It wasn’t like anybody bothered to get their hands crumby with the tarts, so why not do it for them?

“That’s your fault for inviting so many people, mother” You didn’t even need to take a glance at her to know she rolled her eyes into another dimension at your snarky comment.

“Behave” To be completely honest, it was quite satisfying seeing your mother fed up with you. It could possibly teach her a thing or two. It was honestly the least you could do after living a life many wished for. If only they knew the consequences of actually living it.

It felt like the walls were closing in with every passing second you stayed inside, surrounded by countless bodies that wanted nothing to talk about money and other materialistic desires. You felt disgusted with every fibre of your body as you take a swift glance at your parents, putting on a show with the same plastic smiles as their snake tongues lure the interests of tycoons.

The longer you stayed here, the more you wanted to throw up from basking in overly expensive perfume and cologne. Your cheeks were on the verge of seizing from the smiles, it was exhausting.

It felt even more suffocating, literally, as you squeeze passed guests and avoiding the urge to knock over the sparkling champagne glass in their hands. The balcony seemed to be the only place of refuge. Sliding the glass door, you stepped outside into the midst of breezy night with slight shivers travelling up your body.

You felt like you can breathe again after escaping out into the open. The chatters and laughs muffled as you slide the glass door closed again, turning your back on the faces to bask in the chilly air with nothing but a loose satin dress short enough to hide the case of cigarettes strapped to your thigh.

The balcony was long, it wrapped around one entire side and halfway around the other. It got colder as you dipped around the corner, perfect and away from prying eyes. You hiked up your dress slightly, taking the case of cigarettes strapped to your thigh before holding it between your lips.

If your parents ever found out you were one of those tobacco users, they’d blame you for tarnishing their reputation with ridiculously absurd malicious headlines, ‘Heiress of Multimillion-Dollar Company or a Tobacco Addict?’ ‘The Irony of a Smoker Running A Biomedical Company’. It was as if it were the apocalypse if they’d ever catch you, not that you would let them.

“Those things kill you fast, you know?” You were in the middle of a drag of your cigarette before a voice jolted you up from your spot, making you spin around to a man leaning against the wall.

“I’m counting on it” You were only joking of course.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here smoking?” The man kicked himself off the wall before stepping into the more lit area of the balcony.

“You can’t call me pretty if you don’t know me” Your lips kissed the cigarette again, blowing smoke between your lips as you stared out into the city from the rails of your penthouse balcony.

“What if I do know you?” His features were sharp under the dim lighting, cheekbones stood out very prominently as his feline eyes left your jaw dropped. He was truly astonishing.

“I don’t seem to know who you are” You turned to face him, getting a better observation at his god-like features as you held the cigarette over the railing.

“I’m Choi San” Now that was a name that had rung a few rusty bells in your head.

“Don’t tell me you’re the Choi San of-”

“Choi Biomedical Technologies? Yes, I’m that Choi San”

Almost half of all hospitals had the equipment and resources produced by San’s father in use day and night. Fortunately enough, the company had decided to pair with your parent’s medical research and company.

“Funny enough, I don’t see your face around often”

“It’s pointless to just show my face at a party where I don’t have fun” San shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, shuffling a bit in his spot before finally turning his face towards you.

Now you could clearly see everything, and my, he was indeed a masterpiece. You were amazed at how he managed to slick back his hair without the look of heavy hair products glistening under the light.

“So what made you show up to this one?” If there was any way possible that excused you from attending these parties, you’d take it in a heartbeat.

“To see what the hype was all about, my father’s tried setting me up with many girls when I don’t go. So I figured if I showed up just once, he’d finally leave me alone”

“And did he?”

“Why do you think I’m out here?” San smirked as he ran his hand through his hair, staring down at your cigarette.

“Sounds pitiful” You bring your hand up, holding the slow killer against your lips before puffing one out into the air.

“May I?” San nodded towards the cigarette, eyes drooping at the sight of it between your lips.

“You don’t spike me as a smoker” You handed the stick over to him, watching him take a drag before smoke escapes pass his lips.

“You’d be surprised about other things” San grimaced at the cigarette before handing it back to you and looking out into the city.

“Like what?” Now you were genuinely curious.

A smirk crawled up San’s face as he faced you again, eyeing you with curious eyes before licking his teeth. You could tell he was trying to avoid your question, but it just worked your curiosity even more.

“What are you doing out here?” You scoffed at San’s diversion, turning around to rest your forearms against the rails.

“For a smoke obviously, and my feet hurt from walking around” You shook off the ash from the cigarette, hesitantly bringing the nearly finished stick up to your lips once again.

“You always smoke at parties?”

“Only when I have to”

“What made you tonight?”

“Look at that and tell me you don’t want to get out of there” San didn’t have to look to know what you were referring to. In fact, he felt exactly the same.

“You know, I have something better than this,” San plucked the cigarette out from your lips and threw it off the balcony before reaching in his jacket, pulling out a small clear bag of what seemed to look like chopped up parsley “, that would relax you”.

“What the fuck?” Your eyes widen as you finally realise what was in front of you. This guy really just stored weed in his jacket like it was nothing.

“What? Have you never tried?” You shook your head, eyeing the green flakes sitting in its little ziplock bag.

“I never knew where to get it-”

“Wow, look at that!” You could’ve sworn your head was about to rip right off your neck from how fast you swerved behind.

Silhouettes of guests fill the floor as a few flooded out into the balcony, making your heart race as you assured San to put the bag back in his jacket. Thankfully, the two of you were around the corner which let you dodge a bullet from noisy guests.

“Shit” As much as you wanted to smoke whatever San offered, it was too risky out here even behind the unlit corner of your balcony.

“I know a place where we can-”

“No, I can’t leave the building, they won’t let me” Your parents have had enough of you to strict you from leaving the party, mainly to keep a close eye on you and prevent anything that would blacken their name.

“Does your bathroom have a big window?” San fixed his jacket before stepping aside, walking around the corner with you following behind.

“Yeah, but it’ll look suspicious if we go upstairs together” You immediately spot your parents the moment you stepped back inside, no surprise they were buttering up more guests.

“The more you think about it, the more it’ll look suspicious” Technically, it wasn’t that hard staying out of your parent’s vision as they chattered away with more people and sipping on their champagne.

San stayed behind you as you quickly trod up the stairs to the second level, quietness flushing over you as the party stayed below. San appeared not long after, inspecting the new surrounding as you opened the door to your bathroom.

The marble glistened the moment you flicked on the lights, most of which doesn’t seem to phase San one bit. The door locked behind you as you unlatched the window, letting the cold air in as well as making it an escape for your smoke.

“What kind of shower is that?” San snickered. You honestly have no clue either.

“I don’t know, we don’t use this bathroom” You always questioned why your mother had such a desire for homes with more than enough rooms, it was pointless really.

“So your family’s like that too huh?” San pulled out the little bag again, placing it on to the marble counter before reaching for something else.

“Like what?” You stared at yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair as you patted smudged mascara underneath your eyes.

“Money this, money that?” Your eyes turned down to San, packing the green flakes into a thin piece of paper.

“It’s sickening” You were just glad you managed to escape the trap of falling into the mindset of materialistic wealth and whatnot.

“It’s surprising to finally find someone like me”

“Like you? So you’re telling me all those campaigns and charities are bullshit too?” San’s father always loved taking every chance he got to host events beneficial to his company.

“Blatant lie, every single one of them” San sounded embarrassed, ashamed of his family’s immoral choices.

You almost feel sorry for him, but yet again, your family was exactly like that too. You couldn’t judge him one bit, not that you would anyways. Nowadays, you were always met with rich privileged dickheads boasting about which Rolex they bought with their ‘daddy’s’ black card.

“Lick” San brought the rolled stick up to your lips as you sat on the counter, waiting for you to the seal it up for him.

His eyes locked onto yours as he stood in front of you. Without taking yours off his, you stick your tongue out, swiping across the thin paper before letting San close off the stick.

“Where’d you buy it?” If you didn’t have eyes watching you 24/7, you’d be at some random back alley buying as much devil lettuce as you want and possibly smoking it at some random back alley.

San, without a doubt, would have security with him all the time. The fact that he managed to obtain weed was questioning.

“A friend of mine sells it from his gym” San tapped your lip with the stick before flicking the lid off of his Zippo lighter, letting the flame spark as it flickered close to the end of the stick.

“Smart” The paper burnt black as it shrivelled from the flame. San set the lighter down onto the counter, packing away the contents of your little construction before taking off his suit jacket. You could’ve sworn his shirt was about to unbutton, not that you were complaining.

“If you ever need, look for Jongho down at the gym besides the 7/11 parking lot, call for Wooyoung if he isn’t there”

“There’s a lot of 7/11′s” You took a hit of the stick, head instantly feeling lighter as your eyes drooped a bit.

“There’s only one 7/11 with a parking lot downtown with a gym next to it”

Your feet dangled off the ground, heels clanking against the counter as you let your sore feet take a break from walking on tiptoes all night. San hung his jacket on the hook by the door, rolling up his sleeves up to his forearms as he nodded towards the stick. Boy, those arms were nice.

The hit did a lot more than expected, it was worth the wait, and the risk. You take the stick from your lips, pressing it against San’s as you take the strap on your thigh off with the cigarette case on it.

“You should quit while you can” San muffled, blowing the smoke towards the window as he leaned against the counter with his hands either side of you, still keeping a distance between his body and yours. You honestly wish he was closer though.

“I already know it’s going to be hard” You almost instantly regretted buying your first pack of cigarettes, if you knew what withdrawals were at the time, you would’ve never had pressed that toxic stick against your lips.

“It’s better than ending up black lungs” San raised his brows, letting you take the stick from his lips for another hit.

“I’m gonna need more of these if I start quitting”

“You can keep the ones I brought tonight” You gulped at the closing distance between you and San, the dangling chain around his neck hitting against his chest every time he moved wasn’t making it any easier to stay reserved.

“I’ll pay you back”

“Don’t bother. Consider it a gift”

“A gift for what?”

“Being decent I guess” You were so tempted to blow this smoke into his face.

“You’re decent too I guess” More than decent actually, but you were too scared to say that. After all, you only met him ten minutes ago.

Your head felt lighter than the clouds, it was everything better than your average smoke. Now you were definitely going to attempt quitting.

“How is it?” San smiled softly, droopy-eyed as he slumped forward towards you with arms caging you in.

“This shit is amazing” You almost choke while pulling the stick from your lips, making San chuckle in such a deep but mesmerising voice, faintly showing off his dimple you didn’t know he had.

“This is probably the most fun I’ve had at these parties” San chuckled, tilting his head to the side as you press the stick back onto his soft lips once again.

“I have you to thank for that” Your heart was on the verge of jumping out of your chest as you stared at San’s devilish smirk. There was that hint of cockiness in him that had attracted you to grown to like him.

“I guess you could call it fate” San flickered back and forth between your eyes, blowing smoke out from the side of his mouth before giving the stick back to you.

“You know what would be more fun?” You couldn’t really stop yourself from saying anything further. But, you really wanted to just pop that button on his shirt that’s been on the brink of slipping out of its hold.

“Don’t say you have more drugs up your dress”

“Kiss me” You said nice and slowly enough for San to comprehend, you couldn’t help but bite down on your lip at your sudden boost of confidence, giggling at San’s bewildered face.

“You know, that would be fun” San smirked, grabbing a quick hit before locking his lips onto yours, smoke plummeting into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair with his body pushing between your legs.

“Oh yeah, this is so much better” Your arms slung around his neck as you inched yourself closer to the edge of the counter, pressing your cunt against the bulge in his pants as your legs cage him against you with his arms doing the same to you.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you outside” San moaned against your lips as he subconsciously pushed his hips forward, grinding against your sopping wet cunt.

“Then why didn’t you?” Your forehead rests against San’s with a hand tangled his hair as the other slides down his chest, hooking your finger onto his chain.

“I thought you were one of those bimbos who say ‘daddy’ too much” It was quite insulting to know you’d given off those vibes, but who could blame you for wanting to look your best?

“I would’ve figured those were your type of girls” Your lips brush over San’s once again before softly biting it.

“Guess we’re both wrong” San’s hands cupped the bottom of your thighs, smoothing over your skin as he plants a wet kiss on your lips before trailing them down your jaw, making you throw your head back as his lips graze over your sensitive skin, plastering rough kisses all over as you squirmed in pleasure against his hold.

You pushed your hips further, almost falling off the counter if it wasn’t for San’s body pushing against you and his hard crotch grinding against your soaked pussy. San’s hand slid up and down your leg before hiking under your dress, scrunching the satin material up to your waist as you squeezed his forearm.

You could feel your arousal soaking every inch of your panties as San’s hand runs across the skin of your waist, thumb rubbing the bottom of your bralette as you pushed his head closer to yours for another sopping kiss. A low groan from the back of his throat only made your head lighter in lust as you slowly pop the buttons off his shirt.

Looking back, you never thought you’d end up in the bathroom making out high with a semi-stranger. But, it was better than floating in a pool of rich narcissistic fucks.

San’s chest frees as you rip open his shirt, letting him drop it to the ground as your fingers trace over the lining of his defined abs. Your nipples harden as San’s fingers slip under your bralette, cupping your breast in one hand as your nipple rolls between his fingers.

A wet stain was probably evident against San’s crotch area from your subconscious grinding. It was nothing a blow dryer couldn’t fix.

You could feel his cock throbbing under his pants against your pussy. A hand glides down from his abs and down to the belt of his pants, fumbling with it before scrunching his pants down to his thighs along with his boxers, freeing his pulsating cock against your thigh.

San’s tongue swiped across your bottom lip as he drove his hand down your thigh, inching his thumb towards your clothed clit and rubbing it slowly as your wetness soaked through your panties. Your fingers remain tangled in his hair as the other hand grasped his cock firmly, thumb swiping over his slit before pumping slowly.

“Fuck” San groaned against your lips, cock twitching in your hold as you smear his precum over his reddened tip.

You clenched around nothing as San dragged your panties down to the ground, letting your bare ass sit on the cold marble counter as his thumb circled at your clit. Your legs ache from staying in the air with nowhere to rest upon other than San’s waist.

“Oh my god” A breathy moan escapes from your lips as San presses his fingers against your folds, coating them in your juices as he slides them up and down before pushing them into your hole.

“I want you so bad- fuck” San pumped two fingers in and out of you with your juices glistening on his fingers.

“Nothing’s stopping you” You cupped his face, shooting an assuring look before planting a sloppy wet kiss on his lips before he kissed down your neck again, moving much faster down to your collarbone and just the top of your breasts before lowering his body.

San’s fingers were still buried deep in you, pumping steadily as his face reached down to your thighs, smothering the inside with his soft kisses before moving over to your clit. It throbbed intensely as San let his tongue press flat against it before circling it around.

You gripped San’s hair tightly, legs quivering on San’s shoulders as he lapped at your pussy, dragging his fingers in and out of your tight hole. Thankfully, the chatter down below was loud enough for your sinful doings to be covered up.

“Right there- oh fuck” San’s tongue flicked rapidly against your clit before sliding it up and down your slit with his thumb now circling around your clit and hands flat against your stomach, holding your dress up.

“Mhm” It was a soft moan against your core that got you going crazy. You needed more than just his tongue, you needed him.

You cupped the side of San’s head with both hands before pulling him back up to your lips, letting the tip of his cock twitch at your entrance, slipping with your juices and his precum. San hooked an arm around your back, hugging your close as he kissed you hungrily, tongue lapping everywhere with yours.

“Look in that drawer” San pulled back, tilting his head to see which one you were talking about before gripping the knob and pulling it out.

“I thought you said no one uses this bathroom” A pack of condoms appeared from below as San rips the box open, pulling one out and ripping it with his teeth before spitting the foil to the side.

“That’s exactly why I stored them there” You grabbed latex, rolling it down his cock as he threw his head back with a groan.

“Mhmmfuck” Your mouth hanged wide at the stretch of San’s dick sliding into you, taking a few breaths before letting him move.

“Fucking christ, so tight” San groaned against your neck before pecking it, slowly thrusting his hips into you as your legs lazily wrap around his waist.

You weren’t sure if you were able to keep your moans to a minimum when San was breathing down your neck like this and hips rolling into you smoothly. God hope the commotion below was loud enough to save you.

San rolled his hips, burying his cock deep in you as he moved slowly. Your head pounded like crazy his hands roamed every inch of your body, squeezing everywhere he could, literally, get his hands on.

The pleasure immediately flooded your head as San quickened his pace, pumping waves of pleasure throughout your body with each thrust. Your forehead rests against his as your lips hover over San’s, brushing ever so lightly as they part.

“Ohmygod yesyes” The sound of skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls as San grunted loudly, tensing his abs with each hard thrust.

Your moans were almost high-pitched as San knocked the air out of your lungs, gripping on to your thighs for dear life as your hands travelled up and down from his chest to his toned abs.

“You like that? Hm?” A smirk crawled its way onto his face as he gazed at you with hooded eyes, still fucking the daylights out of you as your breasts bounced in their place.

“Yes, oh my god- fuck yesnnghaa” You absolutely love the way San’s hips rolled against yours, it was like riding a rollercoaster to heaven and you weren’t even riding anything.

“You like the way I fuck this perfect little cunt of yours?” San grunted through a clenched jaw, slamming his hips against yours, making you gasp wildly for air.

“Fuckfuckyes- yes!” Your hand slapped behind San’s neck as he rutted into you like no tomorrow, sending your head to a cloud of nothingness except lust and pleasure.

“Mhmffuck you’re so perfect” San’s lips attacked yours once again, you could care less about the slobbering mess, it was actually kind of hot.

San held hugged you close as your legs gave him no chance of withdrawal as his dick continuously hits the spot of limitless pleasure, sending your breath straight out the window. A whine falls from your parted lips as your face scrunches in pleasure with brows furrowed deeply as your foreheads touch.

“S-So close- mmphh” Your legs quivered with every passing second, skin becoming sensitive with every touch as San cherished your body against his.

San quicked his thrusts, literally knocking you back further as he plunges his hips harder against yours. A bundle of pleasure in the pit of your stomach starts to go wild, seizing with every thrust made to reach the spot inside you that you could never reach.

Your walls clench tightly around his cock like you were holding on for dear life, slamming your lips against San’s to muffle your sickly moans as he rammed into you. It was like floating in a utopia filled with nothing but euphoric bliss as your vision went blurry with San’s grunting against your ear.

“Oh fuck! Yes ohmygodddnngghh yesyes-” You gasped sharply, legs starting to quiver as your abdomen tensed from the sudden burst of pleasure ricocheting all around your body to flooding your brain. You could’ve sworn you went cross-eyed for a bit.

“A little bit moremmph fuckk” It was only a matter of seconds before San rutted hard into you one last time before spewing his release into the latex, moaning wildly against your lips as he hugged you closer than before.

Your body subconsciously spazzed subtly as San slowly slid himself out from your hole, letting his cock twitch against your thigh as his forehead rests against yours. It was a comfortable silence that washed over the two of you, there was nothing but the sound of your desperate pants of deprived breath.

It felt like everything had frozen at that moment when San’s eyes met yours, it was like you had just seen a thousand stars pooling in his eyes when he pecked your lip.

You pulled back to get a better look, still accumulating your clear vision as San rolled off the latex without looking down, discarding it in the trash can beside you. A small bead of sweat lined the side of his face, making you pat it away with a tissue you pulled from the box behind you.

“Your makeup’s ruined” San pulled up his boxers along with his pants, letting it hang at his hips as he leaned forward with his hands rested against the edge of the counter.

“Not like I’m going anywhere afterwards” You gently dabbed San’s sweat away before throwing the tissue into the trash, leaning back on your arms with San still inches away from your face.

“I can try to sneak you out” San whispered, gazing deeply into your eyes as you did the same.

“Now why would you want to do that?”

“To have proper fun” San pushed himself off the counter, reaching down for your panties that had been plastered onto the floor just ages ago before carefully sliding them back up your leg and holding your ass in the process, caressing it gently.

“We just had our fun” You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his naked one as you hopped off the counter.

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other quite often”

“I’m actually counting on it” You traced your finger along the outline of his pecks before landing a soft kiss on his lips one last time.

“Music to my ears”

“Hm?”

“Party’s over, sweetheart”

#ateez smut #kpop smut #san smut #choi san #180knet #kpop #fanfiction #ateez fanfics #ateez imagines #kpop fanfics #kpop imagines #smut:san #ateez #smut #san x reader #choi jongho #jung wooyoung

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slash-em-up · 4 years

Text

A Sinclair Family Christmas Vacation: Sinclair Bros Fluff

Catch me fuckin around with the movie canon to make my writing work... it’s free real estate! This is a Christmas present for the most beautiful goomba of them all, @slashermom who not only has a huge brain and giant meat; but is also one of the kindest most generous people I know. YOU’RE THE BEST M!!!!

——————————————————————

You’d officially decide that being ‘on the lam’ didn’t agree with you at all.

The cold truck-stop coffee in the cup holder seemed to look at you mockingly as your stomach gurgled in displeasure. You probably shouldn’t have had a second cup without food to go along with it; but all Lester had bought was a handful of Slim Jims and Cheetos and no one besides him was interested in that particular combination.

You’d been driving for more than ten hours straight today – for the third week in a row - trying to get your small family as far away from Louisiana as possible - all to protect the brothers resting in the seats surrounding you.

The escape from Ambrose and subsequent healing of the twins was something you wished to forget as quickly as possible.

Everything from hiding with Lester from the police, to Vincent’s cries of exhausted pain as you and Lester held him down, to snapping Bo’s dislocated jaw back into place were sanguine phantoms you could all see out of the corner of your eyes – but the only thing you could do was keep moving.

So that’s what you did. State to state, never staying anywhere more than a couple of days, hoping somewhere would feel like home again soon.

———————————————————————

Colorado was just as beautiful as you’d always imagined it would be.

The Rocky Mountains rose like colossal spires before you, stretching out as far as you could see. You appreciated the view quietly, letting the men sprawled across the bench seats in the back get as much rest as they could before one of them took a shift at the wheel.

A glance down at the thermometer showed the temperature dropping at an alarming rate, and as snow began to fall faster and faster through the frozen air, you were suddenly aware that the light jackets that were plenty of protection in a Southern winter wouldn’t do much good when contending with cold like this.

The last dollar bills you’d pulled from an ATM sat heavily in your pocket as you pulled into a Walmart parking lot and slipped out of the car as silently as possible- leaving the heat running and shushing Jonesy’s inquisitive huff with a quick snap of your fingers.

A couple hundred dollars and half an hour later found you burdened down with bags of proper winter clothing and enough McDonald’s cheeseburgers to feed a small army; trudging back to the car through the quickly accumulating snow.

———————————————————————-

“Vincent! Bo! Wake the fuck up!!”

Lester’s cries brought both twins out of their slumber like the crash of a gong.

Bo shot up, ready to fight whatever was causing his brother to panic, while Vincent carefully righted himself, still wary of the knife wound on his healing side.

The car was dark, but for a few slivers of grey light slipping past whatever was covering the windows.

Lester was touching the opaque surface with awe – eyes wide as he felt the cold seeping in through the glass.

“Is that… snow?”

“Aww hell.” Bo grouched “Not this shit again…”

Vincent chuckled at his brothers reactions. The sound ringing clear and unmuffled through the truck from his unmasked face.

The departure from Ambrose had necessitated quick packing by yourself and Lester - and Vincent’s masks had already been confiscated by the local authorities. It had been a rough adjustment for the long-haired man. Not being able to hide his cavernous deformity has sent him into silent depression for days.

The last time the twins had seen snow had been in 1974, right before Lester was born. The unprecedented shift in temperatures had brought a cool two inches of snow to coat the ground in Ambrose, closing shops and canceling schools until it melted.

Vincent remembered enjoying the way the white fluff had turned the streets into a sparkling kingdom, completely foreign and exciting to the young boy.

Bo had not enjoyed the snow in the slightest. This may have had something to do with their father waking them both up at the crack of dawn to shovel the walk; but he couldn’t say for sure.

Vincent’s train of thought was interrupted by Lester forcing the frozen door of the car open and immediately yelping in shock as a small hill of snow fell from the roof down the collar of his shirt.

Bo laughed at his brothers misfortune until his bruised jaw became too sore. He rubbed gingerly at his stubbly cheek until the pain abated, looking out at the snow in contemplation.

Having recovered from his snowy bath, Lester poked his head out of the car – giving a low whistle before twisting in his seat and dropping to the ground.

Another cry of consternation was heard from outside, and Vincent quickly opened his own door to see what the matter was. He leaned back in time to avoid getting snow down his own shirt, but gaped stupidly at the picture Lester made – buried nearly to his knees in freshly fallen snow.

“Is it supposed to get this deep?”

Before Vincent could answer Jonesy decided to join the fun, and leapt from the bench between Bo and him to launch herself into the snow.

The younger twin called out after the quickly retreating form of his dog before climbing out of the car and taking off after her himself.

“GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!!!” Bo roared from his seat in the car.

Lester was now chasing after Vincent who was chasing after Jonesy and Bo had had quite enough of these snowy antics thank you very much.

This was the scene you arrived back to, huffing and puffing from behind your scarf.

You stopped by Bo’s open door just in time to watch Lester trip over a hidden rock and face-plant into a snow drift.

“… what the hell?”

———————————————————————

It was Christmas Eve and you’d been snowed in.

An hour further inland and the thick flakes had started falling so hard that none of you could see more than five feet in front of the car.

Your saving grace had been the flickering neon of a 24-hour roadside diner, and once you parked, the boys had formed a single-file line through the thigh-deep snow, trying to make it easier for you and Jonesy to trudge along with them.

The warm building was manned by a single grey-haired waitress and two cooks. They were clearly surprised to see anyone braving the blizzard - all the locals having been wise enough to stay indoors during the storm.

Bo’s signature charm was enough to secure a place for Jonesy along with the four of you, and after a plateful of pancakes and potful of hot coffee everyone was feeling a bit more like themselves.

Despite the biting wind and whipping snow the mood was festive, as the TV played White Christmas and the cooks sang off-key Christmas carols from the kitchen.

Lester leaned back against the plastic booth seat and patted his stomach.

“Ooo boy that’s a good feeling. Real food. Wish ya’ll had let me stop and pick up that doe we saw – she’d make a nice stew right about now.”

Bo scoffed.

“Yeah, and where would we keep it genius? Let alone cook it. Nothin’ says ‘look at me’ more than a deer tied to your hood.”

You giggled and leaned against Vincent. The deformed twin was sitting in the furthest corner of the booth, making sure to keep his ‘bad side’ facing the wall and the beanie hat you’d bought him pulled as low as he could.

He offered you a small smile and took a sip of hot coffee, enjoying the feeling of normalcy, if only for a few hours.

The heated debate was interrupted by the waitress.

“You folks want a warm-up? It’ll be just about the only warm thing you’ll see tonight if you’re planning on braving the roads again.”

“Why Carol, you read my mind.” Bo offered the waitress a cocky smile, making her shoot him a bemused one of her own. He held out his mug and Carol filled it to the brim, snorting as Bo winked at her.

“Is he always like this?” She asked the group.

Lester and Vincent chuckled as you hummed out a sing-song “I’m afraid so… he’s a real lady-killer.”

Bo kicked at you from under the table, but you dodged and stuck out your tongue.

Vincent rapped his knuckled on the table, bringing all attention to him.

“Merry Christmas…” he said quietly.

A glance at the clock told you all that it was indeed officially Christmas morning.

You smiled, sharing warm looks with Lester and Vincent, returning the holiday sentiment. Bo looked around at you, at his brothers, at his family - bruised and broken, but somehow, still alive and together.

He raised his coffee cup as Bing and Rosemary began singing ‘White Christmas’.

“And a happy New Year…”

#horror movies #jessica writes #slasher fiction #house of wax 2005 #house of wax #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair

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otterknowbynow · 4 years

Text

Will Break for Food

Hunk and Lance go on a post-curfew kitchen excursion that leads to some eating and some thinking and some talking.

also on ao3

It’s a terrible idea, sneaking into the kitchens. Cadets aren’t allowed to just have free access to the food stores, let alone industrial-size appliances, which -- if Lance is honest with himself -- feels reasonable, considering the caliber of kids he’s met here already. Platt and Harper would have a field day, and he’s not sure much of anything would survive if Griffin stopped flexing long enough to try to light a stove. Hunk would at least -- probably -- know what he was doing, but it’s still a terrible idea.

“What if we get caught? I’m not getting chewed out by Iverson just because you wanted to make a sandwich!”

“Sandwiches are obviously not on the menu for the homesick and decent-meal-deprived,” Hunk says dismissively.

“Well, then what are we making?” He can’t resist asking. The answer won’t make a difference, he’s decided. It shouldn’t make a difference. It doesn’t matter that asking made Hunk’s entire face light up. He’s not breaking the fundamental rule of being a decent cadet his third week. He’s not doing it. That’s one way to guarantee he’ll never be a fighter pilot -- he’ll be stuck in cargo for life. But he won’t pretend he’s not curious, and he’s even more curious when Hunk ducks under his bed and pulls out a plastic container, the lid of which he whips off with a flourish.

“We’re making ramen!” His expression is positively giddy; Lance can hardly stand it.

“Ramen? That’s your brilliant idea for a meal that’s better than what they throw us in the mess?”

“Real ramen, Lance, not with those mysterious flavor powders you get in the little plastic-wrapped blocks.” Lance looks in the tupperware and has to admit this looks a lot more complicated than the packets he generally associates with the word. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t happening.

“I’m not sneaking out after curfew, breaking into the kitchen of all places, and risking being yelled at, suspended, thrown off the waitlist for fighter track --”

“--Now, come on, they wouldn’t do that.” Hunk interrupts, his face softening. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not worried,” Lance says, sarcasm creeping into his voice and settling in like a cat jumping into a familiar lap. “I’m being realistic. They’re not just gonna say, ‘oh, good job boys, that’s some choice ramen!’”

“You don’t technically know that; my culinary skills are incredible.”

“According to who exactly?”

“Well, my mom, at least.” Hunk grabs the back of his neck self-consciously. “But, the point stands! She has excellent taste.”

“Hunk --” Lance starts again, but Hunk cuts him off.

“Please?” he asks, his eyes going wide. Lance suddenly finds himself unable to meet them, and looks down instead, ignoring the swooping feeling in his stomach. Maybe he’s hungrier than he thought he was.

“I just don’t think we should be breaking rules when we’ve just gotten here,” he mumbles at the floor.

“Lance, I miss cooking. I miss my family. I miss home.” The pleading in his voice cuts straight into his heart, and Lance feels his resolve break all at once.

“Fine,” he says, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “But only because I just realized I’m starving. And if we get caught, I’m telling Iverson you hypnotized me.” It doesn’t even feel like a lie.

“I can’t believe they don’t bother locking the doors,” Lance whispers, following Hunk through as the entrance slides open. The doors lead to easily the largest kitchen he’s ever seen, and his family’s kitchen back home is no slouch, full of butcher-block counters and a massive farmhouse table. There’s a lot less wood in here -- everything is gleaming stainless steel -- which makes it feel remarkably cold. Lance is suddenly glad this plan involves soup.

“What? Of course they lock them,” Hunk says incredulously. “Why did you think I brought this?” He holds up something that looks a lot like a graphing calculator.

“Uh...because you’re a nerd?” Lance offers, raising his eyebrows.

“No --” Hunk stops suddenly and frowns. “I mean, well, yes, technically, but the kind of nerd that knows how to make a door...unlocked.”

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Since like last Thursday," he says, shrugging.

"Hang on --" Lance holds up a hand, feeling his eyebrows stretch up to his hairline. "-- you've been homesick enough to consider midnight kitchen escapades for a week already? Hunk, that was after like...two weeks of being away from home!"

"I know," Hunk says, his shoulders slumping a little. "Seems like it doesn't take that much, I just...love my family, y'know?"

Lance swallows a sarcastic "that's one way of putting it, I guess," and lets the breath he'd taken in for it come out as a sigh.

"I do know," he says instead, the sarcasm cat apparently leaving him to embarrass himself. He's looking at the floor again -- tiles this time, as opposed to the carpet in their dorm room. "My family's close, too -- emotionally, I mean. I miss the fields, too, and the animals...deserts are cool, and all, I guess, but nothing normal grows here." He clamps his mouth shut, his lips together extra tight to keep the words from escaping any more. He did not sneak out after curfew with a kid he's known less than a month to get made fun of for talking about feelings.

"It only took me a week before I cried the first time," Hunk says quietly, and Lance looks up at him, surprised. This time he doesn’t even think of a sarcastic response; the sincerity is too jarring.

“Huh?” It’s all he can muster, but it’s enough that Hunk goes on.

“It’s not being away from them a week, like, obviously I’ve been away from my family for a week before, but it’s just -- thinking about all of it. Like, how home will always be home, but how it also never really will be again.” He shrugs, and Lance nods absently, but a moment later what Hunk’s just said hits him and he breathes in sharply.

“Oh, wow, I hadn’t thought about it that way,” he says, suddenly very aware of his heartbeat, which seems a bit too quick for standing still in the middle of a dark kitchen, even with the adrenaline of rule-breaking and risk. It never really will be again. Of course the farm is still home, to an extent, and his avuela’s little house in Varadero is still home, to an extent, but the main thing that’s always defined home for him is wherever his family is. When his older siblings went off to visit Dad in the summers and he was left behind with Mama, it never felt quite like home until they were back. When the others moved out and Marco and Luis started their own families, it was weird, but they were still nearby, and they came over more evenings than they didn’t. If he thinks about it, the weirdest was definitely when Veronica left and was suddenly missing from Shabbat dinners, except when she was home on breaks. That’s him now, he realizes. No wonder he was willing to break into the kitchens with Hunk on a Friday night.

“Lance, buddy, you okay?” Hunk’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he nods, probably a few times too many.

“I’m good, I’m good,” he says, still nodding a bit. “Let’s -- let’s make some ramen.” Hunk grins at him and moves to put the container he brought from their room on the enormous stainless steel island in the middle of the room.

“Alright, now I know we can’t do a stock from scratch, but the stock cubes my mom gets are the best, and I slipped a few into my bag before I left home -- you never know when you’ll need a burst of flavor, right? Especially with cafeteria food. They’re chicken; don’t worry. All the rest of this okay for you?” He’s moving rapidly, setting out different smaller containers that were inside the one big one he brought. There’s a tupperware of tiny foil-wrapped cubes, a couple packages of noodles, and a bag of paper-thin, pink-tinged flakes of some kind. Lance isn’t sure what those last things are, but there’s a hechsher on the corner of the bag, so he shrugs.

“Sure.”

“Excellent,” Hunk says. “Hey -- can you check the fridge and see what they have in the way of veggies? We’re gonna have to improvise a bit.”

“You don’t think they’ll notice if we take all the onions?” Lance asks, feeling the panic rise a bit in him again.

“We’re not going to take all of them,” Hunk says reassuringly, pulling a cutting board and a knife from the counter next to the sink and bringing them over to the island where he seems to be setting up a prep station. “Just, like, one. See if there are any green onions or carrots or -- you know, whatever looks good.” Lance shakes his head and moves to the line of big industrial fridges, bracing himself for the noise of the seal releasing when he moves the lever on the first one to open it. Any noise the fridge makes is completely overshadowed by a series of incredibly loud clanging sounds from behind him, though, and he whips around to see Hunk holding a giant stock pot and looking a bit sheepish.

“It was on the bottom,” he says apologetically.

“Shit, Hunk, we don’t need the entire building to know we’re in here!” Lance remembers to keep his voice to a whisper, but it’s a close thing. He holds up a hand so Hunk won’t move and listens carefully, but all he can hear is the hum of the fridges and his own breathing, which has sped up to what strikes him as a totally unnecessary rate. He forces it to slow down and lowers his hand slowly.

“Sorry,” Hunk mouths at him silently, and starts to move toward the stove. Lance takes a deep breath and turns back to the fridge, hoping there’s something there that makes this worth the trouble.

Twenty minutes later, they’ve managed to assemble what smells -- to Lance at least -- like an absolutely delicious soup. His stomach is growling loudly enough that he’s pretty sure it may wake some of the instructors on its own, never mind the avalanche of pots earlier or Hunk ripping open the noodles now.

“Grab us a couple bowls?” Hunk says, dropping the noodles into the pot gently and grabbing the paddle he’s been using to stir them in. Lance nods and scans the back wall to try to figure out where the dishes must be. He’s settled on a likely-seeming alcove when he hears someone laugh loudly and freezes.

“Did you --” he starts, and Hunk nods emphatically, eyes wide, his arm still stirring the pot automatically, though he seems to have forgotten that’s what he’s doing. Lance gulps. Now that he’s listening more carefully, he can hear the murmur of voices from somewhere nearby. He moves softly toward the door back to the hallway, ears as alert as they’ve ever been. There’s a sudden burst of laughter again, shared between at least two people. It’s cut off suddenly by a loud shushing sound, and the voices are near enough now that Lance can make out what they’re saying.

“Do you want Iverson to catch us? God, Griff.” Oh, man, Lance thinks, if James Griffin is really out there, now would be a chance to get in good with him, convince him he’s a worthwhile guy to get to know. He wishes he weren’t so tired and so hungry -- he probably doesn’t have the brainpower right now to manage anything nearing cool, considering sarcasm has thoroughly abandoned him already.

“Come on, what’s he going to do? Kick us out? Hate to break it to you, but I’ve got the top GPA in this place. They’re not gonna touch me.” That’s Griffin’s voice, alright. Lance raises his eyebrows and turns to look at Hunk, who has put the paddle down and turned the heat off on the stove, wiping his hands on a towel he has tucked into his belt. Hunk frowns, shakes his head slightly, as if to say “not worth it.” Lance turns back to the door and sighs, realizing as he does that he’s been holding his breath for what must’ve been nearly a minute, listening.

“Hey, what’s that smell?” That’s Harper, Lance is sure, which means it’s probably all three of them, getting up to some midnight trio shenanigans. Weirdly, he doesn’t envy them nearly as much as he would have a week ago, before he got to know Hunk, and certainly before they broke into the kitchen in the middle of the night to make ramen, which, he realizes now, is exactly what Harper’s smelling. He bites back a yelp at this realization and sets his jaw. Hopefully they’ll all just...move on.

“I don’t know, Harp, Kogane’s grandma’s house?” And yep, there she is. Platt's presence also confirmed.

“What? You know Kogane doesn’t know his grandma.” All three of them dissolve into snickers at that, and Lance blanches. Keith Kogane might be arrogant and snobby as hell, but he doesn't deserve that. He's glad on a certain level, though, that they seem to have dropped the idea of investigating. Their laughter and voices fade away as they continue down the hall toward the cadets' quarters, and Lance feels his heart rate start to return to normal. Hunk, behind him, clears his throat, and Lance turns around.

"You know, I really don't understand why you even try to hang out with them," Hunk says softly.

"What, you think I'm not good enough for them?" he hears his own voice snap angrily before he can stop himself. So much for late-night lack of filters being maybe a good thing. Now Hunk is telling him he doesn't deserve to be respected and looked up to like those three? He can feel his eyes burning and tells himself it's because he's tired. "Like, I know I'm not --"

"What? No." Hunk looks absolutely baffled. "Good enough for Griffin? For Griffin?" He seems to have forgotten they're breaking at least four different rules and curfew, his voice rising. "Lance, that's the most absurd thing I've ever heard you say, and you manage to pack them in, buddy." This is the first time Lance has heard anything like bitterness in Hunk's voice, and it throws him.

"What do you mean?" he asks, the anger draining out of him.

"I mean," Hunk says, deliberately, crossing the room so they're standing eye to eye and lowering his voice again. "They're not worth it. Like, sure, they're popular, and they’ve got top marks, or whatever, but they're assholes. You want to be an asshole? Is that what you want? Because getting in good with assholes is how you turn into an asshole."

Hunk's right, of course. They are assholes, all three of them, but the relative kindness of a person has never really been part of his criteria. His survival strategy has been the same since he was thrown into a new country as a ten-year-old with nothing going for him but decent swimming skills and a tourist industry English vocabulary.

“Maybe I already am an asshole,” he says, more sincerely than he means to.

“I mean, sometimes!” Hunk says, throwing his hands wide. “We all are, sometimes, but that’s no reason to just lean into it.”

“You’re never an asshole,” he says sullenly, back to staring at the floor.

“I’m -- that’s not true, but we don’t have to get into that right now.”

“I just want people to like me,” he mutters, still not looking up. He can feel tears pricking the back of his eyes, and it’s easier if he doesn’t have to see Hunk’s face. It’s such a simple want, after all, and yet one he's had to work so hard to try to fulfill. Join team sports, crack the jokes, keep an air of detached irony at all times, and maybe -- just maybe -- people will fold him in as one of the cool kids, not notice that he’s dragging behind in class. He's starting to think that's not the same thing as liking him, though.

“Maybe try listening to people who aren’t assholes, then?” He looks up to see Hunk smiling ruefully at him.

“That's a thought," Lance admits, and his vision blurs. He blinks rapidly. He will not cry in the mess kitchen at one in the morning. He will not -- before he can finish the thought a second time, Hunk closes the distance between them and hugs him, really hugs him, not like the perfunctory hugs he gives to his tias when they're in for a visit over the high holidays. He breathes in sharply and feels his whole body tense, startled, and Hunk lets go of him immediately.

"Sorry," he says, hunching his shoulders a bit. "I didn't mean to --"

"No, that's okay," Lance says, a bit surprised that it is, actually. He laughs, which is kind of a relief since he much prefers it to crying. "I'm just not, uh, used to it. You should warn me when you're going off-script like that."

"You're not used to hugs? Or not used to hugs from me? Because I totally get not wanting to hug a stranger -- not that we're strangers, but you know, you've only known me a couple weeks, might be weird, you know --" Hunk trails off helplessly, his hand gripping the back of his neck, eyes looking somewhere over Lance’s shoulder.

“Uh, in general,” Lance says, and it’s his turn to hunch his shoulders, sticking his hands in his pockets for lack of a better place to put them. “My mom’s the only hugger in my family, really, and I haven’t seen her in awhile, so.” He doesn’t mean for that to come out nearly as bitterly as it does. He winces, looks back at Hunk to see him standing with his arms open.

“Buddy, if you need one -- oof.” Hugs are nice, he realizes, when they’re not being demanded by relatives you hardly see, whose primary purpose in visiting seems to be to comment about how tall you’ve grown, “and yet still so skinny! Are you feeding him enough, Marlinda?” Oh, thinking about his mom right now is not a good call if he wants to keep the tears from coming back, he realizes, and steps back out of Hunk’s arms, dashing the sleeve of his jacket across his eyes before Hunk can say anything about it.

“So how about that ramen?” He manages casual as a tone, which is not bad, all things considered.

“Oh, yeah! Bowls?” Hunk walks back over to the pot and Lance meets him there with two bowls from the back alcove. They’re a bit shallow, in that weird shape of cafeteria bowls everywhere that’s somehow not great for cereal and soup or for pasta, but they’ll get the job done. Hunk ladles noodles and broth into both, with some onion and a bit of wilted spinach they were pretty sure no one would miss. He tops each bowl with half an egg he boiled earlier and offers one to Lance, who looks down at it and frowns.

“Uh, Hunk? How are we supposed to eat this? I’m pretty sure the caf doesn’t have chopsticks.”

“Oh, it doesn’t,” Hunk says lightly. “But I do.” He goes back to the container on the counter and pulls out two pairs, handing one to Lance.

“Wow, you are a nerd,” he says, laughing. There’s nowhere to eat but the floor, and Lance is suddenly glad for all the cleaning details cadets get put on, since it’s probably been bleached in the last six hours or so. The two of them settle with their backs against the counter, and for a couple of minutes the kitchen is silent apart from the slurping of noodles and the clinking of chopsticks against bowls.

The ramen is cool enough by now that Lance can eat it quickly, and it’s absolutely bananas how delicious it is. He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that packages don’t measure up to the real thing, but the real thing isn’t usually an option.

“Wow, Hunk,” he says when he can stop to take a breath. “This is something else.”

“It’s taking you on a journey, huh,” Hunk says, nodding. “Best food does.”

“A journey to deliciousville,” he says. “To tasty town, to flavor planet --”

“-- Alright, buddy, I get it.” He’s laughing now, a little bit, but Lance needs to be sure he understands.

“I don’t know if you do? But if I keep trying to explain, that’s going to keep me from eating it, and that is...Unacceptable.” He looks over at Hunk as he goes back to his bowl to see his roommate smiling down at his own food, his whole face almost glowing with pride. “I mean that,” he adds quietly. “This is, like, really good.”

“Thanks.”

It’s gone in minutes, and the empty bowls make him feel almost wistful, but he realizes as he carries them over to the sink to wash them that he’s also horrendously thirsty.

“Hey, Hunk --” He turns, only to see there’s already a glass of water being offered to him. “Oh, thanks.” Hunk nods, drinking his own water before they both move to clean up. The good news is Hunk at least has been assigned enough cleaning details that he’s mercilessly efficient. It seems like it comes with the territory of having an often-turbulent stomach. Although if he’s used to food like this, Lance thinks, it makes a bit more sense that the commissary stuff doesn’t exactly treat him right.

“I can’t believe you have a homemade mac and cheese recipe and you didn’t go with that for this whole stunt,” Lance whispers, trying to keep from laughing as they sneak back toward their quarters. Hunk’s container is full of leftover ramen now, and Lance is just hoping it’ll fit in their mini-fridge without a problem.

“I mean, would you have been nearly as impressed if I’d made something that simple?” Hunk asks him with a grin, nudging their door open with his shoulder.

“Honestly? I’m a simple man, Hunk,” He grabs Hunks shoulder and throws his other arm wide gesturing at their room as a whole. “Show me a big bowl of carbs and cheese, and I’m happy.”

“We can always make it next Friday,” Hunk says, shrugging. Lance laughs and shakes his head, dropping his arm.

“Right, sure, we’re definitely doing this again.” The sarcasm cat is back, thankfully, and he can’t resist adding -- “because we didn’t come close enough to giving us both full-blown panic attacks already.”

But despite his claims, it becomes something of a ritual before long, to the point where Lance will come back from service on Friday night, change into jeans instead of pajamas, and read comics for maybe five minutes before Hunk looks over at him.

“Still homesick?” He asks, every time, without fail.

“I mean, kind of,” Lance says, frowning. “Not like, really homesick, I’m not a baby about it or anything.”

But Hunk gives him that look, eyes wide, pointedly hopeful, and he knows that even if he wanted to say no, he’s not entirely sure he could. And every time he sees it he sighs, puts down whatever issue he’s reading.

“If Iverson catches us, I’m blaming you.”

#vld #voltron #voltron fic #lance (voltron)#hunk (voltron)#scribbles #I Love My Kids A Stupid Amount: Here They Are Again

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darkwritingsnshit · 5 years

Text

Living the Dream

Chapter 2

Warnings: This is a dark fic, please don’t read if you are uncomfortable with noncon, kidnapping, and dark characters

If someone isn’t looking, it’s hard to see a dark car following them home. If someone isn’t looking, it’s easy to miss a single stranger in New York, especially in the dark. It really wasn’t safe to live in these old NYC apartments, the old locks were easy to pick, easier to break with a strong wrist. The single paned windows offered very little insulation or noise control, and again, their locks were easy to pick or break. Steve knew that their house would be an enormous step up for you, a leap even. The two of you wouldn’t live downtown NYC, it would be somewhere more beautiful, may even have that picket fence he knew you secretly dreamed about. He’d also make sure you were much more careful in the future. Be able to spot someone tailing you, check for hidden cameras you seemed to not notice, keep your kids safe from strangers. Yeah, things would be a lot different.

You woke up the next morning with half a dozen apology texts from your brother, and by noon he had called your office phone.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about last night.” He seemed sincere, you knew that he didn’t like to leave you hanging, as often as he did.

“It’s chill, I went over anyway. Tinkered around in the lab, watched a movie. Next time give me a heads up though, you’re ridiculously bad at responding or communicating in any way.” You scolded him over the phone.

“I know, I’m really sorry. It was super last minute, we got the call and I was out in 5 minutes. Will you come down tonight?” You gave out a lengthy sigh as your only response.

“I’m leaving for a while.” Your brother said in a monotone through the phone.

“Leaving? Where are you going?” You hated to see your brother go again, but you knew it was part of the job.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” You had learned not to ask questions a long, long time ago, when he first signed up for the Army. That was always his response “I can’t tell you.” It used to drive you up the wall, but now it was pretty routine. Still it left you miffed.

“I’m your goddamn sister, I’m not going to tell anyone, why do you still have to be like this?” You still knew that he wouldn’t give you a straight answer.

“Look, I’m going to be gone a few months and I have to leave tomorrow. Will you please come over so I can see you and say goodbye? I’m going to miss you.” It was hard to admit but you had come to rely on your brother’s presence in your life. You tried not to, you knew that he would have to leave like this for his job, that nobody was going to take care of you but you. It made you feel defeated, and mad at yourself. Gone were the days of cold indifference to your absent brother, you were close now, you cared now. This was one of the reasons why you tried so damn hard not to care about anyone.

“Fine. I’ll be over after work. But I swear to god if you flake on me again, I’ll kill you before you have a chance to leave, you hoe.” Your brother laughed, mumbled his agreement before you ended the call.

You wound up arriving late at the tower. Your coworker had been kind enough to jump your car, it clicked when you tried to turn the key, but from the sound of it, it was probably just a shorted fuse that ran down the battery. After a go with the jumper cables everything had turned out okay, and you promised yourself to take it to the shop in the morning, as you didn’t have the time to fix it up yourself.

Walking into the tower, it was again Mr. America himself that showed up on the first floor.

“Come here often?” He joked as the two of you made your way to the elevators.

“Are you the official greeting party now?” you wanted to see your brother, not some blonde super soldier.

“Hey, I think I’d make a great greeting party, who doesn’t love seeing Captain America when they walk in the door?” You just rolled your eyes at his comment, happy when the doors slid open to where you could find your brother.

“See you!” Steve called after you. You waved behind your shoulder, missing the scowl he had at your indifference. Everyone loved Captain America, he didn’t get why you seemed impervious to his charm, especially when he was nothing but polite. Plenty of women were falling at his feet for this superhero gig, what was with your sour attitude?

“What up asshole?” You banged the door open to your brother’s room and flopped down on his bed.

“I’m organizing, you messed up all my packing!! Move!” He waved his hands at you as you realized you had indeed flopped on his folded black shirts and a pile of socks.

“Whatever dude, where are you going, when will you be back? What’s for dinner?” You rolled off most of his clothes, but he made a point of yanking the shirt back that was still under your knee.

“You know I can’t tell you. But I’ll probably be back in a few months, like three or four. Six max.” He was focused on rolling all his gear and clothing into his tac bags.

“Six months?” Your brother hadn’t been gone for six months since before your parents had died. He would do a few weeks here and there, but you were grateful Stark kept him pretty close to home. “What am I supposed to do for six months?” you hated the thought of not seeing him for that long, not texting or calling him, just not knowing. He never checked in, he said it wasn’t safe. It was going to be six months of nothing.

“I don’t know, what did you do before? You have a life and stuff, just stay busy.” He was still more preoccupied with packing than realizing what he was saying.

“You know what I did before.” Your voice was icy.

Before, when your brother had been away, you had looked after your parents. You would take care of their lawn and garden; walk the dogs and every Sunday you would make dinner. It was usually three times a week you would read the papers to your father in the evenings, play cards with them until it was time for bed.

“Shit- I’m sorry I didn’t… I mean everyone here loves you! You need to hang out more, come watch movies, work on tech with Stark. They’re good people here, they care about you, you’re family to them.” His speaking was rushed, he was trying to cover his misstep.

“They’re your family. They’re more like coworkers to me.” You flopped back on the bed again, studying the ceiling.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. If you do that, you’re just going to wallow. You know that there’s enough tech here to keep you busy for years, not just six months. Come down here when you’re bored. Also, I think Steve may have a crush, he’s been asking about you a lot.”

You rolled your eyes at your brother but knew that he was right about the wallowing. Depression came quick if you let it, it was always best to head it off.

“Fine, I’ll come by more often to stay busy. Tell that golden retriever to stop sniffing around where he isn’t wanted though.” Your brother laughed out loud at that one, more used to your snarky attitude and flippant jokes than anyone else.

“You pick dinner, we can do anything. Small possibility I snatched the company card this morning…” He held a small piece of plastic between his fingers with a smile. You threw a pillow at his head.

“You’re the worst person ever.” You said.

“Hey, whatever. I figure Stark should buy me dinner before fucking me with this six-month assignment he’s got me on, right?”

Dinner came in the form of Chinese take out containers, as reruns of The Office played behind you and your brother’s conversation.

“Did I miss anything exciting? More importantly did you get anything good with my credit card?” Tony swiped the plastic card your brother had left on the table next to the takeout.

“Yeah, I bought a few Lamborghinis, a couple private islands, you know, nothing too fancy. Thought we could take a vacation once I get back.” Your brother replied around his eggroll.

“Well, as long as they’re my colors, it shouldn’t be a problem.” Tony replied, snatching a wanton and sitting down in a lounge chair. “Let me tell you, it’s gonna be pretty weird here without my house full of the team. I’m actually going to miss your horrible attitude and constant backtalk while you’re gone.”

“Wait, you mean it’s not just you leaving?” You turned to your brother.

“Nope, almost everyone is outta here tomorrow. Nat, Sam and Wanda are coming along. Bucky is somewhere in the steppes of Russia doing recon, and Bruce is doing what exactly? Helping out with Ebola, or is it clean water? Something about doctors, right Tony?” Your brother mused.

“Bruce headed to Yemen, he’s implementing our new filtration system for water, while providing free medical care to refugees.” Tony corrected.

“So, who’s left?” You asked.

“Well let’s see, it’ll be our golden boy Rodgers, he’s helping me with a huge PR nightmare, Pepper is always around, Thor likes to stop in occasionally, and the kid swings by when he’s not helping old ladies cross the street or playing video games after school. You know what?” Tony remarked, “Why don’t you stay here until everyone is back? Pepper would love it if there was a more talkative lady around, and no offence, but the guys here really trash the place. You could also pop into the lab whenever you want, get some late-night tinkering in when you can’t sleep. That’d be a lot of fun.” Tony looked like a five-year-old with a new bright idea. You laughed, sitting back against the couch.

“Believe it or not, I actually like the peace and quiet, that’s why I live alone. Besides, I am never, ever staying in his room. I saw what it looked like when he lived at home, I’ve found some weird shit he’s left in the corners.” You pushed on your brother’s shoulder.

“Hey! I never asked you to help me clean my room, and I was like, fourteen. Stay out of my room, Jesus.” You just laughed some more.

“See, exactly what I’m talking about. I really appreciate the offer though.”

“Okay, I won’t push it. On the condition that you come by at least once a week. No scratch that, two or three times. I’m going to keep calling you down to the lab, I don’t have Banner to balance me out.”

“You’re going to have to start paying me Tony.” You replied.

“No problem, I’ll have Pepper put you on payroll. Actually, you’ve got a ton of back hours logged, I’ll get that set up.” Tony stood and was already on his tablet.

“No! Stop, Tony it was a joke, of course I’ll come by. I’m usually free after five, just give me a call or text and I’ll come over.” Tony mumbled something that sounded like ‘yeah, yeah’ and continued out of the room.

“I hate to leave but it’s getting late.” You didn’t want to leave. You really didn’t want to leave your brother, not knowing if or when you would see him again. “Don’t fucking die, you hear me? Come home.” You looked him directly in the eye, you needed him to know that you were serious. He wrapped you in a hug and squeezed tight. You didn’t want him to let go.

“Hey. Hey, look at me,” he held your shoulders, “I’m going to be great. I promise. It’s not dangerous, and if it is, you know I can take care of myself. With my backup, the only person you should be worried about is the guy in my crosshairs. Okay? I promise that I’m coming home to you.” You nodded and he squeezed you tight again. “Now go home and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be home before you miss me.”

Regretfully, you parted ways with your brother, and headed towards the elevators. Down, down, down until it stopped on the 5th floor with a ding. It was golden boy Rodgers himself, who greeted you with a smile.

“Going down?” He asked.

“Yeah, it’s late, I’m heading home.” You were sad now you missed your pain in the ass of a brother already.

“Let me walk you to your car.” Steve offered, and you were too tired to turn him down.

#dark!steve rogers #dark!captain america #my writing #steve rodgers x reader #captain america x reader #this is dark

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avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

The Grind House - Chapter 1

The Grind House: A Bucky Barnes Fanfic

Series Masterlist

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2201

Rating: E

Square filled: @buckybarnesbingo - B1, AU- Coffee Shop, @star-spangled-bingo - coffee shop au

Warnings: None for this chapter, future smut most likely

Synopsis: When Bucky Barnes stops to get coffee and warm up at your coffee shop, he had just expected that caffeine might lift his mood a little. He didn’t expect to fall head-over-heels for you over a game of chess.

Chapter 1

Bucky wasn’t exactly in what he’d call a good mood. Even for him. Which was saying something really. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that had put him in that mood either. He just sort of woke up surly and everything was just annoying him. He had been tempted to throw Clint out the window when he’d started up on a website he found that rated the Avengers on fuckability.

It had been snowing. That might have had something to do with it. He hated the cold and as the flakes landed on the ground he pulled his coat tighter around himself. He had to get inside. Maybe coffee would help? Caffeine might make the word a little more tolerable. At the very least coffee was hot.

He spotted a place up ahead and beelined right for it. It wasn’t a chain. Or at least if it was one he didn’t recognize it. The walls on the outside were dark wood with gold inlay acting as both decoration and spelling out the words ‘The Grind House’.

The large windows of the store were all darkened so you could barely even see inside. There was a fireplace though. He could see the light it was giving off even from down the street. Everything about the place appealed to him.

A bell over the door tinkled as he pushed it open and stepped inside. It was warm and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. Around the store were shelves. Some contained the usual coffee shop merchandise - bags of coffee beans, decorative mugs, boxes of chocolates and French presses - while others just contained decorative knick-knacks like model ships and well-loved teddy bears, board games that had been clearly used over and over, and books. Around the shop were tables and chairs of various sizes. Small coffee tables surrounded by large wing back chairs. Large round dining tables with hardwood dining chairs and a hardwood bench with barstools along it. Each place had at least one outlet.

Bucky shrugged off his coat and hung it on the coat rack by the door. This was somehow both warm and cozy and incredibly cool and yet was remarkably empty. There was a couple sitting at a coffee table playing a game of cards and gazing at each other lovingly over their decks as they sipped on large mugs of coffee. And one of the tables had five elderly women playing Clue. Delicate teacups sitting beside them cooling.

For a moment he wondered if he might have just found his new favorite place and then you walked out from out the back.

Bucky was a practical man. He had lived a long time. Too fucking long if you asked him. He’d seen a lot. He didn’t believe in things like soulmates or love at first sight. So he had no idea what he was feeling as he locked eyes with you. It wasn’t lust. Or at least, not all of it was. That was there, under the surface. Lust always was when there was attraction after all. He just knew as the two of you looked at each other, that whoever you were, he wanted to get to know you more.

It was a thought that startled him. He hadn’t felt that for anyone. Not since… well not since he’d been taken by HYDRA that first time. Even as he’d followed Steve around fighting NAZI’s obliviously to the fact that yes, he could, in fact, go through something worse than his first experience as a human guinea pig and German POW, women just seemed abstractly attractive. Like a painting. You might admire it, but that didn’t mean you wanted to date it.

“Hi, there. What can I get you?” You asked coming over to the counter.

Bucky looked up at the menu. “Large Americano I guess.” He said.

“You started typing in the order. Like it black, huh?” You asked.

“Like my soul.” He said.

You laughed. It was warm and somehow completely genuine considering you had had to have heard that before. “With those blue eyes? That can’t be true.” You said.

“Truth is, it’s the only way I’ve ever had it.” He said. His face felt warm and for a moment he wondered if he was blushing. That couldn’t be right though. The Winter Soldier didn’t blush. He couldn’t remember ever blushing.

“Really? Do you have a lactose intolerance? We have other kinds of milk.”

“What?” He asked suppressing the urge to laugh. “No. No… I just… Haven’t I guess. Just used to drinking black coffee from a pot. And my friend said Americano was the closest to that in a place like this.”

“Well, they’re right. If you ever want to try something new let me know.” You said. “Did you want anything else?”

Bucky had a quick glance at the pastry cabinet. He was a sucker for sweets and it was rare he could resist one if there was something on offer. He selected one of the chocolate mousse cakes and paid.

“Is that to go?” You asked moving to the espresso machine.

“No, I'll have it here.” He said.

“Take a seat, I’ll bring it over. And grab a book or a game if you like. It’s kind of what we’re known for besides the coffee.” You said as you started up the machine.

“A game? But I don’t have anyone to play with.” He said.

You shrugged. “It’s pretty quiet if you don’t mind getting interrupted, I can play with you.”

Bucky went over to the wall and looked over the games. He thought it would just be a cursory glance. A lot of these games he didn’t recognize. Scythe looked complicated. Sushi Go looked silly. And what the hell was Cards Against Humanity? Not that it mattered, that game had a three played minimum. He had thought he’d just look to be nice, and then wave you off saying it was okay, he could just enjoy his coffee alone. That is what he intended to do, but as he browsed over the games, most of which he either didn’t recognize or were too complicated for one sitting, he started thinking this would be a good way to get to know you. A really good way. So he slid a chess board off the shelf and took it to a small table with leather wingback chairs on either side.

He set it up. It was nothing special. Just a cardboard board with a red and black grid and very basic standard plastic pieces. He set it up and decided to save time he’d choose white and make his first move. He pushed a pawn forward two spaces.

You came over with the coffee and small chocolate cake and put them on the table beside him. “Chess, huh? Well, I’m a little bit rusty, but I’m game.” You moved the pawn opposite his up so they were directly next to each other. “I keep thinking you seem familiar. Have you come in before?”

Bucky tensed a little. Was this why you were being nice? That little gleam of recognition from seeing him on the news or on television? Would the realization that he was an ex HYDRA assassin make you pull away immediately? Or worse kick him out of the store altogether?

He huffed and moved his knight forward so it sat just behind and to the side of his pawn. He might as well do this now though. Off like a bandaid. It wasn’t fair to you to force an interaction based on missing information. “No. You might have seen me in the news.” He took off the leather glove he kept covering his metal hand and flexed his fingers.

Your eyes went wide and you pointed at him. “Oh right, right. You’re an Avengers. You're - you're - Captain America’s friend. Umm… Oh… James Barnes. Sergeant James Barnes.”

Bucky smothered a laugh and shook his head. “Yeah, that’s me. I prefer Bucky though.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. That was overboard wasn’t it?” You said as you moved another pawn forward.

“Maybe a little.” He teased. “It’s okay, that’s not normally the reaction I get.”

“No? But… you’re an Avenger.”

He assessed the board for a moment and brought the opposite pawn forward two spaces. “Yeah, but I haven’t always been. People don’t forget easily.”

You tapped your fingers on the table as you thought about your next move. “That’s not fair though. You save people.”

“I don’t blame them. I mean… what I did was public knowledge. It’s not… good…” He took a sip of the coffee. It was rich and full bodied. Bitter but not overly so. He hadn’t had a coffee this good in a long time.

“I see. Still, blame yourself huh?” You said. “Oh shit, sorry. I’m a busy body. You can ignore me if you like.”

He flexed his fingers and didn't say anything for a moment. “You probably aren't wrong though.”

“Maybe but I'm not your therapist. You don't need analyzing by some stranger.”

There was a tinkling as the door opened and a small group of people came in. You moved your bishop out so it sat diagonally next to his Knight and got up and returned to the counter to serve them.

As you took their orders and started to make them Bucky sat assessing the board. His fingers drummed on the table as he thought both about your words and his next move. He took a bite of the mousse cake and had a real urge to moan with how good it was. Creamy and sweet and a little tart. He suppressed it though and just started down trying not to watch you as you laughed and chatted with the new customers.

You hadn’t been wrong. He didn’t forgive himself. He wasn’t sure he ever could forgive himself. His hands were stained in blood and he thought maybe that was permanent.

He took your pawn with his and sat back drinking his coffee and eating his cake. When you had finished with the other customers you came back over. “Oh taking a piece while I’m not looking. Harsh.” You teased.

“Sorry. It was just the best move.” He said.

“That’s okay.” You said moving your bishop to take his knight.

“Oh, rough. My poor knight.” Bucky said and you laughed.

“Maybe that will teach you.” You said.

“So is this place yours?” He asked.

“Well, I’m a co-owner. Me and a couple of friends. I’m the coffee person, and there’s a cake person and a money person.” You explained.

“Who’s the game person?” He asked.

“Oh, we all are. That was one of the things that sparked the idea. We used to have game nights on Fridays and we’d drink so much coffee. We decided to see if we can make money doing that.” You said.

“You still do that?” He asked, taking your bishop with his queen.

“Dude!” You yelped. “Yeah, we do. Here. And it’s a big thing. It’s our busiest time. There’s a lot of finger foods and competitions going on. You should come sometime.”

Bucky wondered if that was a serious invitation or just one of those things people say. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Guy can’t be an Avenger all the time.” You said and took one of his pawns with yours. “It would be cool to have you. You can play with me and my friends if you like. Or if you wanted to bring people we can set you up with something.”

“I guess you can’t.” He agreed. “I might see what I can do. You know… missions and stuff.”

“Yeah, of course.” You said. He thought that was a look of disappointment on your face. He was pretty good at reading people. That was something that had been literally beaten into him. But what could you be disappointed about?

“I’ll try and make one.” He said moving his other bishop out.

His phone chimed and he picked it up. There was a message from Steve telling him he was needed back a the tower. He groaned and drained his coffee. “Shit, sorry. I gotta go.”

“Was that them? You got Avengers stuff?” You asked.

He risked a smile and nodded. “Yeah, something like that. Sorry about the game. I wanted to finish it.”

“Take a photo and the next time you’re here we can start up again.” You said, moving your knight out.

“Really? Yeah. Okay.” He said and took out his phone, snapping a picture of the board. “I’d like that.”

“So would I.” You said with a smile. “It was nice meeting you, Bucky. Just leave the board and I’ll pack it up for you.”

“Thanks,” He said getting up. “I guess I’ll see you again.”

“Soon, I hope.” You said with a smile.

He grabbed his coat and shrugged it back on, watching as you started clearing off his table. Whatever had put him in such a bad mood was well and truly gone. Now he just had to figure out whether he was ready to ask someone out on a date.

// NEXT

#buckybarnesbingo2019 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #coffee shop au #the grind house

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wallsinner · 5 years

Text

Training Wheels | 1 | Jean x F!Reader

Title: Training Wheels Pairing: Jean Kirschtein x Female Reader Warnings: Swearing, Discussions of Virginity, Eventual Smut, Chapter Summary: Your friend Jean has a lot to complain about. Words: 2k Notes: I first started writing this in 2016(!!) and you can find this first chapter in it's first draft on ao3 if you're that way inclined, but I rewrote it, replanned it and I'm *so* excited to be rewriting it. The first chapter of Tear in my Heart -- aka the story from Jean's POV -- will be up on Monday at around 10PM GMT.

If there is one mystery you want solved, one question you want answered, it was why are you genetically predisposed to being the laziest of assholes. You’ve been so since you were a kid and personally, you blame your father because it’s a habit you’ve picked up from him at the very least. And you always suffer for it.

Like, right now, you are suffering because you’re more than well aware that if you’d gotten out of your pit of a bed when your alarm had rung this morning, then you would have had plenty of time to get your butt into the kitchen and produce yourself a tasty sandwich -- or maybe even a salad -- from what you’ve salvaged from the fridge, but oh no, what had you done?

You’d snoozed the alarm, twice. And then when you were finally ready to be awake, you’d lay in bed for forty-five minutes needlessly scrolling through your phone, checking your notes on Tumblr, your Snapchat and your Instagram stories. Hell… you’d even gone on Facebook even though nobody even uses Facebook in this day and age. Then you’d clicked over to Buzzfeed, done a couple of quizzes to find out which Disney Princess you were and played a couple of rounds of solitaire. And then you’d realized the time and jumped in and out of the shower, choosing instead of washing your hair, to slip the head of the shower beneath your legs, which had led you to not even having time to dry off and to just toss some clothes on, grab your bag and get out the door.

You had good intentions every morning, but… you just didn’t act on them. And this was why you used your shower head every morning because you were such a flake that no dude wanted to come near you. Well, that and the company you kept.

And so you’d had no breakfast and two long lectures had basically put you into starvation mode and so you’d had no choice but to drag yourself to the caf and get the special of the day -- which claimed to be shepherds pie, but should have been renamed ‘brown sludge with white bits and the odd pea’ -- which you were like… a thousand percent sure you were going to get food poisoning from, but hey, at least your stomach wouldn’t be eating itself.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you will be better. You will get out of bed when your alarm goes off, you will go downstairs and get some breakfast and then you’ll have a long shower -- but you won’t masturbate, trying to get the shower head on that one spot is far too time consuming -- and put together something that is fit for human consumption to bring for lunch. Hell, when you get back home tonight maybe you’ll even take the time to sniff everything that’s on the floordrobe and maybe put it in the washing,

Maybe you’ll even fully clean your room while you’re waiting for the spin cycle to complete.

Actually, nah, maybe you’ll just watch the new episode of Catfish and eat a fat bowl of pasta.

You shudder as you look down at the ‘food’ again and with disdain, put the plastic fork (sidenote -- you know that Trost Community College ain’t exactly Oxbridge, but would it kill them to dish out the cash for one of those industrial dishwashers instead of trying to kill the planet you have to raise your children on -- near your mouth. You’re real tempted to hold your nose while you gulp it down, but you don’t really want to give Hitch Dreyse and her crew more ammunition for thinking you’re weird, so you just brace yourself and shove it in.

Well.

At least it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks. Definitely nothing gourmet, but if you distract yourself, then you’re probably gonna be able to finish it. You shove another forkful in and whip your phone out of your pocket, loading up Lovestruck and deciding to reread a few chapters of Ash Winters to distract yourself.

You’re about to come to one of the best sex scenes in the whole ‘book’, ignoring the world around you when a loud thump pulls you away from your Gangster bae. Peering over the top of your phone, you catch a glimpse of a thick, Art History book -- the cause of the thump, you’re sure -- as Jean slides into the seat opposite you.

You’ve known Jean forever. He’s basically the Boy Next Door, except he’s less Boy Next Door and more Boy Down the Road and on the Right Hand Side. He’s the only one of your little group of friends -- The Raspberry Crew, as you’d decided to name yourselves when you were five -- who still lives there. And like you, he’s also dumb as a bunch of rocks so he’s at community college too, so you spend a lot of time together.

“Hi.” You say.

He doesn’t reply, just looks at you and narrows his eyes as he pulls his own lunch out. It’s in a brown paper bag and of course it was handmade lovingly by the wonderful Mrs. Kirschtein, who was the nicest woman you knew and adored her son so much. Whereas your own mother liked to yell at you all the time to get out of bed and stop being a fuck up. Rude. Is it too late for her to adopt you?

“Okay,” you tell him. “I’ll bite. What’s going on?”

He looks up at you and the expression on his face changes from someone who wants to commit a murder, to someone who just watched their puppy get kicked into the sun. “It’s… nothing, really. It’s just…” he gives a big dramatic sigh. “Finally official.”

“What,” you ask him. “In all of the seven hells are you talking about?”

He looks around in an over dramatic gesture, to make sure that nobody is looking at the two of you and them just as over dramatically he leans in to you. “It is official.” His voice is a stage whisper, so that nobody can hear the two of you, like he’s in fucking Hamlet or some shit. “I’m the last virgin in Trost.”

And in hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea to take a bite of your food as he was speaking because you splutter, covering his face in little bits of half-chewed mince and reach for your water. When he’s wiped his face and your choking has subsided, you look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me,” he snarls. “I know you did and I’m not repeating myself again.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I, uh, I definitely heard you, I’m just wondering if I heard you right. And if I did infact hear you right, I’m wondering when exactly between your Mom coddling you, your lectures, moping after Mikasa Ackerman and your homework did you manage to go around canvassing Trost to come to this conclusion. Cuz uh, if you did Kirsch then you’ve screwed your numbers up because you’re probably not the only one with your V-Plates still on this room, let alone in Trost.” You are technically a virgin, you’ve fooled around with a few people, sure and you’re pretty sure Jean just assumes you lost it to Marcel Galliard because he did walk in on you at a party with his dick in your mouth that one time, but are you going to admit that nothing but the streams from your shower head have penetrated you? Fuck no, you know he’s got a big mouth. “Also… there are children in Trost.” Jean is seemingly as disgusted by you that your brain went there judging by the fact he balls up his brown bag and throws it at your head.

“Sometimes I think there is something very wrong with you.” Shucks, you’re flattered, but hey at least it distracted him from his misery for all of five seconds. “But okay fine, all of the people in Trost who are of age,” he tells you through gritted together.

“Again,” you ask. “When was this survey conducted?” You push your plate away because honestly this conversation had made your appetite much, much less raging.

“I didn’t do a fucking survey,” he tells you a little more aggressive than is necessary in your opinion. “I just know and do you want to know how I know?”

Honestly, you didn’t really because you never know what the hell is going to come out of his mouth, but you know that if you say you don’t want to know then he is just going to ignore your wishes and come out with it anyway so you just keep quite and say nothing and barely five seconds pass, before he opens his mouth again.

“Marco.”

“Oh,” you can’t help but laugh because Marco Bodt is the nicest human being and at one point you had the hugest crush on him and you honestly can’t picture him bullying Jean by taunting him, it’s too surreal. “So Marco did the survey? Or die he come up to you and say…” you put on your best Marco voice. “Oh hey Jean, did you know you’re the last…” and the look on Jean’s face is another for you to shut your fucking mouth and not finish that sentence.

“There was no survey,” he’s talking to you through gritted teeth again and you can see the tips of his ears are a fiery red, a sure sign he is about to loose his temper. “Forget about the fucking survey. I came by to see if you were getting the bus this morning and your Mom said your ass was still in bed, so I walked over to his instead,” he takes a deep breathe. “His Mom sent me straight up to his room because he was still getting ready, which I thought was really weird because when is Marco ever late to anything and well… he and that brunette from his Psychology class were in bed together.”

Well, your appetite is definitely gone now, former crush or not, it’s never nice to hear something like that about someone you once liked. “…That doesn’t mean they’ve slept together, we’ve slept in the same bed together and has your dick been inside me? No, not it has not.”

“Trust me,” Jean shudders. “I left them too it and when I spoke to him earlier, well, he turned into a human tomato at the mention of her name.” He pauses. “Plus her tits were out.” Ugh, you can feel the brown sludge on the move and you know the brunette he’s talking about and you really, really hope that Mina Carolina took her pigtails out when she got smashed and oh your God, you cannot believe you just thought of sweet angel Marco and smashing, where did that brown bag go, you may need it. “And the last time we slept in a bed together we were both six.”

“Nah, it was last April when you got fucked at Reiner Braun’s party and I had to bring you home with me so your mother wouldn’t see you in that state.” You wave your hand, indicating that you want to change the subject. “Did I really need to know about Marco? I’m sure he’d prefer you kept that one quiet.”

“You’re the one who made me prove my life is over.”

“Oh puh-lease, your life is not over. You are just an overdramatic fuck. It will happen.”

“Oh yeah? When?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Oh let me just consult my crystal ball! Look, Jean, it will happen when you meet the right…”

“I swear to God, if you say when I meet the right person… I already did remember?” He sends a longing look across the caf and you don’t even have to follow his eyeline to know where he’s looking. At Mikasa Ackerman of course, a girl he met at the beginning of your time here, she’s Eren, a sort of frenemy of sorts of Jean’s foster sister. You’d thought it was kind of cute at first, until she’d gotten a girlfriend and he’d stayed as deluded as ever.

“Remember that time when ‘Kasa told you that even if she wasn’t with Annie she wouldn’t give you the time of day?” He doesn’t look away from her, so you’re guessing he didn’t hear you. Or he’s choosing to pretend he didn’t hear you. “Jean!”

“What?”

“Look, I promise you that it’ll happen. You’ve just got to wait it out.”

He pulls a face and starts gathering his things up. “Whatever. You don’t know that.”

You grin at him mischievously. “Oh it will, because if it hasn’t happened by your thirty-fifth birthday, I’ll buy you a hooker.”

“Fuck you.” He tells you, but there’s no actual malice in his words. You just smirk at him.

And the two of you go your separate ways for the rest of the day.

#mywriting #jean kirschtein #jean kirschtein x reader #jean #it's been so long since i've shared something like this #so i'm nervous #i hope u like

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