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#my phone auto-suggesting a heart after his name
andyboops · 6 months
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Give Jason Todd the Power to Heal
Jason is supposedly going to be forever changed by the end of Gotham War, and it's about time *something* changed at least. TBH it hasn't been looking good for our boy so far, but what else is new for our poor Jason Peter Todd?
He's been mired in angst since his resurrection, and everybody wants him to just get over it, both in-universe and a lot of the fan base. Which is kind of funny (in a not actually funny way), since that's exactly how people react when someone has a long process of healing from trauma IRL.
BUT it's also true that his character has been stagnating, especially since he's been more integrated with the rest of the BatFam and agreed to abide by Bruce's no-kill rule. He just doesn't have much room to grow. DC hasn't seemed to quite know what to do with him.
I've seen a bunch of people say they want him to go back to using lethal methods, and/or to leave town and go do his own thing and only rarely come back to Gotham. That's one way to deal with the stagnation.
@panic-and-procrastinate told me earlier tonight that there have been hints in Gotham War that the "forever change" might be making Jason explicitly immortal. There's an interesting theory that he's actually been immortal already, ever since he was first resurrected, and that this was implied several times but for whatever reason seemed to just get abandoned after a bit.
Doing something else to make him immortal (or confirm his immortality) at the end of GW would be interesting, especially if he still has to deal with this hyper-reactive fear response going forward: he knows he can't be killed, but he still has to battle paralyzing fear every time he's in a dangerous situation? Yeah, that could be interesting to explore!
But I've finally figured out what I personally want to see, and that's for him to get powers.
Specifically, I want him to get powers of healing and/or resurrection, not just for himself, but to heal and/or resurrect others.
Disclaimer: these are thoughts that have literally only been in my head a couple of hours, so they might still be a little half-baked. But I think there could be something here. If not in canon, this could be the basis for some (to me, at least) very interesting fanfiction.
It's not an uncommon or unnatural progression for someone's own healing process to drive them towards wanting to heal others. And honestly, Jason "Punk Rock" Todd is, at heart, at least as much of a lover as he is a fighter. He fights, and sometimes kills, out of perceived necessity, out of a desire to protect.
I think it's telling that Jason's fantasy of perfect happiness in Cheer wasn't one where he gets to kill Joker, or even watch Bruce kill Joker. In his Cheer hallucination, Bruce says he's killed Joker already, and then tells Jason that they're done with the vigilante life, that they're all going to be civilians and live as a normal, loving family. Jason's guns disappear from his hands.
He may get satisfaction from fighting, he kills when he thinks it's righteous, but he doesn't love violence for violence's sake.
Also, remember why he was resurrected in the first place? When Superboy's reality punch happened, it corrected some things. And one of those things is that Jason Todd was not supposed to die. Yet it's never been explained, afaik, why that is.
IRL maybe it was a nod to the rumor of the one guy who used an auto-dialer to vote dozens of times in the phone poll to kill/save Robin.
But cosmically, in-universe, does it perhaps mean Jason has a higher destiny yet to fulfill?
His name literally means "healer" or "to heal".
I've seen it suggested that DC is breaking Batman down so they can rebuild him into a hero that better aligns with contemporary values. This could be a way of doing the same for Jason. Make him not a bringer of death, but an icon of restoration.
Plus, Bruce did tell Jason he wants him to heal, lol:
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Batman has always used fear as a weapon, and now he's using it to control his son. Give Jason a power that will heal the injury Bruce has just inflicted on him, and let him go use that new power to help others, to restore what has been taken from them.
Let him be better than Batman ever was. Like he was always destined to be.
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myscrubslife · 2 years
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Hi, you’re blog is super inspiring and I love to go through it! I was wondering how one can keep such good focus or if it’s just natural to you? I suffer from bipolar and adhd and my focus is so horrible but I’ve always been in love with the medical field. To be a nurse or even phlebotomy seems difficult! When did you first realize you wanted to be a doctor?
That’s so nice of you! 😊 I started this blog to combine my love for art and medical sciences.
When I was about 5, my grandpa had a major heart surgery (CABG) that was my first exposure to a big hospital. My dad’s company used to do volunteer work with paediatric cancer patients and I used to go visit with him. Over the years I saw more of my grandparents go in and out of hospitals, met some amazing doctors and I think that’s where my interest started. Biology was always my favourite subject in school and I used to say “I don’t want a 9 to 5 desk job” kind of regret saying that now when we have continuous 48 hour duties over the weekend haha. I’m the first doctor in my family and I didn’t have much idea of what I was getting into, there are times when it gets overwhelming and I ask myself “Why did I even think being a doctor was a good idea?” so I come here to remind myself how much I actually love this branch and there are others who feel the same. There’s also my favourite 2000’s medical show called [Scrubs] that I keep rewatching and that’s where my username comes from :)
I’m only done with one degree and there’s a lot more to study. I was lucky to find a mentor who motivated me to read more and teachers who make the subjects interesting but I do get distracted a lot while studying on my own. I can understand how hard it must be for you. I researched a bit on studying techniques over the past few years and found some ways that work for me-
1. I use this famous focus app called Forest to stop me from checking my phone while I’m studying for long hours at a time. I usually set it to 90-120 min sessions and take small breaks after I’m done (most people prefer the Pomodoro method of 25 mins focus then 5 mins break and repeat, but this works out better for me) I blacklist all the apps that I easily get distracted with and only check them after a session has ended.
2. If I’m about to read up on a certain topic, I first try to find a video on that topic, it helps me get an overview and understand the topic better when I read it. I respect teachers who don’t mind sharing their knowledge for free on YouTube!
3. I take a lot of notes while studying from my textbooks, mostly just scribbling on a single piece of paper, simplified diagrams and flowcharts so that my brain doesn’t go on auto-pilot mode (where I don’t even remember what I just read) it helps me actually understand what I’m reading.
4. I make a lot of flashcards- both digital and pen and paper ones, it helps me retain the information better. The app I use for this is called Feyn and I keep revising them after a certain time (Spaced-repetition). I also solve a lot of questions (multiple choice ones) which helps me retain what I learned rather than just passively reading the topic.
You can read more about Active Recall here.
5. Good (Japanese) stationary that makes studying fun :) I love colour coding my notes for eg. green for drug names and pink for microorganisms, red for information that is often tested. I also make a checklist of reading goals for the day.
6. My Mom suggested that I should have a dedicated space in my room that is only used for studying. This helped me concentrate better. I used to study on my bed when I was younger but I often fell asleep.
7. This may sound a bit cheesy but I’ve written my goals on a post-it on my wall as a reminder but my mentor says “Motivation fades over time, consistency is the key” so I try to read everyday even if it’s just for 30mins to 1 hour to make it a habit.
Hope this helps!
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cctinsleybaxter · 3 years
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I love paul newman anecdotes especially in conversation, because all of them are like ‘no way was he that kind sexy and talented’ and the other person is like ‘yes, and THERE’S MORE’
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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years
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Conviction: Ken Ryuguji / Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader
synopsis: the richest man in the city has a daughter. And his daughter has a secret. (@thehypestdeano for her great song suggestions that just put me in the mood)
wc: 1.4k
tw: NSFW
masterlist
song recommendation:
Ran Haitani
"You're always kissing me as if your dad won't walk in on us one day," the man beneath you chuckles, eyes fluttering open as you tug on his bottom lip gently.
"But you let me do it anyway."
Ran smiles at you tenderly, his mouth normally pressed into a thin, disapproving line when he's around anyone but you. He has to admit - with his hands in your hair - that it's true. He's never been one to deny you the pleasure of being with him and in his space, nor the pleasure of sneaking around your mansion while your father is at work.
Ran leans forward for another kiss, then smirks. You're already prepared for his lips, mouth slightly parted, hands tugging your strands ever so slightly. You're ready, eager for him. A delinquent. Who would've thought an Ivy League-educated woman like you would be wanton, waiting, and wet for him: a man who barely finished high school?
Your pastels, your plush lips, your polished manicure... you wanted him: a black and blonde-haired, bloody-lipped, blunt-edged scoundrel.
Ran gets hard thinking about all the nights he watched you attend the same parties, get drunk off the same punch, dance your way around his heart in the same room... and you never noticed him. Not until he practically saved your ass from being extorted in a dark alley after a night of clubbing.
That's when you thanked him for his service, and he asked if he could perform one more for you, on the house... sort of. Ran only charged one orgasm from you as his payment before he licked his lips and left, leaving his phone number on the marble dresser in case you needed the service again.
And you called.
Maybe it had been a week later. But you called.
And now you're in his lap, your tongue playing games with his, darting around like they were tangling for the top spot.
"Y/n," Ran breathes, retracting his tongue and sighing. "I need you."
"Ditto."
The word puts the braided man in auto-pilot, and he carries you to the bed to perform his duty. It's only when he's balls-deep inside of your warm cunt that his word become muddled, and he stops whispering the dirty things you like to hear, exchanging them for what he really wants to say.
"You're so beautiful," he purrs, kissing down your neck and holding one of your breasts in his hand. "I can't get enough of you." And Ran notices that you moan just an octave higher, legs tightening around his waist.
"Ran..." you huff, and he nuzzles your other breast, running his teeth over your nipple.
"God, I love it when you say my name."
"Ran," you repeat, and he thrusts a little deeper, trying his best to reach that sweet spot. The last time he did it, it made you wetter than any of the girls he'd fucked before. It's part of what sealed the deal for him.
"Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?" You nod slowly, your face scrunched up in focus, focus, focus. You were trying to focus on the pleasure, the sensations, the deep rocking that set your soul on fire. Ran could tell all of that just by hearing your hitching breath, balls-deep in you or not. His urge to speed up quickens his hips, and the thrusts become shaky and less sure as time wears on.
You want to cum, you want to shudder around the veiny cock inside of you, but something in you wants to prolong this moment, these sensations. Something in you wants Ran to keep your body like this for hours.
"I'm gonna cum soon," Ran whispers, sweat rolling down from his forehead. "Tell me if you want me to--"
"I want to cum with you," you respond, eyes staring at Ran's. "Cum with me."
"Are you close?" he grunts, braids swinging in your face.
"Yeah..."
You tense up around Ran, praying to god that you'd unravel the right way, that you'd do it with him. Ran curses, then his hips stutter, just as you cum, walls fluttering rapidly. You both reach your climax in each other's arms, coming down at the same time as well.
Ran exhales deeply, resting his hips on yours and kissing your lips tenderly.
"Can you stay for a little while longer?" you inquire, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Your dad is coming home soon," he answers gently, stroking your cheek. "Don't want you to get in trouble." You're the only person - beside Rindou - that he doesn't want to bring down with him. Not yet.
"But you the good kind of trouble," you counter, pouting. "Please?"
"Maybe when you're free you can spend the night at my place."
"Promise?" Ran looks at you, a wide smile tugging at his lips.
"Promise."
Ken Ryuguji
You met Draken three years ago, a Slurpee in one hand and your cellphone in the other.
He was doing tricks in the back lot of the mall, his motorcycle buzzing over and over and over again with life as he revved it. It was stupid, delinquent shit. But you took one look at the dragon tattoo on the side of his head and knew he was the one for you.
Now, you're in his apartment (which is less lavish than your apartment - paid for by the Bank of D.A.D), feet in his lap as you watch some cartoon about a grandpa and his grandson. Draken has your toes in his hands cracking them and then massaging the soles, staring at the TV absentmindedly.
"When's the pizza coming?" you wonder, and Draken shrugs.
"Told the guy to come as soon as he could, but he might be stuck in traffic." You take this opportunity to scoot closer, and Draken's hands go from our feet to your thighs, which are barely covered by one of his long t-shirts. "What are you doing?" he chuckles as your fingers crawl up his chest, pulling him closer.
"Kiss me." Your order is met with immediate obedience, fingers grasping the back of your (his) shirt to lean you on top of him. You make out furiously on the couch, ignoring the show on the television in favor of feasting on his mouth, neck, and chest.
"Spread your legs wide," Draken orders, and you do as he asks, feeling his fingers pull your underwear to the side and then slide into you up to the joints of his fingers. "That's it..."
You are instantly transported into another world, one behind your eyelids. There, all you can do is feel and experience. Nothing but sensations, from your waist down. That, and the sound of your slick noisily overshadowing the voices on the TV.
"That's it..." Draken coos again, and you open your eyes to see him watching your expression with a small smile. You remove your hands from his shoulders to take off your shirt, baring your unclothed breasts for him to eye while you ride his fingers. A harsh smack echoes off the walls when Draken slaps the exposed patch of your ass, biting his lip at the whimper it elicits.
You know what's coming next when he fishes his cock out of his sweatpants, pulling the waistband down only enough to free it.
"Come on," Draken murmurs, sticking his slick-covered digits in his mouth. "Ride me, pretty girl."
The pizza man knocks when Draken is mid-stroke, his hand pressing your back down so you're chest to chest.
"Shit." The blonde man beneath you sobers up and pulls himself out of you, pulls his pants up, pulls a blanket over your bare body, then walks to the front door. "Thanks." Money changes hands, and the door shuts, Draken coming around the corner after dropping the pizza off on the kitchen counter. He's fisting his cock, his sweatpants sliding down his legs as he walks.
The blanket is snatched off of you and your hips are propped up, legs spreading automatically so he can enter you. And Draken does, proceeding to do what he did best, which is blow your back out.
Your asscheeks snap against his hips, flesh smacking in the light of the TV, but neither of you cares.
"Cumming," is all you can choke out before your legs shake, giving way to the intense sensations of an orgasm that rocks your fucking world.
"Right behind you," Draken affirms, grunting loudly and spasming as he cums inside of you. You slump against the couch, spent, and Draken pulls out when he's flaccid, tucking your body in with the blanket. "do you need to be back at a certain time?"
The whispered words no longer make sense now that you have your own place.
"I live alone, 'ken."
"Right," Draken laughs, placing a hand on his forehead. "I guess old habits die hard, huh?" You stare at your old habit lovingly, chuckling.
"I suppose so."
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naughtyneganjdm · 3 years
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Caught in the Middle - Chapter 1
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Summary: Daryl Dixon finds himself head over heels for the new teacher at the local high school that he works at, but she has eyes for Negan.
Characters: Negan, the reader (OC), Daryl Dixon, etc.
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33634642/chapters/83581864
Warnings: Swearing, etc.
Notes: This is going to be another short story. I'm going to attempt to keep the chapters shorter so I can get through this story pretty fast. I was talking to a friend about something and this idea kind of came to me. I know it's kind of different, but I plan on switching POVs frequently so Daryl is not the main character of this story. There are three main characters. Negan, Daryl and Y/N. Hopefully you guys like it!
Y/N means your name or whatever name you want to put in there!
There weren’t a lot of things in the world that caught Daryl Dixon’s attention. For the most part, he had closed himself off in general. After the life he had growing up, he had become cold to things in the world. He’d get up, go to work, head home, sleep and then repeat. So, for someone to really catch his attention was a pretty big deal. Especially since Daryl wasn’t one for relationships or being attracted to people. Relationships were too much work and he just didn’t have the patience for them. Well, that was until someone new arrived at work. After that, it kind of changed everything for him. Which surprised the hell out of him, but he looked forward to every minute he got to spend with this new person.
Daryl was the auto shop teacher at the local high school. Was it a cool job? Fuck no. Was he good at it? Probably not as good as he could have been, but he was good at fixing things. When he was younger teaching was not something he would have ever pictured himself doing. Hell, he wasn’t exactly the most social person, so to say it was a struggle sometimes would be a massive understatement.  
When a friend offered him a job after an I owe you situation, Daryl quickly snagged that shit up. He would have been stupid to not take this job. With his background, he was lucky to have a job as it was. Every day, he would go to work and just do what he had to in order to get through the day. He never really got close to the other teachers, but he observed from afar. Watching people and learning things without being a part of them was something Daryl had become good at. The students liked him well enough, but it wasn’t like he was trying to make friends or be everyone’s favorite. He just did what he had to do and that was it. Going above and beyond was not Daryl’s style.  
A few months ago, a new teacher had transferred to their school and Daryl felt like they kind of immediately hit it off. They had literally run into each other in the hallway on her first day when she was lost. Daryl was coming out of his classroom looking at his phone and nearly knocked her over onto the floor. When he caught her, there was something about her smile that had caught his attention. When she had asked him for a tour of the school, he was eager to do it. Not that he was very good at it. Daryl was never a man of many words, but around Y/N he found himself opening up more and more. That was the nice thing about this girl. She made him step out of the box and be something more than he usually was.
Every day the two of them would find time to talk to each other and he relished in every moment of it. It became something where he started looking forward to going to work. He was excited to wake up every day. It was all because of her and the weekends were the worst because he didn’t actually get to see her. They texted each other, but the weekdays had become his favorite thing.
An overwhelmed breath fell from his throat when he looked over his shoulder after hearing the group of loud, boisterous laughter filling the bar that he was in. This was new for him. A lot of the teachers would get together some nights at the local bar to hang out. Of course, there were certain groups that liked to hang out more often than not. The source of the laughter stemmed from the staff favorite, Negan Smith. For some reason, every person seemed to love Negan. He always drew the attention of people and people found him hilarious. Daryl found him to be juvenile and somewhat annoying himself, but somehow, Negan was always the person people drifted to. Even being an asshole, all the students loved him as well as the teachers. Negan was the life of the party and very much the opposite of Daryl. Hell, Daryl didn’t even want to be here, but he was because he wanted to see Y/N. That’s really why he was there. It was the one time they would get together outside of work and Daryl loved being around her outside of a work setting.
Turning back toward the bar, Daryl reached out for the neck of his beer bottle and slid the bottle in front of him. It made him wonder if Y/N was actually coming tonight. Usually she would be here by now. When the laughter seemed to get louder, Daryl grumbled to himself and lowered his head. This wasn’t Daryl’s kind of scene and each moment he spent there proved that more and more.  
“Forget this,” Daryl got up from the stool and started pushing into his pockets to look for his money until he felt the sensation of someone nudging him.
“You leaving this early?” Y/N muttered when Daryl looked to her with his big blue eyes. A tiny grin expanded over his features and he immediately shook his head. Was he getting up to leave? Yes, but with her here he would reconsider that. Pulling out the stool beside him for her, Daryl felt his heart skip a beat in his chest when she moved in beside him. “Sorry I took so long. I got caught up at school checking some papers. I would have gotten it done earlier, but someone came to talk to me for a while so that kept there a little longer than I would have liked to have been there.”
“You finish everything then?” Daryl confirmed and she gave a nod before ordering herself a drink. Truthfully, he didn’t care why she was late. He was just happy to see her. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, it was pretty nice,” she answered with a simple shrug. “What about yourself?”
“Oh yeah, it was great,” Daryl lied and her eyebrows arched in curiosity when he said that. A nervous laugh fell from his throat and he shrugged.
“Oh really?” she chuckled, thanking the bartender when he came back with her drink.
“Okay, so it was just like every other day. Until now,” Daryl reached for his beer and swallowed down the last bit that was left in there. “Now that you’re here, it’s pretty great. You could brighten any mundane day for me Y/N. You know that.”
“You are so sweet,” she reached out to hook her arm around his shoulders to give him a hug and his face flushed over when she pulled away. “That was smooth. That was real smooth.”
“Well, that’s me. Mr. Smooth,” Daryl brushed his fingers through his hair to straighten it out. “But you are pretty cool. You’re the most interesting thing in this town. I tell you that.”
“And that’s why you’re my best friend here. Even if it’s not true, you are always saying things to make me smile,” she reached out to place her hand over his and she gave it a firm squeeze. “You’ve been the best to me since I transferred here. You’re the greatest. You know that?”
“Yeah?” Daryl was happy to hear that. At some point he was genuinely hoping the best friend label would progress into more, but right now he was okay with settling with that title. Just getting to be with her was more than enough right now. He didn’t want to push too hard or too fast. “I’m only saying what I believe Y/N.”
“We know I am so far from being the most interesting thing here,” she denied his statement while she took a sip of her drink that she had gotten. When the noise from the group in the back filled the bar again, they both looked back. The other teachers at the school were surrounding a pool table and Negan was obviously playing against one of the others. “You know, we should do that one day. Play a round of pool. I’m actually really good at it. We should do teams. You and I could go up against Simon and Negan.”
“Oh, yeah,” Daryl rolled his eyes, turning himself back toward the bar while she kept her eyes on the game that they were playing. “That’s really not my thing. Putting myself into the thick of that. I have no interest in being part of that group.”
“They aren’t so bad,” she suggested and Daryl looked to see to see that her focus was still locked on them. Looking over his shoulder, Daryl noticed that Negan had lifted his head and his eyes connected with hers. With an arrogant bob of his head and a bright smile, Negan gave Y/N a wink. Looking to Y/N after Negan did it, Daryl could see that it made her smile and her face flushed over. “I think you would enjoy yourself at times if you opened yourself up to it. The people at the school would really like you.”
“No one had interest in me before you were here and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t now either,” Daryl retorted with a snort when he looked back again to notice that Negan and Y/N were still staring at each other. Someone grabbed a hold of Negan to get his attention and Daryl felt his body tensing up over the moment he just witnessed. “They really aren’t that interesting Y/N. Plus, I’m not all that good at pool.”
“Well, I have a table at my home. One day you can come over and I could teach you some tricks,” she offered up, her eyes finally meeting his again. The air around them was cool and Daryl didn’t know if the chill filling his body was that or the jealousy of that stare between her and Negan.  
“That would be really cool. I’ve yet to be at your house yet you know,” Daryl reminded her and Y/N gave him a shifty look. “Well, I’ve dropped you off…”
“And I’ve asked you if you wanted to come in multiple times to hang out. Every time you turn me down,” she pointed out and he knew that he didn’t want to come in because he was afraid that he would do something stupid. It had been a long time since he was interested in someone. He didn’t want to make a mistake that made this girl leave his life forever. “You know you are welcome at my place any day. You at least know where I live. I don’t even know where you live.”
“Well, it’s not a nice place where I live,” Daryl explained with a frown knowing that he lived with his deadbeat brother. Most of the time Merle wasn’t there, but he didn’t want the one day she would come over to be one of the few times Merle came over. With his mouth, Daryl was sure that Merle would scare Y/N away forever. “It’s kind of a mess. You deserve to be in places better than that.”
“I don’t care what your place looks like. You’re my friend and I would like to spend time with you other than being here sometimes. You know that,” she professed with a shake of her head, reaching out to place her hand over his arm. “I’m not the kind of person that cares what your place looks like. I like you for you.”
“I think you’re the only person in the world that has ever said something like that to me,” Daryl confessed and he watched her roll her eyes. Obviously, she thought he was joking, but he wasn’t. That’s what was sad. No one had ever been as nice to him as she had been. How couldn’t he like this girl? She was one of the only people he had ever met that didn’t make him feel like a deadbeat or a waste of space. “You think I’m kidding?”
“Who wouldn’t like you Daryl?” she gave him a confused expression and he didn’t know how to answer that. “There is a lot of good to you.”
“The world never made me feel that way,” Daryl informed her with a weak smile before waving to order himself another drink.
“Well then the world needs to take another look. You need to throw yourself out there Daryl. You don’t have to be this loner for the rest of your life, you know?” she insisted with a shake of her head. “You deserve to be happy, just like everyone else.”
“Where did you come from?” Daryl sighed wishing like hell this girl would have dropped into his life sooner.
“You know where I came from,” she hesitantly laughed and then turned in her seat to look back at the rest of the group behind them again. “Truth be told Daryl; I like it here a lot more than I did at the old school I worked at. People here are more like family. They are friendlier. They don’t always seem like they are out to stab you in the back. People are willing to help and make you feel at home.”
“You must be talking to people I don’t know,” Daryl explained with a groan, turning on his seat to look at the crowded bar behind him.
“You don’t talk to people Daryl,” she replied with a silly glance and Daryl grunted while taking a sip of his beer. “You wouldn’t have even talked to me if I wouldn’t have run right into you on my first day here. It took me almost breaking something for you to actually talk to me.”
“Regardless,” Daryl knew what these people were like and he had no interest. No one really caught his attention or made it seem like they deserved his respect. In his opinion, most of the people at the school just liked the attention they could get. That was it. Noticing the way that Negan looked over his shoulder at stole another glance at Y/N made Daryl bite into his bottom lip. “Who did you talk to today after work?”
“What?” she muttered and Daryl could see that her attention was somewhere else and he frowned. Daryl reached out to nudge her arm and it took a second before she shook off to look over at him. “It was Negan. He’s funny. The two of us have been talking a bit over the last few weeks. The guy really likes to cook and he was bragging about his food about a month ago. Offered me some and every few days he is always bringing in things for me to try that he made. Today it was a raspberry danish that he made.”
“Oh, the guy is a good cook too, huh?” Daryl snorted, his eyes rolling when he thought about Negan and how everyone found the guy pretty much fucking perfect. Then again, he found himself super jealous at the idea of the two of them talking. Why had Y/N never mentioned the fact that her and Negan had been talking? “You know, you shouldn’t be taking food from strangers.”
“Oh come on,” she laughed, her eyebrows creasing with amusement when she gave her attention fully to Daryl. “Negan is not a stranger. I work with him and if something bad happened to me from the food, I’m not the only one he gives his food too.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re not,” Daryl scoffed at the idea, turning away in disgust from the rest of the people from work.
“What is it with you and Negan?” she pondered, sliding in beside Daryl elbowing him playfully while Daryl kept his head down.
“What is it with you and Negan?” Daryl repeated her question with an emphasis on the word you. His eyes narrowed and she stole another glance back over her shoulder at Negan.
“Okay, fine,” she let out a long exhale of air, lowering her head. It took a minute and she reached for her drink to quickly finish it off as if to gain courage to tell him what she wanted to say. “Since you’re you…I won’t lie to you, but you have to keep your mouth shut about it.”
Instead of saying anything, Daryl stared out at her with his confused blue eyes while her right hand spun in the air trying to come up with the right words to say, “I kind of have a crush on Negan. I know it’s silly since we’re adults and using that word is so juvenile, but I don’t know. I just find him so charming and he makes me laugh. When he smiles, I just find myself smiling, you know? Those dimples are gorgeous and he’s got a wicked sense of humor.”
“You are crushing on him?” Daryl restated what she had just said and she hushed him. Disappointment filled his entire body and his face felt exceedingly hot. An ache developed at the center of his chest and he had to pull his eyes away from her. It hurt way too much to even hear that from her. Especially since he had the biggest crush on her and yearned for more. Flicking his bar napkin aside, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Of course you like Negan. Everyone likes Negan.”
“What do you mean?” she tilted her head to the side noticing that Daryl no longer seemed to want to look at her. It made things a little uncomfortable because that wasn’t the reaction she thought she would get for being honest with her friend.
“I mean it makes sense that you would be like everyone else. Negan is the cool guy. The jock. The person that everyone drifts toward,” Daryl stated with a scoff hating that of all the people she liked, it was Negan. “I just thought you were a little more interesting than that.”
“Ouch,” she reached up to place her hand over the center of her chest, feigning like he hurt her with her words. “Where did that come from?”
“I just thought you were different than most people. Everyone sees Negan and their eyes just light up. He eats the attention up and people just attract to him like flies to bug zapper,” Daryl ranted hating that his jealousy was getting the better of him, but it was. “When I met you, I just thought you were someone who was attracted to something different. Like you said, you like people for who they are.”
“Just because I have a silly crush on someone doesn’t mean I’m not the same person that is your friend. You and I have gotten super close over the last few months. I think you know me better than anyone else does here,” she pointed out, hating to hear him saying the things that he was. “I just like the way that he makes me feel, you know?”
“And you’re attracted to him,” Daryl snorted knowing that there was no doubt that she was attracted to his looks by all the times he had caught her staring at Negan with heart eyes tonight. “You’re right…I know you better than anyone else here and I can promise you that you deserve better than Negan. No matter how much you love the fucking dimples.”
“Negan would never even look twice at me Daryl,” she talked down on herself and Daryl found himself upset that she would even do that. Talking illy of herself to bring up Negan made him just pissed off. “Look at him, he’s just so good looking and then there is me.”
“What was in this drink?” Daryl reached for her glass to look it over and he gave her a disgusted face when she said that. “You are fucking beautiful. I can’t believe you said that because you are absolutely gorgeous. Not only that, but you are super cool. Why wouldn’t someone like you? There is nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect.”
“Except for the fact that I crush on Negan which makes me just like everyone else,” she proclaimed, stating what he had said previously and it made him bite down on his bottom lip. Clearly it upset her that he compared her to everyone else just because she liked Negan.
“I’m just saying, with what I know about you I don’t think Negan would be your type. You take work seriously and Negan…I don’t think serious is even a word in his vocabulary,” Daryl complained about Negan knowing that he still was so upset that she was crushing on what he would consider the popular guy. God, life was still so much like high school and he hated it. He felt like a teenager instead of being a teacher that actually worked at a high school. “Like, he totally got fucking fired from this job a while back. You know that?”
“How?” her face wrinkled up in surprise when Daryl said that.
“It was like a year before his wife died,” Daryl clarified and he could see the sadness that flooded in over Y/N’s features when she heard him say that. “You didn’t know that his wife died?”
“No. No one ever mentioned that to me,” she answered honestly knowing that it wasn’t something a lot of people would open with so it made sense that she didn’t know about Negan’s late wife.  “What did she die from?”
“She got pancreatic cancer,” Daryl responded with frustration hating the way that she was looking at Negan now. Visibly it made her like Negan more and he damned himself for even saying it. “Him and his wife were at this bar one day. They got into an argument with a guy and Negan beat the fuck out of a guy here. The guy said something nasty to his wife, but he beat the guy almost to death. It was one of the student’s parents, so he ended up getting fired. Was on probation and everything. Then they found out about his wife being sick and dying. They felt bad for him and the community kind of got together to get him his job back to help take care of his wife. Who gets that fucking lucky, huh? Most people that almost beat someone to death don’t usually get people helping them like that. I can promise you when most people make mistakes, it follows them around for the rest of their lives.”
“Damn, he’s been through a lot then, hasn’t he?” she turned further in her chair to look back at Negan who was still playing a game of pool. “You wonder how he continues to be so positive and outgoing when he went through all of that.”
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” Daryl groaned upon hearing her say that and he could see that the story upset her. Empathizing with Negan over that story made him so angry to hear that. That wasn’t the kind of response he was expecting her. When he told her that he almost beat a guy to death, he thought she would look down on Negan. “He beat the hell out of some guy Y/N.”
“You said the guy he beat said something nasty to his wife. He was defending his wife’s honor,” she filled in the details and Daryl let out a frustrated exhale. “If someone said something bad about someone that you cared about, wouldn’t you do the same?”
“That’s beside the point,” Daryl reached to grab a hold of Y/N’s wrists to get her to look at him. “When I was a kid I lived with my older brother and my dad. My dad was always so drunk that he never got up. We didn’t have food. My brother was always gone and I was starving. People knew what my family was like, but they saw trash when they looked at me. I stole food in order to survive because I had nothing. Do you know what happened to me? I didn’t get a slap on the wrists and told to be a good boy. That stuff stuck with me my whole life. I wasn’t that poor kid that lived in a bad situation, I was that awful little boy that was a thief. No one felt bad for me.”
“Well that makes those people terrible Daryl. You were a little boy that needed help and instead they turned their head away,” she reached out to wrap her fingers around his to give them a firm squeeze. “I think…we all have our own stories. You know? There are things that I’ve…gone through. Horrible things and we all wish there was someone there that could have saved us. You know?”
“What does that mean?” Daryl saw the way she swallowed down hard and he tried to reach out to touch her, but she held her hand up to keep him from doing so in that moment. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing, I’m just saying,” she reflected the question and waved for the bartender to get her something else to drink. “Sometimes it’s nice to hear that people did what they did for Negan. I don’t usually have a lot of faith in the world, so when you hear that a community came together to help a man to help him care for his dying wife it makes you feel better about things.”
“Right,” Daryl stammered knowing that what she had just blown off made him think there were things about her that she didn’t tell him about. Now she wasn’t so much an open book, but someone who evidently had their secrets they kept to themselves. Daryl watched her toss back the drink she had gotten and he could see that their discussion had changed her a bit. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m going to go use the restroom,” she pointed over Daryl’s shoulder toward the ladies’ room and Daryl felt like he should say something to comfort her when she stood up. Something had changed in her beautiful features and he was just never very good at this stuff. With her getting ready to leave, he felt himself choking up at the idea of trying to make her feel better. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” Daryl didn’t know what the hell to say as she moved around him toward the bathroom. Tapping his hands against the top of the bar again, he tried to gather in his mind what he was going to say to her when she came back.
“Daryl!” a loud voice boomed in beside him as he felt the warmth of a body moving near him. Turning his head unhurriedly, he saw that Negan had slid in beside him and Negan’s bright smile ate up most of his face. “You are just the man I wanted to talk to.”
“Why?” Daryl scowled hating to hear a statement like that.
“How are you doing today buddy? Can I buy you a drink or something?” Negan offered attempting to call out to the bartender.
“I have a beer,” Daryl nodded toward his drink and Negan’s right eyebrow raised. Having Negan coming over to him and act like he wanted to speak to him felt weird. It certainly felt out of place. “What do you want Negan?”
“Wow. You’re a man that gets straight to the point, huh?” Negan snickered before calling over the bartender to get himself a drink. When he was done, Daryl cocked his head to the side almost waiting for Negan to speak up.
“Well, considering you’ve never had an interest in talking to me before you undoubtedly want something,” Daryl suggested making Negan’s eyes narrow out at him and Negan bit at his bottom lip. “So, what is it?”
“That’s kind of bullshit Daryl,” Negan retorted with a grunt, his eyes still hooked on Daryl’s when he reached for his drink that the bartender brought. “I’ve asked you plenty of times if you wanted to join us in a round of drinks back there or if you wanted to play some pool. You’re the one that always says no. I just assumed you wanted to stick to yourself and shit after about the fifth time of asking you.”
“Well that was a smart deduction. I’m surprised you came up with it,” Daryl snorted making Negan laugh in response after Daryl said that.
“Wow, look at the smartassery on you,” Negan seemed impressed with Daryl instead of being offended by what Daryl actually said. “Here I was thinking you were this quiet guy, but you’ve got some bite to you. I fucking like it Daryl. You should use that spicy ass attitude more often. Good for you man.”
There was nothing Daryl could say to respond to that, so instead Daryl found himself laughing as Negan reached out to pat Daryl on the back in delight, “Here I was thinking you would get fucking offended and leave me alone.”
“It takes a lot to offend me since I really don’t give a flying fuck what people think about me,” Negan assured Daryl with a wiggle of his brow. Reaching for his drink, Negan swallowed it down before slamming the glass down on top of the bar with a wince. “I actually wanted to talk to you about the new girl. I saw that the two of you were close. Are you dating? Or are you just like really good buds? Because honestly, I’m really fucking interested in her. I was thinking of letting her know I was interested, but if you two are together I don’t want to fuck that up. So I figured I would ask.”
All of Daryl wanted to tell Negan that he was dating her so that way that Daryl could have Y/N to himself. Turning away from Negan to reach for his beer, Daryl debated on what to say. God, he like Y/N so much, but at the same time he knew how much he cared about her. With her just admitting to Daryl that she had huge crush on Negan, Daryl found his heart tangled with what it should do. Taking a minute, Daryl’s eyes lifted toward the ladies’ restroom and he shook his head.
“We’re not dating,” Daryl was honest with Negan while shifting on the seat so he could look at Negan with his intense blue eyes. There was an excitement that flooded Negan’s face when Daryl said that and Daryl was damning himself for even attempting to be a good person in this situation. He wanted to be greedy. He wanted to be an asshole, but he knew that he really liked Y/N and her being happy was worth more than his own happiness. “In fact, I think if you were honest with her, she would be fucking thrilled.”
“Why is that?” Negan inquired with an arch of his thick eyebrow.
“Because she has the biggest crush on you,” Daryl told her secret, but he knew by telling Negan that would help her get something that made her happy in the end. The amusement that flooded Negan’s features made Daryl feel like the biggest loser on the planet. Instead of telling the woman he was in love with that he cared about her, he was telling the guy that she had a crush on that she liked him. Who the fuck did that? “I found that out tonight. So, there you go.”
“So, you’re okay with this?” Negan stammered with a bob of his head while speaking with a big, pearly white smile. When Daryl nodded he knew that Negan was pleased with his answer. Cussing to himself, Daryl hated him himself. So much. Why would he do that? A moment later he heard Negan let out an enthusiastic breath. “Well speak of the devil, look who it is! We were just talking about you.”
“Negan!” Daryl closed his eyes hearing the way that Y/N said Negan’s name. It was the sound of someone that was pleasantly surprised with their guest being there. “I hope it was only good things that you were talking about.”
“Is there any other way to talk about you?” Negan flirted and Daryl silently groaned to himself when Negan moved over to make room for Y/N back at the bar. Glancing beside him, Daryl could see that Negan was still rather close to her while they sat next to each other. “I was happy to see you walk in here. I thought you weren’t coming tonight.”
“Well, someone made me late to checking my tests,” she reminded Negan and Negan snorted upon hearing her say that. “If it wasn’t for that person, I may have been here sooner rather than later.”
“My fault,” Negan placed his hand over the center of his chest and their eyes were hooked on each other. “I was worried that maybe my danish made you feel sick.”
“Quite the opposite actually, I think it put me in a better mood today,” she complimented Negan and Daryl found himself irritated that he had now become the third wheel. Before Negan was there, she actually acknowledged his existence, but with Negan sitting beside her Daryl realized that he may as well had been invisible. “I was hoping you would be bringing me more tomorrow.”
“See, now you’re getting greedy,” Negan teased with a cock of his head and a big, goofy smile. Daryl watched Negan while he interacted with Y/N and Daryl wished he had half of the confidence along with charisma that Negan did. “I bring you something out of the kindness of my heart and now you’re going to start expecting it.”
“It’s a compliment really,” she smiled, caressing her fingers over the back of her neck in a nervous swipe while her and Negan went back and forth. “It says you did a really good job making it and I think you’re a fantastic baker slash cook.”
“Well thank you,” Negan chuckled while he looked her over with his hazel eyes. “If it means getting to see you smile if even for a few minutes every day, I will happily bring you anything that I make.”
“Since you’re so big on sharing you should let me try it someday,” Daryl finally spoke up when they both had seemed to forget that he was there. Negan’s smile slowly faded when his eyes pulled to Daryl’s. “I mean she was gushing about your cooking skills earlier today.”
“Absolutely Daryl, I’d loved for you to try my danish,” Negan replied with a smirk and in the moment Daryl realized how awkward the whole statement actually sounded. Y/N’s laughter filled the air and Negan looked to Y/N with an amused expression. “You’re a fucking perv missy.”
“I’m sorry, the way you just said that at him felt so suggestive,” she waved her hand in the air trying to get herself to stop laughing. Daryl was embarrassed, Negan was entertained. “You can’t tell me you didn’t say it like that to not be…suggestive as hell.”
“Daryl’s a decent looking fella, I wouldn’t be embarrassed to being suggestive with him,” Negan threw his hand up in the air and she laughed harder, her hand reaching out to place over Negan’s chest. God, she even wanted to touch Negan. When Daryl would make her laugh, she was nothing like this. “You think I’m joking? I’m not. I’m not embarrassed.”
“Well at least you’re bold and honest,” she claimed before finally looking to Daryl who seemed less than enthusiastic with everything that was going on. “Without being perverted, I think you would really like his actual danish. I was surprised it wasn’t store bought.”
“Hey now, it tastes better than the store stuff,” Negan grumbled under his breath and once again before Daryl could respond Negan had her full attention again. “You can’t compare my freshly baked goods to something you would buy at a supermarket that has been sitting there for days.”
“Oh, my mistake,” she giggled and Negan reached for her to give her a big hug in his arms after they had their playful little bickering match. God, Negan was so brave. It was something that Daryl would have never done, but she didn’t seem to hate it at all.
“Do y’all want to come over and play a game with us?” Negan pointed over toward the pool table and she looked to Daryl with big eyes. It was obvious she wanted to play, but Daryl was still at a point where he had no interest. Negan was already so much better than him at pretty much everything, he didn’t want Negan to outdo him in pool too. “We’d love to have you over there.”
“Go ahead, I’ll watch from here,” Daryl offered to her seeing that she seemed upset that Daryl didn’t want to come. “I’m kind of tired and I’m not much of a pool player. So I wouldn’t be that much fun anyways.”
“Well, why don’t you just come over there and talk with a few of the other teachers? You can be near the table while I absolutely destroy Y/N,” Negan urged Daryl to still join them and almost immediately Daryl shook his head. He didn’t want to be included in something where he would have to be up close watching the girl that he was head over heels for swooning over Negan.
“Daryl, come on,” she reached for his hands and Daryl shook his head once more. “You might actually have some fun.”
“I’m tired Y/N, you go ahead and have fun,” Daryl kept up with his answer knowing that she was disappointed, but he didn’t care. There was no changing his answer. Part of Daryl wished she would have just stayed, but when she got up from the seat, he knew that spending time with Negan was going to win out over spending time with him. “Just enjoy yourself.”
“Well you should come over there when you want,” she reached out to squeeze his shoulder before walking toward the pool table with Negan.
When they reached the other side of the bar Daryl could see the other teachers eager to talk and laugh with Y/N. For a while they just all stood around talking and Daryl knew that he was staring, but he didn’t care. Biting down on his bottom lip when Negan’s arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulders, he let out an upset breath and knew he should have just left.
After a while of talking, Negan tugged Y/N toward the pool table and they started playing together. Daryl was full of jealousy watching their interaction. It was obvious the two of them had a fuck ton of chemistry together. She was having a lot of fun and it was so easy for Negan to make her laugh.
Even knowing that Negan was her type made it so much more obvious to Daryl that he would never be her type. Negan was the opposite of him and he knew that. Which hurt all the more. It was best for him to just leave at his point, he wouldn’t have even been missed if he left now.
Finishing up his last drink, Daryl went to leave until he watched Y/N throw her arms up in celebration when she clearly beat Negan. Watching closely, Daryl saw the look of disappointment over Negan’s features as he moved around the pool table toward her. How close Negan got to Y/N made Daryl’s heart start to hammer inside of his chest.
Daryl’s mind was telling him to go over there and stop the interaction, but his body was frozen while Negan’s eyes were hooked on hers. Negan’s fingers stroked over the side of her face, brushing her hair behind her ear while they talked. Negan whispered something and she nodded before Negan lowered down. Tensing up, Daryl watched Negan’s lips descend over hers after he cupped her face in his hands in a tender stroke and this shit hurt more than Daryl would have thought it would.
When they parted, Negan’s head pressed up against hers and Daryl could see that it took her breath away. Negan whispered something to her while his right hand lifted with his thumb tracing over her cheek. With a smile like that, Daryl knew that Negan was sweeping her off her feet.
Daryl stepped forward when Negan grabbed a hold of her hand and led her toward the back of the bar. The rest of the group was distracted with their own discussions so the two of them were able to sneak out. Following the direction they headed, Daryl went to the backdoor and pushed it slightly open to see that they were at the back of the building.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Negan slurred, while he had her back pressed up against the brick wall. His large hands were cupping her face as they kissed over and over again. Daryl watched the two of them through the small crack in the door that he had opened. It was enough not to draw attention to him while the two made out behind the bar. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”
“Negan,” she breathed out while his kisses pressed down over the side of her face and down toward her neck. Grabbing a firm hold of his thick hair, she tugged at it and made Negan stare out at her with desperation while he panted. Daryl wished that she would turn him down. “Do you…do you want to go to my place?”
“Right now?” Negan breathed against her lips and she nodded slowly. The smile that Negan gave her made an angry chill run down Daryl’s spine. “I’d love to.”
Y/N reached for Negan’s hand and led him away from the bar making Daryl want to chase after them, but he knew better. She made her choice and she wanted Negan. Badly, obviously.
Slamming the door shut behind him, Daryl went back to the bar and took his seat again where he was previously. Ordering something a little stronger, he wanted to drink away his pain knowing that he was super hurt to see how eager Y/N was to take Negan home with her.
“Where did the big man go?” a voice made Daryl grunt when Simon slid in beside him and Daryl muttered a slew of silent, angry words to himself. Suddenly so many people he had no interest in speaking to were coming up to him to talk. It irritated Daryl to say the least. When Daryl immediately took back the drink he ordered, Simon let out a long drawn out laugh. “It’s only Thursday Dixon, you might want to hold back. There is one more day of work.”
“I don’t care,” Daryl grumbled with a scowl, his blue eyes glaring at Simon. “I assume you’re talking about Negan and you’re too late. He just left with Y/N.”
“Like, they left together?” Simon was eager to get details and Daryl nodded, waving on to get another drink brought to him. “Son of a bitch! I didn’t think she would give it up that fucking fast. I got more of an innocent vibe from her.”
“What are you trying to say?” Daryl’s face scrunched up and Simon ordered a drink for himself.
“I’m saying Negan is going to win the fucking bet, that’s what I’m saying,” Simon sneered when he got the beer that he ordered. “Goddamn it.”
“What bet?” Daryl immediately questioned seeing Simon dramatically throw his head around. There was a pressure in Daryl’s head and it felt like the world stopped all together when he heard Simon say that. “What bet?”
“I made a bet with Negan that he wouldn’t be able to sleep with the new girl,” Simon informed Daryl with a long, drawn out sigh. “And evidently, I’m fucking losing which fucking sucks.”
“You guys made a bet about Negan sleeping with Y/N?” Daryl snapped, standing up from the stool that he was seated at. “What the fuck? That’s an actual person you are talking about? Someone who likes Negan…”
“Every girl likes Negan,” Simon snorted, his face scrunched up in amusement when Daryl seemed so upset. “Like I’m supposed to be surprised by that. I just thought she was your girl so it was the one time I thought I would win the bet.”
“Negan told me that he was crushing on her,” Daryl repeated what Negan had said and Simon laughed with an entertained expression when he reached for his beer again. “What?”
“You think Negan would crush on her? After losing his wife, that guy would pretty much sleep with anyone to forget the pain of losing her,” Simon cleared his throat noticing how uncomfortable that Daryl was with all of this. “There is no way that he has something for this girl other than the bet. He’s out to win it and undoubtedly, he is going to nail it. I guess I should say be saying he’s going to be nailing her.”
“Fucking asshole,” Daryl knocked into Simon as he headed for the door to leave. He didn’t know what to do with this information, but he had to stop it. Someway. He couldn’t just let Y/N get hurt like this. Why did he have to be so stupid? He should have never told Negan that it would be okay. He should have tried harder to keep them apart. This was just as much his fault for pushing the two of them together and Daryl hated himself for that.
----
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My brother’s best friend | Dean Winchester (part 1)
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Summary: Dean visits his brother in Palo Alto...and fall for the redhead crashing in Sam’s bed
Word count: 1.8k
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Palo Alto, California 2004
''Are you kidding me?'' Sam grumbled as he checked through the peephole of his small apartment, seeing his big brother on the other side.
It was rare - very, very rare - that Dean would visit him. He'd rather vagabond from states to states in his precious Impala than visit his little brother who was in college, getting a degree, aka doing something of his life.
The only times he'd visit was if something happened to their dad - or when he needed something. Nine times out of ten, it was the latter.
Although they had been raised by the same man, the two brothers were very different. Their lifestyle, by example, was polar opposite. Sam was pursuing law studies and planned on become a criminal lawyer while Dean prefered to jump from states to states - or, in Sam's words, from bed to bed - without ever settling. He was also a walking trouble, always getting himself tangled in some messy crap.
When they were kids, their uncle Bobby used to joke and said that Sam would help Dean get out of jail one day. He couldn't be closer to the truth.
Reluctantly, Sam unlocked and opened the door, skipping the greetings. ''What are you doing here?'' he hissed at his brother, keeping the door as closed as possible - and blocked - so Dean wouldn't peek inside or simply invite himself in.
''Hello to you too, Sammy.''
''What do you want?'' Sam demanded.
''Who said I needed something? Can't I miss my little brother?''
If Sam hadn't known his brother so well, he would've believed him. But, this was Dean.
''It's almost midnight and I have class at eight, Dean. I don't have time for placotage. What is it this time? Your girlfriend dumped you? You're out of money? Whichever, I can't do anything. I'm just as broke as you.''
He wasn't always this intolerant, but school had been stressful these past weeks and the younger Winchester was running on short nights and large coffees from all his hard studying. Therefore, he wasn't in the mood to deal with Dean's bullshit.
Dean rolled his eyes. ''I'm not here for money. I just need a place to crash. I was at this car expo with some guys from the auto shop I work at and, instead of spending a handful on a shitty motel, I thought of you and your old couch.''
Auto shop? Last time they spoke, he was working night shifts at a 7/11. That's an upgrade, Sam noted.
''Nice of you to think of me, but you can't stay here. I...I sold the couch. And, I have to study for-''
I sold the couch? Try again Sammy.
Not letting the brunet finish, Dean ignored him and pushed the door wider, walking in as if it was his place.
He glanced around the small apartement, the office lamp on the desk creating a dim light throughout the whole place. Like Dean remembered, the appartement was cramped. You could barely fit any furnitures beside a couch, a desk and a bed. It was a college student appartement, you can't expect too much. He immediately remarked the laptop set up on the desk with a pile of papers ant textbooks, mimicking the same set up Sam had in his old bedroom.
''Dean, I said-''
Panic rose inside Sam, whirling around and trying to push the blond out of his apartment, but it was too late. He had seen her. The fire haired girl sleeping peacefully in Sam's bed.
A smirk formed on the older's lips, turning his head in Sam's direction. ''Is that what you were trying to hide from me? From Dad? That you had a girlfriend? Oh Sammy. Always been shy about that stuff...''
Sam closed the door and sighed. ''She's not my girlfriend. And, keep it down, will you?''
Dean cocked an eyebrow. ''Why is she sleeping in your bed then, uh?'' He shook his head, smirking, convinced that he had demasked his brother. ''You know, Sammy, you've never been the master liar between the two of us. Is that why you ignored Dad's calls? Because you were too busy-''
''Dean,'' Sam hissed, narrowing his eyes in warning, not letting him time to finish his sentence.
He knew how filter-less his brother was and, even though the redhead was sleeping soundly, Sam would rather not risk her waking up to some dude she didn't know was insinuating events that never happened between she and Sam. That would be creepy and awkward.
Dean rolled his eyes. ''Right. I forgot how much of a prude you are.''
''She's a friend,'' Sam insisted, sighing with tiredness. ''She got into a bad argument with her boyfriend and needed a safe place to stay.''
''And you're trying to make me believe nothing happened under the sheets?'' Dean sank into Sam's couch and shook his head disapprovingly. ''You're such a let down, Sammy... How can you let a hot girl crash in your bed and pass the opportunity for a good time?''
''Because, unlike you, I think with my brain instead of my dick. She needed a roof, Dean, not a new dick.''
Dean smirked. ''Look where that got you.''
.
Like always, Dean got what he wanted and crashed at Sam's.
Well, he 'accidently' fell asleep on the couch while his brother was studying, giving Sam no choice but to let him sleep after trying times and times to wake him unsuccessfully.
The sound of glass clashing and shattering pulled Dean from his sleep. He sat up, a bit startled by the noise, and squinted his eyes at the harsh morning light shining straight in his eyes. Does Sam not have blinds or something?
''Shit,'' slipped a feminine voice.
Dean rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the change of light and glanced around, catching the redhead from last night standing at the 'kitchen' area of Sam's appartement. She was wearing one of Sam's old tee shirt, her long hair cascading down her back. Dean bit down him bottom lip.
''Everything okay?'' he asked, trying to see what happened.
''Yes!'' responded a feminine voice. ''I just dropped and broke a plate. It's nothing.'' She bent down to clean her mess, using a towel to pick up the broken pieces.
Humming, Dean stretched his arms over his head, his back aching from Sam's raggedy couch, and stood. He should get a new one, this one sucks.
''Sorry for waking you,'' she apologized, running a hand through her hair, tucking a piece behind her ear in slight embarassement. ''I was trying to make coffee and...I don't know how it happened.''
''Apologies accepted if you tell me there's coffee left,'' Dean bargained with a sly grin.
The redhead stood and nodded at the coffee machine before throwing the broken pieces of plate in the trash. ''Lucky for you, there's enough left for a cup.''
Picking up a cup from Sam's perfectly neat cupboard, the blond poured the last of coffee, not bothering to rinse the empty carafe. Sam will get on his back about it next time he'll use it, but it's not like Dean cared.
''I'm Juliet,'' the girl introduced, taking a seat in the desk chair as there wasn't any barstools or dinning table - not that there was any room for one. ''And you're Dean, Sam's brother.''
Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. How did she know his name? He opened his mouth to ask, but she beat him.
''Sam left a note.'' She nodded at the sticky post-it on the top of the coffee maker.
Left for class. This is my brother, Dean. Don't hesitate to kick him out if he gives you trouble.
- Sam
Reading said note, Dean scoffed.
''I take it you're not on on Sam's good side,'' Juliet assumed, smiling behind her mug.
He shrugged, leaning against the small counter. ''Typical brothers.'' Dean took a long gulp of his black coffee, sighing at the burning feeling of the biter liquid as it passed through his throat. ''Sam and I are very different. Polar opposites, I'd say.''
Juliet looked him up and down and hummed affirmatively. ''I can see.''
At first glance, you wouldn't be able to tell they were brothers. Other than having very different facial features, their style was also contrasting. Although it remained along the lumberjack vibes - thanks to their father -, Dean was all about his fetish leather jacket and flannels while Sam was more of a polo and zip up hoodies person.
A phone went off, interrupting their small talk and Juliet checked the screen, knowing it was hers. She looked at the caller ID, face turning blank as she read the identifier. She let it ring.
''You don't pick up?''
She shook her head, biting her bottom lip, lowering her eyes on her bare thighs.
Dean didn't mean to pry, but he might have seen a guy's name on the screen. If he sticks to what Sam had told him last night, it must be her boyfriend - whom she got into a fight with.
''Want me to pick up?'' he suggested, lightening the mood, mild-joking.
''What?'' Juliet chuckled. ''No. I...I'll call him back later.''
Cocking an eyebrow, Dean gave her a look. ''Lie.''
Her blue eyes looked up and caught his green irises, holding an unsaid staring contest. As Dean stared into her eyes, he felt as if he could see through her like open doors. He could see how utterly unhappy she felt in all aspects of her life and it pulled at his heart.
Instead of admitting defeat, Juliet broke their stare and abruptly rose from her seat. ''Not that I don't like this morning chatter, but I have to get ready for work. My boss is going to have my head if I arrive late during lunch rush.''
It was almost eleven and, if she ran fast, she had a chance to get there in time.
She put her empty mug on the counter and skipped to the bed, retrieving some bundled clothes from a backpack at the end of Sam's bed.
''You work at a restaurant?''
''A diner,'' she corrected, fulmining though the bag for one more item before heading to the bathroom to change.
''Do you happen to serve pie at your diner?'' Dean asked, feeling hungry.
Knowing his Sam, he probably only had healthy snacks in his mini fridge and Dean was not about that life. He'll only eat lettuce when it's served with bacon and cheese...in a burger.
Peeking her head from the bathroom's door frame, Juliet flashed him a grin. ''Sure do.''
.
Just like that, Dean ended up sitting at some old fashioned diner's counter, eating a cherry pie with a scoop of ice cream, as recommended by the waitress.
''We don't usually serve it like that, but I'll make an exception for you,'' Juliet said, deposing the plate on the counter, right in front of Dean. ''After all, you saved me from getting fired.''
Dean smiled and thanked her before diving into the cherry goodness. God, he loves pie!
40 notes · View notes
shoichee · 3 years
Text
Rose-Tinted
Craving for angst with kise please!! Like both are afraid to act on their feelings which ends up hurting the both of them unconsciously. Idk, maybe kise is trying to “test” the girl, but went a bit too far i guess. Whatever floats your boat!! I just want angst but maybe hopefully still HEA in the end (or whichever your muse takes you) ;-; thank youu ❤️
Kise x Reader
Word Count: 6975
Note: oh my GOD, HELP THIS WAS 17 PAGES ON MY GOOGLE DOC I COULDNT STOP MYSELF………. angst, happy ending, fake dating!au, mean old kise ….. girl idk WHAT I WROTE I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT ????? reader POV first half and kise POV second half~
@knb-kreations
»»————— ☼ —————««
He holds you so gently, the touch so feather-light as he cradles your head and dips his own head in for a soft peck. The warmth of his lips makes you feel things you shouldn’t feel, things that you still chased for more in a never-ending cycle. You hold onto his hands thumbing your temples to try to anchor yourself further into the bliss, but it ends all too soon when he separates from you and gives you a radiant smile.
You were rudely pulled out of your rose-tinted trance when you heard gasps and chatter amongst the gawking students nearby, particularly Kise’s fans. He doesn’t pay any mind to their reactions and turns his friendly demeanor towards them.
“So you see everyone,” he cheerfully says. “I’m sorry I can’t accept any of your affections, as much as it flatters me so… after all, I have my dear (y/n)-cchi by my side!”
Groans and cries rung throughout the campus as most wail about missing out the opportunity to be Kise’s romantic partner, but before you can listen to their laments, Kise hurriedly tugs you away to the privacy of the back of a building nearby, away from prying eyes and ears. He drops your wrist just as fast and yawns with a stretch.
“What time should we meet up tomorrow?” he casually says, taking out his phone from his pocket.
“Huh?”
“Well, we can’t exactly sell our image of us being a couple unless we walk to and from school together consistently, right (y/n)?”
The rose-tinted lenses on your self-indulgent fantasy shatters to the ground instantly. You gulp, the swallowed spit hitting down to your stomach in heavy dread, where it was previously occupied by fluttering butterflies just moments prior.
This isn’t real.
“Ah… um,” you hesitated, thinking of a reasonable time, so you can wake up and get ready accordingly. “How about this time…”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” he replies, shutting off his phone before he walks a few steps away from you but then stopping. “Huh, uh… should I walk you home first? There might be some nosy people around, and we might as well get some practice in as an official couple.”
“W-Why don’t we start tomorrow morning instead?” you suggest. “A lot’s happened today, and well, I wanna have some time to myself.” Kise impassively stares at you for a couple of seconds before he forms a grin.
“Ah ha, well then, (y/n)-cchi,” he shouts jovially, making sure that his voice rang throughout the area for anyone nearby to hear. “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow morning, my love!”
“Y-Yeah…” you mumbled, your hand held up in a half-hearted wave. “See you…”
With that parting, you turned to the opposite direction to exit through the side gates to get to your home. Your mind scrambles to recall the impulsive decisions you decided to take on a whim today. The grip on your bag tightens as you finally realized what sort of situation you got yourself into.
You like Kise, plain and simple. You’ve always gazed longingly at him whenever his presence entered within your line of vision. You couldn’t even fault his fans for being so whipped for the basketball player in the first place, not when you felt like you were more enthralled by him than anyone else. So what does a love-stricken fool like you do when the source of attraction directly asks you to partake in a “relationship?” You immediately accept his conditional proposal on auto-pilot before he barely finishes his sentence.
It felt so wrong, yet so right. How can you hate this arrangement when you enjoyed that first kiss you shared with Kise earlier? But how can you love this arrangement when you knew Kise only kissed you to drive everyone off? You stopped on the sidewalk and heaved a huge exhale, and you continued to walk again, the action not even remotely able to clear your head. Your mind continues to swirl and race.
You agreed to this. He even laid out his intentions very clearly to you, and he was more than ready to leave you alone if you didn’t consent to this. But stupid, desperate you did. You were ashamed to feel even a shred of flattery when he told you that you were the only one he can ask to drive off his fans in this only effective method: a relationship.
“Why me?” you said, looking up at his casual posture. “Don’t you have someone you like to ask to be in a relationship? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to accept you…”
“Well,” he mumbled. “I don’t really have someone in mind… you’re kinda the only one who doesn’t drool over me whenever I’m near, and I just ought to ask for your help.”
“W-Well,” you slightly stammered. “I’m okay with helping you, right, so…”
“This isn’t something to accept so readily, you know,” he said, raising a brow. “I know this is super sudden, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to force an answer out of you right at this moment. Besides, I don’t think there’s any incentive for you to be in this either? It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
“N-No!” you interrupted, but you coughed to regain your composure. “I mean, I do have something in this… maybe if I got with you, people would stop trying to harass and tease me if I had someone like you by my side.” That was a half-truth, but you knew there was no way you could reveal your crush to him… not when he believed you were “different” from the others. But can anyone blame you for sticking up for Kise when someone was talking about him like a piece of meat rather than a normal person? “Besides, for you to get to this point, things must’ve gotten too chaotic to simply tell them to stop, right?”
“Huh… is that so,” he said, stretching his neck, but you didn’t know whether or not he intentionally ignored your last question. “Well, if you’re fine with this, I’m letting you know now that we’ll be doing actual couple stuff, like…” He pauses for a second to gauge your reaction. “Hugging, hand-holding… probably kissing too…”
“Y-Yeah,” you nodded. “That’s fine with me! And we’ll have a code word in case either of us overstep our boundaries in any way… maybe…”
“Unagi,” he said.
“Huh? Why?”
“Because they’re the bane of evil…”
“It’s just a dish, but…” you laughed, giddy at how he already showed a different side to you apart from his cool persona. “Alright, let’s go with that.”
How long were you able to keep this up? You pat yourself on the cheeks to dismiss the rest of your fantasies. If you keep this up, Kise will soon notice how you actually were head-over-heels for him all this time, and surely you’ll lose any future chance with him. Besides, maybe you can use this unique arrangement to learn about Kise and his hobbies other than basketball. Yes, you tell yourself, jogging the rest of the way home. It won’t be so bad, after all.
———
Starting today, you’ll be officially dating Kise.
That’s how it is on paper, anyways.
How are you supposed to act while dating the Kise Ryōta? Equally cool and flamboyant? Athletically capable? Would you weird out Kise if you were the one initiating physical affection?
“(y/n)!”
You flinch, not expecting anyone to call for you so early in the morning, and your walking route to school was never shared with another student as far as you were concerned. After all, your path was a little more obscured and unorthodox compared to the majority of students traversing the main neighborhood paths.
“Sorry… did I scare you?” You stop and turn to the source of the voice, only to be surprised when you see Kise himself. “Why do you look so surprised? Didn’t we agree on the time to meet up and walk to school together?”
“Oh… yeah…” In the midst of your thoughts, it seems that you forgot the arrangements you made with him yesterday evening. “My bad?”
“Oh, come on,” he gives a mock-hurt face with a hand to his chest. “Am I that forgettable, (y/n)?”
“N-No!” you immediately deny. You knew it was more like the other way around, the way constant thoughts of Kise preoccupy in your head too much. How can you ever forget him when he constantly runs through your mind everyday for so long? Kise merely gives a good-natured sigh before he changes the subject.
“Kidding,” he says, holding out a hand to you. “Seriously though, get your act together. We gotta start acting the part if we want this to work.” You stare at his hand, hesitating for a split moment before you put your own hand on top. His large hand easily encompasses yours, and the warmth makes you widen your eyes. It… felt nice.
You were so entranced by your linked hands that you failed to notice how Kise was staring at your face with a sharp glint in his eyes, but when you look up back to his face, he easily morphs his expression into his signature grin. He swings your hands around like an excited kid and turns to walk ahead to tug you along.
“Alrighty!~ Let’s hurry together before I get chewed out by Kasamatsu-senpai!”
“Kise, have you ever considered that it’s not really your tardiness that gets the captain mad but more so about the way you seem to irritate him with the way you skip around?”
“(y/n),” he says with a pout, “you know you’re not being convincing when you use my last name to address me as your boyfriend.”
“R-Right,” you stammer, still not used to the entire situation. “Ah… wait. Don’t you uh… call people who are close to you with -cchi?”
“Huh…” he mumbles, looking up at the cloudy sky before looking ahead of the path. “Not necessarily people who are close, just people who I really admire. I guess I addressed you like that yesterday without really thinking.”
“U-Uh, right… sorry.” He stops walking with your hand still in tow, and you almost bumped into his back at his sudden movement. He turns to you with a quite serious look.
“Do you want me to call you that?”
It was a normal question, but for some reason it felt like the next sentence coming from your mouth would make a huge impact on the way the two of you would interact in the future. From the way Kise looks at you with such a scrutinizing gaze, it feels like a trick question, and you’re not sure how to answer it. Your mouth goes dry when you try to reply.
“I… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Kise’s eyes widen a fraction before he gives an unexpected chortle. “Pfft… how do you not know what you want to be addressed as?”
“Arrgh, oh shut it!” you frown, hitting his arm in a fluster before stalking off ahead. You remember that you were supposed to go to school together, and you begrudgingly stop and turn back to wait for him to catch up. “Ryōta, just call me whatever you want. You’re already calling me by my first name, so I doubt anyone would care if you added -cchi or not.” Still, your cheeks turn pink at the realization that Kise would be uttering your first name for the next couple… whenever this relationship will last.
“You… wait up!” Kise wheezes dramatically, despite the both of you knowing full well how easily he can catch up to your stride. “You really shouldn’t be treating your boyfriend like that! Especially on the first day!” Kise holds your hand again to lead you to the rest of the way to school.
All the while, you’ve been staring at his back, your heartstrings being tugged so mercilessly at the cacophony of emotions you were feeling the whole time. He felt so warm, so inviting, but the way he held your hands felt cold and transactional.
———
You’re not sure how to react whenever Kise introduced himself as your “boyfriend” to everyone or whenever nosy students inquired about your new “boyfriend.” All you could do was gulp and manage the most convincing act you could do within different contexts. Smile, laugh, get bashful, be modest in talking about how Kise managed to “like” you, pretend you know many embarrassing stories and sides to him that no one else did. Truthfully, you were just as in the dark as anybody else.
You think the only reason why everyone bought the couple-act was due to how enamored you were in talking about him. This was the only response you could be truthful about. At least you could use your huge crush to your advantage in portraying yourself as the “lovey-dovey” half of the couple. Yet it feels unbelievably wrong.
You knew you had to prepare yourself some preset answers for curious students, but you didn’t expect yourself to be participating in neverending “interviews” in these social settings. You thought this relationship would entail a closer access to Kise’s true self, but things suggest otherwise.
“Ryōta,” you say, peering up at his face as the both of you walk down the hallway to your designated spot for lunch together. Even as you two walk, he puts a reasonable distance between the two of you when there is no one in close proximity. Even when you two are together, he only grabs your hand when it’s socially convenient. Even when Kise approaches you to talk, you know it’s never anything beyond for the sake of acting. And you agreed to this entire thing.
“Hm?” He spares a glance to your figure before returning his gaze ahead.
“Uh, I brought extra food today,” you say, trying to use this situation to try to express your genuine feelings to him in small increments. “I brought an extra bento box too… in case, you don’t wanna actually share one…” He was about to reply before a pair of students turned around the corner to head towards your direction. Kise narrows his eyes at the unexpected turn of events, and immediately turns to you brightly.
“(y/n)! You really thought that I wouldn’t like the idea?” he pouts. “Of course I wanna share a bento with you! Silly…” He slightly bends to your level to place a chaste peck on your forehead.
“Ah…” you freeze at his soft touch, your legs stiff in place as you stop walking. Kise, in response, moves his lips to your ears, and you slightly shiver at the unexpected intimacy… it was the closest he’s gotten to you ever since that public stunt when he kissed you in front of everyone the other day.
“Hey, don’t just stand there… you can’t overreact like this over something couples do everyday.” You bit your lip in an attempt to stop your heart from sinking from disappointment, but in turning your face to him to spill an apology, your face ended up right in front of his. Your eyes widen but he only stares at you with such an intensity that makes you hold your breath in anticipation.
But he immediately draws away and stretches with a yawn. “Looks like those people left right after they thought they intruded on a private moment between us,” he says. “Sheesh, people really do the most to be so nosy nowadays.” You wonder how he can be so casual about this all. Perhaps it was a mistake to be here like this when you were so in love with him, overthinking every single thing he did.
Why didn’t he kiss you this time? Did he not find you the teensiest attractive enough to want to kiss you even without an audience nearby?
“Come on,” he mumbles, waving a hand through your face. “Quit making that face. I won’t be doing that to you without warning anytime soon. My bad, okay?” Kise sheepishly holds out a hand for a handshake to make peace, and you wordlessly take his hand. One day, you’ll stop being his special someone to savor his warmth…
No, you thought, you’re an idiot… he’s never considered you as someone special.
You debated in telling him that you were fine with him kissing you, but you hold your tongue, afraid that he’ll realize your true feelings about him. Besides, were you really okay with him kissing you when he didn’t reciprocate the same feelings?
“It… wasn’t like what you think,” you hesitate. “It just caught me off guard.”
“Well,” he laughs. “That’s a relief! By the way…” He stops to settle himself on the bench. “What’s exactly your lunch? Since you went through the effort to bring extras, I guess I’ll eat them.”
“I packed salmon from leftovers I had from home,” you reply, taking out your bento box and utensils. You decide to shake off your negative thoughts and shove them to the back of your mind. He makes a horrified face at the lunchbox. “Kise, what’s wrong?”
“Do you… happen to have anything else packed?”
“Rice?”
“Well,” he coughs. “I’m not a fan of dishes with boned fish.”
“Didn’t you say you hated unagi too?” Kise shyly averts his gaze before he reluctantly confirms it so. “They’re delicious though! Especially when they’re grilled!” At first, he refused to answer, but the more you tried to poke and prod (literally too, at his ribs), he finally gave in.
“Alright, alright! But I swear, you better not tell anyone!… I choked on a fish bone one time…”
“… And?”
“And yeah.”
“You choked on a bone once and you got scared out of eating fish—”
“Shhhh!” he hushes, emphasizing his hiss with a finger to his lips. At this very moment, you saw a glimpse into who Kise really is, and you can’t help but bust out a genuine, carefree laugh for the first time in front of him. In embarrassment, he bonks your head with his fist to get you to stop laughing, but it only makes you more conscious of how close he is to you.
But just as quickly and telepathically, Kise puts some distance between the two of you, sitting closer to the edge of the bench. He opts to hunch over casually and keenly watch you scarf down your meal in minutes without a care.
You wonder if you should feel guilty for enjoying this moment with Kise, even if he was only waiting with you out of obligation of being your “boyfriend,” but right now, you allowed yourself to indulge, letting your heart beat sporadically without guilt and fear for once. You continue to savor your lunch in silence, concentrating on munching around the fish bones, while Kise sat in contemplation all the while.
———
“You should come watch our practice game today, (y/n).”
“Eh?”
You tilt your head at him in confusion. It’s been two weeks since you started this arrangement with him, but nothing extraordinary or groundbreaking happened between the two of you, much to your despondency. But you knew, you shouldn’t be asking for too much when you already have the once-in-a-lifetime chance to be close to him like this.
“There’s going to be a lot of people coming,” he explains. “Even if it’s just a practice game… it’d be weird if you weren’t there, because, you know, we’re dating.”
“I don’t mind going,” you reply. “It sounds fun.”
“You know, you’ve been agreeing to everything I’ve been suggesting the entire time,” he mumbles to himself, but he zips his mouth shut when he sees you instinctively moving closer to try to catch what he said. “Uh, in any case… just stop by the gym whenever you can.”
So here you are a few hours later, being the first person to settle yourself on top of the 2nd floor of the gym. You rest your arms on the railway, fascinated by the Kaijō basketball team and their skills. As they warm up on the courts, it’s the first time you see Kise truly at ease and happy with the people he cares about, and your heart pangs in jealousy seeing his genuine smile. You were pulled out of your thoughts when you realized the gym became completely crowded, the constant chattering announcing huge crowds along the entrance and the lucky watchers at the 2nd floor with you.
You didn’t mind the onlookers when all you were focused on was Kise throughout the entire game with a smitten look, and you weren’t surprised when his team easily won against the other local school.
“That’s Kise isn’t it?” You were about to turn to leave the higher floor to wait outside the gym when you heard his name. You stop to eavesdrop on the conversation next to you.
“Yeah, I’ve been hearing about him way too much. Something about him dating now?”
“He��s dating (l/n) right now, which is super weird because they never even talked… and all of the sudden, they’re dating? I didn’t think of him to be into short-term flings.”
“You think he’s using (l/n) in some way? What an asshole.”
“Yikes. You’re probably not even that far off the bulls-eye. He’s a really heartless guy, from what I’ve heard.”
“Hey,” you interrupt, scaring the two girls out of their wits before they turn to you. “I don’t think you should talk about Kise like that when all you know of him is through speculation.”
“Ugh, here we go again with his fans…” one of them groans, rolling her eyes. “Look, I get it, he’s good-looking and all, but I don’t understand how you can defend him to death when he doesn’t even spare a glance at you… ah… shit, you’re (l/n)?” A flash of hurt was visible on your face for a split second before you frowned. Their words unintentionally hit the nail in the coffin.
“Whether I’m (l/n) or not doesn’t really matter,” you say angrily. “Gossiping about anyone like that isn’t something you should make a habit out of.”
“Jeez, let’s just leave,” the other girl whispers, dragging the first girl along.
You simply stand there watching them leave, but you can’t shake off what they said. They were right… how could you be so whipped for him when you know he’ll never see you the same way?
“Oy!”
Kise’s voice brings you back to your consciousness as he waves at you from the court. “You’ve been standing there for a while! Hurry up, or I’ll leave you behind, (y/n)-cchi!”
“Coming!” You race from the 2nd floor to the ground level to catch up to him, your heart pounding all the while. Did he… did he just…?
You shake your head before you reunite with him to walk home together. Stop it… don’t overthink it.
———
Kise waits at his usual spot to wait for you before walking to school together. It’s been three weeks since he’s approached you to “date.” He’s grown quite comfortable with this arrangement, being close to you and backing off when it’s convenient. After all, if you somehow showed a gruesome true self of yours, he’d be able to separate himself from you with no consequences… even if his heart would cry out not to.
“Ryōta!” There you are, running down the path towards him so cheerfully. Could you really be an awful person when you have such a pure smile like that?
“Ah, (y/n)-cchi,” he says. “We should hurry if we wanna be inside campus. It’s a little chilly today, so being indoors sounds really nice right now.” He peers over to your face to see your nose slightly red from the cold, and he huffs out a chuckle, noting the warm puff of air escaping from his own lips.
“I guess it’s a little cold today,” you say, looking up at Kise with a slight childish wonder. “Hey, that’s a pretty cool cloud that you puffed out.”
“You have some clouds around you too.” He gently smiles, and he notes that your eyes widen at the sight of him. “Wha? Is my face that horrific, (y/n)-cchi?” You avert your gaze as your cheeks grow just as red as your nose.
“Nah… i-it’s nothing…ah—” He holds your cheeks to turn your face back to him, and he draws near with a serious gaze, bumping his forehead against yours.
“You’re actually really cold…”
“Uh, um… I don’t think I’m c-cold anymore—” you stammer, your eyes darting to look everywhere but his face, and Kise’s eyes only scrutinize your behavior further.
“Hm, if you say so…” he mumbles. Your eyes flutter close at the anticipation, and he feels the pull towards your lips, closing his own lids shut…
Wait, what was he thinking? He snaps his lids open and slightly draws himself away to look at you, still vulnerable with your closed eyes. It’s only when he drops his hands from your cheeks and turns to walk ahead when you flutter your eyes open again. Don’t let your feelings for (y/n) blind you into figuring out who they really are.
“Come on,” Kise calls out to you. “We should get going… we don’t wanna be late.” Besides, what if there’s a possibility that you don’t really like him at all?
“Y-Yeah…”
The rest of the walk was in silence, with Kise slightly ahead of you. Perhaps if he turned around at least once to check on you, he would’ve seen the consequences of his actions.
You were silently crying the entire walk.
———
Nothing seems to change much for the entire month. The way the two of you dance and sway around each other, while never being too close, never being too affectionate, never being completely honest. In this shared rose-tinted world, the frail glass that holds these moments together threatens to break with every fickle interaction. Every shared kiss constitutes another small crack to the rose-tinted crystal.
And both of you are content with just the way things are.
Or that’s what you both mutter to yourselves like a mantra.
“Ryōta!” you call out to him. “Did you wait long?”
“Not really,” he says. “I just barely got out too… the teacher was really lenient on dismissal today, actually.” His heart swells at the sight of you as usual, but just as quickly, he’s always managed to quash his emotions in check.
For the first time, you initiate physical touch with him without hesitation, linking your hands with his and snuggling up to him. He flinches, not fast enough to process the sudden warmth of your body, and he immediately separates himself from you. Do you actually like him after all?… No, something is up, right?
“Ryōta…?” You flinch just as severely from the sudden reaction, and he turns to avoid looking at your face, knowing that his resolve would crumble right in front of you. He’s a coward, and he fucking knows it.
“S-Sorry, (y/n)-cchi! I don’t know what came over me like that, but you know you don’t have to force yourself to do things like that, right? There’s no one here, so let’s just walk home together like we always do, yeah?”
He turns to already walk ahead, too afraid of hearing your response and hoping you would follow and catch up to him… like you always do.
You simply stood there for a few moments, anguish clear as the sky above you as you keep telling yourself to manage your own expectations. Still, your voice croaks out quietly to respond to him, even if you knew he wasn’t going to hear it.
“… But I wanted to do these things with you, Ryōta.”
———
It’s been several days since that incident.
It was very awkward for the most part, the walks to and from school silent and suffocating. He’s not quite sure how to go about it while trying not to sound disingenuous about it. Nonetheless, even through his quiet apology, your face still lights up, and he’s confused about why you would ever be so forgiving of him.
Although today, lines have been crossed and this shared secretive world between the two of you have completely shattered to the point of no return.
It was quite a blur, an instinct that Kise has developed over the course of this relationship. Every time a group of students drew near, he was always ready to tug you close for a kiss until they left and carry on with their day. Today was usually no exception.
Another group of students was hanging around the corner, presumably spying on you two, and Kise did what he’s always done, grabbing your hand and embracing you for a kiss. Your eyes were blown open in surprise, but when you saw Kise’s eyes elsewhere, something finally snapped inside.
You push him away at his chest.
“U-Unagi… unagi…” Your voice trembles, and you use your arms to cover up the fresh tears. The code word sounds unbelievably stupid out of context, but at this moment, the word alone stabs Kise in his chest. “I-I… just stop… please.” Kise stares dumbly at you, processing the fact that you just used the agreed safe word against him.
“… (y/n)-cchi?” Kise asks with a confused smile. “You’ve never objected to kissing before… I’ve even told you what we’ll be doing if you agreed to this…?”
“How…” you choke on tears. “H-How can you kiss me like that while your eyes are on someone else…?”
“I don’t understand—”
“A-Am I that atrocious to kiss unless you stare at something else or there’s some convenience?”
“I don’t get it, (y/n)-cchi,” he frowns. “Did you expect more out of this or am I missing something?”
“There was no reason to kiss me like that,” you softly wail. “Everyone already knows we’re a thing for… o-over a month now. There’s no reason to kiss me around people anymore when they won’t suspect us anyways…”
“So you don’t want me to kiss you anymore?” Kise’s heart sinks in thinking about where this is going.
“No!—you don’t… you don’t fucking get it! I don’t get it—! Why are we doing this anymore—I just, I see no reason to continue this anymore… you already shooed off your fans, right? Why haven’t you ended this?!”
“(y/n)-cchi—I…” He reaches out for you, but you immediately recoil.
“No—please… no more, I can’t do this anymore!” you sniffle. “I can’t fucking do this… I’m done, I’m tired—please… just look for another person to take my place… I… I’m done—I can’t pretend with you anymore when I always expect more out of it like a love-stricken fool!”
“I…”
“Look—see,” you choke. “I’m just like everyone else who’s in love with you, I’m no different than everyone else R-Ryōta… so that’s why, I-I… can’t do this anymore!”
Kise stands there, staring at you running away from him. It was like everything had gone silent, save for the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.
“You think he’s using (l/n) in some way? What an asshole.”
“Yikes. You’re probably not even that far off the bulls-eye. He’s a really heartless guy, from what I’ve heard.”
He hated rumors, he really did… but for the first time, he feels like he deserves every word thrown at him around the hallways and classrooms. His memory flits to the time when he felt warm from seeing you standing up for him, even if he wasn’t bothered by them before. Now, the warmth is replaced by agonizing regret and guilt wracking through his entire body. His hands feel cold with you gone from his side.
What has he done?
———
He’s grown quiet for the next week.
It’s been a week since you ran from him, and it’s been a week since he last talked to you.
Even his teammates were concerned about his reserved behavior, but just as always, he’s managed to shoot them a convincing smile. Kasamatsu was more persistent about this but eventually dropped it seeing Kise’s refusal to talk about it.
That day when you pushed him away, he couldn’t sleep, his thoughts keeping him awake the entire night. He resolved himself to talk to you the next day… but he changed his mind the last minute… and then he told himself he’d do it the next day… and then he changed his mind again.
He tells himself that it’s because you rightfully hate him, with the way you’d surround yourself with other crowds and groups to prevent him from walking up to you when you were alone. He tells himself that it’s because both you and him needed space to cool off and go back to the way you two were. He refuses to tell himself that it’s because he’s an honest-to-god coward.
He misses you. He misses you damn badly. Why the fuck did he go through such lengths instead of confessing to you straight up? He tells himself that he was being cautious. He tells himself that he doesn’t want his heart to be broken again. He refuses to conclude that it’s because he’s a fucking coward.
“I don’t know what’s been on your mind, idiot,” Kasamatsu says. “But you better solve this yourself quickly if you’re not opening up to me about this. We can’t have your performance quality be dropping even in practice. Hurry up and fix this shit with (l/n)-san already.”
“H-How’d you know?!” Kise raises his head from his desk in astonishment.
“Tch, idiot,” he glowers, chopping Kise’s head with a swift hand. “It’s too obvious from the way you’re moping around… from the way you two stuck together all this time, who wouldn’t notice something happened from the way you’re at your desk watching (l/n)-san like that?”
“O-Ow…” Kise grumbles rubbing his head. Ironically, his captain’s hit cleared up his doubts and he took a deep breath before exhaling. “Got it, senpai.”
“You better.” Kasamatsu goes back to talking to his classmates during break, and even despite not knowing the truth of the relationship, he manages to give solid advice as usual.
Tomorrow. He’ll find you tomorrow.
———
He doesn’t know where else to find you alone other than the place he’s always waited for you before you two used to walk to school together. So he stands there, almost an hour earlier in case you had the idea to walk to school extremely early to avoid him at all costs.
He was right.
Here you are, shuffling your feet as you trudged yourself along the path and looking down at your feet. You even manage to walk past by him without noticing his presence.
Even if you’ve grown to hate him, he’s willed himself to come completely clean about his feelings to you for once. But a part of him is thinking to change his mind again and just let you slip away from his fingers. It’d spare the both of you the inevitable, right?
“R-Ryōta…?”
He was pulled from his thoughts, startled to see you staring at him from a short distance away. Apparently you did notice him after all.
“… (y/n)-cchi…” He swallows his words, knowing full well that his stupid words might blow this up for him again, his words responsible for all the rumors at school, his words responsible for hurting you and will hurt you again.
He wordlessly walks up to you and holds your cheek, and waits. He waits for you to push him away again. He waits for you to say the code word to let him know that you don’t want him near you again. The thought of you running away from him nearly brings him to tears, but he gulps his emotions down and stares at you calmly, with only his upturned brows hinting to his inner turmoil.
“Ryō—”
He swiftly brings his head down and kisses you. In feeling the warmth for the first time in a while, he greedily drinks from your lips, holding your temples more firmly as he searches for more, more, more.
You push him away.
Kise immediately lets go and stares at you like a lost child, unable to mask the devastation from the implications of your actions. But you’re still gripping his uniform tightly, almost as if you didn’t want to let go.
“W-Why…?” you croak, biting your lips to stop any tears from breaking through. “There’s no reason to kiss me. Don’t you know that we’re done? There’s no one to watch us here, no reason for you to walk me to school anymore. You know that, Ryōta. After all, we haven’t talked since a week ago, and you have the audacity to come here and kiss me like everything is okay—”
“… I want to kiss you, because there’s no one around, because there’s no other reason for me to.”
“Why…?” your voice softens to a whisper. “Don’t you hate anyone who likes you in that way? I… I already told you that I see you in that light, like many of your fans do. Don’t you hate me? Don’t you hate me for using this arrangement to get closer to you? Don’t you hate me for expecting something real out of this?”
“I already had an inkling of suspicion that you liked me, (y/n)-cchi,” Kise turns away to look at the bright morning sky. “I just didn’t know if I was wrong or not.”
“Then… why did you ask me to do this whole thing with you…?”
“Because I’m a coward,” he says, looking back to you. You were stunned into silence. For the first time, he finally admits what’s been weighing on his mind for weeks out loud, and his eyes, while drenched in shame, were full of resoluteness. “I liked you, but I was too afraid for the day when you ended up being not like the person I ended up liking. I liked you, but I was afraid of a real relationship that would tie me down. I liked you, but I was afraid of making huge decisions that involved another person into my life. I didn’t want to end the fake relationship because I was too fucking selfish… if I ended it, I’d lose the only connection I had with you… I’m sorry.”
Both of you went silent, bathed in the light of the rising sun. Kise drops to a squat to hide his face from you, and you knew he was trying to stop himself from tearing up. He knows how uncool he looks, but he had no right to cry when you were the one who got hurt the most.
“Ryōta, did you really find it difficult to kiss me…? Just… be honest.”
“Yes,” he looks up from his squat to stare at you with an intense look, even despite his puffy eyes. “Everytime I kissed you, I found it hard to control myself. I thought, what if you were using me to somehow get a kiss from me? or what if I couldn’t stop myself from kissing you and I ended up taking things too far? Looking anywhere but you at least stopped me from getting too invested…”
By now, both of you had turned completely red at his honesty, but he still found you frankly stunning even with your red, puffy eyes. “Look, (y/n)-cchi, don’t you hate me? I used you. The rumors are right—I’m a complete asshole. Just… I won’t blame you if you walk away right now.”
“You do know that I used this opportunity to get closer to you, right?… I wasn’t a saint about this either, so… I’m sorry too.” Both of you go silent again, and you slowly drop yourself to his level in a squat of your own in front of him.
“… C-Can we… can we start over?” you whisper, your warm breath tickling his chilled nose.
“(y/n)-cchi, I don’t think I’m capable of continuing this arrangement…”
“No,” you huff, before you tentatively press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I mean… can we… start over, but this time, as a real couple? I… want this relationship to be substantial. I really do like you, Ryōta.” You murmur against his lips with your hands on top of your knees, waiting for him to rebuke you away with an easygoing comment or a plastered smile.
But he doesn’t do any of that.
“I… guess we can try that,” Kise mumbles, gaze averted as his cheeks flame brighter than his nose and ears.
“Can you kiss me again?” you ask, your voice cracking at the end out of fear he’d turn down your request. Kise flicks his gaze back to you to see you equally red with a hesitant expression.
“Could you… close your eyes?” he asks with a frown.
“H-Huh?”
“Y-You don’t need to see me looking like a mess, I don’t look charming right now.”
“I… guess…” After a few moments of hesitation, you flutter your eyes shut, waiting apprehensively for his lips to descend onto yours again. Kise holds your cheeks and takes the time to admire your features for the first time, and his smile grows wider with every passing second.
‘R-Ryōta…?” Afraid of the fact that he actually may not like kissing you after all, you worriedly open your eyes, only to be greeted by the most brilliant smile from Kise, his figure illuminated by the sunshine hitting the back of his head at the perfect angle.
“(y/n)-cchi,” he teases with a small pout. “Didn’t I tell you to close your eyes?”
Who needs a rose-tinted lens when the sight before you is already so radiant to behold?
389 notes · View notes
syntheticavenger · 3 years
Text
Right + Click + Save - Part 2
Summary | Bucky isn’t interested in his profile so much as he is in the person helping him access his account. A FaceTime leads to a strange text message.
[As of now I am not tagging this as anything but fluff and sarcasm with a little hint of what is to come. It won’t be dark territory but Hydra will make an appearance. This is a bit of a first for me writing so much fluff but it’s pretty fun so far. If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!]
A/N: Bucky x Female Reader. This amazing plot was a request from the lovely @tom-hlover​. I hope I am continuing to do it justice 👉🏾👈🏾.
I cannot for the life of me remember where I got this gif from but I want to give credit so if you know who made it, let me know.
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“You can smile, you know. You know how to do that, right? Lift up those luscious lips upward,” Sam urged, holding up the camera once more. “Give us that Kate Moss energy.”
“Who the hell is that?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowing at the comparison while the camera flash went off.
“Come on man, give me something! You want a profile picture for the ladies that screams I’m available, I’m ready to mingle. You’re giving me stalker vibes.” With a sigh, Sam deleted the image off the camera.
“Maybe this is too much. Do I really need a profile picture? I’ve been doing well without one.”
“Doing well without one? Man, you got like four messages in that inbox and they were all advertisements.”
“How do you know that?”
Bucky had seen Sam over his shoulder when he opened his laptop, still getting used to the notifications that popped up as he tried to navigate this new world of technology.
“Nevermind how I know. You gonna put some effort into it or not?”
Bucky forced a smile, which faded before the camera flashed.
“Damn it, Barnes! Work with me here.”
“I’m trying,” Bucky countered, closing his laptop and trying to look comfortable as Sam snapped another photo.
“How’s that girl you’ve been talking to? From tech support, right? You know that’s only if you need help. Unless you’re trying to make a love connection that way.”
The hesitation did not help Bucky’s case, Sam’s eyebrow lifted so high it looked like it would be there permanently.
“It’s not like that,” he protested, not even believing his own lie. “I locked myself out of the account a day or so again. I really hate these auto generated passwords.”
“You know they’re saved on your phone, right? Between you and Steve, y’all are killing me.”
With a roll of his eyes, Bucky lifted himself from the couch, rolling his shoulders back as he reached for his phone.
“Gotta make a call. You gonna be productive today or just continue roasting me?”
“It’s what I do and yes, I’m gonna be productive. Gonna go head down to the lab to see what Tony’s done to my beloved Redwing if you must know,” Sam replied with a smirk. “Enjoy your phone call.”
You didn’t want to jinx it but you enjoyed the way he always introduced himself when he called, even though you saw his name pop up on the screen. It was the little things - the introduction of who he was, to the small freakouts when someone else was calling and he accidentally hung up on you to the muffled swearing at Sam who would tease him - that made you hate to admit that you maybe, sort of, were developing a crush on this faceless man who was so adorably bad at technology. He’d gotten better, learning how to program your number into his phone and to text.
They weren’t dates - you knew you couldn’t call them that or even describe what it was - but there was a time of day when he would call and just talk. Since you worked from home, you breaks whenever you wanted and you found yourself having a regime, putting aside work to lounge on your couch and listen to him tell you about his day.
Usually after unlocking his account. Today was the fifth attempt in a row to unlock his account.
“You probably think I’m stupid,” he says finally, after a long explanation of his job. Something about extractions and being on a team. “I’d pick a password myself but apparently that’s easier to hack.”
You’ve since given up asking questions and decided he’s an exterminator.
“You’d have to add symbols or random numbers to make it harder for people to hack it,” you suggested, already picturing him making a face.
At least, you would if you knew what he looked like.
This had been going on for weeks now. Your curiosity was getting the better of you and you knew you shouldn’t ask. This poor man had probably believed he had found a friend in you and all you wanted to do was see his face. It was probably the working from home, you decided. It was making you crave human interaction - to see mouths move in real time, noses scrunch at a funny joke, expressions changing within seconds and all the normal human interactions that people had taken for granted before your job had switched to relying on teleconferencing and emails as communication.
“James,” you started, nibbling your lip nervously. “Have you ever FaceTimed?”
“No,” came the reply, bewildered at the question. “What is that?”
Here went nothing.
“It’s a video conferencing app on your phone.”
There was silence on the other end.
“James? Are you there?”
“Video?”
“Yeah,” you continued, cradling the phone against your ear. “You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable. I just... we’ve been talking for a little while and I wanted to put a face to a name.”
You absentmindedly checked your own hair, hoping you didn’t have bedhead from how you had slept earlier.
“You want to see my face? Why?”
You pulled yourself up to sit forward, trying not to laugh at his worried tone.
“It’s normal? You don’t have to. Like I said, I just wanted to put a name to a face but we don’t have to do that. It’s been nice having some human interaction that doesn’t involve emails.”
“Do I get to see what you look like if I do it?” There was silence and then a small laugh. “That came out as weird as it sounded in my head, didn’t it?”
“You can,” you answered, trying to stifle a laugh. He sounded mortified. “Do you want me to FaceTime you?”
There was a low sigh on the other end.
“Sure.”
You pulled the phone away from your ear, selecting the FaceTime button as the phone warbled for a long moment until it was answered.
You were staring at a pair of black boots.
“James?”
“Hang on a second,” he said, the camera flipping to a handsome face.
Intense blue grey eyes looked back at you, a nervous smile upon a pair of pink lips as the phone panned back to reveal the entire face.
So much for thinking it was an old man. He looked to be your age and a sigh of relief went through you. You weren’t going to admit you had a started to get a little crush but the fact that he was cute made it even better.
“Hi James,” you greeted, suddenly feeling shy. “Welcome to FaceTime.”
He laughed, the sound making your heart flutter and you wanted to kick yourself at the sensation. It was a simple FaceTime, no need for dramatics. You wondered if you really had been that starved of human contact that you found everything he did, right down to nervous movement of his hand sweeping through his hair - adorable.
“There you are,” he said quietly, blinking slowly as he looked at you. “I’m terrified of this thing. Am I being recorded?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“Well, that’s good I guess. Do people FaceTime often?”
He looked up at something in front of him as he frowned, mouthing something to someone that you couldn’t see.
“Everything okay?”
His eyes snapped back to your view, a sheepish smile appearing across his face.
“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s good. Just dealing with my nosy roommate.”
“That’s okay.” He made a slicing motion with a single finger as he looked above the camera that made you laugh.
“Sorry. He’s a handful. Where were we?”
“We were just taking about FaceTime. Welcome to the world of video conferencing. Scary stuff in these crazy times.”
As he settled back against this couch, you did the same.
“It is nice to see who has been helping me unlock my accounts and who listens to me ramble on about my day. I know you probably have better things to do than listen to me but it’s nice... having someone listen. I should probably get out more.”
A woeful expression flashed across his face before he cleared his throat.
“What about you? Do you get out much?”
“Ah, no. I’m a bit of a homebody myself. Working from home has made me realize that I like people at a distance.”
His head nodded at your comment, as if in full agreement until he nearly dropped the phone, your view of the ceiling apparent before he swore.
“Sorry,” he apologized, his face back in your view. “So I guess dating is out of the question, right?”
You shook your head at his question. It had been ages since you’d been out on a date, let alone wander the city.
“I don’t know. I haven’t really been on a date in a while.”
“You’re in charge of a dating site,” he countered, his eyebrow raising. “You’d think that’d be easy, especially with how beautiful you are.”
Heat rose to your face at his compliment.
“Haven’t had a lot of offers,” you admitted. “And thank you, that’s very sweet of you.”
“No offers? I mean, I could. Offer, that is.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he looked away from the camera.
“Offer what?” You knew what he was trying to ask but you wanted to hear the words yourself.
“I’d like to take you on a date, if that isn’t too much with you working from home and all.”
You paused the video, slumping back in your seat.
“Where did you go?”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m here,” you replied, turning the camera back on. “Still here.”
“For a minute I thought you hung up on me like I did to you.”
You both shared a laugh before he trailed off, biting his lip for a moment.
“And yes, I’d love to. Go on a date with you, that is.”
Nothing prepared you for the smile you received on the other end.
“Great. Oh shit, my phone is about to die. Can I call you tomorrow and we can talk details?” His eyes were focused on what you believed was the battery icon, his face disappearing from you as he got up and walked away.
“Sure,” you called out, unsure why you were yelling through the phone.
“I’m still here, looking for the charger. Sam! Where is my charger!”
The FaceTime ended quickly and you laughed. Wherever you went on your date, you’d be sure to teach him how to use his phone.
You pulled yourself up to head to the kitchen, your phone vibrating as a text popped up on the screen from an unknown number.
Always watching.
At the sight of it, you figured it was a prank, swiping it out of existence as you busied yourself with opening the cabinets in search of pasta and a jar of sauce.
But even as you lit the burner on the stove, you were compelled to close the blinds.
It was probably nerves. They always got the best of you.
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kiirokero · 3 years
Text
Selcouth (KNJ)
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Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet marvelous. Old English.
Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!
Masterlist
Pairing: CarMechanic!Namjoon x Writer!Reader
Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst, but a happy ending :)
Note: I stg this Aquafina water be hittin’ different nowadays
Summary: Having your car break down? Sucks. Having your car break down in an unfamiliar town after losing basically everything? Yeah, that really sucks. Hopefully, the smartest mechanic in town can get you back on the road quickly.
Word Count: 3.6k
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“W-What do you mean you’re letting me go?”
        “I mean that you’re fired, Y/n, but I wanted to put it in a nicer way,” Your boss explained, releasing a sigh. “B-But why?” You sputtered out, “Mr. Choi, you know I need this writing job... No other position is open the city...” You begged, having the smallest of hope that he would reconsider. “I know Ms. L/n, but the company is going under, even if you stay I can’t pay you,” Mr. Choi groaned, one of his palms resting on his face. 
      You felt like crying. Ever since you were little, you dreamed of being a writer and sharing stories with others. When you got older, that dream changed to wanting people around the world to read what you wrote, so why not write articles for newsletter companies?
      It was difficult. The city you lived in was full of competition for every job you could name. Office workers, technicians, writers. But you had nowhere else to go. You moved away from home for this. Your family sorta cut ties with you shortly after, never really caring for you in a parental way... They were just there. So you needed to succeed. You needed this job. 
And now that was all gone. 
      So you went home, searched up writing jobs in a 50-mile radius, packed your things, got in your car, and started driving. In the next city over there was a new newsletter company getting started and they were looking for writers. It was just the thing you needed. Maybe this was the universe telling you that you needed a change of pace. That you needed a new routine, a second chance to start over and make life your bitch.
     The blur of lush, green trees whooshed past your car windows as you kept your eyes on the coarse road in front of you. The rhythmic hum of the machine you were operating was the only sound you could hear. You had a music playlist, but after an hour and a half, it got more irritating than relaxing. So you sat in silence, mind blank, as you ran on auto-pilot. 
Until your car made an odd sputter. 
     Creasing your eyebrows, you looked at the dials on your dashboard, waiting for any warning light to shine, but none did. You shrugged it off, still feeling slightly uneasy, but trusting your old machine to safely get you to your destination. Besides, there's nothing out here. It has to. 
      Nothing happened for another half-hour. Just the same methodical vroom of your tires on the road and whoosh of your air conditioning vents. You were just thinking about turning on the radio to whatever channel reached out here when... Sputter... Sputter. 
      Twice now, your car sputtered twice now. “God, please don’t do this,” You groaned to yourself, praying to whatever miracle maker was in the sky that your car wouldn’t break down on an obscure road with no big commune around for miles. Sputter... Sputtt... Sputter... It was getting worse now, but being the stubborn person you were, you refused to believe that the car you had since teenage hood was finally giving out on you. 
Sputter... Sputter... Sput... put... pu.. tttt...
      Sighing, you pulled over to the side of the road with what little acceleration you had left on your- now dead- car. You sat there in the driver seat for a second, gathering your scattered thoughts, blinking back your tears of frustration. “I can’t believe this,” You whispered to the quiet air in the car. You hit your steering wheel in anger, immediately regretting it when the sting of the hit hurt your hand in turn. Curse you Newton and your 3rd law.
      Pulling out your phone from your backpack that laid in the passenger seat, you looked up mechanics you could call. Surprisingly, there was a tiny village not too far from here, only 2 miles, that had a mechanic. Bangtan Village. “Huh,” You murmured, “Never heard of it,” 
      You’ve never heard of Bangtan Village before. Then again, you’ve never went traveling around these parts either. You were always confined to the big cities for work, so it wasn’t a mind blowing revelation that there was possibly a village out here.
     Dialing the number listed, the phone rung a few times before the voice of a man answered. “Hello Kim’s Car Repair, how may I help you?” His voice sounded very warm and friendly. The soothing tone called down your panicking heart, and for that you were grateful.
“Hey, um, my car broke down, do you do towing?” You asked, nervously fiddling with your fingers.
“Yes we do! Do you know where you are?”
      You told him what road you were on and approximately how close to town you were and he reassured you that he would get to you soon. So you had no choice but to wait.
      20 minutes later, the rumble of the tow truck caught your attention. A tall man, about 6 foot, stepped out of the truck and gave you a dimpled smile. He had tan skin and gold brunette hair that was dirtied by what looked to be the black residue that comes from working on cars. His brown eyes crinkled endearingly and he was dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans combo. He looked like the type of man who starred in a romance drama.
      “Hello! I assume your the Y/n I spoke to on the phone?” He asked, walking up to stand in front of me. For a man so tall, his height was comforting in a friendly giant way rather than intimidating. “Yeah, that’s me,” You chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m Namjoon,” He said, shaking my hand. “Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” You smiled, thinking that his hands were calloused from the work he did, but they were also a tough sort of soft.
      “Okay, so the plan is to tow your car back to my shop, see what’s up with it, then get you back on the road,” Namjoon explained, smile never slipping off of his face.
“Sounds good, Namjoon,” You smiled back.
      Namjoon hooked up your car to the truck as you sat in the front passenger's seat, watching him do his work smoothly, like a true professional. Once Namjoon was done, he got back in the truck, “Ready?” He asked. “Ready!” You firmly nodded. “Let’s go then” Namjoon grinned.
      The drive was smooth and somewhat quiet. The two of you talked here and there. About where you were going, your profession, his profession. Just very basic small talk. Before you knew it, you were in the quaint tiny village of Bangtan. Everything was spotless. The streets were free of litter, murals were painted on store walls, people were chatting friendly on the sidewalk. It was an enormous difference from the dirty, tagged, unfriendly streets of the city. It was a pleasant sight to see, a soul-cleansing image.
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      Soon, Namjoon had your car in the shop and was inspecting it in no time. Already getting down to the problem while you waited anxiously waited for a verdict. “Well, I have good news and bad news,” Namjoon sighed, wiping off his dirtied hands on a hand towel. “Tell me the bad news first,” You said, grimly expecting the worst. “Okay, so, it’s a problem with your engine that will take at least a week to fix minimum.” He sighed, a sad smile on his face. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “But the good news is! You’re in Bangtan!” He said, giving you jazz hands.
“What do you mean?” You asked, raising your eyebrows.
“Everyone here is friendly, and I know you don’t exactly have a place to go, but I’m sure someone would be willing to house you” He shrugged.
“Namjoon, I don’t have the money to pay a rent.” You sighed.
“Then you can stay here! Free of charge! Consider it a few add on to me fixing your car,” He smiled.
      You felt a little better at that. You would have a place to stay, and it wouldn’t cost you a thing. Thinking about how much money was in your savings account, you felt like angels were singing at Namjoon’s suggestion. “Really?” You asked, eyes lit up in hope. “Of course. I’m not going to kick you out on the street,” He chuckled, giving you that same adorable dimpled smile. “Thank you so much, Namjoon. I’ll make it up to you!” You grinned, bouncing in excitement. “No need, I’m just glad to help.”
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      Namjoon lived on the second floor of his shop. It was a small apartment, an open living room-kitchen plan with amazing natural light. His apartment was full of plants. Flowers, mini trees, elephant leaves. He even had a beautiful bonsai that obviously got a lot of care. “Your place is nice.” You complimented genuinely, smiling at the little things spread around the room. He had a Ryan cushion on his couch, a bookshelf full of classics, and solar powered toys in the window. The ones that bobble back and forth. “Thank you,” Namjoon chuckled, scratching the back of his neck while the two of you took off your shoes. “It’s a bit messy, but it’s home,” He said, leading you through the apartment to his small guest bedroom.
      “Here it is!” Namjoon said, leaning his head against the doorway. “Thank you again, Namjoon. I’ll be sure to be the best temporary roommate ever!” You promised. Namjoon laughed, patting you on the back with his large hand. “Just don’t murder me in my sleep and we’ll be fine,” He said, and you snorted. “Have you seen yourself? You could snap me like a twig,” You chuckled, gesturing to his sculpted arms that he no doubt got from his rigorous line of work. “I’d never,” He smirked, giving you a wink that made your heart flutter and cheeks heat up.
      You nervously chuckled, looking away from him to look around the room a bit, dropping your backpack off on the bed. “I’ll let you get settled, I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Namjoon said, giving you a little wave goodbye as he closed the door, giving you some privacy. Sighing, you flopped on the soft white bed and let out a groan at how good it felt to lie down after driving for so long. You didn’t realize just how tired you were until you drifted off to sleep, letting the sweet shackles of your subconscious lock you in a state of rest.
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      “So you’re telling me, that you had to write an article about animal genitalia? And ducks have corkscrew penises?” Namjoon laughed from under the car he was working on. “Yeah, and let me tell you whatever FBI agent is assigned to watching my internet history has quit by now,” You joked, laughing along with the man who has been your roommate for the past 4 days. “Wow, that sounds... interesting,” Namjoon chuckled, rolling out from under the car and sitting up straight to look at you. “Quite,” You answered back, handing him his hand towel so he could clean off his oily hands. “Hey um, I have a weird question to ask,” Namjoon said, grabbing your attention.
      Quirking your head to the side, you raised your eyebrows, “What’s up? Nothing can be weirder than a duck's dick.” You giggled, earning a smile from the man in front of you. “Would you... like to go out for dinner? There’s this nice restaurant in town that I think you’d like,” You asked nervously, his pitch gradually increasing as he got more anxious. You internally giggled at the fact that he was nervous at asking you to dinner, but smiled at him nonetheless. “That sounds nice. Are we going tonight?” You inquired, leaning on the edge of your seat. “Um, we can... if you’d like too...” He shrugged, fiddling with his grease stained hand towel. “I’d love to,”
      Namjoon’s smiled widened as he stood up to put away his tools. “Great! Um, we can go at 6?” He offered, and you have him a nod. “6 sounds good,” You answered, standing up to go and get ready. “I’ll be waiting.” You smiled, leaving Namjoon swooning as he gave you a look of admiration. “Yeah, yeah I’ll see you soon,” He smiled back, giving you a little wave as you walked out of his shop, running upstairs to pick out the nicest outfit you had from the limited clothes you brought with you that aren’t packed in boxes.
      Soon you picked out a cute skirt and sweater, modeling them in the mirror. Once you were satisfied with the way you looked and didn’t look like you crawled right out of bed, you checked the time. 5:45. You had a bit of time left before you left, so you sat down on the couch for a bit. Once you got out there, you couldn’t help but pick up one of Namjoon’s books that were lying around to help pass the time. 
      The Catcher in the Rye. A classic. Everyone in their senior year of highschool has probably read this book, willingly or not. The sheer amount of angst in this book would seemingly drive reader away, but it does the opposite. “I see you’ve found one of my favorites,” Namjoon chuckled from the doorway, pulling you out of the world in the book. “I have a feeling all the books on those shelves are your favorites” You teased, closing the hard cover and placing the book down on the coffee table. 
      “Maybe, but I’ve been on a Pride and Prejudice kick lately,” He chuckled, looking over to the bookshelves he had in his living room. “Really? For the dramatic love story or the social critiques?” You asked, but Namjoon didn’t answer right away. He just looked deep into your eyes, something that resembled longing swirling in the brown weaves of his irises. “The love story,” He spoke softly, not daring to take his eyes off of you. 
      Namjoon looked at you like you were a star in the sky and he was the moon, longing to hold your light in the palms of his hands and never let go. Like he wanted to take you on his personal nature walks and talk to you about all the different flora he’s identified on the trails. Like he wanted you there, 24/7, while he worked on the cars in his garage. Working was a lot less lonely when you had someone to tell you about the anatomy of animal genitalia for an article they were writing that was totally scientific. But Namjoon knew that tomorrow he would have to deliver the news that your car was in working order again. 
And then you would leave him...
      “Let’s go,” Namjoon whispered, giving you his classic dimpled smile that made your heart swoon every time he flashed one at you. Nodding, you got up from the couch and followed him out the door, taking a walk through the village, waving to a few people that you’ve briefly met, and arriving at the small bistro that was situated on a street corner. 
      The inside of the restaurant smell heavenly and made your already empty stomach growl in anticipation. “Hungry?” Namjoon teased with a smile. “Extremely,” You dramatically sighed back, chucking along with him. “Well then, let’s eat, shall we?” 
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      “Alright, I know you said you get your money’s worth here, Namjoon. But this sandwich is huge,” You stressed, looking at the thick one foot sub that laid ominously on the ceramic plate in front of you. “You can always save it for later,” He suggested, taking a bite into his own, 6-inch, sandwich. He groaned in delight at the taste. “I love food,” He sighed. “Well, you kinda need it to live, Joon,” You chuckled, taking a bite of your own sandwich.
      Namjoon paused mid bite, looking up at you with wide eyes as you eyed the sandwich currently in your hands, trying to figure out how they made sandwiches that tasted like Gods ambrosia. “J-Joon?” He asked, and you looked up to meet his stunned expression. “Oh, sorry, was that not okay? I won’t say it again,” “N-No! I just, I liked it is all,” Namjoon interrupted, stumbling over his words while he examined the sandwich in his hands like you had been doing moments before. 
     You chuckled, “Well Joon, I saw that you ate my mozzarella sticks,” You playfully scolded, giving him an unimpressed face. “What? You left them in the fridge for too long,” He argued back with a smile while you took another bite of your sandwich. “Mmhmm,” You hummed, chuckling to yourself. “I um, have some good news,” Namjoon spoke up after a beat of silence. 
      You raised your eyebrows, signaling him to continue what he was saying. “Your car should be ready to go tomorrow,” He mumbled, and you stopped chewing. Swallowing-more like gulping-you let out a deep breath that you were unconsciously holding. “O-oh? Is that so?” You said, feeling a tad bit disappointed now that you didn’t have an excuse to stay. 
     Namjoon nodded, fiddling with his sandwich. “Yeah, um, I got it fixed up. All good now,” He coughed, feeling unhappy about the thought of you leaving. “That’s good... Thank you Namjoon,” You said back, truly meaning the words, but not having the excitement to put behind them. 
      The two of you continued to eat and chat with this air of uneasiness around you. Neither one of you talking about the possibility of you leaving tomorrow, continuing your journey and forgetting about the adventures you had here. You weren’t quite sure what you wanted to do. On one hand, you had gotten so used to Namjoon and his presence that being without him would be a hard pill to swallow. But on the other hand, you knew that moving to the city where you could get a job was the safer, and more financially wise, option for you. You were stuck between your happiness and your routine normality that you have gotten used to having. 
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      You looked at your now fully packed backpack in contempt. The feeling of dread that you got about leaving Bangtan village only increased as the day went on and you prepared for the journey to the next city over. You didn’t want to go, but could you truly stay? What would you do? What would be your source of income? You didn’t know, and not knowing this made you feel anxious. 
      “Are you ready to go?” Namjoon asked you from the doorway. You looked up at him into his golden amber eyes, not saying anything just yet. You thought about the time you shared with Namjoon. The movie nights, dinners, the time in his shop. All seemingly small and domestic things you never thought about in the moment, but now that you're here getting ready to say goodbye to it all, you weren’t ready to. 
      But you didn’t have a choice. Namjoon wasn’t going to let you live with him forever and you didn’t know if anybody in the town needed a writer for anything, so you had to toughen up and say goodbye with tears stinging in your eyes. “Y-yeah, I guess so,” You mumbled. Namjoon nodded, walking you down to the street where your car was running and waiting. 
      You stood there next to Namjoon for a couple moments. Basking in the comfort of his presence as you took a deep breath and let it out with a weak sigh. “I guess this is goodbye,” You whispered, kicking stones that laid on the sidewalk. “I guess it is,” Namjoon replied, pretending to care about the dirt that forever laid in his nail beds.
      Gathering up all the scattered courage you had, you took a couple steps to your car. You were about ready to opening the driver’s side door when Namjoon called out to you. “Y/n! Wait!” He yelled, as he ran down to your side, putting his hand over yours to stop you from opening the door. “I- Y-yes?” You asked, looking at his fiery, determined eyes. “Stay with me,” He begged quietly.
“What?” You gasped. 
“Stay with me Y/n, here, in the village,” 
“Namjoon, you know I can’t-”
      “Why not? If you’re worried about finding a place to stay, we could live together. I’ll get better at cooking, I promise,” Namjoon wavered, taking your hand fully in his. “Please Y/n, I know we may not know each other that well and you had a plan to move into the city and restart your life but... Can you restart it here? With me?” He begged, confident demeanor slowly slipping away. You were stunned into silence, unable to look away from the man beside you as he gave your hand a squeeze.
      “We can continue to have those movie-nights together. The ones where we watch bad horror films that you still get scared at and hide into my arms to get away from the jumpscares,” He said as the two of you chuckled in harmony. “You can teach me how to cook those amazing dishes of yours... We could even get a puppy in the future...” He whispered to you, gradually getting closer. “Please Y/n. Give me a chance to be your second chance. I promise to take care of you,”
“What about a job?” You asked,
      “There’s this newspaper that the town has, or my friend Jimin knows a publisher that you can reach out to. Maybe you can follow your old dream of becoming an author,” He encouraged as he spoke softly to you. “I know this is sudden, and we don’t know each other all that well, but we can get to know each other,” He finished, eagerly awaiting your answer. 
You didn’t have to think twice before nodding your head, wrapping Namjoon in a hug. “You can be my second chance,” 
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Text
crayons & caresses
summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.
word count: 12k+
warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)
a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.
(photo: originally from @davidgayhan​ i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)
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september, 1981.
you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest. 
his name is beau deacon.
beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.
you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.
it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.
“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles. 
“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”
you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.
“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.
blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”
you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”
to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”
“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.
“you didn’t speak with his father?”
“no. was i have supposed to?”
“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”
“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.” 
beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.
“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.
he shakes his head.
“none with your father?”
another shake of the head.
“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”
to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack. 
but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.
you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.
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a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.
“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”
the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.
“hello?”
you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”
“deacon? like john deacon?”
“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”
there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”
you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.
“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.
“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”
“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”
you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”
“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”
you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.
“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”
“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”
rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”
“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”
“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”
“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”
“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”
you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself. 
in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.
but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.
“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”
clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”
“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.
“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.
“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“i’ll be sure to.”
after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.
this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.
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if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.
still...
when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window. 
it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.
come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air. 
you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.
nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.
“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”
you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze. 
it’s beau deacon.
his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.
you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”
he shrugs. “dunno.”
“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”
beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.
no one answers.
lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.
you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay. 
just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.
you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.
betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”
“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”
beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.
once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.
if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.
adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.
“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”
beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.
he’s confident when he’s helping.
you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.
you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.
“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.
beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take. 
crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.
maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—
“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.
your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.
he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.
“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely. 
“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”
your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.
“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”
“oh, i don’t—”
he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.
you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:
“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”
you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?” 
freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”
“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”
“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”
you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.
freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”
unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.
your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.
freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”
“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.
“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”
from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.
half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.
by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.
john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line. 
you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.
you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.
“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”
your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.
for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”
you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”
“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”
“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...
“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?
“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”
the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”
you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”
“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot. 
“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”
john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”
“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”
there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.
“what do you say, [y/n]?”
“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”
“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”
you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”
prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.
“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”
your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.
with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”
as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.
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he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.
“hello?”
“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”
“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”
he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”
you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”
john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”
“i know. beau was excited this morning.”
with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”
“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”
“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”
“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”
you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”
“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”
“yes.”
“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”
you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”
“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”
“i’m happy to do it, john.”
“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”
“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.
“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”
“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”
“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”
he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.
all the sooner to get back to you.
the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests. 
surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.
but, by god, you were listening. 
you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.
all the sooner to get back to you.
perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.
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driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.
it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.
one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.
“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.
“what?”
“there’s nothing in the fridge.”
“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”
“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”
“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”
once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.
the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.
“mama, mama, stop!” 
he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.
you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.
“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.
eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.
so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.
john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”
freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”
“you’d better,” john mutters.
“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.
john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”
you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”
you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.
mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.
“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity. 
how can you say no?
once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.
“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.
standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.” 
he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”
the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”
roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”
glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”
brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”
“oh yes, of course.”
“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”
“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest. 
freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”
as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.
beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.
“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”
his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”
you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”
he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.
he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”
at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”
roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”
freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”
john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.
the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.
“your friends are nice,” you say.
he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”
“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest. 
his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”
you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”
“yes, and you’re a good teacher.” 
is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
“a good teacher and a good person.”
if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo. 
his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips. 
but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.
he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.
“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.” 
loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.
you grin. “well.”
he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”
unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”
he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.
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he doesn’t call you. 
when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together. 
if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.
you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.
it has to or you’ll go crazy.
it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.
your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.
you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.
with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.
the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.
“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”
you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”
“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”
“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”
“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”
“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”
“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”
“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”
“fucking hurry!”
you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau. 
the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.
“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”
before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.
“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”
you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”
beau only groans in response.
“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”
there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”
“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”
there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”
“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”
“but... what if i die like her too?”
“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”
he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.
beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.
“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead. 
“my tummy.”
“what’s your tummy feel like?”
beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”
“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”
“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”
“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”
he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”
stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.
“well?”
“did you get ahold of john?”
“no, the fucker.”
“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”
fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”
you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”
“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”
you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”
“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”
several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.
no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.
freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.
“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt. 
“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”
the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”
dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.
“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”
“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.
“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.
“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”
though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”
the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.
“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.
there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back. 
beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.
“what are you waiting for? go!”
you don’t need to be told twice.
it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him. 
“go! i’ll park the car.”
by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.
“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime. 
you shrug. “forgot shoes.”
the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.
still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.
you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.
“he’s going to be okay, john.”
on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.
you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.
but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.
you look up, meet his eyes.
“i didn’t call you,” he says.
“no, you didn’t.”
he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”
at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”
“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.
“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”
“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes. 
you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.
“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”
the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”
on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”
“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”
you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”
he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”
your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.
“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”
“john...”
his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”
the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.
“you want to know something?” you ask.
“what?”
“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”
“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”
“me too. we can be rusty together.”
he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”
“i can carry it.”
he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.
“mr. deacon?”
john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.
“beau’s ready to see you now.”
john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”
your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.
yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.
201 notes · View notes
babiemingoo · 4 years
Text
lollipop boy || jeon wonwoo
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summary: greaser!wonwoo is only kind of your friend when he comes up with a stupid (but brilliant) plan to piss off your ex boyfriend and test just what person you claim to have become
genre: greaser!wonwoo, suggestive? || wc: 2.6k
a/n: this is actually a snippet of my next series I have planned, so I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
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This was awkward.
As you sat there, thumbs twiddling mindlessly in an attempt of a distraction from the tension, you couldn’t escape how awkward of a situation you were in. When your friend Sien had texted that she was running late but someone should already be there waiting, you had hoped with every cell of your being that the someone wasn’t Wonwoo. But when you opened the front door of the diner nestled in the middle of your hometown, the only member of your newfound “friend group” that had arrived on time was, of course, Wonwoo. 
The diner was classic, with a neon sign hanging above the milkshake bar and a worn down jukebox near the corner window looking like it had survived every teenager in your town since the 1940s. The color scheme of red, white and gray made the boy wrapped in a shiny black leather jacket look even more so out of place than he already was. He never seemed to care, though, always sat in the exact same spot on a Wednesday afternoon, flipping through his auto vehicle magazine with a lollipop between his lips while his friends bustled about excitedly. Except, his friends were late, and now it was just the two of you together despite the fact that you had spoken more less 20 words to him since you met.
If silently sitting across the said boy wasn’t awkward enough, the diner was pretty dead for a Wednesday when most people your age tended to trickle in - except for, with your luck, your ex boyfriend. Him and your old friend group were huddled about in the opposite end of the diner, next to the jukebox that you knew they liked to hang around to play their favorite 70s songs while they loitered. None of them seemed to have noticed your arrival apart from the boy that you used to spend every Wednesday holding hands with. Now you two side glance at each other, looking away in the split millisecond when your eyes meet and pretend like it didn’t happen. You repeat the action probably five times before a deep voice pulls you out of the routine, “So much for hating his guts, huh?”
Wonwoo’s still skimming his eyes through the words printed next to a picture of a motorcycle in the magazine, but you know he was the one that had just spoken to you. “What are you talking about?” You question him, feigning ignorance. His deep chuckle cuts through the air as you observe the candy he has wrapped in his fingers, just an inch away from his mouth so he’s able to voice out his thoughts. One thing you had noticed about Wonwoo was that he always had a lollipop with him. Sometimes it was green, or purple, or even blue; but today it was his classic red shade. His usual soda was always red, all the candy he bought at the liquor store was red, and the chapstick that he would pull out every now and then was that of the same color and flavor; the one you have realized to be his favorite. Cherry.
“You tell everyone how much you hate him for what he did to you, but you keep making love eyes at him,” The boy across from you states in a tone that you’re sure is dripping with arrogance. “Not surprised though. I told Sien that you would run back to rich boy the first chance you got.”
You scoff at the audacity he had. The two of you may have been in the same friend group, and you’ve come to have a soft spot for a few of them - like Sien and Jun - but Wonwoo speaks as if he has a right to judge you or any of your past. Wonwoo was the only one out of the group of greasers that you felt hadn’t really taken to you and you’re certain it’s because of your old friends and boyfriend that he hated so much. Every part of you itched to prove him wrong about every assumption he had made about your life. “I’m not going to run back to him!” You say to him with determination, in a low voice. 
For the first time since you’ve met him, Wonwoo closes the magazine. He quickly folds the corner of the page he was on to not lose his spot, shuts it, and pulls the lollipop out of his mouth again before saying, “Everytime we meet up at a spot and he’s around, you both make puppy eyes at each other like you’ll run into each other’s arms in a flower field and sing love songs. Even I can’t ignore it and I make it a point to half ignore everyone. Just admit you want to make your boy toy miss you, get your job done and go back to your perfect little life. Don’t drag my friends into this.” The way his voice comes out is laced with venom and you feel it. You always had a hunch that Wonwoo held dislike for you rather than indifference, but this is the first you’re hearing of his theory that you’re just using your new friend group to prove something to your ex. 
“I’m sorry if the guy I was with for three years and had to break up with a few weeks ago still holds a little part of my heart,” You retort with sass. “But I’m not going to go back to him. What he did was so completely fucked up and even if I’ve been with him for that long I have more self worth, I know that I deserve more-”
Ding.
It was a bad habit of yours to leave your ringer on. A habit that had got you written up in class more times than you can count, one that got you caught during friend gatherings when you and Seungkwan were trying to sneakily talk behind the other boys’ backs. And now, it was a habit that had you caught up with Wonwoo. The brightness of your phone screen was almost mocking in the way that it illuminated the notification you had just gotten from your ex boyfriend standing across the room, letters sewed together in a text that said, ‘hey can we talk?’
You catch the text message in the corner of your eye and Wonwoo does, too. He laughs; a deep chuckle of satisfaction that matches his tone when he says, “Preppy boy is calling. Shouldn’t you go kiss and make up?”
It’s silent for a beat. Wonwoo is infuriating in the way that he’s never gone easy on you, even the first day you had met, Sien bringing you to their table with tears streaming down your face and his first sentence to you had been a tease. He’s infuriating in the way now that he’s fully expecting you to turn around and head in your ex’s direction to talk. He’s infuriating in the way that you consider actually doing it.
“Well?” He questions, head nodding towards the man who used to occupy all your time and all your thoughts. Instinctively you turn around and make eye contact with him for the sixth time that day and his eyes are pleading, waiting. Waiting. Just like you had been sitting, waiting for him all those days and weeks while he had been running around, betraying you, lying to you- 
“Aren’t you going to go talk to your lover boy?”
“No.”
The answer leaves your lips before he can even finish his question. Truthfully you were hoping Wonwoo would look impressed, or a little surprised in the least. He doesn’t. All he offers you is a smug grin as his tongue peaks out of lips, lapping at the red lollipop a few times before he speaks, “Bullshit.”
You want to counter his cockiness but he beats you to it, adding, “Don’t string it on, sweetheart. The others will get here and then you’ll have to explain just how weak you are for your ex in front of all of them. I won’t say anything to them; you can do that yourself later. Just go back to your preppies where you’d rather be.”
Sweetheart? Weak? Where you’d rather be? Gosh, the nerve Wonwoo always had with you. You roll your eyes before crossing your arms at him, vision narrowing, “I’m not going to talk to him. I don’t want to talk to him. He fucked me over and now we’re done.”
“Really?” He questions with his eyebrows raised, but you know he’s mocking you. The boy wants to test you because he still thinks he knows you and that all his assumptions of you are right.
You want to prove him wrong. “Yup! I hate him and I don’t want anything to do with him. If I could make him see that him and I are completely done, I would.” The tone of your voice made every word come out with conviction. You wanted to make it a point that you think - no - you knew that you were done with your ex. Whatever the two of you had was completely finished after how he had mistreated you and your heart, and you needed to show that to Wonwoo. You need to show that to yourself. You wanted to prove him and everyone else who doubted you, wrong.
Ding.
Another notification. Another text message. Another attempt of your ex trying to crawl back into your life, your heart, the letters on your phone screen now fitting together to create your name in question. From the corner of your eye you can see his gaze; no longer pleading but begging. He wants to talk. The deepest, darkest depths of your heart will you to get up and listen. Your brain says to stay put. Another chuckle from Wonwoo.
“You sure you’re done with him?”
With gritted teeth, you harshly grab your phone and flip it upside down so the screen can’t mock you anymore. “I’m sure.”
Wonwoo finally looks just the slightest impressed by your reaction. But not convinced - not at all. Strangely, he gets up, says nothing as he walks around the table and sits next to you before facing you with a glint in his eye. His lollipop is wrapped around his mouth until he pulls it out again to say, “Prove it.”
This day is a bunch of firsts. The first time you’ve had a conversation with Wonwoo (albeit a negative one, but still), the first time you’ve gotten heated since you found out what your ex had done, and the first time you’ve ever seen Wonwoo so up close. Your eyes follow the creases of his lips, across his laugh lines which are - surprisingly - fairly prominent, past his nose and cheekbones and to his eyes, small but fierce and shaped in a way that has you wondering if you would’ve enjoyed looking at them under different circumstances. You try not to get yourself too caught up in the intricacies of his features and distract yourself by countering, “Prove what?”
“Put your money where your mouth is. You said that if you were able to make him see that you two were done, you’d do it. You said you don’t want to go back to him, then prove it.” The leather of his jacket squeaks a little when he shrugs.
“Wha- How am I supposed to-”
“Kiss me,” His tone is so casual in the way he says it, like every other word that he’s ever targeted at you hasn’t been spoken with condescending undertones and haughty implications. You want to keep your sassy facade but you begin to gape at him like a fish out of water, gasping for some sort of clarity on the situation. There is no way he could be seriously asking this of you when the two of you had barely established a frenemies relationship. In fact, it was more of the enemies than it is friends.
He smirks at the way you’re caught off guard (because he’s a little shit) and repeats himself while scooting closer, “You don’t have to, but as a guy I’ll tell you - if I saw the girl who used to be my everything kissing another guy after I had texted her asking to talk to her? I think I’d get the hint.”
You can’t help the way the cogs in your head turn together to make sense of what he says, even if it’s a bit out of left field. Technically, you did say that you would show your ex he no longer had a chance with you, if you were able to do so. You wonder if doing such a thing like kissing Wonwoo would give the boy across the room a big old fuck you like he deserved. Your gaze travels to the said boy, who’s eyes have changed to hold something of confusion and wonder. Was he confused at why Wonwoo had come to sit next to you? In an attempt to support or debunk your hypothesis, you scoot closer to Wonwoo, your hand finding it’s way against his jean clad knee where the frayed rips let you two meet skin to skin. 
The emotions behind your ex’s eyes shift. They’re shocked now; angry. Hurt. Those were the same feelings you felt all those weeks ago when the world came crashing down at your shoulders and your relationship went with it.
You take your attention and put it back on Wonwoo, who’s breath you can feel against your face with how impossibly close you two have gotten. He’s smirking again. Similar to moments ago when your eyes scanned over his face, his gaze begins to do the same to you; memorizing the dip of your cupid’s bow and the tip of your nose. 
The boy lets out a breath when his eyes find their way up, meeting yours. Hand on your waist. Head tilting, “Kiss me,” He repeats.
You lean forward. Your lips touch. He might have just meant a peck, just to get your ex riled up. But the way your lips fit together implied so, so much more than a peck. They move together, slotting against each other in a way that would’ve convinced anyone in the room that you two have been captivated by each other with adoration and nothing but. The thought of how mad your ex probably is begins to get buried in the back of your mind when you start to focus on him, Wonwoo, and the way that he feels. The way his right hand pulls you just the slightest bit closer even if there’s no more room. The way his left hand reaches behind your neck to cradle you in place like he wants the two of you to keep kissing for hours.
All thoughts of everything else that had been going on in your life begins to dissipate in your head as you get caught up in him. In this moment you only think one thing: Wonwoo. Wonwoo Wonwoo Wonwoo. Wonwoo in his leather jacket, Wonwoo on his motorcycle, Wonwoo holding his magazine, Wonwoo looking at you, Wonwoo holding you- It’s funny, because earlier today you were dreading Wonwoo. Now it seems like your subconscious craves him, head leaning forward as if he was going anywhere. You want to remember this; even if the future version of yourself is going to pretend like you didn’t enjoy it. So your tunnel vision goes completely there to his lips, his kiss. You make sure to note the way he tastes just so you can brand him and this kiss with it for the rest of your life. You’ll make sure to associate this taste with him forever so that every time you have another lick of it you’re reminded of this day that Jeon Wonwoo stole your breath straight out of your mouth. You memorize what your taste buds feel when you kiss him. Cherry.
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2018shawn · 4 years
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quarantine and chill
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warnings: I haven’t written in a while so this may be sucky but have fun kids. not proof read : ----) nsfw/sexy times
“I already rearranged your wardrobe three times because for the first time in my life, I couldn’t watch another episode of Friends!” She exhaled, slumping herself down onto the second wheeled chair, her weight shifting the leather seated pew a few inches away from her other half who sat opposite, legs opened wide, still engaged deep in his work.
“You did?” He smirked somewhat, finally diverting his eyes away from the pages in front of him and swivelling his chair to situate himself completely parallel to her crossed armed, sulking figure.
“Yeah… I mean, first I did it in sleeve length, because you might want to dress weather appropriate. Then I didn’t like that, so I changed it to style of item, so all your tee shirts, then all your shirts, then all your sweaters etc etc…” She was rambling, but it made him smile. His heart was warm with the little gestures she’d always put into their relationship and she didn’t even know she was doing it. He also loved how her hands would wave around expressively every time she would babble on about things that weren’t particularly of any importance, just like she was doing now. He stretched out his arm and wrapped his fingers around the pad of the seat where her legs weren’t covering as she’d somehow pulled them up, holding them close to her chest. With one swift tug, the chair glided along the studio floor, only stopping when it came into contact with his own chair, disallowing for her to be any closer. “But then I eventually decided on colour order, which isn’t of any practicality whatsoever, but… it looks pretty” She shrugged, outstretching her legs to rest over his thick thighs which were unfortunately covered by his I’m in isolation sweat shorts.
His hands synchronously, starting at her ankles, traced her soft legs, leaving a trail of goose pimples behind from his delicate touch. He’d always wondered how someone could get their skin to be this level of soft 24/7, but she always insisted that it was just down to the vanilla pumpkin body butter she used all year round, despite the fact it was a seasonal fragrance. “I’m just… BORED” She groaned, not allowing his hands to get any higher than the bottom of her own gym shorts, because that was just too much of a dangerous territory for his hands to be in without her feeling like melted butter. He happily allowed their hands to entwine, more than approving of any bodily contact with her. Her legs were still strewn over his, their bodies looking like a complicated position of figures, but to them, it was the most comfortable thing in the world.
Her bum was barely resting on her own seat, and was more supported by the way her legs slotted through the arm rest of his chair mixed with the strength of his arms, feeling the need to try pull her as close as possible. “I’ll finish up here, bub. I’m sorry” He apologetically smiled, but he knew full well how much she understood his need to keep in contact and communicate with his team. He followed his statement by tugging gently, but strongly enough to shift her weight, allowing her body to completely disconnect with the office chair she was sat on. He pulled her close enough so that their chests were almost touching, and for once, she was towering over him due to the sitting position they’d found themselves in. She attempted to look down at his chiseled features, wanting nothing more than to stay this close to him forever, but her wild hair fell in front of her eyes, restricting her view. She blew on it several times, in an attempt to move the auburn, bouncy waves but failing miserably.
Laughing up at her, he untangled his fingers that were still being held captive in hers, and brought his hands up to push her wild lion-like mane behind her ears. “Hi...” he almost whispered, more than happy to see her stunning features smiling back at him.
Just as she was about to reply, he cut her short, to her surprise, his lips landing on hers with the softest yet eager passion, almost as if his life depended on the kiss. She moaned quietly into his lips in return, which made his dick twitch with lust beneath her as she unknowingly turned him on, just like most days. He wanted her more and more each second that past. And that feeling was more than mutual. 
Their lips were wet, making up for the time he’d been working in his home studio and she’d be pottering around upstairs in an attempt to put a stop to her boredom. His hands tangled in her now extra messy hair, whilst hers balled up the fabric of his shirt in her hands. She was the first to pull away, finishing the romancing with a nose boop. He’d never understood how someone could be incredibly, painfully sexy at the same time as being adorably sweet. “Shawn... I'm...” Kiss. “So...” Kiss. “Bored.” She finished with a smile, wriggling her legs in an attempt to try and get out of the locked position but failing immensely. 
Ironically, the force of her pushing down in an attempt to try and get herself up was not helping the situation happening in his gym shorts and he wasn’t sure if she knew. She of course, did know, and was an expert at playing him to his weaknesses, knowing absolutely full well he loved nothing more than for her to be on top of him. 
“Let’s go on a date.” He blurted quietly, face still as close as could be. She screwed up her face which way by far her normal reaction to a suggestion such as this. “Erm, Shawn... I don’t know if you’ve spent that much time down here you’ve forgotten there’s a worldwide PANDEMIC...” she theatrically began, “meaning you, nor I, are in any position to leave that god damn front door... unless it’s time for our daily 60 minute walk outside” She rested herself on the studio desk, careful not to lean back a touch too much and start pressing a bunch of buttons she had absolutely no idea how to work. The one time he left her in charge to press one single button, she ended up deleting the backing track and setting his microphone to auto tune. Still to this day has he never even figured out himself how to do that. 
“Doesn’t mean I can’t wine and dine you” He smirked, mirroring her movements by placing a hand either side of her, the muscles in his arms bulging as he gripped onto the wooden surface so he didn’t fall for her more than he already had. She never showed any signs of feeling it, but she was hot. And bothered. And everything in between. 
“Oh...” she quietened, cheeks blushing slightly crimson after her dramatic reminder that they were in fact in quarantine. 
“So, if it’s possible, go make yourself look even prettier than you do now and meet me in the kitchen at 7pm” he smiled, fingers finding their way back to her soft hair, and not for the first time this evening if he had anything to do with it. 
She pressed a hand to his chest, and tried to make it look like it didn’t take all of her effort to move his firm body. They both knew it did, and he was smug. She walked away with just a touch extra of a hip sway, not needing eyes in the back of her head to know he was staring like a 13 year old boy. “It’s an... isolation date” she smiled, turning round to look at him again, her figure leaning into the doorframe, fingers tapping on the sound proofed walls. The walls that had heard their screams so many times before. The walls he wished she wasn’t walking out of right now. 
--
She was humming along to some summer walker song she barely knew the name of, applying her favourite shade of Milani lipstick to accentuate her favourite facial feature - her lips. It was a loud hammering on the bedroom door that snapped her out of her concentration, only then just realising how loud her music was playing. The banging repeated when she didn’t respond. To say she was confused would be an understatement; the only person would it would be is Shawn, so why in the heck wouldn’t he just walk into his own bedroom like he normally does without a care in the world? The third attempt of a knock was what interrupted her make up routine in order to swipe down on her phone screen to quieten the music, although she couldn't help but laugh at the same time before she walked over to the door. “Shawn, this is your room you...” She flung the door open and became instantly speechless. 
It wasn’t Shawn. It was a greek God with muscles almost bursting out of his black, crisp shirt. A jawline that could cut a bitch. Curls that could make her go dizzy. With another harsh blink and fresh breath, it was only then she realised it was Shawn. “...dumb-ass.” She finally finished her previous sentence, unknowing whether she’d been staring at him for 5 seconds of 5 minutes. 
“That’s not a very nice way to address your date...” He began, pulling his arm from around his back and stretching out towards her, his hand holding a single pink rose, “dumb-ass.” How he’d managed to pull a ‘date night’ outfit out of the bag without having access to his room baffled her, but it didn’t take too much of her thought, it simply just left her stumped for words - which is something she wasn't often. “You look incredible” He continued, aware of the silence from her, but instead of pointing out and making a deal about it, he prompted her.
“So do you” She smiled, reaching and taking the rose in one hand, filling the void with her own fingers. He welcomed her gesture, but instead of pulling her in like he normally would, he simple raised her hand and placed a sweet, gentle kiss on the back of her hand which only made her giddy with butterflies. 
“Care to join me downstairs?” He smiled, not letting go of her hand and holding it as if he had no other choice. She nodded, feeling nothing but warmth and first date nerves - although it was far from their first date. They chatted on their way down the stairs, Shawn one step below her at all times, making sure he was her weight - he knew high heels were not her strong point. They were most definitely his weakest when it came to seeing them on her. 
Some dumb joke he told her on the way into the kitchen made her belly chuckle, almost that much she didn’t see that vast amount of candles and decoration surrounding the dining table that sat adjacent to the open planned kitchen. The white, marble table was covered in tea lights, illuminating the room bar the under cupboard lights shining from the kitchen. A small gift bag was sat in what would be her normal seat. The seat where she'd eaten many a breakfast, cried and laughed uncountable times and on the odd occasion, ridden Shawn until they both physically couldn’t move. “What... I... How?” 
He turned around to face her once he’d realised she’d stopped walking and began walking backwards, watching her speechless features taking in every little detail. “If we can’t go for date night, I'll bring date night to you” he shrugged, eventually reaching her chair and pulling it out for her before ushering to have a seat. 
The next few moments were spent opening the bottle of wine, which she was grateful for, and both of them getting back to as normal as can be. “Thank you” She interrupted his story on how he’d tried to do something fancy with some asparagus but of course it failed miserably. 
“What for?” He laughed, placing the white wine back into the wine colour and lifting her glass towards her, prompting her to do that same. She obliged happily, and the room was filled with the sound of a clink. 
“This, it’s beautiful” 
“Beautiful setting for a beautiful lady” He took a large sip of his wine, as if he needed the liquid courage, to which unbeknown to her, he did. He laughed nervously, and she instantly knew he was up to something, because the Shawn she knew only shuffled around on his feet and lingered for 2 seconds too long when he was waiting for something to happen. “God, I was going to wait until after dinner but, can I ask you something?”
Bingo. 
“Anything” She smiled, using her heeled foot to push out his chair for him, realising that if he didn’t sit down soon he’d probably end up on the floor. He couldn’t cope with it; the sexiness, mixed with the politeness, mixed with the bare leg that he so desperately wanted wrapped around his neck. He snapped himself away from that thought, picking up the small bag he’d place on her place mat, fiddling with the tiny bow that was on the string. “So, it’s occurred to me, these past few weeks have been awful for many people and I wish nothing but the best for everyone...” He felt himself beginning to babble so took another sip of his drink. “But for me, it’s been an eye opener.”
She stared at his lips when he talking, “oh?” she asked, her heart beating ten to the dozen. 
“I’ve enjoyed every single second of you being here. Even when you leave your socks all over the bedroom floor, or use a different glass every time you have a drink of water or... you’re just annoying actually” He laughed, resulting a light slap on the arm from her. “But seriously, I can’t imagine you not being here anymore and I'm so happy this whole thing hit when it did and not when I was halfway across the world and couldn’t travel to you.” His hands were clammy, his head was fuzzy and his mouth was dry - even with his third large gulp of wine. To most people it would be no big deal, but to him, the question meant everything. It meant he may have to deal with the rejection he’s had to deal with many times before, it meant he would have someone to wake up too in the night when his anxiety was unsettling him, it meant he’d finally found someone he knew understood him. “I don’t want you to go...”
“Go? I’m not going anywhere. We haven’t eaten yet and I'm hung...”
“Move in with me?”
--
“So, maybe now you’ll have to rearrange the wardrobes again and make some room for yourself?” he cooed, with a hint of smugness in his voice. Not that he was smug 2 hours ago when he was shaking like a leaf over asking her to move in. She was finishing putting the pots away, even though he insisted not to do it, she insisted she’d like to wake up tomorrow and not have to think about doing it. He helped... by pouring more wine. 
“Hmmm... I'm not too sure you know” She giggled, throwing the cloth down onto the counter and turning around, her high heels clicking against the floor as she did so. She was feeling happy, tipsy, grateful, everything she always felt when she was in his presence. 
“Reckon I could help you be sure about that” She knew he was feeling the influence of the wine because he has a constant smirk on his face now. Not that she minded; he looked sexy. He used his foot to push himself off the bar stool that he was half sitting on, half standing against. 
“Oh yeah?” She asked, raising her eyebrows as she watched his tall, thick figure walk towards her until he was eventually overpowering her much shorter frame. He placed an arm either side of her, officially blocking her in. 
He was close enough that she could feel his every breath, even more so when his head dipped down and his lips lingered just millimetres away from her own. He hovered there for a second, until he physically couldn't resist finally tasting her. She was more than accommodating to him, falling straight into his trap like putty, just like always. Her hands unwrapped from around her own body and snaked around his, palms smoothing over his soft shirt. She smiled against the kiss as her fingers fiddled with the belt loops on the back of his trousers, which only made him itch closer. He kept one hand on the kitchen counter, whilst the other glided up her body until it reached around the back of her neck, grabbing a handful of her of her perfectly curled hair. With one sudden tug, her head is forced backwards, leaving a welcoming amount of skin accentuated. Her eyes remained closed, taking in every sense other than sight. 
She could smell his deep cologne; a mixture of juicy and spicy with an innocent hint of vanilla that oozed sexuality. Hers? Hers has base notes of patchouli, mixed with a hint of jasmine and was one of the only scents he loved more than that damn vanilla pumpkin body butter. She could hear and feel his lips, effortlessly at work, sucking lightly at the skin around her collar bone as if he was tracing the positioning of her perfume. The sound of his lips smacking her skin was enough to make her weak at the knees and she was eternally grateful that he was somewhat supporting her body. But most of all, she could feel his love. His passion. The energy overpowered the room and she wanted to be held captive in it forever.
His soft but husky groan snapped her out of her dreamy state just in time to hear him speak quietly. “Turn around”, he instructed, moving both hands to her hips to guide her 180 degrees. She obeyed him without question, submissive to his every demand. One hand remained on her hip, the other pressing on her shoulder blade, that was only a fraction covered by the spaghetti strap of her dress, in an eagerness to get her bent over the counter. He made sure to push up against her ass, the hardness that was growing in his trousers pushing into her. If she wasn’t wet for him before, she definitely was now. 
The ruched fabric of her dress fell perfectly over her peachy ass and if he wasn’t so ready to fuck her senseless he'd take a step back and stare at her all night long. Her dress had risen up as she leaned over the counter, giving a peak of some lacy underwear he’d picked out and bought for her on a previous occasion. His hand reached around the front of her legs, firmly resting on the front of her thigh, his thumb tracing patterns on the inner part. He could hear her breathe getting deeper and needier. So he gave her exactly what she wanted and shifted his hand further up, bring the material of her dress with it until it ended up just below her stomach. 
His other hand kneaded at her ass in-between gripping her hip for support. His busy hand toyed with the top hem of those lace panties that he loved ever so dearly. “Shawn...” She exhaled, pressing her head to the marble countertop in frustration. The ass-hand left her hip, reaching up and grabbing a section of her hair just like it had done earlier on in the evening. A gentle tug gave her no choice but to follow the direction of his strength and turn her neck to face his still-smirking features. 
“Patience, baby” He cooed, knees bending slightly for his hand on her thigh to be able to reach exactly where he wanted. Before she knew it, his fingers were no longer toying with the hem of her panties, but filling them instead. Moving down to her sweet, desperate folds was all she needed to let out a loud groan that echoed throughout the kitchen. She was wet, needy for the touch of his skin on hers. Two fingers stroked the entrance of her, whilst his thumb only just toying with her clit, instaltaniously making her twitch in tune with her groaning. He was toying with her and she knew it, but she couldn’t help but whine and plead for more. He gave her more of what she wanted, rubbing harder on her clit and pushing the tips of his fingers into her folds, rubbing at her juices. 
He swiftly removed his hand, wanted to feel more; taste more. Before she knew, he’d tugged her around to face him again and she loved the way he had the strength to move her body without her having to think about a single thing. His hands on her hips, grasped tight and she knew what he wanted and of course, went along, jumping onto the kitchen counter, automatically wrapping her legs around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer. “Are we really gonna do this in your kitchen?” She giggle, innocently, making his cock twitch. 
“Our kitchen, my love...”
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queendom || hope mikaelson - chapter eight
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Summary: In which a tribrid falls in love with a human girl
Word Count: 2,411
Preface | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight
-
"SHE'S GONE." HOPE PACED across the room, her heart racing as she imagined what possible circumstances she had just put Angel in. She'd tried to fight against the monster, but regardless of what she did, it seemed as though nothing she did affected him. He was immune to every spell. Everything she did only served to exhaust her and stall him.
Unfortunately, Aunt Rebekah hadn't managed to compel Angel to stop acting calm. She'd simply stood there, quiet and accepting of what was happening in front of her. As if she'd known that the creature wasn't going to harm her. Hope had continued fighting after Rebekah had 'died,' but it was no use. He had managed to throw her across the room while she was doing a spell. By the time she had come to, Angel was gone, and the monster had gone with her.
There was a time when death was an unfamiliar concept to Originals. Hope's father, Klaus, had always gone out of his way to make it known that the Mikaelsons were immortal -- ironic, really. Simple death like the snapping of a neck or drowning, something that would usually kill an ordinary human being, would be an untimely nap for an Original vampire. As would a stake in the heart, or a beheading -- things that would ordinarily kill a regular vampire.
To be an Original was to be immortal. Though it seemed that even immortal beings can find a way to die eventually.
It had been about two or three hours since Aunt Rebekah's 'death.' She would be awake soon enough, and they would be able to search for Angel. Unfortunately, that would mean heading straight toward Statera, and the lack of supernatural beings in the town seemed to suggest some sort of magical border.
Or magical blockade of Unsullied Soldiers that would kill whatever supernatural being tried to enter the territory; but what was the difference?
A light began to glow from inside Rebekah's pocket. Hope sighed, reaching over and pulling the phone out of her pocket. She raised her eyebrows at the 'Salvatore School' contact name. How often did they reach out to Rebekah regarding Hope's grades or absences? Honestly, she was surprised that she had any emergency contacts left. Lately it seemed as though Dr. Saltzman was all she had in terms of an adult figure, though Josie and Lizzie were making that relationship particularly hard.
"Don't answer my phone," Rebekah choked out, weakly gasping for air. She held her hand out. "Give it to me. I don't trust you using a phone to speak to anyone except your Aunt Freya from now on."
Hope sighed, begrudgingly handing the phone back. "You just came back from the dead. Do you really think you're in the mood to be speaking to Dr. Saltzman right now?"
"Trust me, darling, we go way back." Rebekah slid the call button, holding the phone up to her ear. "Rebekah Mikaelson speaking... Yes, I have Hope with me right now... What's happening with that map?"
It was easy to forget that her own aunt had been a student of Dr. Saltzman's at one point. Hope sighed, reaching into her pocket for her own phone. Admittedly, she wasn't supposed to have one, but Uncle Kol had always enjoyed bending the rules.
"Yes, I understand," Rebekah responded. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
As Rebekah went to hang up the phone, Hope looked up. "I have to go back to the school, don't I?"
"Well, grand theft auto isn't as bad as turning a werewolf into a hybrid -- so yes, you'll be going back to your regularly scheduled classes," Rebekah responded. She reached for her purse before noticing the disappointed look on Hope's face. "What's wrong? When you were younger, all you wished for was to go to a school for supernaturals. Your father didn't donate three million dollars to the school out of the goodness of his heart."
Hope simply shrugged in response. "All I 'wished for,' was to have friends that knew what I was going through; but no one does. I thought I wanted to be surrounded by supernaturals because it would be where I fit in the most; but ever since Mom died, it's like I would give anything to be human for a day."
"Being a human doesn't protect you from death, love," Rebekah whispered, running a hand through Hope's auburn waves. Only a few shades darker than that of Rebekah's late mother, Esther. The Original Witch -- before she'd tried to slaughter half her family.
"My mom died because she was a hybrid. My father and my uncle died because they had to get rid of a supernatural being called the Hollow that had been preying on me since I was seven years old. Those aren't issues that normal humans go through, Aunt Rebekah." Hope swallowed back tears, stinging at the burning sensation of doing so. She pushed herself off the bed to avoid crying for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. "Let's go."
The ride back to Salvatore School was relatively silent if you didn't count the blaring Frank Sinatra music. Rebekah always said she never enjoyed modern day radio; likely due to the ninety year nap Hope's father had forced her into in the 1920's.
Hope bit her lip, scrolling through Instagram and waiting for a post from Angel's account. Any sign that she was alive and not eaten by the rabid beast that was all she could hope for at the moment -- she would even be glad if she found out that Angel had blocked her. A sign that Hope hadn't been the cause of another person's death.
'Due to her often disastrous past, she has resigned herself to isolation, considering it the path that will provide the least heartbreak in her life. She sees loneliness as less of a burden... than her formative experiences of loving so deeply and losing so terribly.'
A direct quote from her psychological assessments from earlier this year. Dr. Saltzman had the students do one at the beginning of every school year. This was the first time she'd managed to prove the files wrong.
"Is this the part where I apologize?" Hope raised her eyebrows, eyes flitting over to see her aunt's reaction.
"Hope, I was friends with your mother. She knew what it meant to apologize when she knew she was wrong," Rebekah responded, not taking her eyes off the road. "I would hope you didn't learn how to apologize from your father."
"How could I?" She muttered in response, despite knowing very well that Rebekah had supernatural hearing. "He died when I was fourteen and he only spoke to me for two years of my life."
"Your father never learned what it meant to love someone unconditionally." Rebekah seemed to spit the words out as if they were poison. For a brief moment, Rebekah's eyes become glassy, the street lights highlighting her tears.
Hope dropped the conversation before it became it became more intense. Unlike the rest of her family members, Rebekah had always been the person who defended Klaus in Hope's presence. Kol and Davina had never held back when it came to insulting him -- and though Hope couldn't blame them, that didn't mean she was happy about it.
As the gates of the Salvatore School began to open, Hope braced herself for the the endless judgement that came with what she had done. Even stepping inside of the school made her feel as though she were trespassing, entering somewhere she never felt like she belonged.
The Salvatore School: a school for witches, werewolves, and vampires, yet couldn't fit in a tribrid. On paper, it would've made sense.
The two girls were immediately greeted with Dr. Saltzman, his daughters, Raphael, and Kaleb. The diversity in greetings was almost comedic. Dr. Saltzman looked largely disappointed, and slightly shocked by Rebekah's presence. Clearly whatever past they had was complicated, to say the least.
As if reading Hope's mind, Dr. Saltzman stated, "You tried to kill me."
"Your friends killed my brothers and your attempts on Nik and Elijah's life were innumerable. I'm here for Hope's protection, not yours." Rebekah spat, almost disgusted by Dr. Saltzman's reaction. "I will apologize for nothing."
Josie stepped forward, shocked. "You tried to kill my dad?"
"Succeeded, really," Rebekah shrugged. An amused look comes to her face as Josie steps in front of her father protectively. "Love, please. All of my brothers are dead -- rest in peace -- and I am a step closer to becoming human. What would I gain from murdering this poor old man?"
"You're Rebekah Mikaelson," Kaleb stepped forward in awe. "I've read about you in the books -- you and your brother. You guys are, like, the founding fathers of vampirism. Why would you want to become human?"
A sad look crosses Rebekah's face, though it disappears as quickly as it comes. Before she can respond to Kaleb's school boy crush, Lizzie scoffs. "Really? So we're just gonna let Hope off the hook after she literally almost exposed an entire school forsupernatural? All because she brought her stupid aunt."
Hope's eyes began to glow gold, signaling her werewolf gene to step forward. She flashed them at Lizzie as she took a step forward. "Don't say that about my family."
"Guys, we have bigger issues to deal with right now," Raphael pointed out. He walked back the map, pointing toward the town Angel and Hope had met at. "I was watching the map earlier. Trying to figure out what was going on, and what those spots were. I saw a really bright light" -- he glanced up at Hope. The stronger the supernatural abilities, the brighter the light -- " leave Mystic Falls and head to this town. A couple hours later, I saw one of the darkened areas leave the border of Statera and followed you, Hope."
"It wasn't following me. It was following Angel," Hope explained.
"Yes, Kol, I was sure to check that she was human," Rebekah said into her phone. After a moment, she sighed, setting the phone on the table and turning the camera on. A group video chat appeared and Rebekah turned the camera to face Hope. "Say hello to your niece."
She turned her head to see the faces of her Aunt Davina, Aunt Freya and Uncle Kol. Hope's last living family members. She raised her eyebrows to greet them, putting on a tight smile. "Hi, everyone."
"There's our little troublemaker," Kol greeted. "Now, tell me, how exactly did you meet this girl? And why a human? There's always so dramatic."
"Don't mind him, Kol's just saying that because he eats every human he comes into contact with," Rebekah muttered. She turned to Hope for a brief moment. "It's one of the reasons Davina's died so many times."
"That was a fault of a hex, not I," He argued. "And if we're keeping track of dead body counts, exactly how many men did our befallen Niklaus kill on your behalf?"
Hope flinched at the mention of her father. "Her name was Angel. I met her through Instagram, I used the location tags."
Part of Hope felt guilty that Aunt Davina even had to hear this story. She had told Hope stories about a boy named Tim, who she'd met when she was around fifteen; a boy who Hope's father had killed because she had had the nerve to stand up to him. Davina had once told Hope that she regretted ever reaching out to Tim again -- how if she had just avoided going to one of his concerts in the French Quarter, he might've survived.
Yes, Hope had heard all of the horror stories that came with falling in love with a human; for a brief moment, she didn't care. All she wanted was to feel normal for once. To have someone that didn't look at her like a freak. The tribrid; the daughter of Klaus Mikaelson; granddaughter of the Original witch; the girl who was destined to never fit in, no matter how hard she tried.
"Would it be fair to consider her human?" Freya questioned, "If she's being protected by this creature, she may descend from witches."
"If there were supernaturals living in Statera, the map would've shown us," Hope responded. She bit her lip, staring down at the map and tracing the dark border that had grown, surrounding Statera and making it that of a fortress.
Lizzie shrugged. "Or you could've messed up the spell."
"This spell has worked every other time we've needed to track down a new recruit. Why would it be an issue now?" Hope sighed, covering her face. "Look, do you guys remember the Vietnamese legend about the Unsullied? The supernatural guards who were supposed to protect their people during the Dark Ages? It said that they disappeared, but their owners left on boats, right? Maybe they came here."
"But why Virginia?" Davina questioned. "If they wanted to protect their families from armies and supernatural species, why choose a town an hour away from the birthplace of the Original vampires? Why choose a place so close to the water that it could be attacked without a moments hesitation?"
"The logistics don't matter right now," Josie pointed out. "What matters is that we need to go to Statera and see what's going on."
"What? And risk your lives?" Rebekah raised her eyebrows. "No. My niece is not going to fight one of those beasts again."
"We kind of don't have a choice," Hope hissed. "I need to know she's still alive."
Kol cut in, his voice cold and harsh. "Hope. Your survivor's guilt is not an excuse for putting yourself in harm's way."
"Didn't we kill you?" Dr. Saltzman murmured before shaking his head. "Hope's right. Statera is an hour away from Salvatore School. We need to make sure we know what's going on there, and whether or not those monsters are a threat to us."
Lizzie scoffed. "Yeah, let's all listen to Hope. The reason we're in this position in the first place."
Hope grabbed the phone and hung up before her family members could retaliate. Rebekah bared her fangs at the blonde witch, as if daring her to keep going. Hope reached into her pocket, grabbing Dr. Saltzman's car keys, throwing them in his direction.
"Enough with the family drama. Let's go."
190 notes · View notes
nomoregoldfish · 4 years
Text
Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 3/3
More smut (but I’m really bad at writing it, :////). Plot twist guaranteed. And I can’t believe I wrote 6K for this, FML. What has Chema done to me? I also made a few changes in the first two parts, read the whole thing on AO3.
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You are woken by a phone call in the middle of the night. But you neither move nor open your eyes. You hear some numbers, Amado sounds irritated. It could be something related to tonight's dinner?
Your patience is wore out minutes after minute and Amado still hasn't returned to bed. You make a bold decision to wake up, and the Mexican is smoking by the window. Something keeps him up at night? That doesn't sound like the Lord of the Skies, the man who has had the world at his feet.
"You wanna talk, more sex or a bath?" You carefully propose.
"I was expecting for late night snacks you pull with some Asian witch shit." Amado lets you sit on his lap. "Hang on, I've got some leftovers from the kitchen."
You two settle for sharing the jacarandas mochi from a small food container in the bathtub.
"You like it?" You don't really need validation from Amado. It's just you spent hours coming up with the idea of improvisation, trying to make a traditional Japanese dessert more appealing to the Mexican guests. "I made the bean paste from scratch, less sugar. I understand most Mexicans are not used to sweet bean paste..."
"They don't deserve it." Amado suddenly claims. You don't get it. Who are they? "They are just a bunch of pigs in expensive suits, corrupted, stinky pieces of shit." Then Amado tells you almost everything. He invited the tequila exporters with the hope that the cartel could use their affiliate companies in the States as front to launder more drug money since tequila is one of the largest yet least regulated businesses between the US and Mexico. And the politicians are officials from Mexican Customs Bureau and SHCP.
"Fucking idiots. They thought I was gonna ask them to smuggle coke under the tequila crates. With all the fucking Pier 1 sofa and Ford pasenger seat manufacturers in Juárez, I've had more than enough trucks to move products across the border." When Amado brought up money laundering, the tequila exporters expressed concern regarding possible investigation of tax evasion from ATF, putting more pressure on Amado to increase their cut.
They eventually made a deal less favorable to the cartel and that's why Amado's a bit pissed when he's on the phone.
"Why are you telling me this?" For the first time that night, you ask softly.
"Those cabrón. They don't deserve what you bring to the table. You pour your heart and soul, making the best feast I've ever had. You deserve to know what happened." 
You've never thought you'd hear that from Amado. He didn't have to tell you anything. It makes you lower your guard. You want to get closer to him, without any agenda.
"Does this mean my body won't be put in the trunk of one of your auto collections tomorrow?" You try to lighten it up.
Amado kisses you from behind. The position is awkward but neither of you care. 
Making out with Amado in the bathtub makes the night better than your wettest dream. 
The Mexican's gonna make you cum again with those magician hands of his.
"You...haven't told me if you like the jacarandas mochi." You're so screwed. Maybe you'll never get the answer because Amado's too busy sucking you tits.
Amado clears his schedule the next day. He brings you to the Asian boutique where he bought the Japanese painting.
"One of my guys found this place. I thought you might be interested..." That's cute from a drug lord. But you're not that kind of person.
"A) I don't need a Buddha artifact home to find my inner peace, and B) only Pacho wears shirts with Chinese characters taken from a poem back in the Tang Dynasty. Seriously, he's ridiculous. Come on, let's go."
Instead, you two spend the day trying different Asian food you can find in DF. From hotpot to Peking roasted duck, from pho to char kway teow. Amado seems to enjoy the Chinese food more than others.
"Most Asian restaurants in North America are run by the Chinese, from San Francisco to DF. Since you guys can't tell if an Asian cook is from China, Japan, Vietnam or Thailand, he or she would quickly learn dishes from other Asian countries. We are always the most hardworking people." You explain to him.
"Oh, I love hardworking people." He's so full of shit but you can't help smiling. 
Amado finds a fortune cookie note saying "Happy New Year of Monkey." Then you explain Monkey is one of the Chinese zodiac signs which repeat every 12 years. 
"So 1956...I am a monkey? Cool." He's surprisingly quick with math.
You write the Chinese character of monkey on a napkin and Amado seems fascinated by it. So you suggest that he could get the Chinese character tattooed, "Next time you can show that to Pacho. He probably would get one, too."
Holy shit, he's really doing it. 
The way the tattoo parole Amado brings you to is cleared makes you believe it's part of the cartel business, which makes perfect sense. 
"You don't have any tattoos? Not at all?" You're surprised when the tattoo artist prepares Amado's skin on his forearm, first cleaning then shaving.
"We've fucked three times, once in a bathtub," Amado grins, obviously in a good mood, "Don't you think it's a bit late to ask? Or I fucked you too hard you didn't notice?"
Thank God the tattoo artist doesn't even flinch.
OK, you have to get back at the fucker. So when the tattoo artist asks you for the character to make a design, you write pig in Chinese instead of monkey.
"Hold on, that doesn't look like what you wrote on the napkin. Let me see it." Right after the tattoo artist places an outline of the design on his skin, the Mexican stops him.
You're 100% sure Amado doesn't speak or write Chinese. How the fuck does he figure it out?
"What is it exactly? Tell me the truth or you will have an honest conversation with my brother." Amado makes the threat more scary by pointing at Vicente, who stands next to the door with two guns and a pink lollipop. 
"Wait. He doesn't know shit. It was me...I wrote a different character." Your confession is quick, you don't want to see anyone get hurt over this beef.
You thought it's just a silly prank. Now you realize you're dealing with the most notorious narcos of the country. Amado may look like a businessman, reasonable, even decent. He's still capable of getting violent whenever he thinks it is necessary, to an extent you really don't want to know.
You take a deep breath, then apologize to Amado. You are ready for the consequence. 
"Apology accepted. On one condition, you'll have the exact same tattoo as I do when the new design is done." Fair enough.
But you're a chef who often needs to cook right in front of customers. You can't let them see a tattoo on your forearm. 
"How about here?" The Mexican is touching your breast as if no one's around.
It's a small tattoo, just one character. But it's near your heart and you're sensitive as fuck.
You can't move but your nipples are hard almost through the entire process. Amado's right beside you and he sees everything. Someone please help you ease the pain FFS.
The fucker doesn't act on it until you get into the car. Amado shuts the soundproof panel between the front and rear seats and the next thing you know, you're riding the man who just makes you get a stupid matching tattoo. It fucking stings, and itchy. Yet the pleasure is undeniable when your tits being teased, bit, sucked. Amado carefully avoids the tattoo, which makes you want him to scratch the itch even more. You scream his name when you cum with both extreme pleasure and pain.
Amado puts an arm around you when it's over. Two matching tattoos are right next to one another. Your heart is still beating fast from the afterglow, echoing his pulse.
You feel the caress on your beast, it hurts a bit yet the body warmth is nice. Is it how it feels to be marked by someone else? Not many people will ever see it, plus it's not a specific name or symbol that would embarrass you later. It'd be a secret.
"You know what? You won't be able to find a dead body to stand in for you when you eventually betray me, sweetheart. No one else would get a tattoo like this." 
What Amado just says feels like a kick in the stomach. It's cold and absolutely right. Have you been sloppy? Has Amado figured out something already? "Why would I betray you?" You ask, but he doesn't give an answer.
It's the last day of your stay. You have a very special package delivered from Japan.
You gonna make blowfish sashimi tonight for Amado.
Everyone knows it's toxic so it has to be handled with meticulous care. You make Amado watch every step —  a set of fuguhiki, knives with thin blade is unwrapped, you pick them one by one to gut the fish, remove the deadly liver and ovaries, skin it and cut off its head. Then instead of cutting outward like most people do, you turn a knife to cut inward. 
"Careful! You shouldn't hold knife like that." Amado almost jumps in to help. But you assure him it's OK. Then you show off the technique to cut extremely thin and translucent slices of blowfish.
To make the white meat more attractive, you set the slices in a large plate with red poppy flower pattern. They are so thin, the poppy flower is still visible when all's done.
"An ancient Chinese writer used to say, 'The taste of blowfish is worthy of death.'" You joke when you mix the sauce. "Don't worry. I'm a licensed blowfish-preparation chef."
Amado squints, "So you're testing me."
You want to tell him to just trust you, but you don't know how.
"There's no antidote for the tetrodotoxin. But I'll eat it, too. If it's poisonous, our muscle will be paralyzed bit by bit when we're fully conscious, eventually we won't be able to breathe. We're going to die slowly, painfully and desperately."
You take the first bite, Amado follows.
"Why are you so loyal to him?" Amado breaks the silence, "For one, you don't sleep with him. You obviously are not related. And as far as I know, money can't buy loyalty."
"I'll answer it if you answer my question first." The Mexican agrees. "You didn't want me for me, you barely knew me. You made the decision when Pacho said I was the best, he wouldn't last a week without me. You want him, or something that makes you his equivalent. Except being gay, I don't know. You won't fuck his boys, so I'm the next proxy. Am I correct?"
After a pause, Amado nods. Then it's your turn.
"How many female chefs do you know?" Amado is confused for a few seconds, then he gets it.
"There was no place for you in your line of work, just like there was no place for him in this game controlled by men, men who have multiple wives and fuck whores. He sees himself in you. So he takes you under his wings."
"Yes. Pacho is the only one who's believed me. He's also the biggest shareholder of my first restaurant."
Amado then asks what you gonna tell Pacho when you return. "I'll tell him you give really good heads. Maybe he should try it himself." You wink, "No, I'll let him know you're not a cold-blooded bastard. Even though you sometimes make awful choice by dipping sashimi in guacamole, you're appreciative of other people's work." You really mean it, you like Amado. But you'll probably never know if he buys it or if it matters.
After a while, you finish the whole plate of blowfish sashimi. "Seems we're not dead." Amado's poking your cheek with chopsticks.
"No, we are not."
"Last question, why did Pacho send you?"
"Amado, you would've done the same. You know that."
47 notes · View notes
cherryrogers · 4 years
Text
Falling For You.
— Chapter 10
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
(Modern High School AU)
Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, fluff!!
Synopsis: Unlike most teenagers, you had your life completely mapped out. You’d graduate high school, go off to the university of your dreams, and live the life that your parents always wanted you to. That was always the plan.
Falling for Bucky Barnes, however, was never part of that plan.
Being ‘just friends’ isn’t enough. Becoming anything more is too much. But suppressed feelings can’t stay ignored forever, and you were about to learn that a lot sooner than you thought
Inspired by the song, ‘Fallingforyou’ - The 1975
Series Masterlist
_______________________________________________
Wiping an aching hand across his forehead, Bucky stood from where he’d been crouching next to the tyre of the large truck and set down the tool in his other hand. He eyed the exterior of the vehicle, taking a mental note of the work on it that he still had to finish with a tired exhale.
It was only him in the garage, the rest of the guys were holed up in the break room eating lunch, one of which being his father. His dad suggested that he took a lunch break too, but Bucky hadn’t felt like eating - he hadn’t felt like doing a lot since the beginning Winter break, since the last time he saw you.
Bucky had spent most of the cold days working in the auto-shop, hands slick with grease and a tool of some sort in his hand. He’d barely touched his phone, leaving countless unopened messages and unreturned missed calls from his concerned friends clogging up his notifications. None of them were from you, though, which he wasn’t really surprised about.
You hadn’t left things on bad terms with Bucky back at Carter’s, but you’d made it clear that you needed your own space for a while, and the boy wanted to respect that, even if it was a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t realised how much time he actually spent with you until it’d been a week without doing so. It only made his more anxious, knowing that the feeling of missing you might become a regular thing if you decided that you didn’t want him. He tried not to think about it too much, delving into whatever work had to be done at the shop to take his mind off you.
Christmas had came and gone quickly; a casual day spent with his parents at home, the thought of you passing his mind one too many times. He wondered what you you were doing that day. Your parents had came home for the holidays last Christmas, but considering your mother had practically disowned you that last time the two of you spoke, he wasn’t so sure that they’d make an appearance this time. Bucky would’ve been more than happy to let you spend the day with him and his family, but the last thing you needed for the time being was to be around him, so he only hoped that you’d enjoyed the day in your own way.
His friends had tried to get in touch with him a lot after that day, wanting to get the group together again before Val’s party on New Year’s Eve. None of them knew what happened at the Winter Formal - apart from Natasha, but he didn’t know that - and none of them knew about the conversation you’d had the day after. Bucky just couldn’t bring himself to tell them about it. He didn’t want to talk; he only wanted to hear from you. To know what was going to become of you and him, but he had to be patient. And until then, he felt like the only person he wanted to be around was himself.
However, his friends weren’t going to let him isolate himself for the rest of the break, that was for sure.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Bucky’s head snapped up to the doorway of the garage, seeing no other than Natasha Romanoff leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. He didn’t respond, not knowing what to say as he grabbed the towel from the stool next to him and began to wipe himself down.
It reminded him of when you’d shown up at the shop to get an explanation as to why he was still friends with his ex. That was a simpler time, a much simpler time.
The click of the girl’s boots echoed through the garage as she neared where Bucky was stood. “You’d always come here after we had an argument. I remember, it became such a routine for me to come here to try and work things out...” Nat chuckled softly, recounting the memories of a time long ago. “...that your dad would see me step one foot through the door and direct me to whichever part of the shop you were holed up in.”
Bucky didn’t think about his relationship with Natasha a lot, not as much as he used to, anyway. Sure, they could look back at it now and laugh because they were friends, but the two knew that their relationship was never healthy. It was argument after argument with a few nice moments in between, and the people around him weren’t oblivious to that.
The boy glanced up at his friend, manoeuvring himself around the truck to examine the rest of the damage. “I know, ‘cause after you’d leave, he’d try to question me about what our third fight of the week was about.”
A sympathetic smile set on the redhead’s lips. “I think he always knew that I was bad for you.”
“He knew that we were bad for each other.” Bucky caught her gaze, standing still for a moment before shaking his head and focusing back on the truck. “What’re you doin’ here, Nat?”
Natasha’s gentle expression turned serious at his question. “I told you I was coming to see you; you’d know that if you checked your phone.”
Sparing a glance at his phone on the counter across the room, Bucky let out a sigh. “I haven’t been on my phone much lately.”
That wasn’t necessarily a lie, but he’d seen all texts and Snapchats and whatever else his friends had tried to contact him on. He just wasn’t sure that he could deal with talking to them yet.
“Something’s up with you, Buck.” Nat pressed, deciding to just get straight to give point. The girl was never one for beating around the bush; it was only a waste of time. “Have you talked to (Y/N)?”
Hearing your name caused Bucky’s stomach to turn. “What?”
“(Y/N), have you talked to her since the dance?” The girl repeated. Truthfully, she’d been surprised that she’d remembered the conversation you’d shared while she’d been drinking, but she was glad that she did. If Bucky wasn’t going to talk to her about it himself, then she was going to confront him about it.
The boy’s brows furrowed confusedly. “How do you... how you even know what happened?”
“She told me.” The redhead shrugged. “Well, I kinda coaxed it out of her when I was tipsy, but... it definitely sounded like something you needed to talk about with her.”
Bucky bit down on the inside of his cheek, hesitant to talk about the situation that he’d been trying to take his mind off for the past week. There was a short silence before he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I talked to her.”
Natasha raised her brow. “And...?”
“And... she needs time to think things through.” Bucky dragged the nearest stool in the garage over next to the truck, sitting himself down with his elbows digging into his thighs. “She wanted to kiss me, and I think a part of her wants more than just a friendship. But... she’s still scared, Nat. She’s convinced that the both of us are just gonna end up getting hurt, and I don’t know how to show her that she doesn’t have to be afraid.”
The girl pursed her lips, eyes glued to the ground as she considered Bucky’s words. She was careful with her response, cautiously looking back up at Bucky and letting out a quiet sigh. “She’s afraid because you’re opening her up, Buck. Being open with you makes her problems yours, and that means if things get complicated in her life, they’re gonna affect you just as much. She doesn’t want that for you, just... just like I didn’t.”
Blue eyes darted over the redhead’s softened features. The only time they ever referred back to their relationship was in a joking manor, but Natasha didn’t have a hint of humour in her expression. The girl could tell that Bucky was unsure of how to respond, so she carried on speaking.
“I have a lot of regrets, Bucky. One of them is how I acted when we were together. I shut you out without an explanation and got mad when you only wanted to help. There was stuff going on in my life that I didn’t want anyone but me to have to deal with, so if it meant that my issues didn’t become yours as well, then I wasn’t ever going to open up to you.”
For a short while, Bucky was speechless. He’d had no idea that Natasha was dealing with her own problems during their relationship; if she was hurting, she’d never let it show in the slightest.
“Fuck, Nat.” The boy ran a hand over his face, standing from his stool. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”
“That was the point, Buck. I didn’t want you to know.” The corner of Nat’s lips upturned. “I wasn’t ready for a relationship, but I think (Y/N) is. I didn’t want to open up to you, but she does. I could see it when I talked to her at the dance; she really wants things to work out between the two of you.”
Bucky smiled at that. The redhead was smart, and she didn’t say things if they weren’t true. It sparked hope in his heart, hearing that she was sure you wanted him. “So, what do I do?”
Placing her hands on her hips, Natasha smiled softly up at him. “You show her that letting you in is okay. That you wanting to help her isn’t going to end up hurting you, and she doesn’t have to deal with whatever she’s afraid of alone.”
A laugh escaped Bucky’s lips, not because he thought what Nat said was funny, but because he was amazed at her words. While the two didn’t get on and boyfriend and girlfriend, Bucky truly couldn’t ask for a better friend than Natasha. The boys were great too, of course, but they definitely couldn’t have came out with anything that the girl just did.
“You’re pretty smart, you know that?” Bucky grinned for what felt like the first time since the dance.
“I know.” Natasha sent him a wink, beginning to take a few steps backwards from the boy. “The guys and I are grabbing dinner later, you should join us.”
Bucky didn’t waste any time thinking about his answer. “I’ll be there.”
“Awesome.” She nodded, heading for the exit of the garage.
“Nat?” The boy called out, prompting the girl to turn around with a quirked brow. “Thank you, for everything.”
“Don’t sweat it, Barnes. I just want you to be happy.”
There was a certain warmth in his chest as Bucky watched Natasha leave the shop. It was similar to what he felt when he first saw you across the room at the Winter Formal, when he was ready finally make a move on you. While that plan didn’t necessarily pan out correctly, he had a feeling that the next time he saw you would be different. Good different.
As long as you still wanted him, Bucky was going to show you that you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.
* * *
After walking for fifteen minutes in what you’d hoped was the right direction, you finally began to tell that you were nearing Val’s place, the sound of blaring music getting louder with each street corner you turned.
Somehow, you couldn’t really believe that it was New Year’s Eve. The majority of what had occurred in the past year had happened within the final month. Falling out with your parents, falling even more for Bucky... the year hadn’t quite ended how you’d thought it would.
And now you were off to a New Year’s party that you didn’t really want to go to, to apologise to a friend for not reciprocating the feelings he had towards you, while hoping to avoid the friend that you actually did reciprocate feelings with. What a year it’d been.
Wanda had told you to just meet her at the party, since Pietro had offered to take her and Vis, and you couldn’t even imagine the sheer awkwardness that car ride would ensure if you tagged along. At least the long walk allowed you to rehearse your actions going into the party.
Find Pietro, apologise, leave.
It was a very simple plan, but if you lingered at the party long enough for Val to find you, the girl wouldn’t let you leave before midnight, and your limited social battery definitely wouldn’t last for that long.
Soon enough, you’d arrived at Val’s house, hesitantly making your way up the stone steps to the open front door. You immediately recognised a bunch of familiar faces, and assumed that Val had literally invited the whole of senior year, which wasn’t so helpful when you were specifically there for one person.
Everyone was pretty dressed up for the night, as opposed to you who had pulled on a pair of jeans and swiped a layer of mascara over your lashes to not look utterly out of place. You weren’t staying for long, and when you got home, you were hitting the hay as soon as possible.
As if luck was on your side, you saw a flash of messy silver hair a few feet away from where you were stood at the front of the house, seemingly heading into the backyard along with Clint. Bingo.
However, as you did your best to swerve in and out between the number of bodies blocking the way to the sliding door leading outside, you suddenly stopped in your tracks, hearing a familiar loud laugh from the room on your right.
Your eyes widened as you whipped your head to the side, eyes landing on the one and only Bucky Barnes with a bright smile on his face, amused at something that Sam looked to have said. Even though you knew that Bucky wasn’t one to miss a party, it still didn’t make seeing him at Val’s any easier. It’d been a week since you’d talked to him, and even just hearing his laugh pained you a little.
You knew what you wanted; you wanted him. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, you’d had the displeasure of learning that in your time away from Bucky. It made you wonder if being more than friends with the boy perhaps wouldn’t be such a bad thing. If it meant you could spend your free time with him, be close to him, just let yourself care for him openly without having to push your romantic feelings away... didn’t that sound perfect to you? Almost like it was too good to be true.
Except it wasn’t too good to be true. Bucky wanted you too, he’d made that clear. If being with him was really what you wanted, it was your call to make if it was going to happen.
The silver hair came back into view momentarily, snapping you from your thoughts and encouraging you to make your way outisde. It was pretty dark apart from the array of LED lights decorating the rim of the roof, but you still managed to locate Pietro on the far side of the yard, thankfully stood alone with a beer bottle in his hand as Clint left his side to talk to some other people.
The rate of your heart was speeding up as you paced over to the boy, and as you approached him, you fiddled with your hands nervously.
“Pietro?”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a lopsided smile on his lips. “(Y/N), hey.”
The words left his lips in a slurred manner, and by the way his body was swaying as he stood in one place, it was safe to assume that Pietro was drunk. Great.
You sighed, unsure of how what to do next. This conversation couldn’t be had while he was drunk, right? “Uh, I came here to apologise to you, Pietro. We need to talk, but I don’t think you’re in the best state of mind to-”
“No, no; we can talk.” The boy interrupted you. “Let me s-save us some time. Y-you wanted Bucky to be your date to t-the dance, but you said yes to m-me because you felt bad for me...”
“That’s not-” You tried to intervene, but having a productive conversation with a drunk person just wasn’t possible.
“And then, you ran away from me at the dance to go and m-make out with him! You could’ve just told me you liked him and not me, (Y/N). Man, I’m such a moron for even thinking you’d choose me over h-him.”
You shook your head at the boy, guilt building in your stomach. Even if you didn’t have feelings for him, you still cared about Pietro, and you didn’t think you could stand having him not wanting to be your friend again. “I went as your date to the dance because you’re my friend, Pietro. I did want to go with you, but... I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to go with Bucky too. Look, I don’t think we should talk about this-”
“I n-never had a chance, did I?” He let out a strained laugh, hand gripping his empty beer bottle tightly. “It’s always been him, hasn’t it?”
Your eyes moved to ground, Pietro’s words cutting deep. For being drunk, he couldn’t have said anything that was more right.
It had always been Bucky.
There was no point in trying to deny it, to Pietro or to yourself.
You thought you’d move on eventually, that your stupid crush on your best friend would fizzle away as the end of senior year got closer. But it wasn’t just a stupid crush, it was much more than that and it definitely wasn’t something you could just move on from. No one would ever be Bucky; no matter how kind, or funny, or loyal, nobody would ever make you feel the way that Bucky did. You didn’t have to be a fortune teller to know that, you could feel it.
Biting down on your bottom lip, you gave the boy a weak nod, finding the courage to look him in the eye. Hurt was evident in the gaze he had on you; that was all he needed to hear.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Pietro murmured, shaking his head as he walked away, leaving you with a heavy feeling in your chest.
While the boy wasn’t sober, you could tell that his pain was genuine. You didn’t want to hurt him, you hadn’t wanted to hurt Bucky either, yet you ended up doing both of those things, all while hurting yourself in the process.
“God fucking dammit.” You mumbled under your breath, regretting ever stepping foot out of your house.
After being left alone for a couple of moments, you almost flinched when you felt a gentle hand on your forearm.
“(Y/N)?”
Concerned eyes pierced into yours when you looked up, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief being in Bucky’s presence.
“I didn’t think you’d come tonight.” He stated softly, mutually relieved to see you too.
You offered him a sad smile. “Honestly, I kind of wish I hadn’t.
By the way he nodded understandingly, you assumed that Bucky had heard the conversation with Pietro, which also meant he heard you admit to only having feelings for him. Well, that was just amazing. You needed to get home; you needed to get home and forget that you even thought about going to the party.
“I should go.” You said hurriedly, stealing your eyes away from his before his baby blues alone could change your mind. The only reason you’d came was to make amends with Pietro, and you’d only made things worse.
“Don’t go.” Bucky suddenly spoke, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Please, just stay for a little while.”
“Bucky...”
“We can go upstairs, outta the way of everyone. Just you and me.”
The way he was looking at you, his ocean eyes pleading you to stay, there was no way you could say no to him. It’d been too long since you’d seen each other, and you missed him. You missed him a lot.
You glanced to his hand that was still resting on your arm, your lips curling into a faint smile at his touch. “You’re insufferable.”
A grin crept onto his lips as his hand slowly trailed down your arm to your hand, enveloping it in his own, and your mind for once wasn’t screaming at you to pull away. “Can’t be that bad if you’re agreein’ to come with me.”
You could only roll your eyes before Bucky began tugging you through the cramped hallway, up the stairs and into what looked to be Val’s bedroom; it was obvious by the bottles of alcohol lined neatly on her dresser as if they were ornaments. Did that girl ever stop drinking?
Bucky gently closed the door behind him, the loud music and chattering voices muffled through the wall separating you and Bucky from everyone else. The quieter setting allowed the conversation with Pietro to replay in your mind again, and the boy in front of you noticed the way your eyebrows dipped and a frown formed on your lips.
“Can I ask what happened?” He asked quietly, pressing his back against the door.
He’d heard the majority of the conversation, so you weren’t exactly sure why he was asking. Though, you did need to get the matter off your chest. “I wanted to apologise to Pietro about what happened at the dance, but then I realised he was drunk when I started talking to him. He has feelings for me, well, he did. I’m not so sure now since he... thinks that I’ve chosen you over him.”
A sigh fell from your mouth as you took a seat on the edge of the bed, actively avoiding Bucky’s stare on you. There was a battle going on in your head; to tell Bucky that you had feelings for him, or to just let go. It wasn’t fair to let him wait any longer for an answer that would change everything no matter what it was. You needed to tell him soon, now.
“He’ll come around, (Y/N).” Bucky reassured, walking over to the bed and taking a seat next to you, your hands merely inches apart. “It’ll take some time, but he will.”
“Were you...” You started, a little hesitant about asking the question. “Annoyed when I didn’t like you back?”
The boy shook his head, smiling shyly. “No, not annoyed. Kinda bummed, I guess, but I couldn’t get mad at you for somethin’ you couldn’t control.”
With every word that left his lips, Bucky was making you fall more and more for him. You knew a fair share of guys would likely throw a hissy fit if they got rejected by the a girl they’d pursued for months, but Bucky wasn’t like that. He cared about you, truly. He’d remained only your friend for over a year in spite of his feelings for you just because he still wanted to be in your life, romantically or platonically. The universe was definitely on your side when it decided to bring Bucky Barnes into your life, and the fact that he was still your best friend proved that it still was.
“I don’t deserve you, Bucky.” You exhaled after a moment, playing with your hands in your lap. “I lied; I did have feelings for you then, and I have ever since. You didn’t know that, yet you never tried to push me into liking you, or tried to make any sort of move on me no matter how much you wanted to be more than friends. And even now that you know that I like you, I just... I don’t think I can be the person that you want me to be, the person that you want to be with.”
Peeling your eyes up from the floor, you looked at Bucky directly, who had his brows crinkled while he bit the inside of his cheek in thought. His hand moved slowly to cover yours, a feeling of comfort running through you when you felt it thumb stroking your hand. “I just want you to be you, sweets. I want you to be whoever you want to be.”
“But what if I don’t know who that is anymore?” After your solid plan for the future had crumbled due to the argument with your mother and how you’d fallen hard for your best friend, you didn’t have a clue what the future now held for you.
Refusing to let yourself get upset, you swallowed the lump in your throat. You’d never felt so vulnerable before, your heart so out in the open for Bucky to see. It was odd, scary even. But it felt okay. Everything felt okay with Bucky.
“Then I’ll help you figure it all out.” He spoke quietly. You weren’t sure when his face got so close to yours, but it was a lot closer than it was, your noses barely brushing together. “It’s always gonna be you and me.”
Inhaling sharply, your eyes flickered between his bright eyes and pink lips, your heart pounding against your rib cage. “You know, if we, um... if we kiss right now, we can’t ever go back to just being friends.”
Bucky chuckled deeply, a sweet grin pulling at his lips. “That’s okay, sweets, cause I don’t wanna be your friend. Now, will you let me kiss you?”
You had barely started to nod when the boy’s hand came to your cheek, cupping it gently as he pulled your lips to meet his.
Fireworks. There were fireworks erupting in your stomach, flaming sparks coursing through your veins as you leaned into him, feeling more at home with his lips pressed against yours than you ever had in the house you’d lived in for eighteen years. All that time you spent pushing him away, telling yourself that Bucky Barnes was your friend and nothing more - if it all added up to this exact moment, then every second of it was worth it.
It was a long kiss, one that was around a year overdue, and neither one of you wanted to be the first to pull away. It was Bucky who did it, though, worry momentarily flashing in his eyes in case you were immediately regretting kissing him back. It was soon replaced by relief, however, when he saw how you were gazing at him. It was like you’d just awoken from a beautiful dream, a soft smile sitting on your lips.
“I don’t wanna be your friend either, Buck.” You whispered against his lips, causing the corners of his mouth to upturn.
The boy picked up your hand that was still enclasped in his, pressing a kiss to it before standing up, a sudden new glow to his presence. “C’mon, sweets. Let’s get outta here.”
“And go where, exactly?”
“Shakes at Carter’s?”
You quirked a brow, gradually rising to your feet. “Bucky, it’s like, eight o’clock.”
“Closes at nine.” He winked boyishly, wasting no time in interlacing your fingers together and tugging you out of the bedroom.
Like magic, anything that had stopped you from kissing Bucky the first time had disappeared from your mind. Once you entered back into the swarm of drunken teenagers, you didn’t focus on the strong scent of alcohol lingering in the air or the bodies that were accidentally bumping into you in the crowded space; you could only focus on him. Bucky, and the kiss, and the way you felt in that moment with him.
It was always going to be Bucky, you could feel it in your soul. Your were sure you’d always known it, but it’d taken you a hell of a long time to finally admit it to yourself. The problems in your life certainly hadn’t gone away just yet, but you weren’t going to handle them by yourself anymore. It wasn’t going to be easy, letting someone in after so long of building walls around yourself, but you were willing to try for Bucky.
As far as New Year’s go, this one was definitely one to remember, and it’d be the first one where you were able to have a stupid New Year’s kiss that you’d always secretly wanted.
And that kiss was just as mesmerising as the first; the sweet taste of strawberry milkshake still on your lips, his fingers gripping gently at your waist. Bucky had insisted on kissing you at midnight, so he walked you home from the diner and you let him hang around until the clock struck twelve, talking about anything and everything and laughing like children to pass the time. Even after staying for so long, once you’d had your second kiss of the night, the boy eventually returned home, not wanting his mother to lose sleep over him not being home on New Year’s Eve.
That night, you had maybe the first good night of sleep you’d had in a long time, the warmth from your night with Bucky never fading even as your eyes fluttered shut.
Things were still going to be hard, you knew that, and you and Bucky weren’t necessarily ‘girlfriend and boyfriend’ yet. You’d agreed to take things slow, and that meant not rushing into a full-blown relationship that you weren’t yet ready for. But it was different now; you trusted Bucky wholeheartedly, and you were okay with being vulnerable in front of him.
If your past self could see you now, falling for a boy so easily and pushing aside your college plans - well, for now - you probably wouldn’t have been able to believe it.
Yet, it was real, all of it, and you couldn’t be more simultaneously scared and excited for what was to come next.
* * *
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