#THIS IS EMBARRASSING!!!! I AM A UNIVERSITY STUDENT I HAVE A CAR | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 10 months

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omg i'm obsessed with the idea of spencer and a university student and i looooved the one you wrote with reader struggling with finals (i relate so much </3) i'm not sure if you write requests or not (if not, then i'm sorry and please ignore this hahaha) but i would love to see more of their dynamic? maybe spencer for once arrives earlier from a case and goes to pick up reader from university as a surprise? i don't really know but i would love to see more 💗 thank you and i hope you have a good day!

AHHHH omg you have NO IDEA how excited I was to open my inbox and see a request!! i am absolutely obsessed w spencer x uni student too

i kind of took this and ran w it so its a little angsty and random LOLOL but here is (drumroll)

spencer picking up reader after you fail an exam (sorry lol) and you are NOT in a good mood but he loves you so its fine

Tears, partly from the bitter wind and partly from shame, blur your phone screen as you exit the lecture hall. Another missed call from Spencer. It’s the third one today—you've been ignoring them in an attempt to remain focused on the final that you just bombed. Part of you now wants to keep ignoring them out of sheer embarrassment. How can you admit to your super-genius boyfriend that you are a bona fide academic failure? Still, you don’t want him wondering about you while he should be working. Your numb fingers fumble with the phone as you try to call him back without running into anybody on your walk back to student housing.

It doesn’t reach the second ring before he’s picking up.

“Hey,” he sighs. “I was starting to worry.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy,” you exhale, cutting through some trees as you approach your building. “What’s up? How’s the case?”

“Well... that’s actually what I’ve been calling about. We wrapped up this morning.”

“What? But last night you said it would be at least three more days.”

“Rare instance of me being wrong, I guess.”

“So when are you flying back?” you ask, not wanting to get your hopes up. You know sometimes his team stays behind to help with processing a case. He doesn’t reply for a moment. “Spencer?”

“I’m... thirteen minutes away from your school. Twelve.”

Your brain short-circuits as you process his words, the cold metal of the door handle biting into your fingers as you stop dead in your tracks.

“You--are you driving here right now?”

“Yes,” he begins, sounding embarrassed, “I kept calling because I wanted to ask first, but I know you had your last final this morning and you were going to come over when I got back anyway so I thought you might want to come stay with me for a few extra days. You can say no, obviously—”

Some of the icy despair melts in your chest.

“Of course, I want to.”

“Good,” he exhales a laugh. “It would have been awkward if you said no. Can you have a bag packed by the time I get there?”

You’re speedwalking through the lobby now, hitting the up button for the elevator more times than is necessarily effective.

“Drive faster.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

By the time you blindly shove enough clothing in a bag, text your roommate to let her know you’ll be gone for the rest of the week, and make it back outside, Spencer’s familiar vintage car is already pulling up to the curb. He doesn’t even bother cutting the engine—just puts it in park and gets out, rounding the vehicle as you close the distance between one another. His smile is brilliant, and though you don’t feel particularly deserving of it, it’s for you.

“Hi,” you breathe shakily as he loops his arms around your waist.

“Hi, pretty,” he says, already leaning down to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet over too quickly, but then he’s gently pulling you into him. You drop your bag and bury your face in his jacket, trying to right yourself before you go into an emotional tailspin.

As usual, he smells like lavender, clove, resinous amber. It makes your head spin. Right away you feel yourself relaxing; feel your guard slipping, like it always does when he’s around.

“I missed you.” The words are quiet to begin with, muffled further by the fabric of his coat, but you know he’ll hear you.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “Everything okay?”

Why are you always surprised when a man who works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI accurately analyzes your behavior?

“Just tired. Can we go home?” You pull back enough to look up at him, meeting his fond—and just a little concerned—gaze, averting your eyes before he has time to discern your... omission of truth.

“Yeah, angel. Of course we can.”

He opens the passenger side door for you, making sure you’re settled before tossing your bag in the back seat and circling around the back of the car.

“Is that coffee?” You say as soon as he slides into the driver’s seat. His eyes dart down to the tumbler in the center cupholder as he buckles.

“It’s from the jet. You won’t like it.”

Despite his warning you reach over to grab it, taking a small sip as he puts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. You make a sour face. Spencer glances over.

“I told you it was bad.”

You yawn, putting it back in the cupholder. “It was worth a shot.”

Jazz music plays quietly from the speakers and the heat is blasting, but you’re too busy mentally rehashing question 37 to find it relaxing.

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he states. Not a question. Outside, the brick buildings of your campus roll by. You wonder if all the students rushing about on the sidewalks and side streets failed any of their finals.

“Couldn’t,” you mumble flatly, picking at your nails.

There’s a moment’s pause, and you’re imagining all the things you could have done differently. You’ve never failed a final before. If you’d just studied a little bit harder—if you’d stayed in instead of going out last weekend, if you weren’t so—

“I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Spencer says.

“Mhm,” you hum, too afraid to speak because your eyes are already stinging again. Honestly, you’re surprised you made it this far without him getting the truth out of you. He offers his hand across the console as you slink down in your seat, and you take it, allowing him to run his thumb over yours in soothing lines.

“How do you think your final went?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bare branches of the trees outside blurring as you stare unseeingly.

“Not good. Like, I definitely failed, not good. I'm an idiot.”

“You absolutely are not an idiot.”

“You didn’t see me taking the test, Spencer. I literally just sat there staring at it for ten minutes before I even answered one question. It was pathetic.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

The question takes you by surprise. Your frown deepens.

“What? I don’t—that’s not—"

“Just answer the question. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Yes!”

“Don't lie to me.”

“Fuck you! I slept for like two hours and had coffee this morning!”

He squeezes your hand.

“That’s why you failed.”

The first tear traces its path down your cheek, composure overwhelmed by the confrontation.

“I hate when you use your stupid interrogation tactics on me,” you say, voice wobbling. And then the crying begins in earnest.

“I know, baby.”

His hand moves to rub your back when you let go to cover your face. Torrential evidence of your frustration and utter exhaustion well over, slipping through your fingers despite your best efforts to stop them from coming at all. Having an emotional breakdown in the passenger seat of his car is far from how you’d wanted to greet Spencer’s surprise arrival, but you’re too worn out to mask your emotions—especially when he is so adept at drawing them to the surface.

A moment passes like that before you take a shuddering breath, raising your head slightly and wiping your cheeks with your sleeves in vain.

“I should have been able to do it. I just—it was like I was reading the questions and I knew that I should know the answers, but I couldn’t remember anything.”

“You’re exhausted. Sleep deprivation has an immediate, devastating effect on cognitive functioning levels. My recall and processing speed start to fail when I’m tired, too. It has nothing to do with how smart you are.”

It makes sense—but it doesn’t make you feel much better. You wanted to ace this exam. Of course, Spencer wouldn’t understand because school was as easy as breathing for him. He barely had to try to get three doctorates. It’s possible, you suppose, that dating a genius has put an academic chip on your shoulder—maybe you’ve set impossibly high standards for yourself.

After a few minutes the crying finally ebbs, if only because you’re running into supply and demand problems with your tear ducts. You rub your weepy eyes on your shoulder, leaning against the cold window and watching DC go by.

“You know, the final isn’t as important as you think it is. You’ll still pass the class.”

“It’s symbolic,” you mumble, breath fogging up the glass. Spencer hums, still rubbing your back.

“I know. I know it matters to you, but I don’t want you to think one bad grade is a reflection of who you are. Do you understand why it doesn’t make sense to measure something as abstract as intelligence by a metric as one dimensional as a standardized test?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You shift in your seat, wiping your face with your sleeve and prompting Spencer to take your other hand once more.

“Can your FBI friend hack the university database and give me an A?” you ask after a moment, sniffling.

“Absolutely not.”

“Pretty please?”

“Nope.”

“It’s like you don’t even love me,” you mutter, angling yourself away from him.

He pulls your hand toward him and presses a kiss to the back of it.

“I love you so much that I don’t want you to get expelled for academic dishonesty.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably just drop out.”

You both know you’re just being overdramatic, but Spencer has a tendency to be sweet even when you don’t deserve it.

“I’ll love you no matter what you do.”

You blush, unable to come up with a sufficient reply. His eyes slide to you briefly and he smirks, clearly enjoying his ability to fluster you, and by extension, get you to shut up.

“Eyes on the road, genius,” you grumble. But for the first time today you’re fighting a smile instead of tears.

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds

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powermakar · 10 months

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Slut! (3+1) - LS2

Summary: 3 times you break down and Logan pulls you in and the 1 time he breaks down and you pull him in. Based off of the song "Slut!" by Taylor Swift

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: Swearing, self-deprecation, and Qatar 2023

1- I crashed my car

“Logan,” you breathe out. “Logan, I, Logan…” you try again.

“Y/n what happened? Are you okay? Did you get into an accident? Where are you?” Logan quickly asks as panic builds up inside of him.

A quick “yes” is all you are able to croak out. “I crashed my car, I don’t know what to do and I need you,” you say with tears rolling down your face. “The other guy is being an asshole and he just keeps yelling and swearing at me.” Wiping your runny nose on your sleeve you say, “I’m scared, please hurry up.”

“I’m on my way, just try to breathe with me, we don’t want you to hyperventilate,” he tries to joke.

As you mentally go through the checklist of things you know what to look for and ask for when you get into an accident, you can’t seem to think straight. Embarrassment, the fear of failure and disappointment run through your veins. You can’t even imagine how angry people will be at you, and that thought alone just scares you. You walk to the back of your car to reassess the damage, luckily there is a miniscule dent on the back of the bumper. Nothing really worth fixing or paying any attention to. When you turn to the man’s car you cringe inwardly as more tears prick your eyes. You look back at the man and say, “I am very sorry sir, I really do not know what happened but I am willing to pay for any of the damage.”

The man looks you up and down before telling you to shut up. At his abrupt comment, you turn away from him as more tears begin to run down your face. “Don’t you walk away from me you bitch!” the man yells.

Unfortunately for the man, Logan heard his comment as he was getting out of his car. “Do not ever call her a bitch ever again, do you understand?” he says as he walks towards you. You see the man awkwardly turn away from the two of you.

Logan turns to you as you quietly call his name and engulfs you in a hug. “It’s okay, we will figure this out, don’t worry about it, angel,” he whispers as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.. All you could manage was a little hum.

And I break down, then he’s pullin’ me in. In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

2- I’m tired

Being a university student is exhausting. Add in a boyfriend, a social life, and a job, all of your days seem to blur together. As the weeks went on, assignments and projects stacked on top of each other in a never ending loop. Once you finished one project, you were assigned another one along with some long-term assignments you needed to constantly work on. This week in particular seemed extra hard. Two projects, one discussion, and five different assignments were all due in a span of three days and you haven’t even started on some of them. You knew it was going to be a long week of sleepless nights. You were fine with it though, this is what you wanted anyways. Right?

“Hey angel, do you want to go out to the theater and go to dinner after?” Logan asks as he walks into the kitchen area.

“I would love to, Lo, but I really have to work on all of these assignments. They are all due pretty soon and I don’t have much done,” you sigh.

“Oh come on Y/n, you’ve been working extremely hard and you deserve a break. Please, for me?”

“I deserve a break after I finish these. It is important that I finish these. Please just let me finish.”

“Ok, how about we just go out to dinner and skip the movie?”

“Logan, don't you understand that I’m tired and I just want to be alone so I can finish these assignments. God, you are so annoying. Just stop bothering me, please.” you abruptly say. Logan, who was taken back by your rude outburst, just looks at you before walking into your shared room.

You couldn’t focus on your work after Logan left, all you could think about was the look on his face after you yelled at him. You were running on a few hours of sleep and you knew that wasn’t an excuse, you felt awful.

Walking to the bedroom you gently knock on the door, “Lo, can I come in?”

“Go work on your assignments, I don’t want to talk” he says muffled. Ignoring his comment, you walk into the room anyway.

“I’m really sorry Logan. You aren’t annoying, it was a bad thing for me to say. I’m just really tired and overwhelmed so I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have.” The tiredness suddenly hits you like a train and emotions are running high.

“I’m really sorry Lo. I did not mean it and I really feel awful. I’m so sorry” you say, feeling a tear roll down your cheek.

“Come here Y/n. I know you didn’t mean it, I also know how serious you take your studies so I shouldn’t have really asked you to step away from it for some stupid movie,” Logan says while pulling you into his lap.

Burying you head into his chest, you can feel more tears fall. “I’m sorry for getting your shirt all wet”.

“It’s okay. How about we get some take-out and I will try to help you with some of your work?”

“I would really love that Lo, thank you.”

And I break down, then he’s pullin’ me in. In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

3- I read the comments

You knew that you would have to deal with all of Logan’s fans and others when you first started dating him. You knew that, you understood that, but what you couldn’t understand was the fact that they will scrutinize every single little detail about you. You didn’t understand why they didn’t do it to the other girlfriends, not that you wanted them to experience it, it just felt like you were singled out. Maybe the others did get all of this hate but they just hid it or covered it up well. That is something you would never be able to do. The comments were on your mind 24/7, it was all you could think about nowadays.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, all you saw was the few stretch marks on your thighs and how much more you weighed compared to everyone else. Now you did not blame Logan for posting the picture of you two on a beach over the summer break. You blamed yourself. Why did you have to look like that? Why did you have to weigh what you did? Why did Logan date you and not someone skinnier?

It was like a never ending spiral. Soon you were taking off your shirt to look at the ‘lumps’ on your stomach. Gently grabbing the skin, you pulled on it, imagining how much less you would weigh if you were to cut it off. Your eyes made it up to your boobs where some of the upper flesh was spilling out of the cups of your bra. ‘Tiger stripes’ were what Logan called them, you called them stretch marks and were embarrassed of them. Logan said that they were one of his favorite things about you, they were probably your least favorite thing about yourself.

You didn’t even register the bathroom door opening until you made eye contact with Logan in the mirror. “What are you doing?” he asks as his eyes make their way over your breasts.

“Oh, I was just- uhm, just…” you say, clearing your throat.

“Doing what exactly?”

“Do you ever read the comments on your Instagram posts?” you ask abruptly.

“No not really, why?”

“Well I read the comments. Are you not embarrassed about me? To be seen with me? To post a picture of you beside a person like me?”

“What are you talking about Y/n? I would never be embarrassed about you. I love you, don’t you know that?”

“Logan you shouldn’t be with someone who looks like a whale when they go to the beach or with someone who has stretch marks all over their body.” These were just two of the comments that seemed to run like a broken record in your mind.

“What the hell? You look perfect, angel. In fact you are perfect Y/n. I don’t want to be with anyone else but you. Whoever put those silly ideas in your head should be embarrassed and ashamed of themselves for saying such things about a beautiful person. Now let me show you how much I love you.”

You can feel a faint blush rise to your cheeks as you turn off the bathroom light off, leaving your discarded shirt laying on the floor, and the bad idea in the air.

And I break down, then he’s pullin’ me in. In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

+1- I crash and burn constantly

Another DNF in the books. Another podium for Oscar in the books. You felt torn between sickness and happiness. You felt awful for Logan as he wasn’t able to finish the race due to the bad conditions and felt sick to your stomach as his F1 career could be on the line, it was all he really dreamed about. But you felt happy for your long-time friend Oscar as he seems to be finding his spot within F1 with McLaren.

You grab a water bottle on your way into Logan’s driver’s room. You don’t even knock. You just walk into the room and sit down on the couch. You look over to Logan and you don’t even dare to utter a word to him. You know he doesn’t want to talk about it so you don’t even bother with it. He looks up at you but quickly turns away and looks at his shoes resting in the corner of the room.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “Did you go watch Oscar’s podium celebration?”

“No” is all you say.

“You should have. You should be out celebrating with him and Lily. Go and congratulate him, you shouldn’t be in here with me.”

There was something just…off about him. “I doubt this would be the only opportunity to congratulate him.”

“You’ll never get to congratulate me.”

“You know that is not what I meant. I congratulate you after every race. There aren’t enough words to tell you how proud I am of you.”

“You aren’t proud of me. You are proud of Oscar. You are just embarrassed of me. I’m lucky if I get to finish my race, let alone fight for a podium. I have been out-qualified by Alex every single damn time. I crash and burn everytime I get in that car and I’m fucking tired of it.” He lets out a shaky breath and runs his hands through his hair. “I’ll never be like Oscar, I’ll never be that ‘once in a generation talent’ and I don’t even have a chance at being the best rookie since Lewis. It’s too much pressure to even keep the car from hitting the wall,” he continues.

“I know I will never fully understand the pressure of being a F1 driver but I at least want to help. Help me understand what you are going through and we can work through this together. Please let me help you Logan, please,” you whisper.

He walks over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, resting his head against your shoulder. You take a hold of his left hand and begin playing with his fingers.

“I was fighting at the top with Oscar when all of a sudden I found myself being glad that I finished the race or even finishing P19 instead of P20 is a miracle. I just feel like I need to prove to everyone that I am capable of competing and having a seat in F1. I hate seeing how upset the mechanics get when I crash and the fact that they have to rebuild a whole damn car in a single night. And the memes and jokes, I hate seeing them. I know what a fucking kilometer is and I know that me and Oscar are now at total ends of the spectrum when it comes to results. It’s fucking hard to see everyone comparing me to him is those stupid videos.” Throughout his whole speech, you could hear multiple voice cracks.

“Love, we all support you. Me, your family, your friends, the whole team, even Oscar supports you and only wants the best for you. Please believe that we are all so proud of you and what you have been able to accomplish.” You can feel a wet spot growing on your shoulder, when you look down you can see Logan trying to wipe his face. “It’s okay Lo, you will get the results that you want, you work so fucking hard and I know, with out a doubt, that you will achieve something great.”

You kneel down infront of him and take his hands into your own. “Please trust me on that Logan, please.”

“I trust you Y/n, 100%”

And he breaks down, then I’m pullin’ him in.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #williams racing #williams f1 #williams formula 1 #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant fanfiction #logan sargeant fluff #williams

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silantryoo · 11 months

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BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — minjeong's deal

aeri uchinaga's mansion, gangnam-gu, seoul, korea. 2:43 am.

WARNINGS ; cheating, drug/alcohol imparement, manipulation, slut shaming, incel behavior, suggestive (3.3k)

kim minjeong had met y/n about an hour after jang wonyoung.

the younger girl had strayed from the viewing group, wanting a more in-depth tour than the one kwon eunbi was offering her. she had read about the school online, and her connections (read: BTS' jin) had told her the best place to view the campus was in the first year's dorms, at the very top of the building.

it was minjeong's favorite place too, seeing all the cars scattered and all the students lingering.

y/n wore a red suma sweater that day, sporting it as if she had already been admitted to the university. her hair was lazily tied into a high ponytail, stray strands littering her face, all signs that indicated she was already part of the suma student body.

but minjeong could tell that she had never stepped on the school grounds until today. the amazement in her eyes seemed to shine brighter than the sun itself, and minjeong felt almost hypnotized.

"um, are you supposed to be here?"

y/n looked at her and minjeong swore she had never seen someone so pretty until her.

she looked like a movie star, one of the ones you saw as you browsed through the menu of a streaming platform. her face was flushed with embarrassment, coating the tip of her nose which lay a singular beauty mark, and minjeong could feel her cheeky smile radiating with an innocence that she wanted to have for herself.

"please don't tell anyone." even her voice was pretty. "i promise i was just looking."

kim minjeong could feel her heart beat out of her chest.

this was their secret, hers and this stranger's.

"i won't tell."

y/n nodded, smiling at the older girl as she looked down at the group she was supposed to be a part of.

minjeong could feel herself getting more and more nervous being around her. she wondered if this could finally be it.

"what's your name?" minjeong asked.

"mine?" y/n hummed. "my name is y/n."

y/n.

she was gonna make y/n hers, no matter what it took.

"i'm minjeong."

the suma student watched as y/n looked away from the crowd, her cat-like eyes staring into her dark irises. the air of the vents seemed to breeze along the hairs on minjeong's neck, the girl forcing back a shiver.

y/n...

y/n smiled at her.

jimin glared at the shorter girl crying into her hands.

the party was slowly dying downstairs, albeit at a snail's pace, and the smell of weed was starting to become less pungent. jimin had sobered up quite a bit, the vase full of her vomit leaving a reminder. her stomach still hurt from huh yunjin's constant kicking, but all that pain seemed to dull out as she saw kim minjeong whimpering sadly in the corner like a stray dog.

she hated kim minjeong.

"she chose wonyoung over you again." jimin snickered, speaking in a loud voice over the music.

minjeong looked up, glaring at the volleyball player as she gripped her stomach.

y/n didn't know what she was doing. it was just because she was frantic, and she didn't want to bug minjeong, the latter deduced. she should've asked her best friend, and minjeong would gladly carry her off to a safer place, away from wonyoung and jimin.

what did wonyoung have that she didn't?

"shut up."

"you'd think that you'd let go of this stupid crush on her by now." jimin loved pushing minjeong's buttons. she could practically see the steam coming off her head as the girl gritted her teeth. "she doesn't love you."

y/n did. minjeong was sure of it.

the older girl had done everything by the book. she had taken her out to dinner, paying for all her food and ordering any extra things she wanted despite barely having money to scrape by. she had always let y/n vent to her, listening to all her problems even when it bored her out of her mind. she had even put up with wonyoung for a couple months, allowing y/n to engage in sexual activities with the girl, knowing it was just one of those slutty phases.

minjeong was perfect. y/n had to have loved her.

"she does!" minjeong stood up, marching towards jimin as the older girl stood up. she grabbed her by the collar of her shit, the high making her mind swirl. "you have no clue what you're talking about!"

jimin snickered, the smell of puke and beer making minjeong wince. she pulled back, her eyes dull from the drugs in her system.

"you're delusional as hell."

minjeong needed to clear her head. y/n would hate it if she got hurt, like the caring person she was. she just needed to relax, and surely tomorrow morning, the younger girl would embrace her and everything would be the way it should be.

wonyoung wouldn't get in the way. y/n wouldn't do that to her again.

minjeong's stomach churned.

jimin could read minjeong like a book. she was everything she was. ambitious, volatile, a perfectionist. if minjeong hadn't been so aggrevating to be around, jimin would've gladly ruined her then and there.

"it doesn't feel good, does it?"

minjeong covered her ears, trying to ignore the volleyball player laughs. jimin was just saying things to annoy her. she had no idea what she was talking about.

"why would she date a fucking virgin anyway?" minjeong flinched. "you know nothing about her. how are you gonna find her-"

kim minjeong hated yoo jimin.

"don't talk about her like that!"

"why?" jimin took a step forward, leaning down as she looked minjeong in the eye. "are you mad that i got to touch her first? that she moans my name instead of yours?"

minjeong shook her head, screwing her eyes shut. sure, y/n had her rebellious streaks. she would comment about things that minjeong would internally disapprove of, and would post photos wearing outfits that minjeong didn't like, but she wouldn't fuck jimin willingly.

y/n was hers. she was minjeong's y/n, and no one else's.

"shut up!"

jimin could see the girl spiraling, the volleyball player's presence too hard to ignore. she understood all the younger girl's worries and fears, even if minjeong didn't know she had any.

god, jimin loved ruining pretty girls.

"she wouldn't do that!" minjeong clenched her fist. "she's just trying to make me angry."

jimin burst out laughing, and minjeong could feel herself overheating from anger.

"she doesn't even love you." jimin's could feel tears starting to form in her eyes from laughing so hard. "why would she care?"

y/n loved minjeong. she had to.

"she does love me!" minjeong could feel her heart racing, drug-laced hatred filling her veins. "she just-"

"keeps choosing people aside from your loser ass?"

minjeong flinched.

she wasn't a loser. she was quiet, yes, but she was pretty. she knew how to talk to girls, and she got decent grades without even trying. she held doors open for them, and smiled at them. she always offered her train seats to the elderly, and always walked on the side closest to street.

she was nice. she wasn't a loser. girls didn't like losers.

"she's just trying to make me angry." minjeong was a good person. she deserved someone as good as her. "she's just playing hard to get. you would've fucking understand since you're easy."

jimin clenched her jaw. it wasn't her fault that girls just threw themselves onto her. she was only human. by the third person, she just couldn't resist. jimin was still loyal to y/n emotionally.

but y/n wasn't, and deep down jimin knew that maybe she never was. it gutted her knowing that her girlfriend was probably thinking of wonyoung every time the two of them kissed.

"easy? i'm easy?" jimin scoffed, leaning closer to the girl with the bloodshot eyes. "i bet that slut under some girl right now."

minjeong's stomach churned.

"no, she doesn't!" she couldn't. y/n knew better than to upset her. "she wouldn't do that to me! she loves me!"

jimin rolled her eyes. "she went home with wonyoung, remember?"

minjeong shook her head once more.

"no, she didn't!" minjeong didn't hear it, and even if she did, she knew she heard wrong. y/n was hers. only hers. "you're lying."

jimin paused.

she looked at the shorter girl, her eyes red and system full of whatever lay in aeri's kitchen. jimin wondered if minjeong was actually this deranged, or if it was all because of the weed.

"are you deaf all of a sudden?" jimin laughter halted. "she asked wonyoung to bring her home. not you."

minjeong hated jang wonyoung.

she hated the way the taller girl could make y/n smile. she hated how wonyoung could come in, and sweep her off her feet. she hated that no matter how hard minjeong tried, y/n would always notice wonyoung in a room before her.

"no..." minjeong shook her head, watching as jimin smiled at her. "she wouldn't hurt me like that."

y/n kept hurting her. it wasn't fair. she did everything. it wasn't fair.

"she doesn't give a shit about you, minjeong."

minjeong could feel the weed hitting her system full force, the pressure in her head almost unbearable. her eyes felt like it was about to pop out, and everything seemed so distant.

if y/n wasn't gonna love her, if y/n wouldn't learn to love her, she would just show her how much it hurt. minjeong would make y/n understand how badly it gutted her to see her with another girl that she wasn't supposed to be with.

y/n would understand then. she would stay away from jimin, from wonyoung, from everyone and be with her.

pain was all minjeong could feel, and all minjeong could teach.

"fuck you."

minjeong had had her first kiss with a girl named miyawaki sakura.

she was pretty, with big, doe eyes and a smile that anyone would kill for. they had met during minjeong's first year, and the journalism major had ensured that minjeong wouldn't ever be left alone. it could've been great, if it weren't for lee chaeyeon getting in the way.

minjeong had pressured the older girl, even when sakura had told her to leave her alone.

but minjeong had always been persistent.

she lunged at jimin, her lips colliding with the older girl's like two stars forming a black hole.

everything felt like fire.

she could feel the pads of jimin's fingertips, and how the chilling sensation sent shivers up her spine. the younger girl could feel their teeth clashing messily, jimin's tongue forcing its way down her throat. all she tasted was a concoction of jin, rum, and vodka as jimin's hands found their way under minjeong's shirt.

she pulled away with a gasp, letting the volleyball player strip her down into nothing but her underwear as she fumbled with the buttons of jimin's pants.

she pushed jimin onto the bed, letting the garment pool to the older girl's ankles before straddling her.

minjeong was gonna ruin her, just like jimin had ruined her life.

she leaned down, marking the volleyball player's shoulder with a bite. she didn't care if y/n saw, minjeong wanted her to see. she wanted the younger girl to know how awful it felt to know the girl she loved fucked someone else.

minjeong wanted y/n to feel her pain.

jimin's hands wandered as minjeong took off the ace's already crumpled shirt, hurrying to take off her bra along with it.

"you can't get the girl so you fuck her ex?" jimin propped herself up on her shoulders, smirking at the girl above her. "you're fucking psycho."

it felt good to know that y/n was going to regret her decisions, but it felt even better to know that minjeong would have yoo jimin wrapped around her finger in a matter of seconds.

"fuck you."

aeri uchinaga wondered why the party had died down so suddenly.

mere minutes ago, crowds of people had gathered in her living quarters, getting drunk and high out of their minds. now, there were only a few people left wandering the halls, gathering their drunk friends and ushering to get them home.

(she had seen yujin passed out in front of the laundry room door, and judging by the bottles surrounding the younger girl, she was most likely gonna stay there all night.)

she had shot her not-yet-but-hopefully-soon girlfriend, baek alex, a text, hoping that the younger girl hadn't gotten herself in another one of yena's brilliant ideas. aeri had only been met with one reply:

jimin's upstairs. i saw her an hour ago.

the message held many meanings, a couple of which ended with jimin drinking herself into a puddle of her own vomit. though usually, it had been jimin breaking a random assortment of her things in a fit of rage.

yoo jimin had always been an angry drunk.

aeri sighed, going upstairs as the remnants of the partygoers started to disappear more and more. she turned the hall, expecting to see a broken painting or a smashed-up vase.

she didn't expect to see jimin two fingers deep in a random girl.

aeri covered her eyes, looking away as she screeched. no matter how many times jimin brought a girl over, she was never gonna get used to seeing her butt naked.

(come to think of it, jimin was never naked. she hated it when people touched her.)

the mystery girl shot up, pushing jimin off of her as she covered her entire body with the only pillow left on the bed.

jimin could feel herself reeling back to reality, her face heating up. most times, she would get angry at aeri for walking in, but she usually wasn't naked most times.

"shit," jimin looked around. "um..."

aeri glanced at the two girls wide-eyed, before grabbing the door handle. she had no idea how long jimin had been up here with her, but she could take a couple guesses based on the marks that littered their bodies.

"wait," jimin called before closing the door. her heart was pumping in her chest. "please don't tell anyone."

toying with minjeong was an experience that jimin didn't think she'd enjoy. it was like striking a match and throwing it into a pool of gasoline. watching minjeong throw away everything just for her pleasure made jimin ten times more excited.

but jimin wasn't gonna let anyone know. not when minjeong could easily hold it above her head and threaten her loving relationship with y/n.

aeri nodded, eyes clenched shut.

"i'm not going to!" the uchinaga just wanted to leave and erase... that image from her mind. "why the hell would i?! it's not like she's your girlfriend or anything!"

the room rang silent, and minjeong could feel her heart suddenly drop at the thought of y/n finding out. she looked over to jimin, the exact same expression on her face.

oh...

minjeong could use this (but so could jimin).

aeri listened to the lack of protest, the air hanging dead.

"...is she your girlfriend?"

minjeong could still feel the weed in her system, and the intensity of the situation wasn't helping clear her head. jimin's gaze burned into the side of her head, turning around before she opened her mouth.

but minjeong was faster.

"um..." minjeong whispered, her heart threatening to leave her throat. "i... i am."

jimin whipped her head to look at the younger girl, mouthing 'what are you doing?' before clenching her jaw. she needed to clear this up, before aeri had gotten the wrong idea.

the ace looked at the frightened minjeong, who seemed to regret ever meeting said girl, and all she could do was smirk.

minjeong had no choice but to come back, and god, did jimin love ruining pretty girls.

"jimin settled down?" aeri furrowed her eyebrows, hand still gripped on the half-closed door.

minjeong shot jimin a questioning look. had aeri never heard of y/n?

jimin cleared her throat. "leave, aeri."

aeri nodded, eyes still clenched tight. her manicured nails snaked its way to the inside doorknob, twisting the lock before she slammed it close. she was in no way, shape, or form ever gonna mention anything about tonight to anyone. she needed that image out of her head.

she turned around, a chill of disgust running through her spine.

aeri wished she could've met jimin's girlfriend in a different way, but she was glad that her best friend finally let go of the shadow that was hwang yeji.

jimin glared at minjeong as soon as the door slammed closed.

part of her was happy that minjeong would come crawling back to her from time to time, but her stomach churned at the idea of y/n finding out. she had always been careful to not hurt her girlfriend with her rendezvous, keeping her contact names vague enough for her to know, but for y/n to never find out.

but she knew aeri loved to snoop, and she was good at it too.

"are you fucking stupid?" jimin spat out. "what if y/n finds out?"

if y/n found out, there were only two things that could happen; she would run to jimin, or she would run to her. minjeong knew that y/n would always take her side, but her gut seemed to churn at the possibility of y/n going to someone instead.

she needed this to stay quiet, to use it as leverage, to bring her y/n closer to her and away from everyone else. when the time came - if the time came - minjeong would tell her, but by then, she and y/n would already be together.

minjeong could feel the haziness starting to fade.

"do you want your friend knowing i'm your ex-girlfriend's best friend?"

"you're not special." but she was. she was everything jimin hated about herself, everything that jimin wanted to change. "you're just a body."

jimin watched as hurt spread through her face.

"was y/n just a body to you too?"

jimin had never wanted to punch someone more.

"that's different."

"i know her more than you ever will." minjeong knew every breath that y/n took, she knew which places she frequented, which food she was allergic to. she knew. "she doesn't love you either. she never has."

she was right. jimin knew she was right.

"shut up!" y/n was hers. she was her trophy. the shiny proof that jimin had stayed a good person despite every curveball life had thrown at her. she wasn't ruined, she had y/n. "you're the fucking freak sleeping with her ex!"

minjeong looked away, her face contorting to something jimin had only seen in a mirror.

"she hurt me!" minjeong gripped her pillow tighter, raising her voice. "i'm just trying to teach her a lesson, okay?"

perhaps it started as a lesson, but minjeong couldn't deny everything that had transpired between them.

"this wasn't a lesson." jimin smirked leaning down in front of the girl's face. "you enjoyed it. i know you did."

"shut up!"

minjeong did her best to push the taller girl away, but jimin was much stronger than her. all she could do was face the consequences of her actions, and how much she truly enjoyed it.

"how's y/n gonna feel about that, huh?"

but she was y/n's forever, emotionally and physically. jimin wasn't gonna stand in the way, even if she was a good fuck.

"i fucking hate you."

jimin was addicting as she was annoying.

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taglist (CLOSED)!!

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#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

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inkbyajm · 11 months

Text

of kindling sparks

masterlist: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

tropes: fluff, slow-burn

warnings: 11 year age-gap (reader is 23, joel is 34)

word count: ~6000

author’s note: so this chapter as well as the next one basically serve as one long exposition before the main story (aka the prequel). i realise this is lengthy as hell but i needed to flesh out the relationship between joel and the reader for the upcoming chapters to hurt, you know?

(p.s. there's mention of joel carrying the reader. i know some people might be put off by this, but joel is quite buff. i mean the man works in construction, i promise he can handle carrying an adult for less than a minute)

————-　❈　————-

The air was getting chillier, the change of seasons not going unnoticed. (Y/N)'s focus was razor-sharp as she drove through the streets of Austin, making sure to take in the ever-changing leaves on the trees she passed by. As an exchange student, it wasn't cheap to be renting a car, and the money her parents were generously providing her could only last for so long. She desperately needed another source of income. Her prayers were answered the week prior when she stumbled upon an advertisement near the exit to her university. It was for a babysitting job with a decent pay and convenient working hours. She wrote an email to the address written on the poster:

Dear Mr. Miller, Is the babysitting job still available? I'm a student currently on an exchange program at the University of Texas. And while I haven't had prior experience in babysitting, I used to be an assistant teacher in a kindergarten. I'm very good with children and at keeping them alive (this is a joke, but I am pretty responsible, my mother can attest to this). If there is any need for it, I can also cook and clean up after each visit. Thank you for your consideration and I hope to hear from you soon!

Sincerely, (Y/N) (L/N)

To which, much to her surprise, she received an answer shortly after:

Dear Ms. (L/N), Yes, the babysitting job is still available. It's for my 12-year-old daughter Sarah. And while I appreciate all that you have to offer, there's nothing much to do but keep her alive, so your skill would be useful here. You can come by our house on 1411 Sullivan DR any day of the week after 5pm, we'll go over the details then. If you're still interested, you'll be able to start right away. See you soon!

Best regards, Joel Miller

After half-an-hour of driving, the house finally came into view. Just as she parked the car in the vacant driveway, and before she went to meet some stranger she hoped wouldn't turn out to be a creep, the girl gathered her wits and courage with a clasp of her hands, a deep breath, and a firm nod as if to say 'There's no going back now, and if I die, it is what it is'.

Her three knocks on the door were followed by a long pause which made her believe she had arrived either at the wrong time or the wrong house. But as she was about to turn around and flee in embarrassment, out came a middle-aged man with disheveled hair.

"Hello. Is this the Miller's house?"

"Yes, hi! I am so sorry I kept you waiting. (Y/N), right?" he said, wiping his hands on a rag.

"That's me."

"Great. I'd shake your hand, but mine are a bit dirty. Please, come in." he stepped out of the way to let her walk further into his home.

It was decently spacious and cozy, which temporarily put her at ease. They walked through the living room into the dimly lit kitchen. It smelled of spices and garlic.

He gestured around, "Welcome to our humble abode. Pardon the mess, I didn't exactly have time to tidy up," While it wasn't exactly messy, they could benefit from an extra set of hands. "You said you weren't from around here?"

"No, I'm quite a long way from home," (Y/N) said, taking a seat at the dining table. "I wanted to see other places, gain a bit of independence. Austin was one of the first to accept me, and since it seemed like a fine city to live in, I packed up my things and arrived at the beginning of summer."

"I'm Texas born and raised myself. Wouldn't dream of living anywhere else. How old are you exactly?"

"Twenty-three, sir."

He proceeded to rummage through the fridge that was almost full. "Alright. Would you like a beer, then? And please, call me Joel. You're making me feel old."

"Right, Joel. And sure, I'll have one if you do."

Joel handed her a cold bottle as he sat down across from her. She was familiar with the brand, they served it at the bar she worked at part-time on weekends. For the next hour-and-a-half, the two discussed (Y/N)'s life, her studies, Joel's job as a contractor, and Sarah. At some point, the attacks on 9/11 came up, unpacking the nation-wide terror they had brought. She recalled the panicked calls she received from her parents, begging her to come home. She had to explain that she was alright, that there was nothing to do about it now, and that she couldn't leave the city when she had already formed ties and taken on responsibilities.

Just as Joel was getting into another anecdote from Sarah's childhood, they heard keys jangling in the front door as it opened and shut.

"Speak of the devil. Done playing already?"

A soft voice rang through the house, "Yeah, I'm really tired." Then a pigtailed girl stopped abruptly at the entrance to the kitchen. She was wearing a soccer kit, carrying both a purple backpack as well as a blue duffel bag.

"Sarah, this is (Y/N). She's gonna be your nanny from now on."

The little girl hesitated at first, then gently approached the table and extended her small hand for her to shake. "Nice to meet you." she said with as much courage as she could muster, earning a smile in return.

Getting up from his seat, Joel kissed his daughter's head and told her food was ready, which prompted the child to run upstairs to her room. Feeling like it was her cue to leave, (Y/N) followed suit and slung her bag on her shoulder.

"Would you like to stay for dinner? I'm not much of a chef, but I have to admit I make a mean chili." said the man, pointing at the steaming pot on the stovetop.

The smell of a homemade meal was making her mouth water, but she hadn't known them for long enough to get comfortable. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I should really get going. I have some reading to finish before morning."

The two made their way back to the front door. "Alright, then. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, yeah?"

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Miller- Joel, sorry." she corrected herself, waving him goodbye as she swiftly got into her car and began the drive back to her apartment. She hadn't even begun the job, yet (Y/N) couldn't help but feel giddy about her small success.

————-　❈　————-

A couple of months had passed and (Y/N) was really enjoying her new gig. Sarah turned out to be the sweetest girl the young woman had ever had the pleasure of knowing. She wasn't fussy or troublesome, was very well-mannered, oh-so-friendly and kind, and a fan of using sarcasm here and there, which seemed to be something she picked up from her father. Joel, too, was accommodating to the new addition of their little family. (Y/N) could sense, however, that he was somewhat more reserved - closed, even. It was harder to get to know her employer, but she didn't mind, these things took time.

Leaning against her car, the young woman read her copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' for the 4th or 5th time. Something about it brought her great comfort, especially during the colder months. The festive season was quickly approaching and she wasn't sure if gifts would be appropriate so early-on in her employment. She had zoned out for so long, she didn't have time to register her name being called nor a pair of arms swiftly wrapping around her waist.

"Hey, kiddo." she laughed, hugging the curly-haired girl back.

She let go and stared up at her babysitter with her big round eyes. "Did daddy send you to pick me up?"

"No, I just finished classes and thought I'd swing by."

"What are you reading?"

(Y/N) turned the book to show the cover, "Pride and Prejudice. It's an old book."

"What's it about?"

"Uh- well, it's about a lot of things, but mainly it's the story of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy who have to overcome their differences to end up together. Hence the title."

"That sounds kind of interesting."

"Yeah, but it takes a lot of hatred and pettiness to get there."

The little girl shook her head in disapproval, "Adults. Why do they have to complicate things?"

"Alright, wise one. Get in before you get cold."

The car ride gave them more time to bond. They sang to Sarah's favourite songs and talked about whatever was on the little genius's mind. It was a unique experience for both of them, two feminine energies collided, something each of them longed for dearly.

At home, (Y/N) spent a significant amount of time helping Sarah with her homework: a bunch of English grammar exercises, essay writing, as well as some algebra. Following their arduous work, the girls decided they deserved some fun and made creamy pasta (one of Sarah's favourites) for dinner. Whilst waiting for the patriarch to come home, they got comfortable on the couch to watch 'Mrs. Doubtfire'.

Unsure if she should speak during the movie, Sarah poked her babysitter's arm. "Do you have siblings?"

"I don't, no. Why do you ask?"

"I don't have any either. Do you ever get lonely?"

(Y/N) wasn't sure where these questions were coming from, but she decided to entertain them anyway. "I used to, growing up. Though my parents did a very good job at making sure I felt loved at home. I miss them a lot, but I'm happy here too."

There was a long pause as Sarah was visibly deep in her thoughts. "I never knew my mom," It shouldn't have shocked the young woman, she assumed Joel and his wife had separated after noting the absence of a maternal presence in their home, but it still came as a surprise. "Daddy said she had her own reasons and that they both agreed for me to live with him."

"Adults always have their own reasons for things, even if it may seem dumb. I'm sure it was a very difficult decision to make for her and that she loves you very much."

"I don't think about her often anymore. My dad can be busy, but he does a good job. He comes to every game, takes me to fairs and carnivals, helps me with school projects. He's also extra cool on vacation."

Something about her remark pulled at (Y/N)'s heart. "I see. He seems like a really great dad." The girls went right back to watching Robin Williams dance around while doing chores, as if they hadn't just touched on a thought-provoking subject.

It was almost 11pm and Joel was nowhere to be seen. Instead of letting the girl pass out on the couch, (Y/N) let her hold onto her back as she carried the sleepy child all the way to her room. Making sure all was right, she put her to bed, closed the window, turned on the night-light, then made her way towards the door.

"You're really cool," Sarah said sleepily with her eyes closed. "I hope you stay for a long time."

No compliment in the world could compare to a kid's heartfelt approval. "I hope so too, sweetie. Good night and good dreams."

Walking back downstairs, the young woman took one look around the house and decided she could pass the time cleaning up here and there. She started by tidying up the living room: folding the throws, fluffing up the pillows, putting the board games back on the bookshelf. Then she moved onto the kitchen where she took the trash out, scrubbed the surfaces clean as silently as she could, put the leftover pasta away, and washed the dishes. Satisfied with her work, she went back up to Sarah's room to leave a glass of water by her bed in case she got thirsty in the middle of the night.

In a house that was dead silent, she heard heavy footsteps. In a short panic, she grabbed a pair of scissors that were lying on the desk and crept up closer to the door. The steps were agonisingly slow and calculated. The woman felt like she was in a slasher movie. Babysitters always die first. The only indication she had of the intruder's whereabouts was from the shadow that was created by the light from the kitchen. This is what you get for not turning on every single light in a house where you're all by yourself. One of the most important rules in horror movies, she thought. The shadow approached closer and closer to the door, and just when she hoped the distance was close enough, she leapt out of the room and went straight for the stranger. Unfortunately, her blow was blocked and her body pushed up against the wall. In a blink, she realised what had happened.

"What the hell, Joel?" she whisper-shouted.

"(Y/N)? What are you still doing here?"

"Doing my job. Couldn't let Sarah stay all by herself with no indication of when you'd be back. That would be irresponsible of me."

He let go of her arms, lazily rubbing his face. "You're right, I'm sorry. I got held up and my cellphone died. I'm so exhausted, I completely forgot you were here."

"It's all good, I didn't hear you arrive either," she paused, noticing the blood running down his left hand. "Oh my God, Joel, you're bleeding!"

He looked at the wound like he hadn't even felt it until then, "Oh, this is nothin'. I had worse accidents at work."

"Still, it could get infected. Please, take a seat in the kitchen, I'll be right back."

She went straight to the bathroom to fetch the first-aid kit. It was essential to know where it was, what it had and how to use everything as someone who had to watch a small human being. She went back downstairs to start working on Joel's injury.

"I'm so sorry. I was so caught up in my own mind, I thought you were an intruder, and it was the only weapon at hand-"

"Please don't apologise. It was my bad, really. I should have announced myself," he spoke as he watched her gently clean the cut with a saline cleansing wipe. "Can't blame you for doing your best to defend yourself. Takes courage."

(Y/N) realised that upon closer inspection, her employer was quite handsome. Dark messy hair, a somewhat upkept beard, broad build, crow's feet that indicated how often he smiled, as well as nose wrinkles that indicated how often he frowned. She carefully applied medical tape to close-off the wound and went to put the kit back where it belonged. On her way down, she noticed him looking around in slight confusion.

"Did you…clean the house?"

"Oh, you know, just lightly tidied up. I'm not a fan of leaving the places I stay at messy. Kind of a habit," she noted the silence and her hands instantly became cold. "God, I'm sorry. Again. I- I didn't even ask if you were okay with me touching your belongings, I got-"

"No, you're good. You're good. Don't sweat it. It's just that," Joel chuckled at her need to be so polite after months of working together. "You didn't have to do this. I can't ask you do to things that aren't part of your job description."

"I know. And I don't mind. Really. It's not like I'm playing Cinderella day and night," she said as they shared a laugh. "My job is to take care of a kid and the environment plays a big role."

(Y/N) picked up her bag, ready to leave for the night, "See you on Monday, Joel."

He reached out to touch her shoulder, then just as quickly removed his hand as if she had burned him. "Uh- do you- are you- um," She looked at him with furrowed brows, it's almost as if he was…flustered? "What are your plans for Christmas? Or, you know, holiday season? If you celebrate anything at all-"

"I won't be able to fly out to see my family this year, so I haven't made any other plans yet. Why do you ask?"

The man scratched his neck sheepishly, only then realising how long he had kept her standing on his porch when it wasn't exactly warm outside. "Would you like to celebrate with us? Sarah would be ecstatic to have you."

Warmth blossomed in her chest at the sudden invitation. So gifts are appropriate. Noted.

"I would love to celebrate the holidays with you guys. But only if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

"Excellent, then I'll be here."

"Great."

"Good."

They stared at each other for way too long, the nanny realised, bearing the slightest of smiles. "Well, then. Good night, Mr. Miller."

He shook his head at her teasing tactic, "Drive safe, Ms. (L/N)."

There she was again, driving back to her apartment, giggling to herself like a maniac and for what? They invited her to celebrate a holiday. People did that all the time. Office workers, family members, casual friends, new and old lovers, it was truly nothing exceptional. But to her it felt different and she couldn't tell if it was because Sarah liked her enough to want her there or if it was because it came from him. Christmas was three weeks away. Three. Weeks. Away. Gifts. She needed gifts. What would she give them? What did they like? It came to her that she didn't know them that well, which meant she had some investigating to do in the little time she had left for shopping.

————-　❈　————-

When Christmas finally came, (Y/N) simply could not contain her excitement. She thought long and hard about the presents she would give the Millers, and while they may have appeared simple, she hoped that they would be appreciated. She personally wrapped them up in brown paper and decorated them with stamps, ribbons, and tags, firmly believing in the art of gift-wrapping. Austin had yet to see snow, she didn't think it would ever happen, yet the city was nevertheless bursting with festive spirit. Various lights decorated the trees and bushes in public parks. People hosted diverse markets in the streets where they sold artisanal goods and delicious foods. (Y/N) had gone ice-skating with the Millers a couple of weeks prior. Joel was as bad as she thought he would be; Sarah, however, was a natural. They enjoyed a lively Christmas parade that same day.

After parking in front of the house that was very tastefully decorated with her help, the young woman made her way towards the door, her homemade chocolate tarte in hand, and knocked, taking a second to register a male voice she did not recognise. The door swung open to reveal a man not much older than her, wearing a plaid shirt and dark blue jeans.

Looking her up and down, the stranger gave her a smirk, "And who might you be?"

"Hands off the babysitter, Tommy!" she heard Joel yell from deep inside the house.

"Ah, the famous babysitter!" he exclaimed, opening the door further. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

It smelled of oven-roasted turkey, of cigarette smoke, and of pine from the christmas tree. She found all of them moving about the kitchen: cutting vegetables, setting the table, washing the dishes. She felt like she'd arrived a tad too late.

"Can I help with anything?" she said, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room.

"Nah, everything's good to go," Joel replied as he scrubbed the remaining pots, "(Y/N), this is Tommy, my brother."

Said brother took her hand and placed a tender kiss on the back of it, "Very nice to meet you." Sarah couldn't hide her look of disgust if she tried.

"I didn't know Joel had a brother."

"You didn't tell her about me?" Tommy asked in exaggerated disbelief.

"Was I supposed to? Didn't know I was running a datin' agency."

"Thought that was part of the deal when we agreed to be each other's wingmen."

"Mm, don't recall us ever doing that."

"Well, we did. Spiritually. When we went to Buddy's Place? It was just around the time when Cat-" Tommy's monologue cut short with one sharp glare from Joel. (Y/N) could practically taste the tension emanating from him. Not a big fan of reminiscing the past, she noted.

"You know what, it's no problem. It's the perfect occasion to get to know each other, eh?" the younger brother flashed her a smile. They sure had impressive genes in this family.

Once the eldest Miller was done cleaning, all three adults cracked open a few cold ones to start off the evening. Tommy had the brilliant idea to teach Sarah a few card tricks, peaking their guest's interest.

"What are you teaching a 12-year-old cards for?" (Y/N) amusedly asked. Sarah seemed excited, she was one of those kids who loved to learn, it didn't matter what it was.

"First of all, every member of the Miller family knows how to play cards, we start young. And second, if not me, then who?" He made a good point. Tommy was, after all, the fun brother. "Wanna join in? I'm told I'm a great teacher."

She caught onto the subtle flirt and found herself wanting to return the energy. He was tall, he was dark, he was handsome. He smelled of cigarettes and beer with a hint of citrus notes. Not bad with kids but he wouldn't want any of his own anytime soon; very friendly, which for him also meant outgoing, ballsy, and prone to getting into trouble; charming to the point that he might seduce a few dozen women in one night; funny enough to make people like and maybe even trust him. She didn't mind flirting, but that was the extent of her intentions, and something told her Tommy Miller felt the same way.

They spent some time watching as Tommy performed the most outrageous tricks seen to man, to which his sole excuse was "I'm a bit rusty". He also tried to teach Sarah the art of cheating which, much to his disappointment and sorrow, his niece refused to take part in for moral reasons. (Y/N) noted the elder Miller's absence and excused herself from the oh-so-riveting demonstration of a disappearing card to go look for him. After searching the kitchen, his bedroom, as well as the garage, she stepped outside with a throw blanket and found him sitting on one of the patio chairs.

"What are you doing here? You'll get cold." he said, glancing at her from the side.

"I'm tougher than I look," she answered, nevermind the blanket tightly wrapped around her frame. "Came to keep you company."

"Who said I need any?" She sensed a hint of a playful tone.

"I don't know, you look awfully lonely sitting next to that empty chair." This earned her a light chuckle as she sat down. He didn't look very warm with one hand in his jacket pocket and his collar lifted up to his chin. She proceeded to awkwardly move her chair closer to his and slowly, as if dealing with a wild animal, reached out to wrap the throw around both of them, thankful that it was big enough for the job.

Sensing how still and tense he was, (Y/N) felt the need to talk to lighten the mood, "So, do you always sit outside all by yourself? In the dark? And in complete silence? Brooding-"

"I get the picture, and no," he took a sip from his bottle. "Sometimes I like to sit in my car."

He was capable of humour, which was a refreshing discovery after countless weeks of being formal. She understood wanting to define clear boundaries between employer and employee, but when she was essentially tasked to bond with his child and regularly invited to family activities, the lines naturally blurred, and her curiosity intensified.

"Who's Cat?"

Joel was silent for a second, then let out a reluctant sigh, "Cat was…a girl I knew way back when I was young."

"You're talking like you're in your 50s."

"I'm 34 to be precise, but fine, back when I was younger," he said grumpily. "We dated for a bit, then we didn't. That's how it went with most women I met."

"Oh, is this a Casanova situation?"

"No, more of a 'not ready to commit to a kid' situation," The silence that followed was loud, (Y/N) didn't want to make a sound, afraid he'd realise what he was doing and shut himself off. "I was 21 when Sarah was born. She's the joy of my life, I don't know what I'd do or where I'd be without her, truly. But...it was hard back then for a single dad with a newborn. Never went to college, had to take on side jobs to sustain both of us. My love life wasn't exactly a priority, and when the opportunity presented itself, they fled as soon as they heard the mention of a child."

The next question was risky, but she couldn't think of anything else, "So you haven't dated since your younger days? Not even the hot single moms in your area?"

This made Joel laugh heartily, a sound she loved to listen to, something she wanted to hear more often. "Not really. I mean I've flirted here and there, but Sarah and I are good the way we are now. She's my priority, and I want to make sure my partner's good to my kid too, you know?"

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened to Sarah's mom?" (Y/N) probed further, "Sarah told me-"

"Nothing happened. She left and that was that." The wall was back up. You pushed your luck.

Luckily for them, Sarah called for everyone to play cards. Which was then followed by board games. What they discovered that evening is that (Y/N) was either incredibly skilled at them or simply unbelievably lucky. She and Tommy got on well, making innocent physical contact here and there, high-fiving each other, sharing a lot of laughter, too much laughter for the man that sat across from them. Joel wasn't jealous, he was never jealous, but the sight didn't make him feel happy either.

After a while, the oven beeped, indicating that the turkey was ready. The four of them prepared the table with bowls of salads, bread slices, side-dishes, making space in the centre for the bird accompanied by roasted vegetables. (Y/N) joined in their prayer before they dug into their food. They shared all sorts of life stories: Tommy's time in the army, the most frustrating clients Joel had ever had, more embarrassing anecdotes from Sarah's childhood, funny and dramatic events that occurred while (Y/N) was on vacation. The young woman then brought out the tarte she'd made for the occasion, much to everyone's delight. It was as silky as she hoped it would be, tasting notes of coffee in her chocolate dessert covered in walnut crumbs. The ambience was relaxing, they sat under the dim light of the scented candles dispersed throughout the kitchen, bathing in the sounds of laughter and utensils scraping against the food on their plates.

When all was devoured, they moved the party back to the living room and Tommy decided it was time for presents. Sarah received hers first, which turned out to be a collection of CDs of her favourite musicians from Tommy and a skateboard she'd wanted for a long time from her dad. She hugged each of them very tightly, already excited to put both of her new belongings to use. Then it was Joel's turn to unwrap a brand new wallet gifted by his brother (apparently, he had complained about his old one he owned for more than a decade) and a second-hand guitar from Sarah that she acquired from a friend's cousin then paid for a cleaning by a professional with her own pocket-money (with a little help from uncle Tommy). Tommy received a steel lighter from Joel, who claimed the custom engraving – a hand-drawn cowboy hat on the front and T. Miller on the bottom – was Sarah’s touch. Just when everyone thought they were done, (Y/N) cleared her throat, calling for their attention, whilst dragging her bag closer to where she sat on the floor.

“I brought gifts of my own.” She declared and pulled out a box and gave it to Tommy, whom she'd met only hours ago. “I’m sorry, I took this just in case someone else would be here, but I wish I had gotten to know you sooner to customise the present to your taste- “

“Oh my sweet God,” he muttered, staring at the large crystal bottle of whiskey. “This is one of the fanciest kind around, it ain’t fuckin’ cheap either!”

“You’re lucky Tommy here is a whiskey connoisseur.” Joel said from his laid-back position on the couch.

The younger brother engulfed her in a warm hug soon after, “You got my taste just right, sweetheart, thank you.”

The room was silent as she extended a purple envelope to Sarah, who sat across from her. It didn’t seem all too exciting. The kid in question opened the envelope, eyeing her babysitter, who herself seemed a bit nervous. The silence in the room was suddenly broken as the 12-year-old squealed her hardest squeal, forcing both Millers to cover their ears.

“It’s two VIP tickets to the Halican Drops concert in Houston next year!” she exclaimed, launching herself at the now grinning woman. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“How’d you get those? I thought they were sold out.” her father asked, clearly having gone through the struggle of standing in long queues to make his daughter happy.

It was difficult to breathe with a prepubescent child sitting in your lap as she held you in a death-grip. “I have an old friend who happens to work at the venue.” she replied, accepting the kiss on the cheek from Sarah who sat back on the ground, practically buzzing as she stared at the pieces of paper in her hands.

Lastly, (Y/N) got up to stand in front of Joel as he looked up at the object she extended in complete surprise.

“You really didn’t have to- “

“Just open it.”

So he did. What he found inside was a Prussian blue knit scarf.

“I noticed you never wear one, and it’s pretty chilly out, so I figured I’d knit you one myself. Finished it just in time a couple of days ago. The color looks flattering on you.” she explained, blushing deeper and deeper with every word. She failed to notice that he, too, was heating up.

“Well, I’ll be damned. This woman can bake, she can knit, she’s smart, and she plays cards like a pro. I mean what can’t you do?” And while she knew Tommy was teasing, she couldn’t help but redden even more.

“I’m pretty proud of my mixing skills,” she added, making him pause with a face that read ‘no way’. “I’m a bartender on the weekends.”

She had barely finished her sentence when she yelped as Tommy scooped her up and over his shoulder. “That’s it! I’m taking this one with me. It was nice to see ya, big brother!”

(Y/N) squealed and wiggled around as much as she could to try to get him to let her down whilst Sarah did her best to save her friend by clinging to one of her uncle’s legs in protest. It was one chaotic scene unfolding in front of Joel, who had not moved from his seat, still staring at the scarf in his hands as he ran his thumb over the soft wool.

After all that excitement, the household members spent a few more hours watching ‘Home Alone 2’ and ‘Jingle All the Way’, DVDs Joel had bought earlier that week. During the viewing, he caught himself glancing at the woman curled up against the arm rest less than a few feet away from him. She remained completely oblivious, amused by the tomfoolery happening on-screen. He left the room for a moment to dispose of his empty bottle in the kitchen. On the short way there, he realised he was slightly tipsy. While he was rummaging through the drawers, he heard someone come up behind him.

“Looking for this?” he turned around to see (Y/N) holding up the bottle-opener. She walked up to the counter and opened the bottle in his hand, brushing her cold fingers against his warm ones in the process.

“You’re cold.” he commented bluntly.

“Yeah, my extremities get cold easily. That’s why I walk around in gloves and thick socks as soon as the temperature starts dropping.”

She threw away her own empty bottle and swiftly turned around to walk back into the living room, when she felt his hand wrap around her wrist ever so gently.

“I didn’t get to thank you back there. You know, for the present?” he spoke softly, giving her a rare smile. “It was real nice of you.”

She noticed the way his pupils were slightly wider than usual and his stance that seemed to swing back-and-forth ever so subtly. “Joel, are you…are you drunk?”

“It takes a lot more than a few bottles of IPA to get me there. I’m just fine.” he whispered, for what reason she wasn’t sure, then unexpectedly walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He didn’t leave her to contemplate her next actions for too long because he emerged not even a minute later, holding his right hand behind his back.

They found themselves standing closer than they should have, but neither of them seemed to care as Joel revealed the mystery object.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

It was the most beautiful edition of ‘Jane Eyre’ she had ever laid her eyes on. Red leather hardback with golden accents all over it, including the fore-edges, it looked like something out of a royal library.

“How did you know?” her question was vague, but she knew he knew what she meant.

“Sarah told me about the books that you like, said you haven’t read this one in a long time.”

Her warm embrace came to him as a surprise, but in the state of mind he was in, not only did he accept it, but it felt good, it felt right to hug her back.

“It happens to be one of my favourites, so thank you. Really. For all of the things you’ve done for me so far.”

The two held onto each other for longer than needed until Tommy’s call brought them back to reality. The other Miller eyed the returning pair suspiciously as they took their respective places on the couch and went back to watching the movie in comfortable silence. Only he noticed the red book in her possession and fought hard to stop himself from smiling.

Later that night, after all the dishes had been washed, the leftovers put away, and the only child put to bed, Tommy reluctantly sat in the back of the cab Joel had called for him. I am not fetching my brother from a jail cell on Christmas Day, he'd told him. When he walked back into his home, he saw a sleeping figure on the couch, covered by one of the throws.

He went into his bedroom and took no more than 10 minutes to replace all of his linen with fresh ones from the closet in the hallway. He wasn’t going to let his guest sleep on a couch, especially not under a row of windows or next to the entrance door. Carefully picking her up, and she was one deep sleeper, he made his way back to his bed to lay her down on the new sheets.

My extremities get cold easily.

He changed his usual blanket for a thicker one then grabbed a pillow and went to make his bed downstairs. He picked up the scarf lying on the coffee table once more and unfolded it entirely, only then noticing the tiny initials embroidered in grey into one of the ends – J.M. Upon an even closer inspection, he realised it smelled of vanilla and flowers.

————-　❈　————-

masterlist: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

tags: @elliaze @joeldjarin

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you

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barksenji · 3 months

Text

Kidkiller modern/real life (?) AU: College or something, idk.

Holy, this is my first time writing on Tumblr lol. This was originally in Spanish but I decided to translate it because it's cute. Anything that doesn't make sense is there for narrative purposes. Also, this is how college works in my country (Venezuela), I have absolutely no idea how it works in the US much less other countries. Lol. Anyways. Enjoy.

Sitting in the bleachers of the gym, the two guys watched as the ball skidded across the feet of the students playing football. The game, meant to be a simple friendly match, had devolved into what resembled a WWE brawl, complete with the loud thuds of bodies hitting the ground.

"I'm way better at sports than these losers," the redhead boasted, his thick Scottish accent sharp with arrogance.

"I know, Kid," replied the blonde, equally as Scottish, if not more.

"I'd have my team winning every damn game."

"I know, Kid."

"I'm gonna be the best football player in the world."

"...You're studying robotics engineering."

"That's beside the point, Killer."

"I know, Kid."

Both men had classes later in the day and lived quite far from the university, often finding themselves with long stretches of idle time between lectures. Their days sometimes began with a class at 7 AM, followed by hours of nothing until their next class at 4 PM. Rather than wander aimlessly around campus or venture out for errands, they found amusement in watching the medical students attempt to play sports, often failing miserably. Or more specifically, they enjoyed watching Law making a fool of himself.

The funniest part? It was an elective. He chose it himself.

"Hey! Trafalgar! Keep eating dirt like that, maybe it'll improve your grades!” Kid mocked.

“FUCK YOU!” Law shouted back, red-faced and indignant.

Kid threw his head back in laughter, oblivious to the enchanted eyes fixed on him. Killer watched Kid’s antics, a soft smile playing at his lips. He couldn't have asked for a better companion. Having Kid by his side made him feel incredibly fortunate.

“What are you staring at, bozo?” Kid asked, breaking Killer’s reverie.

“Nothin',” Killer replied, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness despite his attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Wish I could see behind that motorcycle helmet to know just how much you're judging me.”

“I'm not judging you! I'm just... contemplating.”

For a moment, silence hung between them.

“Uh-huh.” Kid arched an eyebrow, then laughed again.

Killer blushed beneath his helmet, trying to hide his embarrassment. They were bros, and such feelings were out of place.

“So, what's your next class?”

“Confectionery and ice cream,” Killer answered.

“Confectionery and ice cream?! Is that a real class?”

“Well, I am studying gastronomy.”

“Do you have a super hard exam on how to make a sandwich? Like 'Oh no! I failed my toast exam! I'm toasted!' Haha, get it? Toasted... because of toast."

"You're so hilarious, Kid,” Killer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But they actually teach you how to design amazing products using sugar, icing, chocolate, and other ingredients. You know, the kind of things I cook for you that you love? Like that Dundee cake you ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?"

"Ok, you should've led with that. Never stop making those, they’re delicious,” Kid said, practically drooling at the memory. “Nothing beats the pasta though."

"I agree, nothing beats the pasta..."

They both fell silent, lost in thoughts of food, debating whether their lunch money should be spent on actual lunch or saved for a taxi. No, they did not have a car. No, they didn't have money for one.

"So... what's your next class?" Killer asked, snapping them both out of their pasta-induced coma.

"Physical fundamentals of mechanics.”

"...Confectionery and ice cream does sound kinda funny next to that,” Killer admitted. “What do you even learn there?”

"Well, we study kinematics, point dynamics, work, power, mechanical energy, that kind of stuff." He was still baffled by the fact that Kid could comprehend all that.

"Yeah, I'm sticking to the ice cream," Killer laughed, but as soon as he noticed, he quickly covered his mouth over his helmet. "Ahem. Sorry about that. Uh—when did you say that class was?"

Kid frowned, noticing Killer's reaction to his own laugh. Killer had something called "PBA," or something along those lines; he didn't know—he wasn't that smart. What he did know was that it caused uncontrollable bursts of laughter in inappropriate situations. It had started after a brain injury from a mishap they got into together. Killer was self-conscious about it; he was already insecure before, but after the accident, he grew absolutely sick of it, even when it was genuine. Kid felt guilty; if he hadn't dragged him into that, he would feel okay. First, he lost his arm to stunt riding, giving Killer the biggest scare of his life, and now this—

"Uh...Kid?"

"Oh yeah, yeah," Kid snapped back to reality. "It’s at 3 PM."

"Kid."

"Yeah?"

"It's 2:56."

"Fuck, you're right!” Kid said, scrambling to gather his things. “Sorry, dude, don't want to leave you here all alone but—y'know."

"Yeah, no worries. I have to get to class soon anyway," Killer reassured him. "Plus, you'll need to study hard if you want to make that giant metal arm you showed me."

Kid paused, surprised that Killer remembered. A blush crept up his cheeks, followed by a wide grin. "Hell yeah, Kil! I will! I'll make you some sick cooking utensils too. Like—knives that spin like chainsaws."

"Why would I need knives that spin like chainsaws?"

"Because they'd look cool. And they'd be faster. Plus, there's the risk of adding a finger to the menu, which is metal."

Killer let out a soft giggle and a sigh. "God, I love you, Kid,” he muttered under his breath.

“HUH?!” Kid turned as he walked away, cocking his head.

“I said you'll miss your class, Kid!" Killer corrected himself, blushing furiously.

Kid raised an eyebrow. "...Love you too, bro, I guess," he responded with a smirk, then dashed off.

Fuck.

#kid pirates #one piece #eustass kid #killer one piece #eustass captain kidd #massacre soldier killer #kidkiller #op killer #op kid pirates #one piece killer #hell yeah gay people #this is just pretty casual conversation but I think that's sweet #idk lol

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asturniolos · 10 months

Text

you too - matt s.

chapter 2 ; you going up?

chapter 1

chapter 3

chapter 4

warnings - just slight swearing !

9:27am

".. and be prepared for friday's lecture; your study on creative expression in poetry. your completed assignments for this will be expected.."

my professor's voice beaming through the lecture hall is muffled by the sound of bolder feelings by the ivy playing in my airpods as i stand up from my seat, grab my bag, and neatly place my things in it. i let out an exhausted sigh and make my way out of the lecture hall, followed by a few other students heading to various other facilities. i glance out of the huge windows of the building i'm in and feel my mood instantly improve at the sight of the heavy rainfall hitting the concrete like bullets. i love winter.

as i approach the stairs leading to the bottom floor of the university, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

annie!🧸 : u ready to be picked up? i'm out front!!

my eyes light up as i remember the coffee date annie and i had planned.

i unlock my phone as i walk and begin typing my response when suddenly i feel a hard shove to my side. my bag slips off my arm and lands at my feet, leaving my textbooks and macbook scattered on the floor in front of me.

i hear a gasp followed by a warm, masculine voice, "holy shit i'm so sorry- are you alright?"

i go to pause my music but realise it has already stopped playing. my jaw drops as i look at the ground and see my phone. my shattered phone.

"what the hell? watch where you're walking!"

i step forward and start gathering my things off the floor and placing them back into my bag, cheeks burning red with anger and embarrassment. i feel a hand place itself on my shoulder.

"fuck i'm so sorry. here, let me help you."

"no, it's fine i've got it.", i reply, shrugging the hand off of me in annoyance.

regardless, the boy bends down and begins grabbing my notebook and pencil case which landed next to him. he passes them to me, apologising a few more times.

"i'm so sorry about your phone. i promise i'll pay to get it fixed, just give me your number and i'll sort it out. is that alright?"

i so desperately want to yell at him for running into me, but his considerate offer convinces me otherwise. i pull my bag back over my shoulder and tuck my thick hair behind my ears. glancing up at him and meeting his eyes for the first time, his slightly wavy brown hair falls perfectly as he brings a hand up to his face and pushes it out of his eyes. he scratches the back of his head while waiting for a response from me.

"um.. yeah that's fine. thanks."

i grab a pen from my bag and tear a piece of paper from my notebook to write my phone number down. i pass the paper to him when i'm finished and watch him read it, fold it in half, and place it in the front pocket of his blue hoodie. i take a deep breath in to calm my nerves and can't help but notice the strong scent of aftershave coming from him. i glance back up at his freshly-shaved face and feel my cheeks glow pink. i redirect my eyes to the floor in an attempt at distracting myself from how attractive he is all of a sudden.

"you going up?", he asks, motioning to the stairs above us.

"down, actually.", i reply.

"you're blushing."

"i am?"

"mhm."

he chuckles.

"let me carry your bag for you.", he asks, the sentence coming across more as a statement than a question.

"it's fine really, you don't have to-"

he cuts me off by reaching for my shoulder and taking my bag from me.

"it's the least i can do."

he grins. i think about taking the bag back from him and walking to annie's car alone but figure it would give me an excuse to walk with him for another few minutes. as we walk, i can't help but stare at the veins covering his hands, completely losing track of the conversation. before i know it he's taking my bag off of his shoulder and handing it to me at the doorway.

"i'll give you a call when my lectures over. should be about an hour or two.", he states, taking his phone out of his pocket and checking the time.

"what are you studying?", i ask.

"filmmaking. what about you?", he replies.

filmmaking. oh my god. could he be the guy annie was telling me about?

"english literature."

"oh so like.. shakespeare and shit?"

i lightly chuckle at his stupid response, trying to come up with another question to find out more about him.

"yeah, i guess you could say that. is this your first year here?"

if he says yes i swear-

"yeah actually, i just moved here from boston with my brothers."

i pause.

"brothers?"

"yeah. i'm a triplet."

no. way.

"my names matt.", he continues, "what's yours?"

"y/n. nice to meet you, matt."

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #fanfic #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #smut #sturniolo x reader

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kats-alcove · 2 years

Text

After-School Activities: Chapter 8

|ch. 1|ch. 2|ch. 3|ch. 4|ch. 5|ch. 6| ch. 7|ch. 8|

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, loss of virginity

Summary:

You’re a relatively innocent University student, so why are you interested in the school’s BDSM club?

A/N: It's finally happening!!!! Man, there really is nothing like the looming nature of college projects to get the creative juices (pun intended) flowing.

Read it here on AO3!

The drive back to his apartment was the first time you had ever seen Aizawa act in a way that could be called reckless. He drove one-handed, the other one never leaving your thigh. Every time the car stopped at a red light, he was turning to you, drawing you into a hot kiss. You couldn't stop giggling: excitement, anticipation, and arousal were a heady cocktail in your system.

Finally, Aizawa pulled in front of his apartment. You unbuckled your seatbelt and made to open the door, but a hand on your wrist stopped you.

“Wait,”he said, voice serious. “Before we go in: birth control.”

You blinked, vaguely embarrassed that something as important as that had slipped your mind. “Right. I’m on the pill, and I get screened yearly. The last one came back clean.”

“Responsible girl. My last check was clean as well, though I have condoms available if you’d like, but you should know that I had a vasectomy years ago.”

“Seriously?” You couldn't hide the surprise in your voice.

“Yes. I have no desire for biological children; my years teaching high school cured me of that.” Aizawa chuckled wryly.

You giggled. “That makes sense. So, no condom then?”

“No condom,” Aizawa almost groaned, and he leaned over to give you another deep kiss. “I think we should go inside now, kitty-cat.”

“ Please. ”

The two of you hurried out of the car and up the stairs. Aizawa held the door to his apartment, locking it behind you while you stepped out of your shoes. You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned, only to let out a squeal when Aizawa caught you by the waist. He spun you around, pinning you against the wall with one hand on the small of your back while the other cushioned your head.

Aizawa swallowed your surprise with a greedy kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth. He pressed against you and even through the fabric of his pants and your skirt, you could feel the length of his cock beginning to stir. Bringing your hands up to the back of his neck, you gave the hair there a tug. Aizawa pulled back and rested his forehead against your own. He was panting lightly, breath ghosting across your lips in the ghost of a touch.

“Bedroom. Please , Aizawa,” you begged.

Aizawa smirked. “Well, how am I supposed to say no to that?”

With an effortless motion, Aizawa scooped you up by your thighs, encouraging you to wrap them around his waist. This caused your skirt to ride up, bringing your core into sudden contact with the hard line of his arousal. The contact drew a moan from each of you. With a renewed sense of urgency, Aizawa stepped down the hallway, nevertheless careful not to drop you. You felt one of his hands leave you to open a door, but you were surprised not to see the walls of the playroom when he set you back on your feet.

Glancing around, you noticed that unlike the dark elegance of the playroom, this bedroom very much matched the utilitarian aesthetic of the rest of the apartment. It wasn't until you saw the yellow sleeping bag bundled up in the corner that you realized: this was Aizawa’s bedroom.

“Aizawa, what about-”

“Not tonight,” he cut you off. “No play, no scene, no dynamics. Tonight is about you and me and nothing else.”

“So should I just call you Aizawa?” you asked, fingers skimming over the knot of his tie.

Aizawa brought his hand up to help you undo the fabric. “Or Shouta. If you’d like, you can call me Shouta.”

“ Shouta ,” you breathed, and Aizawa smiled. “I think I need some help with my dress.”

You turned around, expecting Aizawa to simply unzip your dress, sure he was as eager to get to the main event as you were. Instead, you felt him step closer, hands skimming up your sides and lips pressing to the nape of your neck. Nimble fingers closed around the zipper and slowly pulled it down. His lips followed the parting fabric, showering the sensitive skin of your spine with light, ticklish kisses.

Hands returned to your shoulders to help you shrug off the dress. The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You were aware of Aizawa stepping back from the way cool air washed over your skin. Shivering slightly, you turned around, seeking the warmth of your partner.

What you saw when you turned wasn't what you had expected to see. You were so used to seeing Aizawa as a pillar of control, an indomitable, unshakeable figure. So the image of him hunched over, shirtless and wrestling with his pants because his foot was tangled in the pant leg was enough to startle a small laugh out of you.

Your giggle caught his attention and he looked up at you. Eyes raked over your form as his frustrated grimace morphed into an almost playful smirk. Faster than you could process, Aizawa was out of his impromptu bonds and tackling you onto the bed. You bounced a bit on the soft mattress.

“You think that was funny? ”Aizawa growled into your neck. He sounded fierce, but his tone was offset by the lightness of his lips on your skin and his hands on your sides.

You tugged his hair, making him look up and meet your gaze. When you locked eyes, you smirked and leaned in to brush your lips against the shell of his ear.

“Yes.”

Aizawa’s eyes flashed before he swooped down and captured your lips in a devastating kiss. You whimpered when he pressed down on you, the hardness between his legs overstimulating even with two layers of fabric intervening. Whimpers turned to moans when Aizawa popped your bra open and closed one large, warm hand around your breast.

“Still think this is funny?” he asked, but when you opened your mouth to respond, he pinched your nipple hard, so all that came out was a light squeal. “That’s what I thought.”

You pouted and Aizawa chuckled, giving you one last quick kiss before his lips were traveling along your jawline and down the column of your neck. His tongue traced over the ridge of your collar, dipped into the hollow of your throat, swirled along the side of your breast before coming to circle around the hardened point of your nipple.

Aizawa teased the little bud with the tip of his tongue for a few long moments, long enough to have you squirming beneath him. Then he closed his lips around it and sucked at the same time his fingers tweaked the other one. You keened, back arching as the pleasure shot straight down to your aching core. Aizawa just smiled and continued his ministrations eventually switching over to your other breast and giving it the same treatment. He spent so much time playing with your tits that you began to wonder if he was going to make good on his suggestion from last time: to make you cum from your tits alone.

However it seemed today would not be the day for that, as soon Aizawa’s attentions began to travel downward once again. He scooted lower on the bed until his torso was comfortably settled between your legs. Two fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, but before he pulled them down Aizawa glanced up to catch your gaze.

There was a silent question in his eyes, one you answered by lifting your hips off the bed. Aizawa took your response in stride, slipping your panties down your legs to be tossed somewhere in the depths of his room. For a moment he just looked at you, at your flustered face, heaving chest, and dripping cunt. Then he was dragging one finger up your folds, collecting wetness to bring and circle around your clit.

“Already this wet for me,” Aizawa murmured. ”How long have you been turned on for?”

“Since dessert,” you admitted.

Aizawa pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. “I can't blame you for that, kitty-cat. I’ve been worked up for a while myself.”

Saying so, he ground his erection into your calf, letting you feel just how hard he was. You could feel his cock twitching, constrained by the fabric of his boxers.

Sitting up to see him better, you traced Aizawa’s form with your eyes. “Do you want some help with that? I can suck…”

“No,” Aizawa cut you off. “Thank you for the offer, baby, but I don't have the stamina I used to, and I’d hate to spend myself in your mouth when I have this wonderfully warm cunt just waiting for me.”

As he spoke, Aizawa slid one finger into your heat; with how aroused you were, it was easy.

“So let’s get you nice and ready for me, yeah?”

Aizawa’s one finger was soon joined by a second, stroking in a come-hither motion directly over your g-spot. He put his mouth back to work, tongue flickering over your clit and encouraging more wetness to spill from your already sopping pussy.

You collapsed back onto the bed when Aizawa gave your clit a particularly hard suck, coupled with him scissoring his fingers inside of you. This was far from the first time he’d fingered you or ate you out, but it was the first time he was doing so in order to prepare you for something much larger. So he kept gently working your virgin cunt with two fingers until he felt you were relaxed enough for him to work a third in.

Your mouth fell open with a strangled moan as you were stretched further than you’d ever been before. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but Aizawa’s continued suckling on your clit helped you to relax enough to take his three fingers as easily as anything. You were so caught up with this new pleasure that you almost didn't notice your orgasm until it was right on top of you.

“Ai-Shouta, I’m-” was all you got out before you were cumming on his fingers.

Aizawa didn't scold you, though, or withdraw his fingers. He simply worked you through your high, drinking in your essence as though it was finer than the wine you had shared earlier in the evening. As your orgasm abated and you were left a warm, panting puddle on the bed, Aizawa pulled back for a moment to shuck off his boxers. Then he was crawling back up the bed to kiss you.

You could taste yourself on his lips.

“How do you want me, baby?” Aizawa asked.

You felt his length prodding at your thigh and moaned. “I want you inside me.”

“I know, Y/N, and you’ll have me, but what position would you like?”

“O-oh!” You had never thought about what position you wanted your first time to be in. “Can we stay like this? I want to be able to see you.”

“Of course we can. Here,” Aizawa lifted one of your legs, encouraging you to wrap it around his waist. “And then I can just…”

Balancing above you on one arm, Aizawa used his other hand to line his weeping cock up with your cunt. He slotted it in, just the tip resting in your entrance. Already it felt so different from his fingers: somehow softer, yet much thicker. You were suddenly very grateful he had taken the time he did to prep you.

Curiously, you rolled your hips down. The two of you moaned in tandem as the head of Aizawa’s cock sunk fully into you. It felt so good, just that little bit of pleasure almost short-circuiting you. Your hips moved in tiny jerks, wanting more but unsure exactly how to get it.

“Easy, baby,” Aizawa soothed. “It’s ok, I’ve got you. Let me help, yeah?”

You forced yourself still and Aizawa rewarded you with a soft forehead kiss. Then he was pressing forward, inch by inexorable inch. Every few seconds he paused to let you adjust, stroking your face and showering you in praise; how hot your cunt was, how tight, how well you were taking him, what a good girl you were being just for him.

As for you, your mind was being blown with every inch of Aizawa’s cock that was sinking into you. There was little you could do but lay there and let out high-pitched moans every so often. This continued for you didn't know how long, until you suddenly realized that you could feel Aizawa’s hips flush against you.

He was completely seated inside you, and you were so full you could barely breathe. There was no pain, something you had sort of been expecting since it was your first time. It felt incredible, the stretch and hardness of his cock something you’d been missing without ever having had it in the first place. Only one thing could make this better.

“Shouta,” you gasped. “Move, please. ”

“As you wish, kitty-cat.”

And then he was pulling out of you, lighting a completely new set of nerves and drawing a breathy keen from your lips. Aizawa withdrew until just the tip remained inside once more. He paused for just a moment then softly pressed forward again, setting up a gentle rocking rhythm that grew deeper with every thrust.

Your hips began to move almost without your conscious input, lifting to meet his every thrust. Aizawa smiled fondly at your adorably clumsy attempts to reciprocate. He hooked an arm under your lower back, lifting your hips to change the angle of his thrusts slightly.

The new angle had the ridge of his cock gliding over your g-spot with every motion, and it was driving you crazy. Your legs wrapped themselves around Aizawa’s waist, heels drumming against his lower back as you tried to find some outlet for the well of pleasure that was building inside you.

Aizawa didn't seem to be faring much better than you. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you. His movements were still composed but there was a strain to them, as though he was having to hold himself back from simply rutting into your tight cunt. His consideration for you and your first time made your heart swell and flutter.

Summoning a bit of willpower into your muscles, you brought a hand to rest against Aizawa’s cheek. “I’m not going to break, Shouta. You can let go.”

He shook his head. “I don't want to hurt you, Y/N.”

“But I want you to feel good too,” you said, pouting as best you could given the circumstance.

“Oh, trust me, I feel great, Your pussy feels amazing, kitty-cat. You’re so tight and wet, it’s like you're strangling and drowning my cock at the same time.” Your cheeks heated at his lewd words, and Aizawa continued. “It’s taking all my self-control not to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress until you lose your voice screaming my name.”

“What if I want that though?”

“Then that’s something we can explore later, kitty. But for now,” Aizawa groaned as your cunt tightened around his cock. “I promised myself I’d be gentle with you for your first time.”

“Oh-okay,” you sighed, falling back into the mattress as another wave of pleasure washed over you.

Then you were reaching up again, with both arms this time. “Can you hold me, Shouta? I want to feel you everywhere.”

“Of course, baby. In fact, why don't we…”

Aizawa slowed his thrusts until he was stopped, buried to the hilt inside you. He leaned over, arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you up to sit on his kneeing lap. Your own legs fell to his sides, while you were able to bring your arms up and around his neck. The new angle had you settling even further on his cock, feeling it press deeper than it had before. You let out a moan as your head fell to Aizawa’s shoulder.

“Is this better?” Aizawa asked.

“ Yes, ” you could barely get the words out. “Shouta, please, fuck me! ”

Aizawa didn't need to be told twice. His hands immediately fell to your hips, holding them and lifting them slightly as you felt him withdraw. Then his hips were snapping up into you as he brought you down on his cock, and you screamed.

This was what you had been missing, what you had been craving. Aizawa was still being gentle, but there was an intensity behind his thrusts now that told you neither of you would be lasting much longer. It didn't help that this new position put your clit in direct contact with his pelvis, stimulating the little button with every thrust.

You could feel your second orgasm creeping up on you, and you were quick to whisper to Aizawa. “Shouta, please, I’m getting close.”

“Me too, baby girl,” he growled. “It’s ok, you can cum whenever you like.”

Aizawa increased the pace of his hips while bringing one hand around to play with your clit. That was really all it took, with the next snap of his hips, you were tumbling off that cliff and headfirst into your orgasm. Aizawa gave a few more sloppy thrusts before he too was climaxing with a groan.

Somewhere in the haze of pleasure, you realized that you could actually feel Aizawa cumming inside you. His cock swelled and throbbed, and you could feel thick ropes of hot cum painting your walls. It was a strangely comforting feeling, as though he had marked you, claimed you in some irreversible manner.

For a few moments the two of you just sat there basking in the afterglow of orgasm. Then Aizawa stirred, pressing soft kisses up and down the side of your face and whispering to you just how good you had done and how proud he was of you. You just tightened your hold around him and buried your face in his neck, not willing to let him go yet.

Aizawa sensed this, of course he did. There was a bit of awkward shuffling, and he did finally have to slide his softened cock out of your dripping hole, but eventually Aizawa got the both of you into a hot shower. You let him wash you, and by the time he was finished you had recovered your faculties enough to return the favor.

Getting to run a soapy rag over the planes of Aizawa’s torso was a pleasure all on its own, one you hoped you’d be able to revisit frequently. Throughout all of this the two of you exchanged soft words, though by mutual agreement you left any serious discussions for the next morning.

Eventually, you found yourself back in the bed next to Aizawa. He had recovered your panties from wherever they had ended up and supplied you with another oversized t-shirt. Aizawa himself had simply opted to throw on a pair of sweats that were, to your surprise, bright pink.

“They were a gift from Hizashi,” Aizawa grumbled when you asked him about them. “And I would have thrown them out, but they're the comfiest damn pair of sweats I own.”

The fond frustration in his voice made you giggle, which in turn caused Aizawa to smile and kiss you softly. That was how the two of you spent the rest of your night, until the adrenaline of pleasure eventually wore off and you both succumbed to sleep, tangled together not just as master and submissive, but as lovers.

#Kat's Writing #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader smut

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dutchvanwinkle · 2 years

Text

Mr Van der Linde Pt. 1 - Dutch x Reader

OK I’m working on like a bagillion things atm but I wanted to get something out before the years end to prove that I’m alive and writing (those of you waiting on requests I promise I will get to them)

I’ve been sitting on this bitch for months and have a ton of ideas for it but I wanted to see if it was anyone’s cup of tea before I poured hours and hours into it but tbh i probs will either way hehe

Also I tried to make the location ambiguous but I’m a UK gyal and the UK uni experience is all I know so don’t shout at meeeee sorry

Also pt. 2 this will be slow updates fyi. But I am nothing if not a completionist so it will get finished eventually

Happy holidays to those celebrating! The fic is on ao3 if you prefer.

Summary: You meet John's father after your first term of university, and find your growing attraction to him difficult to ignore.

Word count: 8,248

Content warnings: Modern AU, age difference, alcohol, mentions of drug use

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You hated driving with John, he was far too reckless and half the time you were sure he wasn’t even paying attention to the road, but when compared to getting an overly expensive train or a stuffy coach, it was a no brainer. John’s warped view of the value for money, thanks to him growing up with an abundance of it, also played in your favour in that he refused to take any contributions for fuel.

After meeting John at a welcome party for your student accommodation, you soon bonded over growing up in a similar area - his house was just an hour on the train from you.

From then on, you’d often attend each other’s pre-drinks before nights out, and that soon led to you battling through your hangovers together the following day. You frequented his flat more often than your own by the end of the first semester, enjoying the company within it much more than that of yours. He and his childhood friend, Javier, had asked to be put together in their accommodation and he was always a lot of fun on nights out and super easy to get on with, and you discovered he’d taken the same course as you which saved you the worry of being alone in lectures. One of his other flatmates, Sean, had drove you insane when you first met him as he wouldn’t stop talking, but you soon grew to love him, too.

Abigail was another of his flatmates, and he made the dire mistake of pulling her on the very first night; making the living situation unbearably uncomfortable for everyone else, especially when the two made the event an “accidental” reoccurring theme. It was no secret that she was smitten the moment she met him, but John being John and John also being a university student he had no desire to enter anything serious, even if he did like her more than he let on.

You’d grown close to one of your own flatmates, Karen, and she often joined you on your trips to the flat across the hall, and after she’d drunkenly got with Sean on one of the nights out, being intoxicated became a requirement for her to visit the flat to calm her embarrassment. So, you all began smoking weed together on a regular occasion, and the small group became your favourite thing about university so far.

Although you were already saving money by getting a lift most of the way home, the day that John had wanted to return for the Christmas holiday only had expensive ticket options for the final leg of your journey on the train, but two days later was much cheaper and he’d kindly offered you a place in one of his spare rooms. You gladly accepted, eager to see how nice his house was and spend a bit of time with his younger sister, Tilly, who you’d only spoken to over facetime but whose dry sense of humour you found hilarious.

“Fuck, John, stop cutting people off,” you craned your neck backwards, watching the most recent victim of John’s erratic road presence throwing up the V’s at his car.

“Stop backseat driving,” he batted his hand, but as always there was no irritation in his relaxed raspy voice, one that was getting raspier by the day considering how much he smoked. If it wasn’t weed, it was cigarettes and oh there he goes lighting another.

“You do know this is why your car stinks, right?” you asked, cringing slightly at how careless he was even with his nice expensive vehicle.

“You’re starting to sound like Abigail,” he scoffed, taking an extended inhale from the cigarette and blowing the smoke at you for good measure, laughing in that signature wheeze of his when you recoiled.

Pushing the button to crank the window down, you leaned over and allowed the fresh air to fill your lungs now that you were back on normal roads.

The pair of you soon reached a more rural area, and John cleared his throat when he pulled into a gated entrance. You gawked at the property, once John had used his fob to open the gates to reveal a driveway filled with decorative stone leading up to a gorgeous big house.

“Shiiiiiit,” was all you could muster as you admired the beautiful brick and windows when you stepped out of the car.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, flicking his cigarette and leading the way to the front door.

You’d never seen a door so grand, dark wood that looked heavy and a golden lion's head holding the knocker. John fished his key from his pocket as you rang your fingers over it and didn’t care for your interest when he flung the door open.

“’m back!” he called into the house, which somehow felt homely despite how large it was. It was only a few moments before Tilly came charging down the stairs and flung her arms around him. You smiled as the pair embraced, one of the few brother-sister duos you knew that didn’t hate each other. They were extremely close, and you’d found out after a few weeks the reason why.

John’s mother had died when Tilly was only young, and your heart ached for the two kids but thankfully it brought them closer and they always had each other’s backs, with the guidance of their father, who had understandably been broken by her passing, along with their older brother.

Tilly greeted you too, and you shook her hand as she bounced in the direction of the kitchen. “Dad’s in the back room watching the game with Arthur,” she informed the two of you as you followed in her direction. You’d heard a lot about Arthur, John’s older brother, and had the privilege of seeing a photo of him once. He didn’t live at the house, instead with his boyfriend, Charles, and if you’d have known he was going to be there today you might have made a bit more effort.

You tried to be subtle as you took in the gorgeous room, black granite counter tops and high-end appliances only a backdrop for the big family kitchen that boasted an island in the middle with stools pulled up to it as it functioned as a breakfast bar too.

As Tilly helped herself to something from the cupboards, you followed behind John to the adjoining room where you could hear noise from the TV in the form of a football commentator.

You weren’t often nervous, not really, but something about this big house made you wonder what sort of man owned it and managed to make it warm and inviting while single-handedly raising his three kids. And when you saw him, lounged back on his sofa, wrapping his long ringed fingers around the neck of his cold beer bottle that paused on its way to his lips as his eyes landed on you, you had to gulp.

And when your name rolled of his tongue, that voice so deep and rich, you tightened your grip on your bag and quietly sucked air into your lungs as you smiled at him coolly. That didn’t help either, just brought your attention to the faint smell of tobacco in the air mixed with cedarwood and some delightful cologne that you wanted to inhale even more of.

But christ that’s John’s father you’re thinking about and you’re stood there like a moron and he’s waiting for a response. “Mr Van der Linde,” you swallowed. “Thanks for letting me stay, your home is lovely.”

John tutted loudly at your ass-kissing display, but you didn’t miss him shrinking slightly when his father turned his attention to him.

“I see you’ve not developed any manners while you’ve been away,” he tipped his chin down at the man who now gave off the aura of a boy, before looking back at you. “Thank you, miss. Please make yourself at home.”

You nodded and swallowed again, hoping it wasn’t noticeable to anyone else but God your mouth felt so wet all of a sudden. He was John’s father, alright, in possession of the same rugged charm held by his son, but much more refined and much less boyish. He shifted slightly in his seat, propping his leg up on the L-shaped sofa that he’d claimed the corner of. You darted your eyes away, reminding yourself not to look between his legs but wishing you could because those tailored black trousers did wonders for him.

“That’s Arthur,” John pointed lazily at the other man in the room, and you hadn’t even looked at him yet, but you were glad for something else to focus on. He was also a treat to look at, even more so in the flesh and you wondered what it was about this family that produced these kinds of men because you’d never encountered anything like it and now here you were in a room with three of them.

“Nice to meet you, Arthur,” you smiled and the man nodded in acknowledgement, nudging his beer upwards slightly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mr Van der Linde loosen the collar of his crisp white shirt, that’d been rolled up to reveal his forearms as a substitution for changing out of his work clothes to make himself comfortable.

“Will the two of you be joining us, son?”

You looked to John, part of you hoping he’d say yes but part of you desperate for any excuse to leave the room so you could breathe. John opted for the latter option, muttering something about being hungry and tired and wanting to settle in after the drive and Arthur asked when he planned on telling them all about his life at university, for him to just mutter later as he departed the room, and you quickly offered a smile to the two gentlemen before following him out.

“I’ll let you pick a room before we get the bags,” John began the walk up the stairs and you grunted behind him.

“Pick? You mean there’s more than one?”

He shrugged, as he always does when he felt uncomfortable discussing his financial situation. Half the time, you thought he hated having money, but you supposed it was more his manifested embarrassment over how much it set him apart from other people. Nobody would guess if they didn’t know, both due to his mannerisms and his insistence on often wearing the same t-shirt for a week straight.

“Well, where’s your room?” you asked, thinking that picking whichever was closest to him was the safest bet.

John pointed up, before walking towards a door which when opened, revealed another small flight of stairs. “Mine’s the attic. You’ve got the choice of that one,” he pointed at a door in front of you to the left, “and that one,” he pointed behind you at a second door, before making his way up the stairs to dump the first of his stuff.

You looked between the doors and decided to investigate the first one. It was bigger than your room at home, decorated in white and duck egg blue with a large double bed in the centre. The theme was the ocean, a beautiful painting above the bed depicting a grand ship on a calm sea. You’d be more than happy to stay here, hell a sofa would do you fine, but you still gave the other room a look even if out of pure nosiness.

The second room was warmer, dark wooden furnishings with an accent of a pretty mustard colour. The double bed was tucked into the corner beside the window, looking out over the garden and countryside beyond. There was no theme to this room, but a few decorations appeared to be antiques. You dropped your bag by an old-looking gramophone and ran your finger over the brass horn, marvelling at something so pretty being hidden away in a spare room. You peered at the disc inside, making out Tchaikovsky in faded lettering and reached your hand out to turn the crank, but recoiled when you realised you’d probably end up breaking it.

John’s feet thundering down the stairs prompted you to turn towards the doorway and he beckoned you to follow with the tilt of his head as he peered inside. You did, and the two of you made your way to the kitchen in search of food once your suitcase was safely situated in your room.

“There any dinner on?” he called to the next room.

“What’s it look like to you?” Arthur called back and John grumbled something about him being a smartarse.

“Half time is in five minutes, we’ll just order takeout if you decide what to get,” Mr Van der Linde called, prompting John to reach into a drawer and pull out a handful of menus.

“I forgot they even had paper menus,” you mused, leaning up beside John as you ran your hands over them to splay them out and get a good look. It all looked so good; you didn’t care which one they ordered from. “I’ll eat anything,” you announced and John huffed.

“You always do this. Can’t you pick for once?”

“I don’t mind! I could eat a horse I’m that hungry.”

John just rolled his eyes and scanned over the menus before pulling two of them out and presenting them in front of you. “Choose between these two then, I’ve whittled it down.”

You sighed, thinking that’s a fair deal as you looked between the two options: Indian or Thai.

Both were delightful, but you knew John would complain if you didn’t make the decision. After a minute of back and forth, you decided the tofu guay tiew was the most appealing and vocalised your choice of Thai.

“Dad’ll be happy,” he remarked, collecting up the other menus and unceremoniously jamming them into the drawer, “that’s his favourite.”

At the small sense of pride that filled your chest, you cursed yourself internally. Something about the man made you want to please him, an odd sensation for you since you usually could care less what other people thought. Besides, it was just a takeaway for Christ’s sake.

Shifting from the next room prefaced the two men that parted from it, expressions content and you assumed their team was winning. They were both so tall, because of course they were.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Mr Van der Linde asked Arthur who nodded as he deposited the beer bottles into the bin.

“Sure, I wanna hear all about little Johnny’s adventures,” he had a strong southern drawl, and proceeded to ruffle John’s hair who shoved him away in displeasure.

“Did you let our guest choose?” Mr Van der Linde then asked, raising his eyebrows at his other son before glancing at you with a small half-smirk.

John answered by reaching over the counter and handing him the menu, his eyes lighting up once he realised which one you’d chosen. “Good choice,” he hummed, not looking up at you and instead reaching into his pocket for his phone. “What does everyone want?”

“We can just use the app,” said John.

“No, I’ll call.”

John’s sigh caused the man to harden his gaze.

“It’s quicker over the phone,” he explained irritably.

“Dad’s an EOP,” John informed you.

“EOP?” Arthur repeated.

“Enemy of progress,” John responded, as though it was terminology even a baby should know, despite he himself only learning it from you a month ago.

“I am not,” the man grumbled. “Just don’t see the point of an app, is all.”

You smirked at the back and forth as Arthur rolled his eyes. “Someone just order the damn food,” he drawled.

Once everyone had ordered, including Tilly who it turns isn’t overly fond of Thai food but was quickly reminded by her father that she’d had free reign over the house and choice of takeout for three months, and it was only fair that her brother got to pick on his first night back. John teased her, saying that she’d become spoilt now that she was practically an only child.

“It should get here in time for the end of the game if we order and you collect it, otherwise we’ll have to wait an extra twenty. Up to you.”

“We’ll collect,” John answered without pause.

“You students really that hungry, huh?” Arthur chortled.

“I’m just excited to eat something that’s not instant noodles or beans on toast,” you hummed, thinking longingly about how much you’d missed a well-cooked meal.

“Or instant noodles on toast, in your case,” John teased.

At the looks of disgust directed at you, you huffed. “It’s nicer than it sounds!”

“That a thing you do often?” Arthur asked, more than intrigued by the strange diet of a student.

“Only when I fancy a change,” you shrugged and he scoffed, partially in disbelief and partially in amusement.

“Well, let us hope that your meal tonight is slightly more appealing,” Mr Van der Linde slid his phone back into his pocket, beckoning Arthur to follow him into the back room as the commentator announced the start of the second half.

You and John had left almost straight away to pick up the food, just to keep yourselves occupied, and thankfully it wasn’t long before you were back at his house and greeted with an already-set table including a couple bottles of wine.

It was a bit of performance getting everyone’s correct orders to them, but eventually you were all seated. Mr Van der Linde was at the head of the table (of course) with Arthur and John either side of him, you sitting next to John and Tilly sitting next to Arthur.

“Help yourselves to wine,” Mr Van der Linde gestured to the bottle of red and John didn’t need to be asked twice, pouring himself a large glass which his father eyed suspiciously.

John side-eyed you and laughed at your pursed expression. “She has a uh... an aversion to red wine,” he explained to the table.

You threw him a glare, embarrassed that he was bringing up your drunken tales from when you were learning your limits, even if you’re still yet to be mindful of them.

“Ha,” Arthur barked, “I’d like to hear that story.”

“Nobody is hearing that story,” you paused, “especially not while we’re eating,” you shuddered at the memory, looking at the delicious food in front of you and willing your brain to think about anything else.

“This is proper wine, not like that shit you students drink,” Mr Van der Linde huffed. “Just try a tiny bit.”

You obeyed, albeit hesitantly as you offered out your glass and John poured a mouthful in. Bracing yourself, you sipped it and tried to ignore the eyes around the table on you.

It tasted rich, smooth and warm on your throat and nothing like that red wine you’d experienced at university which was more closely related to window treatment. “Oh,” your tongue lapped slightly in your mouth, “that is nice.” You held your glass out again for John to fill and Mr Van der Linde chuckled to himself.

“I still want to hear some drunken tales,” Arthur took a sip of his own wine as you took another of yours.

“Well, I have plenty about John,” you smirked, forking some of your noodles into your mouth and nearly groaning at how good it tasted. Tilly’s eyes widened with intrigue.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, stomping his heel onto your toe under the table.

Your squeak turned into a laugh, and you raised your brows at him - I’ll keep your secrets if you keep mine.

He shifted his attention back to the food, knowing he had much more to lose in the present circumstance, and your agreement with one another was settled.

“How are your lectures, son?”

John shrugged. “Fine.”

“What are you learning about?”

You smirked around your next sip of wine, knowing that John hadn’t got a clue about the contents of his course given his terrible attendance to his lectures.

“Uh... Ethics.”

“Anything else?”

John attempted to remember the names of the modules he’d done the bare minimum for, but it didn’t seem to fool Mr Van der Linde one bit. He had mentioned that the push to study philosophy had come from his father, and unlike most kids that did something because their parents wanted them too, John didn’t seem to care. He much preferred being out of doors, with animals or working with his hands. Above anything, John preferred not working. So, a three-year degree, paid for by his father where he could slack off for a little while longer was more than welcome.

The way his father looked at him, you could tell John would be getting a talking to in a more private setting at a later date, but he instead turned his attention to you in favour of not lowering the mood around the table.

“Do you have more of an interest in your course than John does in his?” he asked you, his voice not entirely cleared of his disappointment and John noticed it too, shrinking his shoulders slightly.

“I suppose so,” you said brightly, hoping to alleviate the tension.

“You’re studying philosophy like John?”

“Oh, no,” you sipped at your wine, feeling as though you were being interviewed for your place on said course all over again. “Computer Science.”

He raised his eyebrow in surprise and Arthur hummed to vocalise how impressed he was. “Smart girl,” Mr Van der Linde said thoughtfully before taking a bite of food.

“She’s only interested in it because she has to be,” John scoffed, and you wondered if part of him was jealous at the praise you were getting that he wasn’t. “She’s got a scholarship,” he clarified.

You cleared your throat, embarrassed and slightly irritated at John for mentioning it. “I have to keep my attendance above eighty percent,” you shrugged nonchalantly.

“A scholarship? My my,” Mr Van der Linde brought his glass to his lips.

You just shook your head. Truthfully, you wouldn’t have even been able to go were it not for the scholarship; it would have been far too expensive, so you didn’t really have a choice in the matter if you wanted a place on the course.

“Do you know what you want to do for work?”

“Not really, suppose I’ll just go into software - that’s where most of the jobs are,” you took another sip of the wine and found your glass empty. “I guess I won’t go into app development, though.”

Even though you could slap yourself for trying to banter with him and only coming up with something so pathetic, he chuckled into his glass and his eyes were warm as they bore into yours when he licked a stray droplet from his bottom lip as he set the glass down.

You could swear you clenched.

“You always get flushed after wine,” John commented with amusement, refilling your glass before his own.

“I’m not,” you said quietly, holding your knuckles to your cheek and yes, your skin was burning. You grumbled and dipped your head, the spicy flavours of your dish now something you were all too aware of.

Mr Van der Linde just observed you, something unreadable on his face or maybe the wine had gone to your head and you just no longer had the capacity to distinguish emotions.

“Well,” he wiped a napkin over his mouth and sat back in his chair, his plate completely emptied of food. “I’m glad you’re around to keep John in check.”

“She isn’t as sensible and innocent as she looks,” John said over a full mouthful and Arthur tutted at his lack of table manners.

“That so.” Mr Van der Linde wasn’t asking. He sipped at his wine.

“Sure I am,” you cleared your throat, finding your voice once again but having nothing more to say to defend yourself. You couldn’t deny that John had experienced you in a light that was more than ill-fashioned, thanks to the numerous substances you’d experimented with over your short friendship so far.

The conversation continued long after dinner finished, Tilly talking all about her new school year and it was clear how much her father and brothers adored her; looking at her with all the love in the world and your heart swelled at the display. Your head swelled too, and you stopped your alcohol consumption after your fourth glass of wine, knowing you’d have a fierce headache in the morning.

Unfortunately, the conversation didn’t turn to the topic of Mr Van der Linde, and in your drunken haze you couldn’t stop your mind wandering as you thought about him as he sat there, a soft grin and slightly heavy eyelids following the wine and beer he’d drank that day with a hearty meal to top it off. You desperately tried to keep your gaze on whoever was talking, and for the past twenty minutes it’d been mainly Arthur. He briefly mentioned the business Dutch owned (what the business was, you had no idea) with another man, Hosea, his most trusted friend and colleague.

None of you had realised how close to midnight it was, and you rubbed at your eyes once Arthur pointed it out and called for a taxi to take him home. A yawn and a stretch later, you stood to excuse yourself too.

“Thanks again for dinner, Mr Van der Linde,” you said, picking up your cutlery, plate, and glass and loading them into the dishwasher.

“Please,” his voice came from right behind you and you stifled a gasp as you turned. John and Tilly were saying their goodbyes to Arthur at the door, but Mr Van der Linde was right next to you and god did he smell good.

And god, were you drunk.

“Call me Dutch,” he crooned, loading his own dishes beside yours.

All you could think to respond with was a nod. “Alright, thanks. Dutch.”

His brow softened at hearing his name on your tongue and he allowed himself the slight indulgence of wandering his eyes down your form as you walked away, clearly trying to hide in your walk how quickly the wine had gone to your head. He was in no position to judge, attributing his interest in his son’s pretty friend to nothing more than a drunken lapse of judgement that would go no further than that.

Your mouth was so dry.

The room span a little as you opened your eyes, but the headache wasn’t as bad as some you’d had previously, thankful that it was still dark out and you didn’t have to deal with any blinding lights. Rolling over within the comfort of the bed, which you could tell was dressed with a very expensive sheet and duvet set, you tilted your phone that sat charging on the nightstand and checked the time. 03:43.

Lord knows why you didn’t bring a glass of water to bed, or at the very least have some before you went to sleep, but you needed some right now and sat up to swing your feet onto the floor.

The house was still warm, and you ran your hand over a radiator in passing to find that it was on a low heat, so no wonder. You wore your plain, oversized, grey t-shirt and some underwear that you always referred to as your ‘boy shorts’. Drunken you had decided to be a little modest, at least.

(Mostly) sober you didn’t follow that trend, venturing onto the landing without pulling on some trackies, saying to yourself that you’d only be a moment anyway, so it was no matter.

You tiptoed down the stairs, thankful for the minimum creaking of the floorboards and made your way to the kitchen, the tiles cold on your bare feet.

There were a lot of cabinets, and while it felt rude to rummage through them you didn’t have much choice unless you wanted to lean over and drink straight from the tap, which was a much worse position to be caught in should someone see you. You eventually found the cupboard with the glasses and mugs, and after pulling out a pint glass you filled it up and gulped it down within seconds.

You did the same thing again, and as you were halfway done with your second glass a dim light was flicked on and you almost choked on your drink.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Turning, you held your hand to your mouth to mask the massive gulp of water you held in it, and you swallowed it down as gracefully as you could, wiping your lips with the back of your hand as you cleared your throat to greet Dutch.

“It’s no problem,” you shook your head. “Sorry, did I wake you?"

He shook his head too, dismissively, and you didn’t miss his eyeline drop to your legs before back at your face.

“Shit,” you muttered, moving to hide your bottom half behind the island and he smirked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

But obviously you did, you’d known him shy of twelve hours and he’d just found you in his kitchen dressed the way you were and he’d probably seen half of your ass when you were turned the other way.

You glanced down at yourself by uncomfortably.

He let you fester for a moment under his smirk, before shrugging off his night gown to reveal his broad and surprisingly muscular chest, black hairs decorating it as well as his stomach. “Here,” he handed it out to you over the counter, leaving himself in just his red and black checked bottoms.

You took it without thinking, most of your brain power allocated to the task of not staring and you looked at the garment in your hands. “You don’t have to -”

“It’s fine.” He looked almost bored of your apologetic demeanour, something you realised he’d seen a lot of from you. You took the robe and wrapped it around yourself, the softness of it making you want to curl up but not quite as much as that scent did.

“Thanks,” you mumbled and he nodded. “You don’t have any painkillers, do you?” you asked, feeling like an immature teenager that couldn’t handle her drink. “Just in case.”

“Of course.” He moved round the counter and opened a drawer, tutting at the creased-up menus that jammed it and you did your best to hide your amusement. A rattle from the packet later, he pushed two out and offered them to you, and you held your hand out for him to drop them in. You popped them in your mouth and leaned your head back to gulp down some water.

He stared at your neck as you did so, but ripped his attention away when you brought your head back down.

“Is your head hurting?” he asked, stepping towards you and holding his hand to your forehead while brushing your hair away soothingly.

“Oh no, not really,” you swallowed. “It’s just in case it does in the morning.”

“I see,” he said plainly, casually returning his arm to his side.

“Thanks... again.”

Leaning back on the counter behind him, he crossed one foot over the other and offered you a gentle smile. You took another few sips, emptying your glass.

You glanced from Dutch to the sink and back to Dutch, before making your way over to fill up again. Now he was right next to you, silently observing and you didn’t face away from the sink as you drank down some more water. You could feel how warm he was, it radiated from his chest, and you were glad to have sobered up because you were certain drunken you would’ve just leaned into it, and how awful would that be.

Awful. Terrible. Definitely not wonderful.

Gulping down the rest of the glass, you finally felt satisfied and filled up once more so you could bring some it to bed with you. You turned to the man beside you, who did nothing other than blink.

“Good night, Mr Van der Linde.”

“Good night, miss.”

You walked out of the kitchen, remembering you hadn’t called him Dutch like he’d asked but supposing it wasn’t a big deal and you couldn’t think too long on it without the image of him topless crept back into your mind.

He’s John’s dad.

Shaking your head to hopefully rid it of your thoughts, you pushed open the door to your room and closed it gently before climbing into bed and curling in on yourself, keeping his nightgown wrapped around you.

Despite it being winter, it was too hot when you woke.

It was no surprise, given the heating was on and you were wearing Dutch’s robe and had a thick duvet draped over you. You kicked it off, star-fishing and grimacing at the sweat that’d pooled on your lower back.

09:07.

You brought up your messages with John.

Going to get a shower if you don’t mind.

John was mostly hit and miss with his sleeping schedule, sometimes he’d be up at the crack of dawn and other times he’d sleep in until mid-afternoon. Today, you were thankfully he’d been an early riser.

Knock yourself out.

You stayed still for a moment, before sliding out of the bed and unzipping your suitcase to find your toiletries bag. Not wanting to change into anything that was clean, you opted for keeping Dutch’s nightgown on since you were only walking across the hall.

But when you did, and reached your hand out to open the bathroom door, you could hear the shower on from inside. You frowned and turned, in time for Tilly to depart from her room to the right.

“Oh, John’s just gone in,” she informed you.

“Fucker,” you grumbled and she tilted her head at you in questioning. “I just told him I was getting a shower.”

She giggled apologetically, her eyes shifting to look behind you at the sound of a door opening. You turned. Dutch. You hadn’t realised the room next to yours was his.

“You’re welcome to use my ensuite,” he yawned, patting Tilly’s arm as she passed him to go downstairs.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

“Right,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

“There’s no shower in there,” he leaned against the door frame, folding his arms over his now (unfortunately) covered chest. “Just a bath, but I can draw you one up no problem.”

A bath. God, you missed baths. Your accommodation only had crappy showers that were unbearably inconsistent with their water pressure and temperature.

“I’m sure I can wait,” you shrugged, not wanting to trouble him even a little.

“John’ll be at least 20 minutes,” he pointed to the door with disappointment, “bath’ll be full in ten.”

You swallowed, now feeling like it’d be rude of you to say no. “O-Okay, thanks. But I can run it.”

“Please, allow me. On account of my idiot son,” he scratched the back of his scalp lazily.

You huffed a laugh, not wanting to oppose him anymore and gave in. “Alright, I appreciate it.”

Dutch nodded, disappearing into his room and you busied yourself back in yours while you waited. You were fiddling with the gramophone again when he rapped at your open door.

“You just turn the crank,” he informed you.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t want to break it.”

He huffed in amusement, meandering over and stopping next to you to wind it up.

You smiled fondly, as the ever-familiar Dance of The Swans began playing.

“Swan Lake,” you hummed, more to yourself than Dutch but he turned to you with his eyebrows raised.

“You like ballet?”

“Love it. Used to take lessons when I was younger, not that I was any good,” you snorted. “Swan Lake was always my favourite.”

His smile was warm, and eyes intrigued. “Do you go to see the shows often?”

“Not as often as I’d like, it’s been a couple years actually.” Life as a student didn’t often allow room for the luxuries of tickets to the ballet.

Dutch nodded thoughtfully. “Well, your bath is ready.”

You followed him out the room, the song reaching its crescendo and fading out in your ears as the two of you walked further away from it. He opened the door to his bedroom, motioning for you to enter.

“There’s a speaker in there if you want to put on any music, John says it’s Bluetooth or something.”

God, he’s adorable.

He’s also John’s father goddamnit.

“Thank you,” you cleared your throat, walking past him and through the next open door, stopping at the frame.

“Take your time,” he hummed after you and you nodded in appreciation as you closed the door. You'd wanted to sneak a peek at his room but couldn’t very well do so with him watching you. You dropped your things on the floor and locked the ensuite, turning to the pristine bathroom that felt warm and cosy despite the fact it was mostly grey, the floor slate and the standalone bath by the small window at the end.

The smells inside the room were wonderful, and you peered into the steaming tub and to your surprise it was filled with bubbles, the water a shade of lavender and you were impressed that he even had the supplies to make such a delightful bath.

He’d even lit a candle for you.

You shrugged off his robe and hung it on the back of the door, taking a second to smell it and make sure it didn’t now reek of your sweat. Thankfully, it didn’t.

It was the best bath you’d ever had. You’d played some of your favourite relaxing music and looped through an entire album before you cracked your eyes open, realising how long you’d sat in the warmth as your hangover dissolved away.

Giving the bath a little once over with the scourer and bathroom spray you found under the sink once the water was out, you rubbed your nice-smelling moisturiser over your skin and dressed in your clothes for the day; feeling miles better than you had done a few hours previous.

You only allowed your eyes to rake over Dutch’s bedroom briefly, dark mahogany furnishings and an extremely inviting king-sized bed with silk sheets in the centre of the room. The only think you didn’t like was how eerily tidy it was. You left quickly.

The scent of something sweet greeted you and you cringed slightly upon seeing the hands of the fancy kitchen clock reading the time of 10:25. Whoops.

Nobody seemed to mind, greeting you as John and Tilly sat at the breakfast bar while Dutch cooked over the stove. You flicked John’s ear as you passed him for stealing your shower, although you weren’t really that bothered since the alternative was much more desirable. He rasped his laugh, as usual, and you could tell he’d just had his morning cigarette, though you suspected he was missing his weed that he’d usually smoke on a Saturday morning.

“You were pretty wasted last night,” he slung his arm over you, and you pressed your forehead into his shoulder.

“I wasn’t that bad,” you mumbled into the fabric of his hoodie that you’d borrowed on more than one occasion.

He vibrated with a laugh, resting his head on top of yours and you pondered which one of you had really been that drunk, considering he was showing signs of a strong hangover; he was always very snuggly after a particularly heavy night. “Hair of the dog later?”

“You’re going out tonight?” Tilly asked and John looked to you.

“If we don’t find anything else to do, probably. We did say we were only going to go if Javi went anyway.”

“And is he?”

“Not sure,” you hummed, shifting to lay your head on John sideways (he was surprisingly comfortable given his lean frame) and pulling out your phone to find no new messages from Javier.

Thoughts on tonight?

You set your phone on the counter, not expecting a reply until much later when he finally joined the land of the living.

“We could go on a walk?” Tilly asked sweetly and John groaned.

“A walk,” you jabbed his side, “would be lovely. Maybe in a few hours when John’s recovered.”

“Coming, dad?”

Dutch cleared his throat, seemingly very focused on his cooking and slung the tea towel over his shoulder. “Uh... Perhaps. It’s colder than it looks out there.”

He brought two bowls over, one filled with fresh berries and another with melted chocolate. You groaned in delight and sat up from John, peering at the selection.

When the bowl of chopped banana arrived along with lemon juice and sugar, Dutch allowed himself a glance in your direction and his lips turned up at the sight of you eagerly eying the food.

He finally brought over the pancakes, sauce, and fresh orange juice before seating himself beside Tilly.

You salivated at the display in front of you, the best cure for a hangover that wasn’t quite the same when you’d made it back in your flat. “Thanks so much, Dutch,” you hummed, beginning to stack your pancakes with toppings.

“It’s my pleasure,” he chuckled, pouring out a cup of coffee.

Internally, John briefly questioned when you’d gotten to a first name basis with his dad but didn’t give it much thought to it and soon his full focus was on the food in front of him.

“I got a load of washing,” he chewed his last mouthful after pretty much inhaling his breakfast, washing it down with a glass of orange juice.

“You know where the laundry room is,” Dutch countered calmly to which John scoffed and stood to grab his washing that’d accumulated over the past few weeks. “Do you want to wash anything, miss?”

“Oh,” you swallowed your juice, remembering your suitcase full of clothes that needed washing. “It’s fine, I do have some but I was just going to do it when I got home.”

“Nonsense. When John’s finished you can put a load on.”

You shrugged. “Alright, suppose I may as well.”

Later that day, Dutch called up the stairs to let you know the washing machine was free and you ambled downstairs after separating your clean clothes from those that needed washing. He directed you to the laundry room and you placed your suitcase on the dryer and opened it, deciding that one load should be enough. You looked at his fancy washing machine, slightly uncertain on how to get it going.

As though reading your mind, he appeared in the doorway and cleared up your confusion. You turned to thank him and found his eyes cast down to your pile of clothing – and you were mortified to see your underwear right at the top. In an attempt to play it cool, you looked back to him and he gave you a smile, one that had you questioning if he’d even been looking or if it was just a figment of your imagination. You returned his expression, turning back to desperately try and remember what he’d just told you about how to work the appliance and you leaned over to turn a dial and pretend you knew what you were doing. You breathed a sigh of relief when the door clicked shut after an extended moment, and dumped your pile of clothes in.

Unfortunately, the weather was both cold and rainy by the afternoon, squashing all hopes Tilly had of going on a walk. She made you promise that when you next came round, you’d join them on one and you were reminded that you had to leave tomorrow but the prospect of returning was an exciting one. Incidentally, Javier had no desire to go out in the rain and so yours and John’s plans were cancelled too, but you went to the drive through for a late lunch that you’d both finished by the time you returned to his house.

Instead, you spent the rest of the day on the sofa with Tilly and John, flicking through Netflix and bundled under blankets. Dutch put you to shame by having a better social life and going out for beers with his friends that evening, but he made a lasagne to go in the oven when the three of you got hungry, and the entire thing was demolished in no time. Nursing a rather large food baby, you turned in at around 11pm.

“Are you going to come and watch?” John asked you after he informed the room that he'd be playing football with the guys on that dreary Sunday.

You glanced out the window and back to him with a frown. “It’s pouring rain. And I see you’re going back on your promise to give me a lift to the station.”

“I never promised nothing,” his expression told a different story; he’d just forgotten. “Dad’ll take you,” he gestured to his father who looked up from his phone.

“Course I will,” Dutch stated, and returned his attention to the device in his hand.

“Oh, it’s fine, I can get a taxi -”

His expression alone silenced you as he looked up once more, an eyebrow raised at you to stop protesting. “I insist,” he said after letting the silence hang in the air for a bit. You just nodded.

When John left an hour later, he gave you a big squeeze goodbye and you told him to at least do some revision for his exams in January, to which he countered that they didn’t even count to the final grade and you couldn’t really argue with him on that. With Tilly up in her room and a couple of hours to kill before you had to leave, you tried to find something to watch on TV but had no luck and sighed as you eyed your laptop beside you. May as well try and get some work done.

You begrudgingly pulled up the code for one of your assignments, but soon found yourself focused and began to make some decent progress.

“What on earth is that,” Dutch commented, leaning on the back of the sofa as he squinted at your screen over your shoulder.

Huffing a laugh, you craned your neck to look back at him. “Broken code,” you stated, before looking back at said code.

“Looks... interesting. How can you concentrate with this on?” he gestured to the TV.

“Oh,” you looked up, half forgetting it was even on. “It’s just background noise.”

“I see. Mind if I watch something?”

As if he was asking you, like it wasn’t his own house. “Course not.”

He moved round the sofa and dropped himself in the spot you’d first found him in, and he flicked through the channels until he landed on a cooking show, and you were reminded of how delightful your dinner was last night.

“That lasagne was so good,” you commented, not taking your gaze off the screen in front of you.

“I’m glad you liked it. Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh,” you blinked at him, “no, I’m fine thank you.”

You returned your attention back to your work and settled into the cushion of the sofa. It felt oddly normal to sit with Dutch, while he did have a very intimidating aura, he was also the kind of person you could sit in silence with and not have it be awkward. He lounged back, watching his show while you typed away on your keyboard.

Before you knew it, an hour and a half had passed, and you rubbed your eyes before closing your laptop.

“Ready to get going?”

You groaned and rested back, wishing you could curl up on the comfy sofa instead. “I guess,” you grumbled.

Dutch chuckled fondly. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

“Thanks Mr Van der Linde,” you smiled at him, and there was something about the way he was looking at you...

Or perhaps it was your imagination.

He cleared his throat as he stood, placing his warm hand on your shoulder as he passed and you almost leaned into it, but he was out the room before you could and all that remained was that scent of his. You shivered as you stood.

The short journey to the station was delightful, in Dutch’s fancy car that had heated seats and was pristinely clean. You only allowed yourself to look at him once, the way he sat back and leisurely stirred the wheel with one hand, his other one resting on his thigh.

“Have a good Christmas, miss,” he tipped his head as you turned to close the door, and you returned the sentiment.

You were actually glad to be leaving, a little fantasising was harmless but there was something about that look in his eye that had you wondering if perhaps it could be a reality. And, of course, that was territory you’d never venture into; sleeping with your friend’s dad, a man twice your age? Absolutely not. Time to enjoy Christmas at home and forget all about him.

When you couldn’t find one of your favourite pair of knickers, the lacy, dark grey ones, you tutted at yourself for forgetting them even though you were sure you’d packed them. But when you returned for second term at university, they weren’t anywhere to be found in your flat, either.

#dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x f!reader #dutch x reader #dutch van der linde #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfiction #my stuff

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the12thnightproject · 1 year

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Chapter 48: Two Degrees of Separation - Comparing notes with Sasuke and Shingen leads to more questions about the multiverse.

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Previous Chapter: Here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret.

“I brought these in from the car.” Sasuke slid open the door to the bedroom wide enough to pass a few shopping bags through.

“You can come in. We’re both decent.” I took the bags, noting one of them was from a high-end lingerie store. That… had the possibility of going very very wrong, in a number of ways. I dropped the bags on the foot of the bed, as Sasuke settled in a chair by the window. “You let Shingen loose in a lingerie store?”

There was a rather embarrassed cough from the ninja by the window. He looked away from us.

“I was fine. He’s the one who can’t be trusted around women’s underclothes. I may be scarred for life.” Shingen shot a glare at Sasuke, who seemed to take great interest in the parking lot outside.

“I thought it was a mannequin and not a live model,” Sasuke muttered.

“Nope. Don’t need any more details there.” Instead, I dove into the bags, finding a couple pairs of jeans, some t-shirts… “Oooh, Black Widow, nice.”

“Figured Natasha Romanov would be your jam.” Sasuke sounded more confident now that we’d left the subject of underwear.

“Oh yeah… and I’ve got about seven years of MCU to catch up on. And I don’t know how many seasons of Game of Thrones.” It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that I’d finally learn how some of these continuing stories ended.

Shingen and Sasuke looked at each other, then Sasuke shook his head. “Um… about the Game of Thrones conclusion… you might actually find the story of my adventures in ladies lingerie categorically less traumatic.”

Huh. I returned my attention to the bags and pulled out a hoodie! I hugged it to me. It was red, not the blue-grey shade of the one that I had been wearing on the day I had initially gone through the wormhole, but it was soft and warm and felt like home in a way that no other article of clothing had. “How did you know?” I slipped it on and zipped it up.

There was a tug on the hood. Shingen flipped it up over my head. “Red hood. The better to see you with.”

“Alright, Sasuke, are you ready for all the wormhole weirdness I need to tell you about?” The three of us had relocated to the living area of the hotel suite to eat lunch that Sasuke had picked up from one of the hotel’s onsite restaurants. He’d asked me if I wanted pizza, but until I was sure how my digestive system would readjust to modern food, I’d decided to stick with soba noodles and a light soup. I was wearing my first pair of jeans in nearly seven (or was it eight now?) years, and they fit surprisingly well (Shingen: “I know every inch of your body, it wasn’t difficult”).

“Before we debrief, I have something else for you.” Sasuke handed me a sealed manila envelope. He didn’t say anything else, so I went ahead and opened it, pulling out identification papers, including a passport as well as a bank card. The accompanying account information made me do a double, then a triple take to make sure I was reading the amount correctly.

“Sasuke, do you have previously unrevealed connections with the Yakuza?” I took a second look at the passport. Yes that was definitely me in the picture – it looked like my old student ID photo, had been “aged up” slightly. The birthday was correct as well. Someone clearly had skills.

“No. Not that I am aware of. This came from a Professor I know.” Sasuke glanced over my shoulder to look at the paperwork. “Holy mother forking shirtballs.”

“From your advisor? The one who arranged my hospital stay?” Shingen examined the passport. “Nice picture… but not as nice as the real thing.”

“No. Different professor. My advisor in Kyoto who helped get you into the University Hospital is Professor Sakaki. These – as well as Shingen’s papers and bank account … which did not have nearly this many zeros – came from a friend of my parents. I’m certain they have nothing to do with the Yakuza.” He laughed off the idea. “Actually, their friend, Professor Yamaoka was the man who gave the initial idea that led me to study wormholes and their relationship to temporal anomalies.”

Wait…what? Who?

“Professor Yamaoka.” I said it slowly, to confirm I had heard that correctly.

Aki, you have some ‘splaining to do.

“Yes.” Sasuke took the envelope and folded it up. There was a rattling noise within. “There appears to be something else inside.” He shook it. “Given the amount of money in your account, I can only surmise it’s a key to a safety deposit box that contains the Holy Grail.”

“The what?” Shingen apparently hadn’t worked his way up to European literature – or the Monty Python film (the latter was something I would make sure to correct before we went back to the Sengoku era).

“No.” I already knew what was rattling around in that envelope. “It will be a shogi piece. A lance… or maybe a knight.” It had better not be a pawn after all he’d put me through. I turned the envelope upside down and dumped the item onto the coffee table. It landed with a clink, spun a few times, and landed tokin side up.

The knight.

Sasuke blinked at me a few times. “How did you know?”

“I’ve been working for Yamaoka Akihira for the past seven years. Shogi is his… calling card.” I sank back into the sofa cushion. On the day he’d left me with Shingen, he’d kept his face in the shadows. Later, when I’d thought about it, I’d figured that he’d been trying to keep Shingen from seeing his face… but no… he’d been hiding from Sasuke.

A lot of explaining.

“Your old master… the man in the woods. He’s the same?” At my nod, Shingen turned to Sasuke. “You said this man is a friend of your parents?” Shingen quickly put things together, and I was sure he could tell this information had unsettled me.

“Yes… I mean, they aren’t besties, but I know he’s consulted them on history.” He picked up the tile and examined it. It was a modern tile, made out of some kind of tempered porcelain, and not one of the wooden ones we’d used when we played at The Mountain. “They might, possibly have some old photos of him that I could try to get my hands on.”

“Anything they have would be terrific. I feel like five mysteries just got solved, but five times that many new mysteries appeared.” Popping in and out of time would explain Aki’s many disappearing acts. But why had he never told me he was a fellow time traveler? Why had he never sent me home? And what was he doing in the Sengoku era to begin with? ‘Putting things on the right path’ seemed a lot more ominous now that I knew he was from the future. “Can they scan what they have and upload it to the cloud?”

Sasuke shook his head. “They’re mysteriously attached to paper. The last time I tried to talk my father through attaching a file, he emailed me his entire hard drive and crashed my laptop.”

I put the questions about Aki aside for the moment. Possibly Sasuke and Shingen, once I told them about my detour into another timeline, might be able to help put the pieces together when it came to Aki’s involvement. “Sasuke, remember when you said you thought Togakushi might lead to a different timeline than this?”

“Theoretically, yes, though I suppose since you made it here, that must not have been the case.” He was typing up notes on a tablet faster than I’d ever seen anyone type before. He glanced up and caught the expression on my face. “Ninja fingertips. I didn’t used to be able to type this fast.”

I led him back to the topic. “Yeah, about that. My trip through the wormhole was not like the original trip. I felt like I sort of… well, stuck.” And even though I was trying to be so totally blasé, like, ‘oh yeah, I got trapped in a temporal anomaly, NBD,’ I could feel my lungs tighten at the memory of the feeling of that fog sifting through my body. Shingen put his hand on my shoulder and gave me an encouraging squeeze. Yeah… he could tell I was upset.

“Given that the passage of months here and according to Yuki, in the Sengoku, was the same, you may actually have been stuck in there a year.” Right, Sasuke had gone back and for the between here and the Sengoku while I was missing. “But you didn’t experience that physically – or that wound on your arm would have healed completely – and you’d have starved to death.”

“Thanks Sasuke.” That time I did shudder. And the mental experience had been unsettling enough without throwing in starvation. “When I did come out of the wormhole, I was told I was in the wrong timeline.”

Sasuke stopped typing. He looked like he was trying not to bounce up and down on the couch. “Do you know what this means?” He hurried on before either of us could respond. “Proof that the timelines are connected to a multiverse. Who told you that you were in the wrong timeline?”

“You did.”

“I did? I did! That is… that is frakking awesome!” He pumped his fist, then bent over his tablet and did that supersonic speed typing again. “What did I say?”

Shingen and I looked at each other, exchanged a silent mental shrug, then back at Sasuke.

“You… or I guess technically Sasuke Mach 2, looked surprised to see me, and I asked you where Shingen was, and that’s when you – he said I was in the wrong timeline.” While Sasuke seemed to be having his nerdgasm, I glanced at Shingen to see how he took that. Aside from holding me even tighter, he appeared to be following along fairly well.

Sasuke continued to fire questions at me faster than I could process them. “Were you still at the Togakushi shrine? Were you in present time or the future of that time? What was I wearing? Did I have any cool tech? Did anything unusual happen before you got stuck?”

“Yes. Present, as far as I could tell. A parka. A cell phone – I think it was a cell phone. And…” Right before I got stuck Iekane had pushed me and told me… wait, before that. In my head, I rewound things back to when I was in the tree. “Shingen, have you ever heard the phrase don’t bring a knife to a gun fight?”

He pondered for a moment. “No. However it makes sense.”

I turned to Sasuke who was already typing into his tablet. “Yes, but not sure… ah. The Untouchables. 1987.”

“I’m pretty sure Iekane was already familiar with wormholes… and has been to the present before… in fact… he said… ‘I came here with him’ … him being Aki. I thought he meant he was with Aki before Aki based himself on the Mountain. But he could have meant that he came from this time with Aki.” Before Sasuke could ask more questions, I told my story from the moment Yuki and I had spotted Iekane. “Iekane looked happy to have gotten into the wormhole. If what Sasuke Mach 2 told me is true, maybe Iekane is the one who is messing up the timelines.”

“It wasn’t this Sasuke who talked to me at the flood site?” Shingen stared at Sasuke, as if he were trying to determine what was different about the other version of him. “I do remember thinking something was strange about you, but after all that happened, I’d put it out of my head once he said a child had fallen into the water.”

Pushed. The child was pushed. The boy… what was his name? His father had said it, hadn’t he? I tried to put myself back into that moment, but my thoughts were interrupted by Sasuke.

“Huh. I wonder how I travelled there without a wormhole… no wait, you said I told you that getting back here was ‘lateral jump’.” Sasuke turned his tablet into a sketch pad and began drawing some kind of schematic. “That would mean we could jump between different points in the multiverse, and-”

“Sasuke!” He looked up me, started by my tone. “You told me not to let you investigate. It sounded like getting me here stabilized this timeline. Maybe we should do as little interfering as possible.” For my part, once I was back in the Sengoku, I was going to stay as far from the wormhole nodes as possible.

“Agreed, Devil.” Shingen pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “The wormhole stole you from me once. I do not intend to let it happen again.”

“Investigating is not interfering.” Sasuke pointed out.

“Sasuke. I know you. You wouldn’t be able to resist poking around in alternate timelines… but, from what I can tell from the conversation I overheard,” I decided not to mention that I was pretty sure Sasuke Mach 2 had been talking with Katsuko Mach 2, “there’s a timeline where Kenshin is running around modern Toyko, causing all sorts of mayhem.”

Both Shingen and Sasuke were silent at that.

In fact, Sasuke literally turned pale.

Sasuke erased the schematic he’d begun to sketch on his tablet. “New plan. We stick to this timeline, and only use the wormhole to go back to the Sengoku era when it reopens – which should be in about three months.”

“That sounds like an excellent strategy,” Shingen said.

@bestbryn

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