#he bagged a college student in his sixties

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ 5 more minutes ] l. hughes

paring : Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary : Luke’s girlfriend surprises him in Newark after his last college hockey game

warning(s) : none really. just very fluffy and emotional. also very short bc it was 1 am when i came up w this idea

author’s note : in honor of today being my last day as an ncaa student athlete, i quickly wrote this up. i was feeling very emotional and i needed a way to express how i felt. hence why we now have a very fluffy / emotional fic. some of the comments luke makes are some of my thoughts about how my own season ended yesterday. it’s kinda sad but it had to be done. you’re welcome (i think ?)

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Jack texts her when he has picked up his younger brother from the airport. She begins to pace around the living room of Jack’s apartment that he’s now going to be sharing with Luke.

She has no clue what state Luke is going to be in when he walks through the door. He’s probably going to be so pissed that he spent the last two minutes or so of his college career in the penalty box instead of on the ice or on the bench with his teammates. He’s been so busy traveling that he hasn’t had time to sit and reflect on the season.

That’s the reason that she hopped on a flight to Newark as soon as the clock hit zero against Quinnipac. She just wanted to make sure that he’s okay before he goes and signs his NHL contract in two days and joins Jack on the Devils.

Either he’s going to be really upset and pissed or he’s going to be excited to start the next chapter in his career. She has no idea which version of Luke she’s going to get.

Keys jingle in the door about a half hour after Jack texts her to let her know he has Luke. She stops pacing and stands in the middle of the living room. Her eyes are on the door as Jack pushes it open.

“… not really in the mood for any surprises,” Luke says as he walks through the door. “I’m so tired.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” Jack tells his brother as he shuts the door behind them. Luke drops the big duffel bag that contains his hockey gear on the floor by the door in the foyer area. Then he finally makes his way to the living room with his suitcase.

He freezes mid-step when he sees his girlfriend.

With a small wave and a smile, she says, “Hi, Lukey.”

Luke crosses the room in five strides because of his stupidly long legs. He envelops her in a hug and buries his face in her neck. She wraps her arms around his torso and they stand like that for what feels like an eternity.

She doesn’t mind. If it means that Luke’s okay then she’ll stand like this forever.

She presses soft kisses into his shoulder and whispers to him, “I’m so proud of you, Luke. So incredibly proud of you. I know that’s not how you wanted the season to end but you did everything you could, and for that I am so, so proud of you.”

A quiet sob wracks Luke’s body as he pulls back from the hug. She sees tears in his eyes and frowns. A couple roll down his cheek and she reaches up to wipe them away. Jack silently sneaks out of the apartment. He thinks he’s slick but she saw him leave behind Luke.

“I hated that I wasnt out there those last two minutes,” he tells her, voice shaky. “Maybe I could’ve done something that pushed the game into overtime or won it for us. Instead I was in the penalty box while my team had to fight even harder to get goals because they were down a man.”

“I know, baby,” she softly replies. “I wish I could’ve given you guys five more minutes. You all fought so hard. So fucking hard. I’m so sorry that’s how your season ended.”

More tears roll down Luke’s cheeks and she continues to wipe them away.

“I feel like I let them down,” he whispers. “I could’ve fought harder for them. For this season. I let them down when they needed me most and now I’m abandoning them.” His words break her heart.

She shakes her head and cups his jaw. “You didn’t let anyone down,” she tells him. “You did what you could in the sixty minutes you had. They know that and they will always remember how hard you fought for them. You’re so important to everyone on that team and you played such an important role in getting as far as you did as a team. They’re just as proud of you as I am because you are about to start an amazing new chapter in your hockey career. You aren’t abandoning them, Luke. They want you to move forward in your career. They understand that you’re ready and that this is what you want.”

Luke nods and wraps his hands around her wrists. She continues to look up at her boyfriend.

She’ll never understand how he feels because she isn’t an athlete. All she can do now is try to help him realize that he isn’t the worst teammate that he thinks he is at the moment. She doesn’t want him to have that mindset as he transitions from college to the NHL.

Losing is tough in any sport. She knows that much and she is going to make sure that Luke understands that it is okay to feel this way but that he also has to get ready to move forward.

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence. “Sorry I’m such a mess. I didn’t think it would affect me this much.”

“It just shows how much you love every team that you’re on,” she replies. “You dedicate so much time to hockey because you love it. You’re allowed to feel this way and feel it for a little bit. You do have a contract to sign in a few days so I’m giving you tonight to get out everything you feel about the Michigan season ended. Tomorrow, it’s time to get excited. I’m here to help you get excited.”

A smile finally cracks through the frown that’s been plastered on Luke’s face since he saw her. She dries his cheeks one more time before she pulls him back into a hug.

Luke presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. “I love you,” he says into her hair. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up. Yes you do,” she retorts. “I love you too. Let’s go get you unpacked then we can take a nap because I heard you tell Jack how tired you are.”

When she pulls away from the hug and starts to walk to his suitcase, Luke grabs her hand and pulls her back to him. She looks up at him for a quick second before his lips are on hers. The kiss surprises her because of how emotional he is, but sometimes a kiss is all it takes to feel better.

She happily smiles into the kiss and runs her fingers through his curls as she returns it. It’s one of his favorite things she does so many he’ll start to feel better a little faster. Luke loves feelings her fingers in his curls. It’s the reason he doesn’t try to tame them.

The front door opens again and a voice says, “Okay, we are establishing some rules. Rule one, the door stays open three inches when your girlfriend is over. I don’t need any babies crying in my apartment at three in the morning right now.”

They both pull back and she looks behind Luke at Jack, who has a disgusted look on his face. She smiles but Luke’s cheeks turn a tomato red. She laughs and shakes her head.

“Rule two,” Jack continues. “No making out anywhere I can see you. That means the-”

“Jack!” Luke snaps. “I get it. We get it. Also, I’m not going to be leaving my door open three inches. If I want to have sex with my girlfriend then I’m going to. It’s my room and we split the rent now so I’ll do what I want.”

“None of that premarital kissing stuff where I can see or hear it,” Jack tells his brother. “I don’t need that in my life.”

She laughs and takes the opportunity to grab Luke’s bag and suitcase. “Don’t worry,” she says. “We won’t traumatize you. Again.”

Both Luke and his girlfriend laugh as they make their way to Luke’s new room, leaving a disgusted and definitely traumatized Jack Hughes in the living room.

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MASTERLIST

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[questionableratatouille00]

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴄʜ. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The problem? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, reader wears lipstick, heels, and a dress, insecurity on Bucky's part, brief allusion to disordered eating (Bucky), mentions of Bucky not doing so well, mentions of Bucky's trauma in general, and Bucky is probably written wrong. (Trying my best lmao)

||Part 2|| Part 3 || Part 4

[Series Masterlist]

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒐𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝑹𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

🄳🄰🅈 2, 🄰🄵🅃🄴🅁🄽🄾🄾🄽

It had been easy to find a store selling dresses made to look like they were from the 1940's. The Brandon Center, the little store that could only be found in Brandon Briar, had an overwhelming amount of them. You'd left Bucky to find whatever he needed, you instead opting to browse through all the pretty dresses. There was a large selection, filled with pretty prints and colors.

Bucky, perhaps ten minutes ago, had interrupted your browsing to tell you that he was going to wait in the car. You had simply nodded, quickly glancing at the bag he carried.

A stunning red dress caught your eye. It had a little belt to go around your waist, with 3/4 satin-cuffed sleeves and a matching satin heart-shaped collar.

Sure, there were other dresses in a similar color, but once you saw this one, there was no going back. You checked the tag, making sure that it would fit.

Grinning once you saw that it did, you took the hanger off the rack before looking through the jewelry stand. When you found nothing that fit your style, you sighed. You walked to the register, and you were greeted by a woman, probably in her sixties. Her hair was dyed blonde, which looked good with her blue eyes. She wore black eyeliner all the way around her eye, with thick mascara to match. She grinned, a heavy country accent coming in thick when she spoke. Though you'd only spoken to a few locals, they all seemed to have the same accent.

"Hiya! Will this be all for you today?" She had a nametag on her floral blouse. Brenda.

You nod. "Yes."

"Okay. Oh..this is a pretty thing. You plannin' on comin' out by the old diner for the dance tonight?" She laid the dress out on the counter, examining it.

"Yeah. It's..it's in that little square, right? I saw the string lights this morning when I was driving by, but I didn't really have time to look."

"Yes, yes. The decorations are always gorgeous. Wait a minute..oh, this is from Mr. Lee." She said, beginning to fold the dress. When she noticed your confused expression, she grinned.

"A while back, we had a guy donate a bunch of old dresses like this after his wife passed. His wife was friends with Peggy Carter, funnily enough. Anyway, we kept a bunch of those dresses in the back for a few years. Forgot all about them. Until now, that is."

You nodded, though the mention of Steve's almost-kind-of-basically girlfriend startled you. A younger girl, maybe a college student, stepped out from the door next to the register. The creaky wooden floor announced the presence of another customer, as did the bell on the door.

"Aunt Brenda, can you help Ms. Owens? She wanted to look at that green dress I told you about." The girl said. Her hair was brown and straight, going down to her waist.

"Oh, yes." Brenda turned back to you. "Stacy will ring you up." She explained, placing the folded dress into a white paper shopping bag.

She walked out from behind the counter, Stacy taking her place.

"Sorry about that." She apologized. "That'll be $23.99. Hero's discount."

When she glanced up to you, she smiled a little. "Don't worry. You blend in a lot. Most of the people here are older, and anyone who isn't is just a young couple coming here for the festival. My great aunt and my grandma live up here, so I stay here every summer to help with the store." She assured.

Once you paid, she waved you goodbye as you walked out of the shop. Bucky was waiting in the driver's seat of the truck, scrolling on his phone.

"Y'know it starts at 6:00, right?" He asked when he heard the truck door open.

"It's 3:15, we'll be fine." You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt. You didn't say much on the drive to the hotel, instead thinking about what else you were going to wear.

--------------

Bucky stood inside of his hotel room, not sure what to do. You had decided to close your door to his room, and he decided to do the same.

He showered quickly, before getting dressed. He felt stupid as he glanced at himself in the mirror. He knew how he was supposed to look, but none of this felt...right. He tied his hair into a low ponytail, just to keep it out of his face.

He opened his door to your room, just to be met with your door closed. He knew it was going to be closed. Of course it would be closed. There was no reason he should feel so...disappointed.

Disappointed? No. No. Bucky was sure of it. He barely tolerated you. You were annoying, and you liked starting fights for no reason.

But he couldn't deny the feeling of excitement he got when he saw your name light up on his phone.

Ready. That was the entire text message. And somehow, a single word made his stomach feel light. Without typing a reply, he stepped into the hallway of the hotel, before he saw you.

--------------

"You look..fine." You mumble, refusing to say what you really meant: hot.

He nods awkwardly, before tilting his head towards the elevator. Nodding, you walk with him to the elevator, and you try and study his expressions as you wait to get to the first floor.

He looked lost in thought. Shit. That was never good. If he wasn't talking, whether that meant exchanging insults with you and Sam or marveling at modern technology with Steve, he was lost in his head.

One thing you'd noticed about him since he'd moved into the Compound was that he was getting better. Better, in the sense that he wasn't staying holed up in his assigned bedroom pretending that the world didn't exist. Better in the sense that he was talking to people now. Better in the sense that he wasn't waking up violent or screaming in the middle of the night. Yeah, sure, he's a petty asshole who's extremely good at pissing you off, but even semi-joking insults are better than eerie silence and pure fear of the outside world.

When he'd arrived at the Compound, he'd avoided everyone, even Steve. He didn't speak, barely acknowledged people unless he had to. He didn't eat. He could barely sleep. It was like he was a ghost. The first time Peter came over while Bucky was around, Bucky seemed to have shut down a little. Peter was a good kid. He stayed over in his room during weekends, or even occasionally during weekdays in the summer. He didn't ask intrusive questions, and he really did try his best to make Bucky feel welcome. But it really just terrified Bucky.

After a few months of court-mandated therapy, which slowly evolved from twice a week to once every two months throughout the span of a year, he seemed to recover. He slowly learned to get out of those post-HYDRA habits he'd picked up. He'd eat with the rest of the team. He'd join in on weekly movie nights. He'd even help Wanda when she cooked for the monthly 'nice-family-dinner' days. She always loved making the food for those. He started watching baking shows with Vision. He'd hang out with Natasha. He pestered Steve in a way only a best friend ever could. He made jokes. The first time you ever heard the former brainwashed assassin make a joke will be forever ingrained into your mind. It had been some stupid joke about Steve's old costume, and it had shocked everyone in the room. Except for Steve.

He only went silent like this on particularly bad days. Nobody ever said anything, because they knew that would only make it worse, but it was obvious whenever something rough went down. 'Bad days' meant days that followed nightmare-filled nights, or days that involved flashbacks or recovering from flashbacks, or days that were ruined by something triggering him.

"You good there?" You decide to speak up, just as the elevator door opens.

He nodded quickly, beginning to walk to the truck. He hops into the driver's seat, and you don't fight him on it.

"We're a bit late." You note, glancing at the time. 6:13pm. Technically, it started at 6:00pm and ended at 10:45pm.

"Holy shit." You say aloud, looking through Bucky's window at the beautiful decorations. There were string lights strung from light posts, and hay bales for some reason, and other cute things. There was a little stage set up, with a small band playing vintage songs. There were little stands set up where you could buy food or random 1940's themed shit.

"You ready?" You looked to Bucky, before checking in the mirror to make sure the red lipstick you'd applied hadn't smudged.

He nodded, parking the truck against the sidewalk. He waited for you to walk around the front of the vehicle to join him.

"I'll grab us some dinner. You up for this? We can always go back--"

"I'm fine." He said, and at first you thought that he was getting annoyed at you, before a quick glance to his face assured you that he was just trying to convince himself of this. "I'm fine." He repeated.

The air was warm, and the yellow light of the string lights combined with the street lights made Bucky look..really nice.

"Ooh! That place looks good. C'mon!" You grabbed his hand, pulling him forward.

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Taglist: @afraidofshrimp

[greenninjagal-blog]

Smoke and Mirrors

Hi :D Who's ready for this monster? Welcome to my Big Bang for this year! Special thank you to @tss_storytime for putting this together and giving me the opportunity and @dragonsarecats for being my amazing fantastic artist partner who created this cover art!

Summary: Roman and Remus don't have and never have had reflections. Logan has been betrayed by someone, but he’s not sure who. Patton's been dead for sixteen years and counting.

Somehow, all of these things are related.

Words: 3637

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Master List

“I’m just saying—” Remus says, almost sounding excited at this new revelation of his, “—the next step would definitely be an apartment building! Think about it, Roman!”

“I am thinking about it,” Roman says, tiredly. “I don’t want to be thinking about it, but I am.”

“So many people live there, you know? There’s, what, sixty units in your building, right? At least twenty of them have got to be families with little brats, then old people with their pets, other college students with friends over. On a Friday like today there’s got to be, like, over two hundred people. And then you have the narrow staircases, which Grandma and Grandpop can’t get down in a timely manner, and I bet with all the mold in the walls—”

“Remus,” Roman says, tilting his phone so that the microphone clearly picks up on how incredibly not-amused he is with the conversation.

“...the elevator is basically already on its last legs. Remember how it shook when I jumped in it last time?”

Roman remembers it really well actually, probably better than Remus, since Roman actually has a healthy dose of self preservation. Remus had just been finishing laughing his nasally, crackling chortle when the elevator doors opened again finally on Roman’s floor, and the sight of the bruising on Roman’s face when he saw him again was enough to set him off periodically throughout the rest of his three hour stay. 

Still, Roman knows that Remus has a point. Not that he’s going to admit it before he’s actually in a casket, because Remus would never let him live it down.

Roman side steps out of the way of a cyclist who seems to think the whole sidewalk belongs to them, and readjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder that is currently cutting off the circulation to his fingertips. The city isn’t entirely busy, nor the weather too terrible, but Roman is regretting choosing to do the hike back to his apartment building. His knockoff vans are hella cute today, but they were not made for long distance walking, and there’s a rock in his left one that he hasn’t managed to get out no matter how many times he’s stopped to take it off and shake.

“I’m just saying,” Remus repeats, “If I were—” 

“I hate to be the voice of reason here,” Roman says, “but you are not a serial arsonist, Remus!” 

“I could be. You don’t know everything I do in my free time.”

“You don’t have time to be an arsonist. Between all your comic deadlines and the various licenses you have accrued, you don’t spend enough time on this plane of Earth in order to have set fire to anything other than your toaster,” Roman rolls his eyes. “And that’s only when you remember to eat, Rem.” 

Remus blows a raspberry back at him directly into the receiver so that Roman can hear exactly how wet it is and cringe away from it. 

Remus had a talent for getting himself into trouble and trying new things that skirted the edge of legality, but he’d given up fires back when they were tweens. Whoever or whatever was doing it now seemed to be doing it with much more intention: a rental car in a half full parking garage, an abandoned warehouse in the industrial area already set to be demolished, a newly built, still for-sale two-story house in the suburbs (casualty: one, injured six). The most recent event had been two days ago when a department store nearly exploded right as it was closing, killing two employees, three customers, and a firefighter and injuring far more. The fires were slowly getting bigger and gaining more traction, as if gearing up for a grand finale and the news hadn’t been taking it easy.

The police and the FBI were apparently hot-on-the-case and the tip number line was almost engraved into Roman’s retinas from how it was plastered all over the place, begging for Cyra City civilians to stay aware, keep a close eye on things, and report anything that seemed suspicious.

So far no actual details about the whole thing had been made public (on the very valid worry of copycats), but the lack of information had left people far more options to gossip about it. So far Roman’s physical chemistry class was split between it being a handful of rowdy teenagers “rebelling” and it being a serial murderer winding up for an enmasse attack that would go down in history along with the “greats”. Most of the stores had started selling mini fire extinguishers in the checkout lines and Roman’s mom had called last week to see if he had already bought himself one, and Roman wasn’t embarrassed until he answered yes.

But Remus already knows all that, and had texted him a string of mocking emojis until Roman had asked if he should sell it. 

It’s currently sitting in his apartment next to his bed, in easy access if he spontaneously catches fire while sleeping. ((His last hook up had called him prepared, and well… Roman had been eager to show the guy just how prepared he was.))

Luckily, his beloved apartment building is around the corner and he can feel his second wind coming at even the thought of taking his shoes off and collapsing face first into his bed. He starts patting through his pockets for his keys, stalling his walk behind two older women in jogging outfits, and switches his phone to his other hand so he can check through his bag frustratedly. He’s found at least three chapsticks he thought he lost months ago, and his extra hairbrush, and about twenty seven receipts (one of which has the number of the cute barista and he makes a mental note to put that in his phone later). There’s a crumpled flier for some niche religious group that that Roman accepted partially because the guy handing them out looked a bit desperate for interaction, but mostly because they were outside of the boutique Roman likes, blocking the entrance. He tosses that one in the nearby trash can as he walks by.

Roman pins his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, using both hands to sift through his bag. His brain tumbles through the previous conversation trying to remember what they were talking about. 

“Did you eat today?”

“Huh?” Remus says, which is a Remusian for ‘What day is it?’ “Hey, how many people do you think I could murder and get away with?”

“Remus.”

“Probably like fifteen right? At least to start. Once I figured out how to do it. Gasoline and a lighter and I could probably get a full apartment building—”

“Honestly, going from no murder, to a few murders, to about a hundred is an insane jump. Even for you.”

“Well it wouldn’t be a full hundred. At least a few people would get out, right? Unless I barricaded the front doors, or like… chain-and-padlock-ed it closed.”

“The point still stands that— and I can’t believe you’re making me argue this— you didn’t set those fires and you aren’t going to set them in the future!”

Remus makes a disagreeable tone and Roman smiles graciously at the women nearby who probably just overheard that whole conversation and might call the police on him for it later. Lovely. He turns away quickly leaning into his phone.

“In fact, right now I bet I can guess exactly what you are doing!” Roman continues. “Sitting in your drawing chair, with both your computer monitors on. The left one has the sketches for the next page of your comic, half lined, and the right one has the character sheets for Anton and Pryce and the Dragon Witch. Your drawing pad is in front of you, and you’re spinning your pen in your hand aimlessly while we talk, and everything is the same way it was this morning.”

“You forgot the part where there’s a super hot stripper giving me a blowjob right now,” Remus says with the tell-tale clack of him putting down his digital art pen, which is as good as him admitting to it all. Roman pauses just enough to roll his eyes so hard he’s certain that Remus gets the vibe from his own apartment.

“Damnit,” he huffs, checking his pockets again. “Why can’t I find anything today?”

“Are you still looking for that compact mirror?” 

“Keys, now,” Roman says. “But I swear I had that mirror this morning when I left the apartment. I was late because I was cleaning it!”

Or well. Because he was trying to put on makeup via guesswork, but he didn’t need Remus knowing that was the real reason. 

“You know you could have made the jump with the right angle at the windows in your fancy science school, right? No one would even have noticed. All too busy being boring lame losers with no life, just like you.”

“I don’t like traveling without another mirror.”

“Um, hello? Phone screen!”

“I’m not going to leave my phone behin— found it!” 

“The mirror?”

“My keys,” Roman twists his keychain around his hand, and waves at the other college students loitering at the corner before he heads towards the entrance to his apartment building. “Look, Remus—”

“Yeah, yeah, homework, physics, blah blah blah, you’re not getting laid, blah blah—”

“Between the two of us, who walked in on the other in the middle of—”

“Between the two of us who forgot to return my copy of 2005′s Just Like Heaven and made me come get it myself?”

"You didn’t even like it!"

"I don’t like you either," Remus says. "And jeez for someone who looks exactly like me there are some startling fucking differences. Like length—”

“Tony didn’t have a problem with it.”

“I thought his name was Kyle?”

Roman frowns, pulling his key out of the door and catching it with his knee, thinking that night over. “No. He was definitely a Tony. His hair was… you know, Tony hair!”

“The fact that you had to rely on his hair is sad,” Remus states. “You get how that’s sad, right?”

“I’m hanging up—”

“Wait, wait! Just… you’re sure that…you’re not going to, like… burnaliveinafire?”

Roman blinks, and swallows back the ridiculous amount of softness that appeared out of nowhere, and hits like a sucker punch right through his ribcage in a way that is so very Remus.

“I’m not going to burn alive in a fire,” Roman says.

“… promise to jump over the second anything looks sketchy."

"There's, like, nine other apartment buildings and two hotels within walking distance! And like ten others around this district in the city!" Roman says, just short of whining because inside the building there are people who recognize him and he does not need them thinking all he does is whine and complain. At least the air conditioning in the lobby is running, offering relief from the horrible ten minute walk he was forced to endure. He does not get how normal people do this, all the time, every day!

"Fourteen, actually. I looked it up this morning and I don’t need your fancy math degree to know that’s a one in twenty-five chance. That’s a non-zero percentage," Remus counters, with that mocking tone that borders on awe because even after all this time he can’t imagine how Roman had gone from center stage to knee deep in calculus problems, willingly. He’d only made the mistake of asking Roman once, and since then both of them pretend that Roman had always dreamed of solving differentials. 

“It will take hours to find something that’s close to your apartment,” Roman says instead.

“At least you’ll be alive,” Remus says.

“Fine, fine….are you still wearing those dog tags?”

Remus makes an affirmative noise and Roman sighs. They had been polished relics of their childhood: something their parents had insisted that they have at all times for emergencies and that Roman and Remus had complained about endlessly. They hadn’t been allowed phones until they were nearly twelve years old because every argument of “we need it for emergencies” was countered by “you have necklaces that allow you to travel miles in a handful of inches”.

"And don’t use the elevators at all,” Remus adds. “I’m serious about this. They’re deathtraps in a fire. I’ll come over there and hide all your mascara.”

"Yeah, yeah," Roman stifles a yawn. "And if something happens, meet at that ugly gas station at the state border between us, don’t tell anyone where we are going, and don’t accept any rides from strangers."

"Don’t make me sound like Mom."

"Nag me a little less."

"Bitch."

"Dick."

"Dork."

"Geek."

"Loser."

"Dumbass," Roman says, far more affectionately than he meant it to come out as, and so he clears his throat quickly and he heads towards the elevator. “I’m hanging up now. Remember to eat something and I’ll see you in two days.”

“Two days? What’s.... ah, fuck me,” Remus says. There’s a loud creak of leather and Roman imagines Remus throwing all his weight back in his chair and staring at the ceiling as if he’s personally challenging fate itself. He breathes out heavily in a way that ironically mirrors how Roman’s own bones feel at the realization.

“Another year,” he says.

((He does not ask if Roman ever thinks it will get easier to bear. Roman does not answer him that no it probably won’t ever. It doesn’t make either of them feel better.))

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Roman says, forcibly shoving away the deary aura that descended on them as easily as he could. If he takes a breath and swallows away the lump in his throat he could pretend that they were talking about visiting each other for a birthday celebration.

He might not ever get to be an actor, but he’d always had a passion for acting. Is it any wonder? When he’s playing a part, he can shed the skin of a no-named nobody from somewhere so remote no one thinks it's a real place, and he can be someone with a name standing on center stage.

Roman breathes out so heavily that he almost misses Remus’s quick response.

“I already attempted to swan dive off the roof into a spoon today,” his twin says, flippantly. “Bruised my eye and split my lip and probably broke my collar bone.”

“Wait, what—” 

“Later, Prince Charmless.”

“Remus, you did what?!”

But by then he’s talking to the end call screen on his phone, staring into the picture of the flaming dumpster that he used as a profile picture for his idiot brother, with his heart racing. Logically, he knows that Remus is joking.

Probably.

Uh, maybe? 

Roman suddenly remembers a lot of leaping off the backyard shed until Dad came out screaming at them red in the face with worry, followed by tag games that ended with a leap through a window wrong and three hours worth of sitting still to get the glass shards pulled out of his arms, and then racing through the upstairs hall to jump the stair railing into the strategically placed hand mirror to make it to school on time.

In all honesty, Roman bets that Remus did try it, as part of a morning routine that their parents hadn’t been able to beg out of him. One would think the first time the jagged edges of a break had shredded his skin, Remus would have learned to be more careful, but somehow it seemed that Remus had fallen in love with webbed cracks in his mirror.

Roman sighs, placing his phone into his pocket. And then he presses the elevator button and leans against the wall next to the panel to take off his shoe and look for that stupid rock again. 

His keys jangle in his other hand, annoyingly loud in the otherwise still entrance alcove. It’s times like these that he can appreciate that most of his neighbors dislike the other people in the building and therefore make extra effort to not be caught outside.

The only person Roman really ever has to worry about is the guy on the third floor who he thinks might be a weed dealer and is constantly hinting at giving Roman a first time discount. Great guy, really! He just always manages to catch Roman right next to a reflective surface. It’s pure coincidence that he hasn’t noticed yet.

The elevator dings and the doors roll open with a gentle rumble that does not betray any of the unreliability of its innerworkings. Every other week it’s out of order and Roman’s pretty sure at least 80% of the building has complained to the owners about it, but the solutions never last more than another few days.

Roman doesn’t even usually take the elevator! But the walk was long, and he lives on the top floor, and serial arsonists aren’t going to set fire to his apartment building in the two minutes it will take to get to his floor. 

It’s fine.

Roman slides on his shoe and hobbles into the elevator, breathing in the musty stench that smells like it’s coming from the corpses that might be buried under the building. Part of Roman entertains the idea that ghosts haunt only the elevator, sadly floating around and gaining their small enjoyments from watching people get stuck in between floors when it inevitably breaks.

Roman hasn’t done anything to annoy the spirits recently, at least to his knowledge, so he should be okay. 

He leans back against the railing just in case though.

It takes another long moment for the elevators to start closing again; definitely long enough that Roman gets the impression that he shouldn’t have gotten on at all. The longer it stays open the more likely it is for someone else to suddenly show up and want to get on as well. There are only about three things Roman can think of that are worse than being in an enclosed space, with a stranger, while his compact mirror is MIA. 

Last time something like that happened, the other person got agitated enough that Roman had seriously thought they were going to attack him. Roman knows he’s unsettling to be around; it’s not simple to catch what is off about him at first, but most human brains can pick up that something is distinctly wrong. Knowing something’s wrong with a situation, but not being sure what and being trapped in a small compartment without a sure way to defend yourself? Yeah that’s a recipe for disaster. 

Across the alcove, the door to the stairwell opens just in time for Roman’s heart to leap right into his throat: his brain screaming that oh hey! People to join you inside your small box that Remus just told you not to get into! Even when it wouldn’t make any sense to go down the stairs just to take the elevator back up.

There’s three of them, all dressed in the very uniform pest control jumpsuits that make Roman’s insides shrivel slightly. He’d been meticulous about keeping his apartment clean and if he saw a single cockroach, Roman would be turning into the next arsonist, no other incitations required.

They’re all carrying various equipment items: a thick duffle back with the pest control logo (an ant ironically burning under a magnifying glass), a bulky backpack that nearly doesn’t fit through the doorway, and a thick leather briefcase that seems out of place. The first guy is saying something in a language Roman doesn’t recognize, with a smile on his face that is very charming, despite him being at least a decade older than Roman, as he holds the door open for the others. The second rolls her eyes, tugging the brim of her hat lower over her head.

The third has a scar from running from the middle of his left cheek all the way down his face to his neck in a way that barely seems more than a few months healed. When he makes direct eye contact with Roman, the man’s thin lips twisting into a grin, like he knows how fast Roman’s heart is beating at the sight of him. He waves and Roman catches sight of a cheap industrial bike lock in his other hand.

Please please please, don’t suddenly realize that needs to go back upstairs, please don’t get in here, pleasedonotcomecloser—

But in the end the doors close fitfully, locking out that man and his smile and his friends, and Roman sags against the railing. He presses a hand to his chest trying to regulate his panicked heartbeast back to something manageable and sustainable. 

Say what you will about Remus, but he knows best how to make Roman paranoid for the rest of the day.

The gears shudder, and the mechanical whirl of the elevator fills the whole area as it begins its ascent. Roman pulls out his phone again, swiping through the notifications that he accrued during the walk. A few responses to his Snap Chats streaks, three emails (two junk and one from a classmate asking about studying together for the test, which would be great, if Roman hadn’t already turned her down twice), a reminder to play one of his mindless phone games, and something must have happened in the group chat he has on instagram with a few other Math majors. Roman double taps the notification and swipes in his passcode (it’s an R, it’s always been an R. Remus has been able to hack into his phone since they were eleven, but Roman is horribly, secretly afraid that if he changes it now, he’ll forget it by tomorrow). 

The elevator shudders. 

And somewhere, distantly, Roman thinks he smells smoke.

[Next Chapter? Find it on Ao3 now!]

[mmhaterade]

The 2023 Hater's Guide to the West Region

This blog is not in any way affiliated with the NCAA, its entities, subsidiaries, or member institutions. This is a humor site and should be treated as such. We’re all on our way out – act accordingly.

1. Kansas (28-6). When Texas beat Kansas to end the Big 12 (8?) regular season, the intrepid videographer shooting the game happened to catch a KU coed wearing a t-shirt which read “I (heart) Dick.” A-fucking-mazing. Look, I don’t have to tell you KU fans need this one seed, need the wins, need a title more than anything to justify their continued existence. They live in Kansas for fuck’s sake – Interstate 70 ends in Lawrence and you are stuck wandering the plains like Denzel Washington in Book of Eli until you reach Colorado, and the interstate magically appears again. There is NOTHING to do here other than watch basketball, and that says a lot, because I live in Iowa!

2. UCLA (29-5). This is a Bruin, right? With that face, I am 100% sure his name is “Crick Monin.”

3. Gonzaga (28-5). There is a new Constitutional amendment which clearly states you are no longer allowed to refer to Gonzaga as a Cinderella school. It’s been twenty five years - I think the slipper finally broke. They’ve now been in every final AP poll since the 2008-09 season, and have appeared in every weekly AP poll since 2016-17, a streak of 115 consecutive weeks. I will never stop laughing when eighth year senior Drew Timme appears on my TV screen. All I see is TIMMY from South Park. Fuck John Stockton.

4. UConn (25-8). Go back to the AAC! Biggest group of crybabies in the country and it isn’t even close. When their women’s team had an injury plagued season (lost five games including back-to-back games for the first time in 30 years), Geno Auriemma vented to the media and to his team, telling them they had three days before the conference tournament to fix things. Then he got in his car and drove home to Manchester, wishing he could continue westward. “The way I felt was I want to wake up in California in three days,” he said. “I just want to keep driving, I don’t want to do anything, I don’t want to come to practice.” Jesus man, just fucking quit already and move away from that awful place. Twitter account CrimsonCast put it best: UConn continues to fail to shake the perception that they are simply an analytics darling. Like an east coast version of the Mountain West.

5. Saint Mary’s (26-7). Every bracket, no matter the site, always lists this school as “Saint Mary’s (CA).” Why? No one is confusing this school for the archaeological dig site posing as a university in Maryland, or the all-women’s college in north-central Indiana where many of the enrolled students play for nearby Leprechaun U, also known as Notre Dame. No, this is the school – in California – that gets exclusive coverage on ESPN Australia/New Zealand. Sixty percent of the student body is involved in organized athletics here, so it’s a good chance you’ll be handed a scholarship and some sort of ball upon move-in. It’s either that or forced labor washing jockstraps.

6. TCU (21-12). Their coach gives out a pair of “charge socks” when a Horned Frog player takes a charge. There’s a big bucket of these colorful dress socks in the TCU locker room. Charge socks? You have to be kidding me. You are in the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex, you can’t find a bag of blow or an extra couple of c-notes for your athletes? (Producer cuts in…garbled static…). Pardon me, I’ve just been informed that the “C” in TCU stands for “Christian.” There is no cocaine on campus. But NIL is legal now, surely you can find something other than a pair of sweaty dress socks to reward your unpaid employees. Perhaps a sad handjob from a coed who has already put on the freshman 15+15+15?

7. Northwestern (21-11). Congratulations, you finished top three in the Big Ten for the first time since 1960. You won your last conference championship 90 (!) years ago. You have made one (1) NCAA tournament and had to be retroactively selected as something called the Helms National Champion. Your most successful head coach played for Phog Allen at Kansas – in 1917! Northwestern basketball is the definition of futility. They are the Chicago Cubs of the NCAA; fitting for a program that markets itself as “Chicago’s Big Ten team” (insert jerking off hand motion here). Even if Northwestern won 25 games a season for the next 25 years, they would still have a losing record.

8. Arkansas (20-13). It is against state law to mispronounce “Arkansas'' while in the state, yet their residents  pronounce jalapeno “Holla-PEE-no.” Gun to my head, I wouldn’t be able to look at Sarah Huckabee Sanders naked, playing with a hula hoop, for more than a second.

9. Illinois (20-12). Brad Underwood is a bargain-bin Gene Keady who is very upset about “booty ball.” Every press conference he attends ends with him making a wet fart sound into the microphone.

10. Boise State (24-9). No one gives a shit about this team unless tater tots rise to $6 a bag – then it’s time to storm the blue court. I know exactly one person from Idaho and their personality matches that of the official state produce. This person is incapable of being corrected. They are always right. You are always wrong. If you say the sky is blue, their response will no doubt begin with “well, actually…” Boise is also not a state, you arrogant fuckhead.

11. Arizona State (20-12) or Nevada (23-9). Over 60% of the student body at ASU has some form of herpes. Unless you are a model, they throw you in an engineering building for four years. If you hate Duke just like the rest of America, you generally hate Christian Laettner and Grant Hill. But there’s one player from those early-90s teams everyone forgot: Bobby Hurley. As I’ve aged, my hatred for Hurley has waned, but I’ll always wish maximum pain for whatever team he coaches.

With the growth of legalized sports gambling across the United States, the University of Nevada has introduced several new classes for the 2023-24 school year: Kneecap Relocation, Intermediate Hammer Smashing Techniques, and Advanced Vig Calculation. Another new course addition as of Thursday morning: Getting Your Shit Pushed In By A Sun Devil Pitchfork. Too soon? Probably.

12. VCU (27-7). VCU stands for Very Completely Underwhelming. This isn’t a college, it’s an industrial laundry that has tricked 28,000 students into paying the institution to “work.” If you want a perfect example of the bloat in higher education administration, consider there are over 11,000 non-academic staff at VCU. Never trust a doctor from this school; they only practiced on centaurs.  

13. Iona (27-7). Someone is going to give Rick Pitino the best 14 seconds of his life to coach for them. 

14. Grand Canyon (24-11). By employing buzzer-beating Valpo alum Bryce Drew, this pretend university has already accomplished more in the NCAA Tournament than Mount Rushmore State, Hoover Dam U, Smokey Mountains College and SUNY-Niagara Falls.

15. UNC Asheville (27-7). Let’s have a quick check-in on how this college is doing. Student enrollment and retention are plunging at UNC-Asheville and top leadership is departing at the highest rate in the entire UNC system. While overall student enrollment in the UNC system has increased 7% since 2015, UNC-Asheville fell by a stunning 25%, the largest drop among the 16 public universities in the system. Of the incoming students UNC-A is able to attract, a high number of them leave before graduation. Retention of students, measured as those returning for a second year of school, is now just 68.6%, the lowest in ten years. Jesus, even Trump University would laugh at these numbers. 

16. Howard (22-12). Howard students recently had to protest living conditions in on-campus dorms – mold, mildew, and rats are apparently very commonplace in multiple residences. It is 2023; the only sensible reason these alarming conditions should be issues on your campus is when you have outsourced every part of the student life experience to a call center in the middle of the Himalayas.

[thenonsensetronaut]

A man knocked on my door yesterday. It's unusual for strangers to knock around these parts; I nearly ignored it. No expected package, but it's an election year, so the possibility of some political canvasser is greater than zero. For some reason, in spite of everything, I answered the door.

He was nondescript in most ways. He had a forgettable face. He was average height, with darkish hair and lightish eyes, and he smiled in a way that showed that his teeth were straight and just off-white.

"Good evening!" he crooned. That's honestly the best word for it. His voice was somewhere between Frank Sinatra and a tuba falling down a spiral staircase. "I was wondering if I could interest you in the deal of a lifetime?"

I've always been too polite for my own good. "I guess that depends on the deal," I said.

"You recently got a dog, yes?" He seemed to be trying to look into the room behind me, and I moved to block his view by instinct. My puppy, almost six months old and almost two months mine, helpfully trotted over to my side. "Ah, there's the little lovely! What a specimen."

"Thanks," I said cautiously, moving my leg to block the door. He'd never run off before, but I hadn't given the dog very many opportunities to do so.

The man pulled something out of the tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was a white cube with an ostentatious red button protruding from one side. There were no wires, no labels, no symbols of any kind. Just a box and a button.

"Press this, and we make a trade," the stranger said.

"Trade what for what?"

"Somewhere, someone dies. A human, chosen at perfect randomness, will drop suddenly dead. In exchange, those years that person would otherwise have lived go right to your precious puppy! Imagine, instead of ten, maybe twelve years, a familial companion to carry on to the next generation!" The stranger's smile widened. I frowned in response.

"That seems like nonsense."

He shrugged. "It could be. There's a two-in-eight-billion chance you won't know if it worked for at least a little while, and even if it does, how are you to know how much time he gained? It could be ten minutes, ten years, or ten decades! Such is the nature of random chance. The trade could take your, your mother, your worst enemy, or some stranger in some city you'll never learn the name of. I could be making it all up. What have you got to lose?"

It was my turn to shrug. I loved that dog more than my own life. In our short weeks together, he'd become embarrassingly important to me. I pushed the button. The stranger didn't really react, just gave a nod and tucked the box back into his bag.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, which struck me as odd considering we'd exchanged nothing of note. He walked away, I closed my door, I pet my dog, and I went about my business.

That night, lying in bed and looking at the dog, I wondered. I'd received no urgent phone call. He seemed no different from before. I couldn't see a single consequence, nor a single reason to believe I hadn't been a part of some weird college student's weirder psychological experiment. After all, no technology I'd ever heard of could transfer years of life. The whole thing was a concept which relied on a deterministic, prescriptivist universe in which fates were already decided, and I, I'll have you know, am a staunch believer in free will. Still, it nagged at me.

What if it worked?

What if, like that stranger said, some random human had died so I might have some extra arbitrary time with my pet?

Would it be a day longer, unnoticed by myself and that hapless soul I'd sent shuffling off this mortal coil? Or would it be sixty years, granting me a veritable Methuselah pup while robbing some family of their child? Five extra years or fifteen? A death row convict, a scholar, a saint? I stared at his sleeping form in the dark, unwilling and unable to come to any conclusion.

The morning came, and I hadn't slept a wink. I was staring, thinking, sweating, swearing; my eyes were red and swollen from an unblinking and teary vigil. The dog didn't seem to notice. He stretched, yawned, stood, and I took him out back to do his morning business. While I watched him squat over his favorite patch of grass, I wondered whose grave was being filled for my happiness. I wondered if I was allowed to get mad anymore when he peed on the carpet. Surely, if I'd sacrificed someone's sister or uncle or lover or accountant to gain those extra days, I had an obligation to cherish them.

I came to no conclusion. After all, who's to say anything happened at all?

[writer-kermit]

After School Tutorials…

Pairing: College Professor!Kakashi Hatake x College Student!Reader

Genre: Smut

Commissioned or Self Made: Self Made

Word Count: 1,838

Summary: You're failing Kakashi's class, so he decides to teach you a lesson.

A/N: If you would like a commission, ask me in my DMS or Ko-Fi Page.

Warning: NSFW, Teacher x Student, Teasing, Humiliation, Spanking, Biting, Overstimulation, Begging, Degradation, Dumbification, Teacher kink, Dom Play, MDNI

“Hey, what did you get for that last exam?”

“I got a sixty four out of one hundred. That exam was really hard.”

“No way! That exam was super easy! I got a ninety seven out of one hundred.”

“Well not everyone is a ‘know it all’ like you ……!”

“Well maybe you’re just a moron. Anyways [....], what did you get for the exam?”

…

“Oi! [....]! ”

A hand was wavering around your face, causing you to jolt back from your seat. “Huh? I-I’m up!” You stammered. Your two classmates looked at you as if you were a clown. The friend who woke you up–Sakura Haruno repeated the question to you.

“[....]. Me and dumbass Naruto here,”

“Hey!” Naruto Uzumaki interrupted. “I’m not a dumbass! It ain’t my fault that the test was hard!” He puffed his cheeks and Sakura rolled her eyes. “Anyways, after I was rudely interrupted! What did you get for the exam [....]?” Sakura asked again. You looked down at your desk. You then took a sheet with your exam grade and read it to your classmates. You can feel their shock reaction despite not seeing it for yourself.

“Damn [....],” Naruto said, “That’s even a more awful score than I got..” You shrugged at Naruto’s comment while Sakura punched him in the head, she then quickly got back to her composure. “[....], aren’t you concerned that your grade is so low?” She asked you. “Meh, I can just retake it. And besides,” You leaned on your chair. “If I fail college, then I’ll just get a sugar daddy, easy as that!”

“Excuse me [....]?”

A voice called out, hushing the classroom. You turned around to see your professor, Mr. Kakashi Hatake glaring at you maliciously. “You can be a sugar baby all you want when you leave my class, but I expect you to actually try on my exams. I know you had quite a bad score with your (...)%”

You felt your face heat up with embarrassment as you heard other students whisper and snicker behind you. “Since you want to act like a fool in class, why not meet me after school today?” “Y-yes sir..” You muttered, lowering your head in shame. A small smirk crept up in the inside of his mask.

“That’s my good student.”

The class then erupts with students' gossip as Naruto and Sakura gaze at you with concern. “Oh you’re in for it now [....].” Naruto warned. “I hate to say it, but I have to agree with Naruto. Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” You innocently shook your head. Sakura sighed and whispered in your ear. “Well, I heard he sometimes gets students suspended. And some were expelled. She then placed her hands on your shoulders.

“You gotta be careful [....]. Who knows what he might do to you?” “Yeah,” Naruto agreed, “we’ll be praying for you.” You then let out a reassuring chuckle. “Don’t worry guys, I’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You shouldn’t have said that.

You should NOT have said that.

Or maybe you should’ve…

Now Professor Kakashi is one of the most easy going teachers you could ever have. However, he can have his serious moments. But there was another side of him that you would have never expected. Well now mentioning it, it’s quite obvious that he was rather ‘strange’.

You stood there in front of your teacher’s door, clutching your school bag, you knocked on the door three times until you heard a “come in”. You opened the door to see Kakashi already at his front desk.

“I’m glad you came here [....].” He spoke. “Yeah…” You sighed, averting your eyes from your teacher. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I didn’t necessarily mean what I said.” Through his mask, Kakashi gave out a comforting smile. “That’s alright, but I didn’t call you in for that at all.” “Oh really?” “Remember, I’m here to help with your exams,” Kakashi got up from his seat and walked towards you. He leaned his back to reach your gaze, the silence was enough for you to hear your own heartbeat.

“So please be thankful that I’m being generous enough to guide you. Most of your college professors wouldn’t do that…”

“...Y-yes!” You gulped. Kakashi smiled again and went back to his desk and sat down.

“Now, I have some of your papers that we need to review, so would you come here.” He asked in an odd tone, gesturing you to come next to him. You obeyed his order and walked over to his desk, standing right next to him. You leaned forward in hope to see your corrections. “You know [....]...” Kakashi whispered, pulling you in by your waist. “If you have issues looking down, how about you just sit on my lap?” You darted your eyes to Kakashi, who was still using that devilish smirk to antagonize you.

“W-what?! Professor! I-” ‘‘Now, now [....]. We’re the only people inside the campus, and it’s not like you were denying me.” Well, he wasn’t wrong about that. You abided by his order and sat down on his lap and his arms instantly went around your waist.

“Now let’s begin with our lessons shall we?”

….

“Now, this won’t be so easy-peasy.” Kakashi warned. “If you get a question right, then I’ll give you a reward. But,” He rested his chin on your shoulder, causing you to shiver with pleasure. “If you get any answer wrong, I’ll have to give you a punishment. Understand [....]?” “Yes sir…” You whimpered. Kakashi smiled and then guided you to the first question.

“Alright question one…” He read you the first question, and you wrote down your answer. He looked at your answer digitally and looked at another paper he was holding.

“Congrats [....]. Your answer is… Incorrect.” He whispered, pulling down his mask to nibble on your ear. Your body jolted from the sudden action as a moan escaped from your lips. “H-hah! Mmnngh.. Ahnnn… K-Kakashiii…” You moaned, arching your back. Your professor chuckled warmly at you. “Look at you baby..” He cooed. “Already a moaning mess when I barely did anything to you.” He hugged you tightly before asking you the next question. Still vulnerable, you wrote down the answer. Kakashi then repeated what he did for your first answer choice, the sinister smile on his face grew.

“And ding dong… You’re absolutely wrong…” He purred. He dived to your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin and creating hickey patches. Kakashi used his free hand to slide up your uniform shirt, feeling and pinching at your nipples. “Kakashi?!” You yelped. “W-what? What are you doing?” “Huh?” Kakashi mocked. “Don’t act like you’ve been craving for this [....]. You’ve wanted me to do this from the start, haven't you?”

You shook your head in denial. “Why else would you gaze at me with those flirtatious eyes of yours? Why else would you have arch your back so far up to my desk just to sharpen a pencil, just so I can see your plump ass? And of course..” He got up close to your ear again.

“Why else would you fail almost all of your assignments and exams for me to help you?” Ooh he got you there. “But..” You protested. “Oh? Are you trying to defend yourself, trying to saying that you’re sooo dumb that you need me to take baby steps with you?” He held up your chin and kissed your cheek.

“My cute dumb little student…”

His hand then traveled from your chest down to your pants. You let his hand play with your sex, shoving his fingers inside of you. Causing you to moan loudly. “Ohhh Fuck! Kakashhii~! Kakashi please…” “That’s professor Kakashi to you.” He said sternly. “Ahhnn, I’m so sorry.. Please, please forgive me..” You begged. “Hmm, perhaps… Unless you do a pop quiz..” Kakashi placed down a five question quiz sheet. He then ordered you to stand up only for you to be bent down towards the sheet, revealing your naked ass.

You knew exactly what he was gonna do next.

“Now, depending on how many times you get a question right or wrong, I’ll either fuck you faster or slower. Alright baby?” You let out a sigh and nodded your head. Kakashi then removed his own pants, revealing his swollen cock. You almost screamed as he leaned towards your back and slid inside of you, penetrating your prostate. You quickly relaxed and got into the rhythm of Kakashi humping you slowly. “Ahaha.. Go on baby..” He groaned. You answered the first question. You did as he said and circled your answer. Kakashi stopped for a moment, grabbed a pen and wrote a check mark on the first question.

“That is correct..” He cooed, making you giggle. He then resumed again, only now, he was humping you more slower than usual. Almost as if he were teasing you. “Ahhnn.. A-ahh! Professor… Please… Please go faster…” You whined, clenching on the edge of the desk. “Hmm.. How about instead of whining, how about you use your mouth and hands to answer the next question!”

He smacked your ass in response to your complaints, causing you to shriek and arch your back. You hurriedly answer the next question. Kakashi stopped to look at the sheet again. Kakashi then grabbed his pen and wrote an “X” on the sheet. Kakashi smiled and then guided you to the first question.

“Sorry [....], that’s wrong..” He then resumed again, humping at the earlier pace he was in. Your fingers trembled as you tried to write the answer to the third question. When you did, Kakashi wrote another “X” mark silently.

“Wrong again? You must be doing this on purpose now aren’t you?” “Haah.. Maybe I am..” You sassed, earning you another slap in the ass. “Don’t you know better not to talk back to your teacher?” He groaned, fucking you deeper inside of you. The feeling was enough for you to whimper and moan excessively, tears were blurring your eye vision. You struggled answering the next question. But Kakashi purposely wrote your answer wrong, knowing damn well it was correct to spite you.

“Ohoho.. Wrong.. Wrong.. WRONG!” He yelled, slapping your ass for the third time. “You’re just a dumb little slut are you huh? But you’re my dumb slut got it?” “Ahhnn~! Fuck.. Fuck..! P-professor~! I’ll be your dumb slut.. Make me yours~!” “Yeah? Is that so? Then take my cock.. Take my cock as I cum inside of you. That is an order from your professor…” You moaned loudly as Kakashi then slammed hard on your back as he cummed violently inside of you. He then slumped down on top of you.

Kakashi then locked your hands with his own and kissed your ear. “That’s a good student.. Relax for me now okay..?” He asked, his voice now softening. You did what he said and relaxed your body slowly. “Yeah that’s it… You’ll always be my dumb little student now won’t you?” You smiled and let out a sweet sigh. “Yes professor,” you replied.

“I’ll always be your dumb little student..”

[itsonlydana]

"love is best served hot" ➷ Foolish

➛ pairing: cc!Foolish x gn!reader

➛ idea: working in a small new café next to a high school isn´t always fun but the gorgeous man with the perfect smile makes it bearable

➛ tags/warnings: none, use of the cc’s real name

➛ an: what? A barista love story? I´m sure I'm the first one to ever write this /j

"Can someone please take the order for table five?" your boss called out, her voice already slightly stressed after a glance at the clock. The clock, according to which at any moment the first students of the high school up the street should be streaming in.

The coffeesaurus was a small café, a cute red brick building nestled between a flower store and an even smaller laundry that always smelled of lemon, the red stone decorated with green hanging plants and flower boxes in front of the tall, white-framed windows.

But your favorite detail was your logo: a stegosaurus in a way-too-big coffee cup, waving above the door to greet each customer.

You were happy to have gotten the waitressing job advertised a few months ago, even though you were in college three mornings a week and could only take afternoon shifts on those days.

To help the woman struggling with the steaming coffee maker, you reached for your tray. "I'm on my way."

As you prepared orders for the young couple and scurried through the scattered tables and colorful chairs, the first students arrived and the atmosphere in the store changed. You knew you had less time to chat, the school's short lunch break had many of the younger students anxiously watching the clock, but fortunately many only ordered cocoa or the simpler coffees, which let you get the orders out fairly quickly.

During the sixty minutes of lunch, the store turned into an obstacle course, as you made your rounds you had to deftly maneuver around the scattered backpacks and bags, which took a lot of your concentration in the relatively small space.

Concentration that slipped with a bag of steaming cocoa as the door opened again and a young man entered with another group of students.

"Shit," cursing, you straightened the tray, just in time before the cup would have tipped over the edge and ruined not only your day, but that of the student in front of you. "Here's your cocoa and cookies. Bon appetit!" With a smile, you placed the order on the table and turned around, looking for the customer who had been sitting in the coffeesaurus with his sister every day for five weeks, right on time for lunch.

On his first visit, you had noticed him right away, an attractive man had stood out in the group of students like a colorful dog. His smile when he told you your order -a black coffee that always made his sister grimace- haunted your thoughts and every day you looked forward to seeing him again, even if it was only for a few minutes.

And with that anticipation, you gripped your tray tighter as you fought your way through the school bags to the table in the corner. He was sitting right by the window as usual, his arm resting on the windowsill where he played with the plants while he listened to his sister next to him tell her stories about her day at school, but as you approached theirs he turned his head slightly and an almost shy smile spread across his face.

He had a beautiful smile, the kind that reached up to his eyes and made your heart leap.

"Will you help me with the paper for next week? Noah? Noah is everything okay? He isn't even hearing me-"

As you approached the table and forced yourself to look away from the man, Noah, you instead met the gaze of his sister, who had rolled her eyes with a grin at her brother's nervous wince.

Quietly, you cleared your throat to make sure your voice didn't slip away. "Hi, do you know what you want yet?" It took everything you had not to look back at Noah, you could feel him looking at you. That knowledge made it all the more difficult to follow the orders of the four girls at his table before it was his turn, and you already had your pen set, letting the black ink flow onto the paper to write down ´black coffee + a chocolate chip cookie´ when he pushed your menu forward.

"Could I possibly get a maple caffé latte and two chocolate chip cookies?"

Puzzled, you did look up now, pen still pressed against the paper. "Of course," you managed to get out, but without writing down the order. You didn't even know why this sudden change had you so confused.

Noah smiled, maybe a little more than friendly, but it could have been a wishful imagination, with your thoughts about him you couldn't be sure what was reality.

It wasn't easy to pass the note across the counter and let your colleague work on the order while you continued to rush through the store, handing out cocoa upon cocoa to the tables, even if it was your job.

Even worse, though, and more nerve-wracking, was picking up the drinks for Noah's table and seeing that your colleague had poured a perfect foam heart into his cup.

Dumbfounded, you stared down at the cup. "Why did you make a heart?" you squeaked, but your nervousness only gave your colleague another reason to grin at you.

"It's for your lover boy, isn't it? Someone had to give you two a nudge in the right direction."

Your cheeks were hotter than the freshly brewed coffee, you could feel every beat of your heart in your chest. "I hate you," you pressed out between your teeth. As much as you stared at her and the foam, it didn't change her grin and the heart staring back at you from the cup. You couldn't send it back either, she'd probably make it worse, so you did your job and made your way to the table, as ashamed as you were of it.

As soon as you got near the table by the window, Noah looked towards you and you knew your face had to be crimson.

With a mumbled, "Your drinks," you quickly placed the steaming cups, as well as the small plate with the two chocolate chip cookies, on the table and fled back to the counter without looking at him again, glaring at your colleague.

Thank heavens the payments of the first students came to your rescue and gave you enough time to collect yourself and at the same time enough occupation not to keep looking at him.

Still, you couldn't avoid going to their table at some point as the girls started packing up their bags. If there was one thing worse than having your heart in your coffee, it was watching him leave and hoping he'd come back tomorrow, which is why you found every step towards the table and Noah difficult.

But instead of putting on his jacket like the girls, he continued to sit quietly in his seat, hands closed around his cup, smiling at you as always.

You settled one cocoa after another, thanking each time for the tip, of which students gave you the most of all the customers, and then stopped at Noah, who, however, preceded you and surprised you again: "Would it be okay if I sit a little longer?" he asked.

Around you the girls started to giggle, Noah's little sister even raised a hand to brush through his black hair despite his attempt to duck away. "I'll see you tonight, Noah, remember movie night".

"How could I when you keep reminding me?" the dark-haired man grumbled, rolling his eyes albeit with a smile.

You watched the little loving interaction as if frozen in place, the flurry of girls had made it impossible for you to push through them, forcing you to remain leaning against the tabletop next to Noah, waiting to go back to the counter. Though you could well do without it, your colleague grinned at you from behind the glass, wiggling her eyebrows as you looked to her.

You hated her, you hated her so much for that heart and her urge to play matchmaker.

As soon as there was enough room for you to move freely again, you took a step back, which drew Noah's attention back to you, and for a moment you thought you saw a hint of panic in his dark eyes.

He gripped his cup tighter, running the rim with his index finger.

"Can I get you anything else?" you helped the visibly struggling man, who suddenly seemed much more nervous without his sister's presence.

His eyes darted restlessly and quickly over your face, and perhaps he actually found an answer in your flushed cheeks, as he leaned slightly toward you. "I've never done this before, well I mean approached someone like this. I don't want this to seem weird either and if I'm just embarrassing myself here or getting my hopes up unnecessarily because you have a partner, tell me directly" Noah took a deep breath and you would have too if it weren't for the lump in your throat that had formed at his words, the pounding of your heart that electrified your entire body.

The sounds of the café were suddenly far too loud, every clatter of dishes, every scrape of a chair across the parquet, the ringing of the bell above the door as students stepped outside, bringing a cool breeze into the café.

Was this really happening right now?

Noah's face had turned a similar color to yours by now, awkwardly stumbling over his words each time he looked into your eyes. "So, I- oh god why is this so hard? I just wanted to ask you, if it's okay with you and you have time, because actually you have to work right now, but if you were on break right now and felt like- I just thought there was this heart in the coffee, and maybe you'd like to join me for a bit?" his voice had taken on a completely different pitch by the end and when he had asked the question that made your heart stop for a moment, you saw him clench his free hand into a fist in his lap.

Much too frantically, you nodded, sitting down across the table from him. Without breaking eye contact, you slid the tray onto the seat next to you; guaranteed your boss wouldn't be mad at you if you took a little break.

Noah's grin was infectious, you couldn't help but smile and even if it had to be the most amorous smile in the world, there was no stopping it.

You must have seemed like weirdos to everyone else, completely caught up in each other. It didn't take many bumpy sentences before it 'clicked' and the topics flowed. At one point, while you were talking about everything and nothing, Noah offered you one of the two untouched cookies, and if he was only doing that so he could reach for your hand afterwards, you wouldn't say no either way.

[dattebae]

The middle ground (ch.4)

CHAPTERS: [ 1 ] , [ 2 ], [ 3 ], [ 4 ], [ 5 ], [ Finale]

COMPLETE WORK AT AO3: HERE.

Pairing: Sixty/Female Reader

Word count: 7.486

Rating: Explicit ( Sprays you with water if you're under 18. Please stay awayyyyy)

Warnings: Substance abuse, too much angst for a human to stand, Connor's wife being cute, Sixty being a horrible fucking person, Nines is the best fucking person, awkward family dinners, music and some sad smut towards the end.

Note: I honestly don't know what to say. I just wanna tell you guys to brace yourselves because this chapter contains a whole lot of angst. I also wanna add that Sixty sings at some point and I couldn't think of a better song than this one. Phew, okay. I have to pack my bags and leave the country before some of you come for me. Have fun!

Sixty never went to college. It wasn’t a shock to anyone around him, of course, but the idle time after high school gave him the unfortunate opportunity to experiment with the worst kind of drugs available on the streets. There was something very scary and hollow about everyone drifting away from him after high school, and while Sixty never admitted to that, he used the drugs to distract himself from that reality. One day he left the house, and then he never came back. He knew going back to his childhood home would mean that he’d have to face his past, and he was nowhere near ready for that. 

During that time Nines was dragged into a tough selection process orchestrated by the CIA to see if he was fit for his current position, and it took over a year until he finally got chosen. Maybe things would’ve been different for Sixty if Nines had been around during that time, but Sixty couldn’t remember much from those years, anyway. He had vague memories of drifting off on random couches with people who were just as fucked up as him, and sometimes he could swear he had glimpses of waking up in random alleys around Detroit. Honestly, it was a miracle he’d even managed to survive after all the shit he put in his body.

Meanwhile, Connor and Suki had moved into a small student apartment near their campus, and some nights Sixty would find himself tucked in their bed with food and water waiting for him on the nightstand. He never knew how he ended up there, and they never told him, either. Somehow that made him even more bitter. Connor always had to be so fucking nice all the time, and even though Sixty had so many memory gaps from that time, he never lost the feelings those moments caused him: shame and anger.

Maybe that’s why it wasn’t surprising to find Suki loading food into Nines’ fridge when Sixty came home the morning after being with you. She was just like Connor, if not worse. Whenever she knew Nines was back from his missions, she’d come by and leave him some of her homemade food, which Sixty knew Nines loved. It was almost like God knew what he was up to, because hadn’t Suki been there, Sixty would’ve already been searching through Nines’ bedroom to find money, or something that he could sell for money.

Yeah, he knew how fucked up at that was. Even worse, he knew that getting to that point of desperation meant he was dangerously close to a serious detox withdrawal, and he had no intention of going through that nightmare. Sixty needed a fucking high, or else he’d be clawing his own skin off very soon.

He’d been staring at her from the hall for a while, watching how she unloaded box after box and set them into the fridge in the order she knew Nines would appreciate. Sixty hadn’t seen Suki for a while, and he’d never bothered to greet her or Connor at the event, either. Maybe that made him an asshole, but that wasn’t new. It was the same old: They were unbearably nice, and he avoided them like the fucking pest.

“ Are you gonna stand there and stare like a creep, or are you gonna help the pregnant lady out? ” Suki casually called, and Sixty rolled his eyes. The only difference between Suki and Connor was her sharp tongue: she didn’t tolerate nonsense from anyone. And as much as he enjoyed their banter, he needed her to get the fuck out so he could steal something from his brother and snort some cocaine.

“ You’ve known me for over a fucking decade, and you still decided to ask me a question like that?  ”

He’d walked into the kitchen by then, and she met him with a sneer.

“ Well, you’ve known me for just as long, and still you opted to test me. ”

Ah. There she was.

“ Don’t act like you don’t like a little challenge, Ki. I know my brother’s too much of a shrimp to have things his way, anyway. ”

“ Oh trust me, if Connor didn’t have his way, I wouldn’t be pregnant right now. ” she casually said.

Well, ew. 

Suki closed the fridge and started to fold the empty plastic bags she’d carried the boxes in, and during that time Sixty realized she was observing him suspiciously. 

Did she know? Did he look like was going to steal Nines’ shit for a line of the first best thing?

“  Who’s the staring creep now? ” Sixty quipped, returning her earlier sneer. 

Suki rolled her eyes and turned her focus back on her task.

“ Connor’s been worried about you, Six. You have to stop avoiding him like this. ” 

It didn’t take long for Sixty’s smirk to fade after that. Nines had said that to him far too many times, and it seemed like he just couldn’t escape that line no matter who he spoke to. Sixty shrugged his jacket off and threw it over one of the stools by the kitchen island. Suki didn’t react, but maybe his bitter behavior was normal to her. After all, he’d been a bitter asshole for most of his life.

“ How’s the little guy? ” he asked, avoiding the subject of Connor as much as he possibly could. Suki didn’t push on it, and that was good. The last thing he needed along with his skin-crawling urge to get high was a conversation about his perfect fucking brother.

“ Cole’s fine. He’s been asking about his uncle Seesee, though. ” she said with a puppy eyed pout, and Sixty couldn’t help but to crack a smile. 

Uncle Seesee, huh?

Cole was barely two years old and he already looked like a carbon fucking copy of Connor. Some part of Sixty hated it, but he couldn’t deny the love he had for his little shrimp nephew. 

“ By the way, Richard told me about your mysterious girl. “ Suki wiggled her eyebrows, and Sixty rolled his eyes. Weren’t spies supposed to be good at keeping their mouths shut? What the fuck, Nines. Sometimes Sixty wondered if his family (whatever fucked up variant of a family this was) ever had anything better to talk about than him and his messy life.

“ Don’t start. ” 

“ No. No, that’s good, Colin. I’m glad you’re happy. ” She gave him a smile, and Sixty almost squirmed under her sincerity. Seriously. Why did they always have to be so fucking nice?

“ I’m glad you’re doing better. ” she added, collecting her bag.

“ I’m definitely doing better than you. I mean, you look…” His nose wrinkled a little, hand vaguely gesturing to the swell of her stomach. 

Suki stroked her belly protectively, eyes practically shooting daggers at him.

“ Careful. ”

Shit.

“…Dazzling? ” he tried. 

The look on her face wasn’t subtle at all: Suki wasn’t impressed, but she didn’t seem eager to keep the topic on her very pregnant figure, either. Instead, she said something that had Sixty taken aback a little:  

“ Nines is meeting us for dinner next week. You should bring your girlfriend along and…you know, let her meet the family. ”  

The family. 

Sixty scoffed. 

The last thing he’d want is for you to meet the collection of people that proved just how fucked up and pathetic he really was. The girl who rejected him in high school, his older brother who she’d chosen instead, and his heart-throb bachelor of a younger brother. No, thank you. He needed you far away from everything that pointed to his addiction: which was a lot, but mostly them. 

Suki didn’t give him a chance to protest, though. She gave him a gentle rub on the arm and a smile that, once again, was too sincere for Sixty’s liking. 

“ Be good, Six. ”

He looked at her for a moment, expression a little stiff and hard. 

Good. The only thing he couldn’t be.

The urges may have gotten him in a bad mood, but he couldn’t deny that Suki was a walking reminder of how he was never good enough. Not for her, and not for his brothers. Not for anyone.

She’d already headed for the hall when Sixty heard her call out to him:

“ And please leave some food over for Nines. ”

Oh, he’d be stealing more than just food from Nines.

***

There was a guitar in your living room slash bedroom that bothered Sixty a lot. You barely knew how to use it, and it was clear that it was only there for decoration, but it still bothered him. He knew it sounded insane, but he could swear that it kept staring at him. Maybe it was the side-effect of that new shit he’d snorted earlier. He didn’t know what the drug was, but his dealer had told him it was new on the market and Sixty didn’t even question it. He’d bought a few doses with the money he’d gotten from selling one of Nines’ rings (which he’d stolen from his room as soon as Suki left.) It was only a matter of time before Nines would find out and probably (most definitely) confront him about it. Anywho: that drug was either fantastic, or he was really losing his mind because the guitar was still staring.

Sixty hadn’t touched an instrument in years, and he hadn’t sung in even longer. It was…scary, to dip his toes into music. Mostly because it reminded him of Hank, but also because whenever he did play, it forced him to deal with his feelings. 

No, thank you. 

He tried to ignore the discomfort of having the instrument in the corner, and while you sat on the couch with him after hours of lazy sex, you seemed to notice that Sixty’s gaze kept flicking over to the guitar.

“ You know you’re allowed to use it, right? ” 

He looked up to find you giving him an amused look, and he tried to casually shrug it off. Maybe some part of him wondered how its weight would feel in his hands, and if it was tuned in case he pulled on the strings. No. No, that was a slippery slope.

“ I’m good. ”

It wasn’t worth a journey down nightmare lane, and he already felt content chilling with you on the couch while painting your toenails a pretty shade of blue. You were only wearing a pair of panties and Sixty’s oversized t-shirt (that was way too big and way too sexy on you), and when Sixty dragged his eyes over you, his smirk indicated nothing but trouble. You nudged him with your other foot, bringing his attention back to you.

“ Come on, I’ve seen how you keep looking at it. ”

He wanted to retort and tell you that it was in fact the guitar looking at him, but you’d probably think he was crazy, and honestly? Maybe he was. His mouth parted, and before he could think of something less…mentally unstable to say, you were already up on your feet. You brought the guitar back to the couch and handed it to him.

Sixty froze.

“ Play something for me. ”

Sixty hesitated for a moment, but then you plopped down next to him and brought your knees up to your chest, a spark of curiosity and excitement lingering in your eyes. 

“ Please? ”

Well, that was just unfair. How was he ever supposed to say no to that? To you?

Hesitating, he looked down at the guitar for a moment. After a long moment, Sixty then shifted in his seat and properly rested the instrument on his thigh. You watched him give the strings an experimental strum, and a pleasant tune echoed over the room. Sixty hummed, then he adjusted some of the strings, pulling and twisting until he finally tuned the instrument to his liking. 

Something about this felt very natural. Even though it'd been years since Sixty had played, his fingers hadn’t forgotten any of the chords. What started as exploratory little sounds soon turned into steady, deliberate tunes. He hummed along to it, and you gently swayed your body to the music with a smile lingering on your lips.

And then he began to sing.

Perhaps some part of him knew where this would take him, and although the journey through his memories brought him sadness and pain, they also brought him a sense of comfort. Sixty felt like he was home for the first time in over a decade. He found himself back in that messy garage, feeling Hank’s fingers guiding his smaller ones through each tricky chord. He could hear his laughter and his praise when Sixty finally managed to learn the combinations. 

Something inside his throat was closing, and his voice started losing its strength for a moment. Your look of adoration slowly blended with concern when you saw the tears gathering in Sixty’s eyes. His fingers began to shake over the guitar, and then the music stopped.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to him that this ended with him in tears, but he was stubborn enough to think that maybe, just maybe, he was stronger now than he’d been in the past.

He wasn’t. 

Without the music, his quivering breaths were loud, and carefully you moved over to him when he lowered the guitar and let it fall to the carpet. Sixty tried to cover the tears by hiding his face in his hands, but it was too late. He swore through his gritted teeth, feeling how you slowly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. Everything inside his head was a cluster of memories: He could remember the car, his own fucking voice in the backseat: how he’d yelled at Hank for ruining his night and how Connor tried to calm him down.

The screech of the tires. 

The scatter of glass.

Connor’s screams.

The faint sound of the sirens.

Sixty had no idea how much time he spent crying in your arms, but you were patient and your hugs anchored him through each wave of pain and regret washing over him. He was babbling random apologies to Hank while you held him close and waited patiently. It took a long time before he’d calmed, and when you finally asked him about it after an hour of holding him in silence, he decided to tell you about that night. 

It was four days before Christmas and he’d been invited to a party outside of town. Even though Hank told him no, Sixty had still snuck out through the garage and taken the first bus he could find to Leo Manfred’s mansion. Nines had gone to bed early because of swimming practice he had the next day, and Sixty had refused to stay home to be alone with his own stupid thoughts. He remembered being in a particularly bad mood that day because Connor was spending the night over at Suki’s. Her parents were out of town that weekend, and Sixty knew exactly what that meant.

He didn’t tell you anything about the drugs, but Sixty had no idea that Leo Manfred and his shitty circle would be his ticket to addiction. They were all stoners, and he only hung around with Leo for the same reason as the rest of his shitty friends: he had money for weed. It hadn’t sounded like a bad thing then: it was just something to get his mind off Connor and Suki.

It was three AM, and after eight missed calls and three voicemails, Hank had decided to drive up to the house and bring Sixty home himself. Sixty told you about the really bad argument he’d had with Hank outside Leo’s house, and how pissed he was over his dad picking up like a fucking child while Connor was fucking Suki in the other side of town. He’d blurted out something about Connor always getting what he wanted, and Hank had given him a whole speech about how he shouldn’t compete with his brothers, and how they needed to stick together through good and bad times. 

Refusing to listen, Sixty went back inside, and after contemplating, Hank decided to call Connor for help.

An hour later, the three of them were in the car on their way back to the city, and Sixty was absolutely livid. His anger might’ve been because of Connor’s presence in the car, or maybe it was the weed and alcohol fucking him up. Actually, it was probably a combination of everything, but he didn’t mention that part to you. It’d happened so fast: one moment they were arguing and the next moment the car had slid off the road and rolled into a ditch. A branch had broken through the window from Hank’s side, and impaled him from the left side. Sixty had hit his head quite badly, and his arm was stuck between the neck rest from Connor’s seat. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, but he heard Connor’s cries and screams from the front seat. They haunted him until this day.

Dad! No! No, no, no! Dad, please open your eyes! Please!

The next time his conscience returned, Connor was sobbing. He could hear him cursing and fighting to drag him out of the car while Hank was left in the driver’s seat.

Sixty couldn’t understand why Connor saved him. He couldn’t understand how he’d had it in him to leave their dad dying in the driver’s seat.

It made no sense.

The air was hot and thick from the mist in the shower, and you were silently peering up at him when Sixty’s story came to an end. It had been your idea to drag him in there with you, and the water seemed to calm his nerves even more. This was good.

There was a long pause between you, and then Sixty dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your bare skin as he spoke.

“ I should’ve stayed home. ” he said, voice cracking. It was barely audible over the hot water pouring down on both of you.

“ Six, you were just a kid... ” You murmured, stroking his neck soothingly.

“ Your dad loved you, and you loved him. I’m sure he knew that.  ” 

He hoped you were right. He hoped that argument hadn’t ruined Hank’s perception of him, and how much Sixty really loved him.

Sixty sighed against your neck, arms tightening around your waist as he pulled your bare body closer to him. Ever since he broke down into tears before you, he hadn’t been able to let you go. It was weird, but somehow holding you gave him a sense of safety. You anchored him, in a way, and he appreciated that. He appreciated you. Sixty had never spoken about that night with anyone. Not even his brothers. And yet, talking about it with you felt oddly relieving. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He realized that you’d unknowingly forced him to face a big chunk of his trauma since the moment you handed him that guitar, and that made him question his own judgment about a lot of things. Maybe he was capable of healing, and maybe that was something worth sharing. Sixty knew that intentions weren’t entirely selfless, because he wanted to rub his relationship with you in his ‘family’s’ face, just to prove a point. Maybe that’d put an end to all their annoying obsession with his life and his sobriety. He was not sober by any means, of course, but he wanted them to think that. 

Most of all, he wanted you to be in the dark about his addiction, for as long as possible.

Why? Because he was selfish, and he wanted you for himself, just like this. He wanted you to anchor him and treat him like himself: Not like an addict with selfish, impulsive tendencies: even if that was the truth. The parasite inside him, the one that made him angry, selfish, jealous, manipulative and impatient, told him to never let you go.

“ I want you to meet my family. ” Sixty murmured, stroking your cheek while he lovingly peered into your eyes. 

You smiled up at him, and when you spoke again, the parasite within him practically purred.

“ I’d like that. ”

***

Sixty had reconsidered many things in his life as of lately, but one thing that he began to question in particular was the extent of his younger brother’s supposed spy skills. Nines hadn’t said anything to him about his missing ring, and even though Sixty had basically, sort of, moved in with you, he never received a call or an angry text message from Nines. It was quite the opposite, actually. Nines had gone as far as leaving him the keys to his ridiculously clean Range Rover so he could pick you up and drive you to the restaurant where the family was waiting for you both. 

Sixty was waiting for you outside your apartment complex. He’d been leaning against the car with his hands tucked into his pockets and plenty of time to speculate the upcoming events of the evening. Some part of him had come to terms with the idea of meeting Connor again. They hadn’t spoken in months and Sixty had no idea what he’d feel or how he’d react to his brother’s presence. In some way, though, he felt ready. Sixty didn’t spend too much time thinking about Connor, though. Not when you walked out of the building looking like something from a dream. He pushed himself off the car, staring at your elegant dress and those soft little waves of your hair that made him want to run his fingers through them. The deep blue color complimented your skin tone perfectly, and when you walked up to him with the sound of soft little clicks from a pair of heels he was sure you dreaded to wear, he couldn’t help but to smile like a fucking idiot.

Holy fucking shit.

“ Hi. ” You smiled at him, and it filled his insides with butterflies.

“ Hey, ” he smirked. It was impossible to miss the adoration in his eyes. “ You look beautiful. ”  

He watched your smile grow at those words.

Something about the way you reached to fix his collar made Sixty’s heart beat a little faster. It still stunned him sometimes, how easy it was for you to take him off guard with small gestures such as these. He realized that it’d been a good idea to dress a little more properly for the evening. After all, you deserved nothing less when you looked that good next to him. Sixty had slicked his usually messy hair back and worn a pair of slacks instead of whatever was laying around in his messy room back at Nines’. He’d even sprayed on some cologne, and opted for a white button up to appear a little more…what was the word? 

Before you entered the car, you reached up on your tippy toes and brought your mouth to his ear. What you’d whispered to him then had Sixty smirking to himself for the entire car ride.

“ And you look very handsome.” you purred.

Handsome. 

That’s the word.

***

Suki hadn’t told him who’d made the reservations at the restaurant, but if Sixty could guess, it was most likely Nines. The place wasn’t too fancy, but it certainly wasn’t a place you’d go to for lunch on a workday either. Connor, Suki and Nines were already sitting by the table when the two of you were escorted inside by one of the waitresses, and Suki was the first to light up with a smile before she stood up from her seat. Connor greeted you shortly after, and while you were busy greeting a shy Cole in Connor’s arm, Sixty felt Nines’ eyes on him.

The younger brother didn’t say a word, but Sixty knew what those silver eyes were suggesting. Nines gave his shoulder a small pat, and then he was next in turn to introduce himself to you. Maybe your look of awe would’ve bothered Sixty more if Nines didn’t have that effect on literally everyone he ever met, but he couldn’t exactly blame you. Nines was a handsome gentleman, and his voice was smooth as silk when he shook your hand and politely introduced himself. You were already getting along with Suki, busy with whatever conversation that’d started between you moments ago when he heard a familiar voice:

“ It’s good to see you, Colin. ” 

It was hard to face Connor. Sixty only managed a glance with hands still tucked into his pockets like he had no intention of taking them out anytime soon. Connor didn’t seem surprised by his behavior, but something in his eyes showed signs of hope: like maybe Sixty would change his mind and drag him in for a tight, brotherly hug.

Yeah, as if.

Sixty lowered his gaze for a moment, giving his older brother nothing but a curt nod in response. 

“ Seesee.” Cole’s hand was tiny, and it was reaching out to him in a way that Sixty couldn’t ignore. He didn’t need any convincing when it came to greeting his nephew, at least. 

“ Oh you remember me, little shrimp? ” Sixty smirked, booping his tiny, button nose.

Cole was probably the only member of the family that Sixty actually liked. He seemed to like his uncle Sixty even though he was a walking fucking mess. It was nice. He came to realize that he liked Cole for the same reasons that he liked you: Neither of you knew about his horrible addiction, and that made him feel normal. It made him feel like a person, not a problem.

While Cole closed his hand around one of his uncle’s fingers, Sixty tried to ignore that Connor was holding him in his arms. There was just something about Connor observing the exchange that made something boil in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t make sense, because Connor seemed pleased. Touched, even. Maybe there was just something about seeing Connor happy and content that ticked Sixty off, and it made him realize why he’d stayed away for so long: Why he’d never bothered to come to his wedding or any of the highlights in his life.

By the time dinner was served, you’d gotten along quite well with everyone around the table. Suki was feeding Cole, who sat in his own little baby chair next to her, while Connor and Nines were discussing various people from the event Sixty had met you in. It seemed like the three of you had a few common friends and acquaintances. You know, small world and all. During that time, Sixty hadn’t said much at all. He’d find himself staring at Connor across the table more times than he liked to admit, and every time he did, he downed more of his wine. It wasn’t just that his older brother was easy to listen to, but he also had a way of effortlessly dragging people’s attention to him in a way Sixty never could. Not even Nines. It was such a stark difference from who he’d been back in high school, and the physical part of that difference was just as clear. Connor looked good, and he sure as hell sounded like felt good, too.

Sixty hated every tiny fucking bit of that.

“ I hope the food is okay, by the way. We weren’t sure what you preferred, but this place has great seafood, so we figured... ” Connor said.

“ Oh, no. It’s great. ” You waved him off with a smile. “ Actually, I wouldn’t mind coming back here in the future. ”

You turned to look at Sixty expectantly, but his eyes were hard and set on Connor across the table. Sixty had already had three glasses of wine at that point, and he’d ignored Nines’ sharp glares for longer than was good for him. Whatever. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“ Connor’s always had a thing for seafood. Especially shrimp. ” Sixty said, downing more of his wine.

Something shifted in the air, and a puzzled frown settled over your features when your eyes drifted between the two brothers. 

“ Isn’t that right, Connor? ”

Apart from meeting Sixty’s hard stare, Connor hadn’t reacted much to that comment. Even as he stared back at his younger brother, his eyes lacked the resentment and darkness that Sixty’s carried.

“ That’s true, actually. ” Connor said, sounding a little embarrassed in a way that just made him sound…humble. He then turned to his wife with a smile that expressed nothing but his love for her, and she returned it.

“ I do love shrimp. ”  

No one spoke for a moment, and while Connor had, in some way, eased the tension in the air, it only seemed to magnify the boiling anger inside Sixty. Even though he could feel your questioning eyes and Nines’ warnings on his skin, he still couldn’t tear his eyes off of his older brother before him. His perfect son, his perfect, pregnant wife: his perfect fucking life.

His hand curled into a tight fist under the table, and you noticed. Before you could say something, though, Nines caught your attention by calling your name.

“ Colin gave me a brief summary of your pitch. ” he started, face perfectly calm and collected. “ If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear more about your concept for the interface. ”

Sixty knew what Nines was trying to do, and it was working. It’d be rude for you to dismiss a conversation like that, and that meant that whatever you wanted to ask Sixty had to wait. For now. Some part of Sixty was a little impressed, because while you started talking about your work, he’d somehow managed to calm down a little, too. It was easier to focus on you when Connor wasn’t talking, or paying attention to him. He’d only murmured something in Suki’s ear and they’d shared a smile, but other than that, Connor was simply enjoying his food and listening to your conversation with Nines.

“ Interesting, ” Nines hummed, arms crossed over his chest while he observed you for a moment. 

“ Connor and I are familiar with some of Elijah’s work partners. Maybe we can set up a meeting? ” Nines turned to Connor then, as if asking for his opinion.

Connor looked unsure. 

“ Actually… I don’t think you should give him the pitch at all. ”

Silence fell over the table, and everyone looked a little surprised. Everyone except Sixty, of course. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, like he didn’t trust whatever his brother was suggesting.

“ And why’s that, Connor? ” Sixty retorted before you had the chance to say something, and again, he didn’t meet the look you gave him. 

Connor hesitated, but then he sighed and turned to you.

“ Look, your idea is pretty extraordinary and unique. It would be a waste to sell it for a quarter of its worth to a man with a massive empire like Elijah. If you started your own company and implemented that concept to your own products, you’d be making much more profit. Actually, you’d be making a fortune. ”

While Sixty downed the rest of his wine, you were meeting the pleased smiles offered to you around the table. He couldn’t exactly argue that Connor’s idea was bad, but some part of him hated that he was the reason you were so stunned about something you were so passionate about.

Shouldn’t that have been him?

“ That’s…I’ve never thought of it like that. ” You admitted, deep in thought.

Sixty’s leg had been restless under the table for a while. It was a sign of his frustration, a sign of the urges that he’d been trying to drown out with the wine, and a sign of his newfound possessiveness. None of it made sense, though. Connor was quite literally sitting before him with his wife and child, and Sixty felt the need to mark his territory like some fucking bloodhound. 

“ You should give yourself a little more credit. ” Connor said, offering you a smile. “ You’ve worked hard, and that deserves a proper reward. ”

You almost jumped when Sixty’s hand suddenly found your knee under the table. He wasn’t looking at you, posture completely laid back and relaxed while you stared at him next you. He sipped on some water, and gave you a brief glance.

The evening had gone by smoothly, for most part, but Sixty knew he’d acted strange, which meant that you’d be bombarding him with questions as soon as you went back to the car. That didn’t stop his hand from slipping under your dress, and sliding up your thigh, though. You cleared your throat, reaching one of your hands down to discreetly grab his wrist. And then he felt you close your legs and push his hand away. 

Sixty almost scoffed.

“ What’s the matter with you? ” you whispered harshly, leaning to his ear. Sixty could see that you were trying your best not to draw any attention to the two of you, and it seemed to be working fine, for now.

At that point, Sixty had already regretted his decision to let you meet his family. Something had been building inside him since the moment he’d laid eyes on Connor again, and whatever it was, it fed that nasty little parasite inside him. There was no wine in the world that could stop his skin from crawling, and Sixty realized there was only one way for him to deal with himself before he lost you to his own stupid, impulsivity. 

So he stood up from his seat and excused himself.

And as he headed towards the restrooms, he didn’t look back. 

*** 

Like any other proper addict, Sixty had smuggled a small dose of that weird powder into the inner pocket of his blazer. He wasn’t sure what he felt about it, but he was in no condition to be picky about what drug he was trying to survive on. This shit was his only chance to endure the night before you or someone else slapped him across the face.

He’d locked himself into one of the stalls in the restroom, and he’d been staring at the small plastic bag for a long moment: like he was trying to figure it out. It was odd that he hadn’t downed it already, because his skin was itching and his heart was pumping in a way that usually left no room for any sort of patience. Something was holding him back from snorting it, and that something was you. It contradicted everything that made sense to him normally, because he was ugly and nasty without the drugs, and yet, he couldn’t take his own version of a cure. 

What if it made him worse?

What if it pushed him so low that you’d suspect him for something more than just being a little tipsy? At that point, Sixty was mentally fighting that greedy little parasite inside him. What it wanted was clear, It always was, but Sixty was more worried about what you’d want, and it didn’t like that.   

He was sweating now, and he decided to take a seat on the lidded toilet for a moment while he cursed his own existence a few times. This was the part in every book and movie where he’d make the right decision and make you proud, but Sixty knew he wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t the main fucking character and this wasn’t a damn movie where everything would turn into rainbows and sunshine. Reality was a bitch, and that fucking powder was the only way he could deal with it.

So he opened the small plastic bag, and fed that fucking parasite inside him for the millionth time.

***

It was unclear to him how long he’d been gone, but whatever was in that line he snorted was working wonders on him. He hadn’t felt that good in a while, and even though the aftermath usually left him looking a little rough, whatever this powder was had the opposite effect on him. Sixty looked far more awake and relaxed when he walked out of the stall and–

Saw Nines walking towards him.

“ I’m okay, I just needed a b-  Hey, what the fuck!? ” Nines had suddenly grabbed two fists of his shirt and slammed him against one of the stall doors. Sixty was shocked. Not once in their entire lives had Nines ever laid hands on him like this, and that only meant that whatever he’d done was really, really bad. 

They were lucky no one else was inside, because whatever anger Sixty had dulled with a line of powder seemed to have crawled inside his usually composed younger brother. Nines’ silver orbs were sharp and stern, and Sixty could’ve sworn that he was struggling to steady his breaths. 

He was in deep shit.

“ I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I assumed that you were too proud to ask for money. I assumed you stole from me because you wanted to impress her. ” Nines said, voice shaky and low and so fucking dangerous that Sixty felt a shiver crawl down his spine. Of course he knew about the fucking ring. How was he ever so stupid to think that Nines wouldn’t know that he’d stolen from him?

“ I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! ” Sixty hissed, trying to break free from Nines’ iron grip on him. He did what what every fucking addict would do: deny, deny, deny.

But whatever act Sixty had decided to put up, Nines wasn’t having it. Not tonight. Sixty saw him clench his jaw, looking more riled up than before.

“ Is this all she is to you, Colin?” Nines asked, eyes narrowing. “ A prize for you to show off and rub in Connor’s face? ”

No. 

Fuck no.

“ Let go of me! ” Sixty shouted, and Nines responded by clasped a large hand over his mouth, muffling his screams. 

“ What kind of man are you!? ” Nines growled, and Sixty glared up at him through the annoying fucking tears that’d gathered in his eyes. Maybe Nines knew that Sixty didn’t have an answer to that question, because he never removed that unforgiving hand and some part of Sixty was grateful for that. Sixty had asked himself that same question while you’d slept in his arms one night, and he hadn’t really come to a proper conclusion.

He’d turned completely silent, but Nines still didn’t move. He was looming over his older brother in a way that reminded Sixty what Nines did to bad people for a living.

“ Whatever game you’re playing will end right now. ” Nines said after a brief silence. “ You will stop trying to embarrass our brother in front of his family, and you will stop touching that woman without her consent. ”  

Sixty was struggling to control the pathetic mixture of sobs and ragged breaths he was letting out against his brother’s palm: but his his eyes never stopped glaring up at him.

“ Have I made myself clear, Colin? ”

Sixty felt drained, embarrased and every fucked up thing under the sun. He knew Nines was right: he’d known even before Nines had confronted him about it. Sixty had been selfish with you since day one, and he’d been so good at it that he hadn’t even allowed you to notice the position you were in. Maybe this was the wake up call he needed: Maybe Nines was showing him mercy right now.

Even though he’d normally rather swallow venom than his own pride, Sixty still decided to nod.

“ Good. ”

A few, long moments passed before Nines finally decided to let him go, and at that point Sixty had no fight left in him. He stayed long after Nines left him in the restrooms, and when he finally pulled himself together and went out again, you looked more concerned than angry with him.

***

Sometimes Sixty felt like he was on autopilot. He could say and do things that he didn’t really pay attention to while his mind was taking him through a maze of thoughts. Just like he expected, you’d asked him a million questions in the car, and Sixty had answered them all in autopilot. He wasn’t sure what he’d really said, but whatever it was had been good enough for you. The details were blurry: a sincere apology, something about living in his brother’s shadow and reacting badly to red wine.

He should’ve picked up on the signs his body was giving him the moment his lips began to feel numb, but Sixty was still too stuck on what had happened in the restrooms with Nines to pay that any mind. Something about Nines, the always calm and composed brother, losing his patience with him was more alarming than his own body shutting down bit by bit thanks to that odd drug. 

Autopilot was working for him, though, because even though he couldn’t feel his fingers, they still worked over your clit when he had you to himself back at your apartment. He kissed you hard, and you gasped against his numb lips when he pushed a third finger into your heat and slowly opened you up for him. Somehow that represented him in more ways than one. He’d been opening you up and crawling inside you like a parasite since the day you decided to sit with him at that bar, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d devoured you completely. Maybe not even then. 

“ Sixty, please, ” you moaned, clawing at his back when he slowly pulled his numb fingers out of you. It made him remember that day you’d told him about your pitch: how the mere brush of your fingers over his own had sent sparks along every tiny little vein inside his body. And now? Now he was holding his cock in his hand and burying himself to the hilt without feeling anything. 

You bit down on his shoulder, trying to muffle your moans when he started pumping himself into you at a harsh pace. Sixty didn’t know if he was in denial or if he simply refused to give up, but the truth was simple: every piece of you was being taken away from him because of that evil substance inside his body, and there was nothing he could do about it. It almost made him want to cry. To scream.

“ I… I love you, ” You were holding his face in your hands, eyes lidded and heavy with all the love and adoration you had for him while his hips kept snapping against yours like he was a machine following a loop of instructions. He listened to your little gasps, watched how drunk you were on him and what he was doing to you, and he couldn’t feel a damn thing. Sixty’s breath hitched, and his vision started to blur.

Your hands. 

He couldn’t even feel your fucking hands.

“ I love you. ” he said, feeling so numb but so much at the same time and he couldn’t make sense of any of it. Sixty didn’t realize that tears were trickling down his cheeks, and even though you wiped them away with more love and affection, it still didn’t fix him. It was such a selfish thing: that parasite inside him, and now it had stolen him from you so completely that he felt like a ghost in your arms.

By the time he stopped moving over you, you’d already realized that something was awfully wrong.

“ Sixty? ” you called, brows pinching together.

His eyes had turned dull and unfocused, like he wasn’t really there even though he was staring down at you, and that made all the alarm clocks ring inside your head. You sat up, and Sixty’s body swayed for a second before it dropped like a sack on the bed.

“ Sixty! ” You tried to shake him, but no matter how much you tried, his eyes were still dull and distant. He was starting to drift in and out of consciousness, and something about it was familiar. His body was burning and his pulse was through the roof, and suddenly he could hear those familiar tunes again: Sumo’s happy barks, and the morning sun.

“ Sixty, you’re scaring me! ”

You shook him again, and his eyes opened for a moment to see your  crying face over him. He tried to move his arms, but his body was a weight he couldn’t seem to carry. He drifted away some more, and when he saw you again, your phone was in your hand. That could only mean one thing.

You were calling for an ambulance.

“ No… ” his voice was barely there, but it was enough to get your attention.

“ Stay with me, Six! Please! ”

His breaths were quick and shallow, and even though it took everything within him to form his next word, Sixty knew that it was his only chance of surviving:

“ Nines… ” he croaked.

Call Nines.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Omg can I please get a hannibal x a shy girl reader ? Like he’s really possessive of her and she doesn’t know how to handle it but she likes him so they date??

Sorry this took so long, anon. I’ve been bouncing ideas around and this one in particular, I believe, fits your request. Y/n feels out of place among Hannibal’s fancy friends and it becomes even more obvious when he abandons her at a party. 

Trigger warnings: social anxiety, sexual harassment, overstimulation

You and Hannibal had an agreement about large gatherings. He could only bring you to a party if you had a week's notice and at least three uninterrupted hours of gaming time prior to the event.

For this event, you needed a solid six.

One of the major Maryland universities was awarding a lucrative research grant to a student of clinical psychology, and every influential name in the industry was expected to be there. As a recent college grad with a bachelor's in business you didn't know what to do with, you couldn't imagine a less welcoming environment if you tried. You couldn't fit into their world and more importantly, you didn't want to. But the thought of being noticeably different in any situation was twice as terrifying. So you spent the whole week repeating your mantra; blend in, be quiet and make it through the night.

But Hannibal had different plans for you.

Halfway through the week, just when you'd pushed the party out of your mind, Hannibal presented you with a gift.

"What's the occasion?" You asked. You hoped that if you pretended not to know, it would just magically go away.

"I brought you something to wear on Friday." Hannibal answered, hanging the garment bag up on the bureau. "You know I'll take any excuse to dress you up."

He unzipped the bag and placed a black silk dress into your arms. "Try it on so I have time to get it altered if it needs it."

The material was cool to the touch and outlined your figure so perfectly, you felt even a little naked. Hannibal, of course, loved this. You were his own personal Venus de Milo. His goddess and his muse. 

“Yes, that will do nicely.” He observed, looking at you hungrily. 

“Seems a little short for a such a sophisticated event, doesn’t it?” You raised an eyebrow. The answer was yes and he knew it. He was very deliberate in everything he did. “I don’t want to come off the wrong way.” 

“And what way would that be, darling?” He asked, not taking his eyes off your figure. 

“I mean--” You searched for the right words. “It’s a gathering of the Mid-Atlantic’s most esteemed academics, I feel like, in a dress like this, I might be seen as, well, a...” 

“A prostitute?” Hannibal finished, choosing a much nicer word than you would have.

You looked down. “Yeah. It just doesn’t seem all that appropriate.” 

Hannibal approached you and lifted your chin slightly to look into his eyes. “Many Christian denominations believe that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, yet she was Christ’s right-hand woman. She was first to see him crucified and first to witness his resurrection.” 

“Dr. Lecter,” You smirked. “I never would have taken you for a religious man.” 

“Goodness, no.” He shook his head. “But any reputable academic is expected to be familiar with biblical literature and its many contradictions and impossibilities.” 

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You are my divine feminine, Miss [L/N].” Hannibal said in a low whisper. “And I want everyone to see it. If they see a common whore, it would only be a reflection of their own jealousy.” 

Hannibal's rationalization almost made you forget about your fear of being noticed. Almost. It all came rushing back when you arrived at the event. Not one person your age was in attendance. The women wore long, flowing evening gowns that reached the floor. The length of your skirt alone guaranteed that all eyes were on you. In a simple black silk dress, you looked the very model of high society. Silk was a sign of luxury, and Hannibal wanted everyone to know that you were a woman of means. His woman, to be precise. That was why he brought you to these functions in the first place. To put you in a dress short enough for any wandering eyes so see the smattering of love bites running up your inner thighs. He wanted everyone in his field to know that you were completely and entirely his.

You realized too late that this was all his little exercise in showing you off.

Everyone seemed to know him. He only knew a handful of people by name, and you didn't know anyone.

"And who is this delightful young woman?" A woman with a light southern twang in her voice asked, looking at you as if you were a caged animal on display.

"I wasn't aware you had a daughter, Dr. Lecter." The young man beside her laughed. "Or is she your side piece?"

Your eyes scanned the room for the nearest exit. It would be unbecoming to make a scene, so you plotted a way to slip out quietly.

“Darling, meet Dr. Charlotte Ramset and her TA, David.” Hannibal introduced, notably ignoring the young man. “Dr. Ramset, this is my intended, [F/N] [L/N].”

"I didn't realize she was also a ventriloquist!" The lady, presumably Dr. Ramset, joked. You'd heard that one a million times. She looked at you. "Tell me about yourself, sweetie. What are you studying?"

The lady was old enough to be your grandmother and reeked of too much perfume.

"I graduated last year." You said, quietly. "With a BA in business."

"See, there's a good woman." David added. "Only speaks when spoken to. They don't make ’em like you anymore, baby."

Hannibal tightened his grip on your hand. "On the contrary, David. See, Miss [L/N] is quite a bit like myself. She only dignifies those she deems worthy with a response. There's nothing wrong with being selective."

The lady laughed at David's expense and smiled at you. "Good for you."

You smiled back just a little, not ready to bring your guard down yet. "I've had to deal with more than enough. It's best not to engage."

"Oh, I know, I know." The lady said, shaking her head. "That's how it is for us educated gals. Always having to put up with pigs. See, I went to college in the sixties, so I can tell you some real stories."

This was a new experience. Talking to Hannibal's friends and having them listen to you was something you never considered possible. Now, you were one of the educated gals. You were just about to strike up a conversation with this woman, when the man next to her decided someone desperately needed to play devil’s advocate.

“I find that sexist, actually.” He cut in. “Not all men are pigs.” 

The silence following his comment was deafening and you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Whatever progress Hannibal and Dr. Ramset made breaking down your defenses was completely reversed and you were ready to retreat.

Dr. Ramset took a long sip of wine and adjusted her shawl. “David, none of us said anything about men, you drew that conclusion yourself.”

“I mean, look at you.” David gestured to your dress. You knew exactly where this was going and you wished you could just disappear. “You’re basically asking for it.” 

Dr. Ramset glared at him. “David, that’s enough.” 

“I’m just stating facts.” David crossed his arms. “If you dress like a slut, what do you expect?”

Dr. Ramset and Hannibal seemed to have an entire conversation through prolonged eye contact before one of them broke the silence. 

"Charlotte, I hate to have to excuse myself so soon, but the president of the university is expecting me." Hannibal said, dropping your hand. Your heart hit the floor when you realized that he would be throwing you to the wolves.

"Of course, Dr. Lecter." She nodded. "Duty calls."

"I trust you'll keep an eye on my beloved [F/N] in my absence?" His voice hardened. The severity in his tone frightened you.

Dr. Ramset didn't seem disturbed or even surprised in the slightest by his gently threatening demand. "Of course."

"Thank you. And [F/N]?" He said, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. "I won't be going far. Please, try to have fun."

You tried not to look affronted, but you were going to have a long talk with Hannibal when you got home. 

"I'm just saying what everyone is thinking." David continued, his inability to take a hint positively astounding. "Why don't you respect yourself enough to cover up, [F/N]? You have a boyfriend!"

Your eyes scrolled across the room looking for any sign of Hannibal, but he was gone. Dr. Ramset finished her wine and stared at her TA with the resigned disgust of a death row jailer.

"Any other thoughts?" She said, snatching a fresh glass of wine. You looked at her with a clear expression of discomfort.

"Come on, do you see any other woman in the room dressed so provocatively?" David's voice broke mid-sentence. "No. Because they're educated enough to know that real men don't care about their bodies."

The hotel clerk approached the group. "Mr. Hosmer, there's a call for you."

David narrowed his eyes. "Uh, what?"

"Someone is on the phone asking for you." The clerk repeated. "Says it's an emergency."

David shrugged. "Fine."

Just when you thought you would be rid of him, at least for a moment, he planted his hands on your hips in attempt to "get by" you. His touch was like that of an insect crawling across your skin; unexpected, filthy and leaving you squeamish.

"I'm so sorry about that." Dr. Ramset's words echoed in your ears, but you didn't really hear them. You were too focused on grounding yourself to process what she was saying. 

“Dr. Ramset?” You said, quietly. “Which one is the president of the university?” 

She glanced at a tall woman in a dark blue suit, surrounded by equally important looking businesspeople. You followed her eyes. “That’s Dr. Mary Hosmer.”

Your ounce of righteous fury was squelched in two seconds when the reality of having to talk to someone, especially someone of stature, set in. You looked sheepishly back at Dr. Ramset. 

“Could you please ask her where Hannibal went?” You whispered. “I’d really like him to take me home now.” 

Her face turned sympathetic. “Of course, [F/N]. Stay right there.” 

You nodded. “Thank you.” 

Dr. Ramset crossed the floor and politely greeted the president. You took a few slow, calculated steps closer, just to get in earshot.

“Pardon me, but, have you seen Dr. Hannibal Lecter?” Dr. Ramset said, casually. 

“I wasn’t aware Hannibal had even arrived yet.” The president answered. “I haven’t seen him.” 

Your eyes widened. You fought the urge to freeze, but you had to move back before Dr. Ramset knew you’d been eavesdropping. You heard everything you needed and rushed back to where she’d left you.

“Dr. Hosmer said he stepped out.” She told you upon her return. “He should be back soon.” 

You tried not to show that you knew she was lying. “...oh.” 

“Would you like me to stay with you until he comes back?” 

You knew you were completely on your own. You didn’t know what was going on, but you had an inkling that it had to do with the president and David sharing a last name. All you knew for certain was that you couldn’t trust anybody. 

“Don’t bother.” You shook your head. You took off for the door, but Dr. Ramset grabbed your wrist. 

“I’m sorry, [F/N].” Her voice dropped to a low whisper. She didn’t look mad, but afraid. “But Dr. Lecter told me to stay with you. Please. Don’t make this harder for me.”

You recalled how seriously threatening Hannibal’s request was. She wasn’t answering to the president of the university. She was answering to Hannibal. You didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved. 

“Right.” You conceded, stepping back in. “I’m sorry.” 

The actual award ceremony was much longer than it needed to be, and it dragged on even longer knowing there was no reason for you to be there. Other than that, you awkwardly followed Dr. Ramset around the party like a lost puppy the whole time. You were back to your original plan: blend in, be quiet and make it through the night. 

Just when you thought the party would never end, someone tapped you on the arm. You turned around, hoping with every fiber of your being that it was Hannibal, but it wasn’t. A tall woman in a dark blue suit stared back at you. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss.” She said, apologetically. “But have you seen my son? I saw him talking to you and Dr. Charlotte earlier, perhaps he told you where he was going?” 

You’d pushed that man completely out of your mind. You shook your head. “He left to take a phone call and I haven’t seen him since.” 

A hand found your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Hosmer, but I believe I saw the boy on his phone out in the lobby.” 

“Dr. Lecter!” The president’s eyes widened. “How nice of you to finally join us.” 

“...Yes, I believe he left right after making unwarranted comments towards my intended here.” Hannibal ran his hand down your arm lovingly. 

“Well, boys will be boys.” The president chuckled. “Maybe you should teach your girlfriend not to wear such revealing clothes.” 

Hannibal smiled and pulled you in protectively. “Whatever the case, I hope you find him very soon.” 

Her phone chimed in her back pocket. “Oh, that’s him right now.” 

“Wonderful.” Hannibal said. “[F/N] and I will be taking our leave.” 

He hurried you towards the door, his hand tight around yours. A blood-curdling scream came from behind you. You looked back for just a moment and found the president hollering in pain and falling to her knees. 

“Let’s go, darling.” Hannibal tugged at your arm. “They don’t deserve your presence.” 

“Hannibal, I swear.” You said, once you were in the safety of the car. “If you killed every man who looked at me like a piece of meat, sooner or later, there won’t be any men left.” 

Hannibal smirked and reached for his seatbelt. “Wonderful.” 

[graveofnyx]

Coffee Shop

Minato x Reader SFW

“And that’s how you make our House Special Caramel Macchiato!” Anko cheered triumphantly as she just barely managed to prepare the special blend of coffee herself. It was your first day working as a barista at Konoha’s Brasserie. It was a quaint coffee shop located on the outskirts of the village. Most customers were between the ages of thirty to sixty, that’s without including the few high school and college students who came looking for a quiet place to study. 

“Hello? Is anybody in there? You understand how to make all the drinks, right?” Anko snapped her fingers just inches away from your face. 

“Uh, yeah, I know how to make everything,” you mumbled, although you weren’t entirely confident in your coffee-making abilities even after three days of training. Seriously, how many coffee recipes did that coffee shop have on the menu? 

“Yeah. . .” Anko narrowed her eyes at you. “Just wing it if push comes to shove.” She nudged you slightly. 

You frowned. “Don’t you mean ‘come get me if you need anything?’” Anko scoffed as she walked toward the cash register, effectively answering your question without uttering a single word. Guess that means I’m on my own, you thought to yourself before grabbing a simple washcloth and wiping the countertops next to the coffee-making equipment. 

It was a quiet day at the shop. The orange and yellow hues of the afternoon beginning to spill into the space through the various windows placed around the cafe. The pale eggshell and chocolate brown shades painted onto the wall were in pleasant contrast with the walnut wood of the individual tables and booths. 

That was when you noticed the back of someone, a man in particular, who had yet to be served. Pulling the notepad from your apron and a pen from behind your ear, you approached him. “Welcome to Konoha’s Brasserie, what would you like to order?” You placed an amiable grin on your face as you greeted him. 

The corners of his lips lifted in a sincere grin and you could practically feel your heart lurch in your chest. “Yeah, I would like a Hazelnut Cappuccino with extra foam and a croissant,” said the man without even the slightest hint of debate or hesitation — as if he’d ordered the same thing over a hundred times. 

“Of course, I’ll bring your order to you shortly.” You bowed to him politely and hurried off,  afraid you’d make a fool of yourself in the presence of such a handsome man. 

While making his drink, you couldn’t seem to get the image of his smiling face out of your mind. You glanced over to where the man sat, now noticing that he’d pulled a novel from his bag and began reading. I wonder what he’s reading, you thought inwardly, having been a huge fan of reading yourself.

You grabbed a croissant from the oven, placing it on a small saucer as you carried his coffee on another saucer in your other hand. “Please, enjoy.” Placing your hands on your apron, you began to walk away from his table. 

“Excuse me, can you come back?” The man called, his voice sounding so gentle even though you knew he was calling you back to his table because you’d made some mistake with his order. 

“I asked for extra foam but this has the regular amount,” he informed you. 

“Oh, I am so sorry about that! I must’ve been a little. . .distracted.” Yes, you certainly were distracted. Men that fine don’t just smile at you and order from the coffee shop for middle-aged people you’ve just started working at!

“No, no! There’s no need to apologize, really!” He assured you just as you swiftly grabbed his cup to go add milk foam to it. Anko watched amusedly as you scurried around the kitchen, this time making sure you placed a sufficient amount of effort into perfecting his drink. 

By the time you returned behind the counter after serving him his coffee for a second time, Anko was on you like the plague. “I see you fancy Minato,” she teased.

Your eyes widened as you turned to face her but you quickly concealed your shock. “What are you on about?”

Suddenly, her mocking voice turned serious. “He’s a regular here. . .been ordering that same Hazelnut Cappucino with extra foam, that same baked croissant, at that same table for two years now.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “He’s been coming here every day for two years?”

“Yep, ever since the day Kushina died. She was his wife — a beautiful woman. A Hazelnut Cappucino with extra foam was her favorite drink to order when they would come on dates here. She’d almost always add a croissant to top it off. Trust me, a man mourning the loss of his first love is a man for nobody.”

“Plus they have a son together,” she added. You faced away from Anko, staring at Minato’s back as you took in all the new information you’d gotten. Had Anko not told you, you would’ve never guessed he was still grieving the loss of someone as important as a wife.

Still, your heart panged with sorrow for him and pity for yourself. It had been a minute since you’d been attracted to someone this much, and that person just had to be a grieving, widowed man. 

Anko had long since vanished to the back of the coffee shop, probably going to hang up her apron and clock out for the day. You moved toward the cash register upon noticing Minato waiting to pay for his order. 

“Your total is $7.35.” You tapped away on the cash register.

“Is something wrong?” He frowned, apparently noticing the sullen tone in your voice. 

“Oh, nothing! Just a little tired is all.” You scratched the back of your neck, taking in the man’s perfectly sculpted face one last time as he pulled the money necessary from his wallet. 

“Yeah, it is getting late.” He chuckled gently. “I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” 

“Yep, it’s my first real day since on-the-job training,” you stated.

“Ah, that makes sense. I figured I would’ve noticed such a beautiful face before today.”

And at that moment, you knew that you were prepared for any baggage this man would come with. 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

He Was a Sk8r Boi

Happiest of Birthdays and best wishes to one of my most beloved and darling friends on this earth, the fantastical @hailhailsatan ! May your sass never cease.

modern au - college student Jaskier - the Kaer Morons are all skater punks

tw: mild injury (scraped arm)

---

Jaskier took a seat on what remained of a crumbling stone bench and pulled his black-and-white composition notebook onto his lap, opening it to the closest blank page. He tugged his favorite pen out from its place of honor behind his ear and waited for inspiration to strike.

And waited.

And waited.

After half an hour of staring into space and getting absolutely nothing written, the frustrated college student stood from his seat and jammed his headphones into his ears. If nature wasn’t going to help finish this stupid poetry assignment then maybe he could find a person or two to observe for inspiration instead. Glancing around the otherwise empty benches and pathways of the public park, Jaskier sighed and shook his head. “Fuck this, I’ll try the other side.”

He pulled his MP3 player out from the pocket of his light autumn jacket and painstakingly scrolled through every song available until finally giving up and pressing the “Shuffle” button. As a heavy, angry guitar riff began to filter through his headphones and lighten the load of the world from his shoulders, Jaskier found himself approaching a half-hearted attempt at a skatepark.

There was one cement half-pipe to his left and a few rails and quarter-pipes scattered around the vicinity, bolted into the ground in a seemingly random pattern. Several oddly shaped cement bowls were sunk into the earth, obviously made to work like ramps but with a larger and less predictable surface area.

There were only three skaters enjoying the park on this particularly grey afternoon, zipping back and forth from one piece of equipment to the next like emo hummingbirds. Jaskier took out his headphones again as he made his way to a nearby bench - wood this time - and casually sat himself down. The skater dudes were yelling back and forth to each other as they swanned over and around the equipment on their boards, mostly insults from what the student could hear.

The loudest of the three had springy orange hair that he wore pulled back into a small, messy half-bun at the top of his head. The rest fell down against the back of his neck in an equally messy sheet, reaching nearly all the way to his shoulders but not quite touching them. He was wearing a bright red t-shirt with a catchphrase that Jaskier couldn’t read and plain denim jeans.

“What the fuck are you doing, Eskel?” he laughed, pointing to the tallest of the group and pulling a face.

“Shut up, Bert,” the brunette shouted back at the redhead, doing a quick kick-flip over the far end of a metal railing. “You can’t skate for shit.”

“I’m better than you!”

The third member of their little gang was the quietest so far and, in Jaskier’s personal opinion, also the prettiest. He had a mass of long white hair that fell all the way to the bottom of his shoulder blades, pointed and stiff in a way that meant it had been straightened and sprayed into submission. The silvery strands were being held out of the stranger’s eyes by a baggy black beanie and Jaskier desperately wanted to know whether or not that hair color was natural (though he heavily suspected that it was not).

The white-haired guy was also the most talented of the three gathered skaters, flying from one end of the half-pipe to the other and landing a few flips in between as if risking his life was as simple as breathing. He wore no knee pads over his ripped black skinny jeans and no elbow pads either; Jaskier noted with a little zing through his nervous system that the skater’s arms were muscled like a Greek statue’s and equally pale.

He was fucking hot.

“Geralt, do a three-sixty!” the redhead jeered, chucking something at the pretty one.

“I can’t land one yet and you know it,” the white-haired guy, Geralt apparently, replied. His voice was low and sonorous and Jaskier nearly fell off his bench in surprise. The student hadn’t realized how far forward he had been leaning in order to listen to their conversation and he scooted back again with a self-conscious little blush. In the distance, Geralt continued. “Why don’t you get up here and try it yourself, asshole?”

“I just fucking might, White Wolf,” Lambert huffed, turning his board back toward the half-pipe and picking up speed. The dark-haired one, Eskel, caught Jaskier’s eye from across the park; the student blushed an even darker shade of red and looked down at his lap to avoid any sort of confrontation. If any of these guys wanted to start a fight with him, Jaskier would surely lose.

By the time the anxious student worked up the nerve to look at them again, Lambert had already climbed to the top of the half-pipe and taken a defensive stance. His eyebrows were furrowed and his arms were crossed over his chest in a projection of almost childish anger. As Geralt came up the cement incline, Lambert lashed out with his foot and kicked the other man’s board out from beneath his feet.

Eskel gave a wordless cry of alarm.

Geralt wavered in the air for a moment - cartoonishly, Jaskier thought, almost like Wile E. Coyote - before plunging to the pavement and rolling limply down the inside of the half-pipe. Eskel chucked a rock at the redhead and started screaming, “Fuck off, dude! You could have cracked his fucking skull! You could have killed Geralt, you absolute cock-toboggan!”

“Fuck! Shit, I didn't-,” Lambert fell on his butt and slid down the ramp to Geralt’s side, kneeling over him with concern written all over his face. “Are you alright, man!?”

Jaskier couldn’t hear if Geralt replied or not, but he suddenly remembered the first-aid kit sitting right there in his bag. Jaskier was a total klutz and tried to keep a handful of bandages and a tube of disinfectant on him at all times just in case he ever needed them. Thank goodness they would be able to come in handy, and for a far nobler purpose than patching up yet another one of his table-smacked knees.

Without thinking any further ahead, Jaskier grabbed the strap of his bag and took off running towards the site of the accident.

“Hey!” he shouted, coming to a stop a few feet away. “I have - uh, I have a first-aid kit if you want to use it.”

“Cool, thanks,” Eskel said, glancing over his shoulder with a curt nod. “Come on over, we don’t bite. Well, I don’t.”

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Lambert apologized to Geralt once again. When Jaskier glanced over at him, the redhead looked legitimately upset and guilty. Geralt looked up at the newcomer from the pavement, his silver hair spread out around him in mimicry of a halo - the black beanie was lying a few feet away, forgotten or ignored.

Up close like this, the stranger stole the breath out of Jaskier’s very lungs. The man's eyes… His fucking eyes were a gorgeous molten gold in the late afternoon sun, sparking and shining like gemstones. Holding Geralt’s gaze made Jaskier feel as if his very soul was catching fire.

“Do you need a band-aid?” Jaskier asked rather stupidly, holding out the little cardboard box. Geralt nodded stoically.

“I think I scraped my arm.”

“Let me help,” Jaskier said. The student knelt beside Geralt and set the box of band-aids down. He flung open the kit and retrieved some ‘pain-free’ disinfectant, then returned to the box of bandages in search of one without a Disney princess on it. “Do you guys always do this without wearing any protective gear?”

“I’ve got a helmet,” Geralt said. He pointed towards three mismatched backpacks piled near the edge of the pavement; a bright red helmet with several semi-familiar logos stuck to it sat atop one of them.

“It’s very useful over there, keeping your backpack from cracking its skull open,” Jaskier chastised lightly, trying to keep his nerves in check. He was feeling oddly protective of a guy he’d never even met before and it was very fucking weird.

“Sorry,” Geralt shrugged. He was still laying on his back, his topaz eyes flickering between Jaskier’s hands and face. The student applied a thin layer of medical cream to the shallow scrape with shaking fingers and then wiped the remaining goo on his shirt, uncaring of the damage it may have done. He bandaged the minor wound quickly and leaned back, glancing between Lambert and Eskel as if just noticing their presence on either side of Geralt's head.

“Thanks,” Eskel grinned, holding out his hand. “I’m Eskel.”

“Jaskier,” Jaskier replied shyly. “And the loud one is Lambert, right?”

Geralt chuckled from his place on the ground and Jaskier’s heart seized painfully in his chest. What a laugh, ye gods. “Yeah, that’s Lambert. I’m Geralt.”

“Nice to meet you, Geralt,” Jaskier could practically taste the name as it melted across his tongue. “Well, not the nicest way to meet you, but I’m glad I met you all the same. Anyway.”

He stood up with a little grimace and took a step back.

“Where are you going?” Eskel asked. “You came to Geralt’s rescue so I think that means he owes you like, at least an ice cream, or something.”

“Yeah,” Lambert piped up. He smirked at the man on the ground and then turned back to Jaskier, mischief clear in his expression, “Let him take you to get an ice cream.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Jaskier squeaked. Then he realized he’d sounded rude and held up his hands as if offering surrender (surrender for what, he wasn't exactly sure), “Not that I wouldn’t like to hang out with you more but I’ve got an assignment due and I’m sure you’re very busy doing skater things and I-”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Geralt asked, finally sitting up. He straightened his arms out behind him and rested there, reclined comfortable, a god in his temple.

Jaskier shot the older man a half-annoyed look, beating back his anxiety with a stick. “I listen to Avril Lavigne. I know not to underestimate pretty skater punks.”

“Pretty?” Geralt raised his eyebrows. Jaskier hid his face behind his hands and turned on his heel.

“Anyway, nice meeting you!” Jaskier shouted, hoping they could hear even if he was facing the opposite direction. He took off toward the edge of the park at a brisk walk, verging on a jog. He needed to go hide behind a tree and cry. What the fuck!? He was terrible at flirting and now he’d gone and ruined his chances with the guy he’d… literally just met. Chill out, he told himself - just before a strong hand clamped down over his shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“So not ice cream,” Geralt said. Jaskier slowly turned back to face the mostly-stranger. His lip was caught fast between his teeth and Geralt lifted one large hand to gently thumb it free again. “Maybe a boarding lesson, instead? It would give me an excuse to put my hands around your waist and you could put yours on my shoulders.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Jaskier asked. He fluttered his eyelashes and took half a step into Geralt's space.

The broad-shouldered punk smiled down at the Little Mermaid band-aid on his arm and then turned that smile to Jaskier. “Yeah.”

[thedisguisedaltruism]

fond stares, vast place, loud heartbeats

genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, concert au

pairing: wonwoo/gn reader

summary: wonwoo hates the crowds, but he has to save up all his energy since you’re taking him as your concert buddy for taylor swift’s 1989 tour. little did he know, he will soon realize that he was actually in love with you, thanks to taylor and her wicked songwriting.

word count: 2,192

a/n: dumping this shit because too much feels for you are in love live :((

2015

“Wons, turn it up, turn it up!”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but snort from your excitement to see your longtime idol live. You worked hard to save enough so you could see Taylor Swift since then, and now you’re about to witness your turning point in life.

...together with your best friend, not to mention how he loathes crowds.

I Know Places is currently playing on the car stereo and you're warming up as you hit the high note in the chorus, dramatically pressing your chest with eyes shut. Wonwoo takes his final turn as you finally arrive at the stadium.

"Missed the note there, my friend." He teases. You could care less from his assed remarks because your mind's been in euphoria since you woke up from a power nap a few hours ago.

Outside the venue has already gathered a big crowd, and you patiently wait for your best friend who's double-checking the doors if they're surely closed.

Wonwoo has been your best friend for five years, and being grateful to have him is an understatement as he has witnessed your ups and downs in college. He knows that apart from your family and him, Taylor and her music has already played such a great role from adolescence until adulthood.

As a sucker for books, Wonwoo was undoubtedly impressed by Taylor's songwriting prowess since he listens to your discussions during the free time about the lyric analyses that you read across the internet, and you usually play her live performances whenever you pull off all-nighters that's why he agreed to be your concert buddy because he wants to see the person who could give rainbows to the person he likes.

Yes. The person he likes.

Wonwoo thought being in a Taylor Swift concert is not bad at all. It's like having a big crowd of best friends gathering in one huge place to have fun with their most talented best friend. Everyone's perfectly singing along to every lyric, breathing to each punctuation, and screaming at the top of their lungs.

Honestly speaking, he was having fun, and boy, he could sing along to a few songs while waving with his light-up bracelet. 

Aside from being fascinated by the live performances, he would sometimes steal glances at you, making him amused by your kaleidoscope of emotions you've shown from the past eight performances. Sometimes you'd turn to him just to sing while holding your chest, and go back to screaming how much you love Taylor Swift.

After the succeeding crowd-jumping performances, Taylor comes out with her black Gibson acoustic guitar to perform an acoustic version of her song just like the old days. The crowd has once again roared, and you scoot close to Wonwoo to whisper that Taylor's going to sing your favorite song from 1989.

He knows the story behind it. You told him on your graduating year at the rooftop of your college building while chugging an energy drink just to keep yourself awake from pulling off an all-nighter for your thesis, it was about Taylor’s known actress friend falling in love with her producer on this album—someone with the name Jack—if he could still guess correctly.

Taylor has already ascended for a clearer sight of crowds from the top seats, instructing everyone to sing back the specific words. Wonwoo watches you hugging yourself while craning your neck so you could see Taylor from above.

One look, dark room

Meant just for you

Time moved too fast

You play it back

Buttons on a coat

Light-hearted joke

No proof, not much

But you saw enough

  You and Wonwoo first met at the same elective during college freshman year. You were sitting near the door, sparing the next seat with your bag since someone from your class politely asked you to but unfortunately, she never came back and it was perfectly timed that Wonwoo immediately spotted the vacant seat beside you, exhausted from running before he gets late (yes, in a goddamn first day of class). 

  He learned that you’re taking up creative writing that’s why said elective was important for your course. He told you that he was taking up computer science, but he still needs to take the elective.

  ...and then, your friendship started.

  You have friends, but they’re few for your liking because socializing is exhausting. Wonwoo, on the other hand, despised being exhausted around people and that’s the reason why both of you became friends quickly. Reading was Wonwoo’s stress escape and yours was binge-watching k-dramas and reality shows.

  You can hear it in the silence, silence, you

You can feel it on the way home, way home, you

You can see it with the lights out, lights out

You are in love, true love

You are in love

  Since both of you chose to live in dormitories at college, sometimes you’d walk together around the university park late at night and talk about stuff happening in your life outside academics. One time, you told him how you’re pissed at your family’s insights about coming out since they happened to share once about how your cousin came out at a family gathering and the next moment, he was already in the hot seat. You told Wonwoo that you wished you were there to end all of your religious hypocrite relatives.

  Wonwoo, within the years of friendship, was never the type to initiate a conversation, but he’s an excellent listener. He could watch you talk about Taylor Swift, the perennial hate for your Major professor who’s academia-obsessed since she sets a standard too high for her liking while her class is on the brink of dropping out, and how you were fascinated about him staying up all night for computer games and still ace programming exams.

  Suddenly, the crowd started to roar out of the blue, making him shake his head from spacing out. Still standing, much to his surprise since he hates getting tired, he realized that he’s just watching you being helplessly in awe at Taylor Swift no matter how neck-stiffening it is, how your eyes sparkled with bliss just like the days when you talk with him about the things you love.

  And then he felt the pace of his heartbeat quickened.

  The crowd was already singing along with excitement—he has no idea what kind of reason it is—but he remains watching you like you were excruciatingly hard to reach, despite how you could hear his loud heartbeat if this was an empty place.

  One night he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says “You're my best friend”

And you knew what it was

He is in love

  You screamed you’re my best friend at the top of your lungs together with other sixty thousand people at Taylor despite how your best friend, who’s silently watching beside you, couldn’t calm himself down unnoticed.

  You can hear it in the silence, silence, you

You can feel it on the way home, way home, you

You can see it with the lights out, lights out

You are in love, true love

  Suddenly, you turn to Wonwoo as Taylor does her guitar break before singing the bridge, and you were surprised to see him just staring at you instead of watching Taylor from up above and tell you how skilled she was at playing guitar. The way he’s looking at you wasn’t even judging, teasing, or the usual antics that he does.

  He’s just looking at you fondly and you thought maybe, he’s extremely happy that you get to see your longtime idol live after all these years and you deserved it so much.

  ...except that your tentative guess is incorrect.

  “She’s really good, isn’t she?” you yelled at him proudly while pointing at Taylor with emphasis.

  Your best friend could only nod and gesture at you to look back on your idol.

  And so it goes

You two are dancing in a snow globe, 'round and 'round

And he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown

And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

And why I've spent my whole life tryin' to put it into words

  That made Wonwoo look up to Taylor Swift in an instant and judged her as he could so. As Taylor stopped, the crowd screamed once again, but nothing is deafening as his heartbeat while watching you cheer in chorus.

  He didn’t know if he should feel betrayed, because you were his partner during graduation ball and you were just having the best time of your lives because fuck it, despite being anxious about what’s to come after the graduation, both of you were so happy to have been able to survive despite the shit hole life your university has given.

  He also happened to frame a picture of you in his office peacefully sitting beside the stacks of scratch papers for software development. He secretly requested for its original copy at the official student publication of your university during that one major event as he saw it on Facebook.

  He realized that he’s in love with you after all this time.

  Much to his misfortune, you suddenly looked at him again and your eyes met that he couldn’t look away, but this time it was replaced with worry. You caught him twice, and knowing Wonwoo, he’s not usually vocal when it comes to express his discomfort.

  You gently hold Wonwoo’s hand. “Are you having a bad feeling? We could go out if you want to,” you whispered just audible enough for him to hear.

  And that’s how he lost it. 

  It took him another deep breath to sink in that you chose his well-being over your once-in-a-lifetime moment with your idol.

  Like… holy shit, he was so lucky to have you in his life and he thought this time, he wants to step out of his shell and gather the courage to tell you how much you mean to his life. He’s had enough secretly pining over you for years.

  But first, he wants you to be happy and enjoy your time with Taylor. He shakes his head no and holds your shoulders to turn to Taylor who’s now descending for the next performance.

                      “I can’t believe she’s real, what the hell, she was fucking real, Wonwoo.” you sighed. “Oh my god.”

  You couldn’t stop wiping your face after spacing out which made Wonwoo chuckle. After the concert and almost a painful hour of waiting to get out of the stadium, you mutually agreed to stop by the nearest convenience store.

  Although you only bought a coffee and went back inside Wonwoo’s car.

  “Me too.” Wonwoo whispers. That made you remember what happened during You Are In Love performance. You looked at him and tapped his shoulder.

  “You looked unwell this evening. Were you honestly okay, Wons?” you ask.

  He only blinked in response.

  It took Wonwoo a few seconds to gather up his courage. Now that it’s only the two of you alone, he thought he must let it out.

  “Yeah, I was just overwhelmed. You don’t have to worry.” he jokes, his attention remained at the store. He could see from his peripherals how your eyebrows furrowed, obviously not convinced enough by his excuse.

  “What you told me about Taylor the first time you introduced her to me was...true,” he sighed deeply. “She sings what we couldn’t put into words.”

  For someone like Wonwoo whose eloquence is something to look up to, you were confused by what he meant.

  Wonwoo turns to face you and takes your icy palms to wrap them with his large, slender, and warm ones. 

  “I love you.” He says, straightly looking into your eyes.

  Your eyes widen in surprise.

  “Please don’t joke around!” You hit his shoulder, but all he does is let out a burst of breathy laughter.

  But honestly, your heart skipped a beat after hearing his sudden confession.

  Tracing circles on your hand, Wonwoo smiles at your bewildered expression. “You were wondering if I was having a bad time? No, it’s all Taylor’s fault for making me confess to you tonight. That took me a long time I guess.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I love you and Taylor made me realize that I should confess before it gets too late.”

  You looked up at Wonwoo while pulling your hand from his gentle hold and laughed. It was unbelievable how both of you have been painfully oblivious despite being helplessly pining towards each other.

  It was your best friend’s turn to get puzzled so you took the time advantage to confess.

  “Idiot, I liked you too, ever since we first met.” sounding bashful, you looked away hoping that you didn’t sound like an idiot. So much irony for making fun of your best friend a few moments ago. “I have no idea that you felt deeper than I thought I have.”

  Even if you already knew how Wonwoo’s mind works for five years, he is always full of surprises.

  Or maybe he was so happy tonight that he kissed your hand and never let go of it as he started driving you home.

[neovisioned]

♡ꜜ eddie ate dynamite﹫johnny suh

fangs - matt champion PLAYLIST

pairing : johnny x reader (f), feat. ten as johnny’s best friend and roommate and jaehyun as your college friend. 

genre : fluff, another case of smut with too much plot, pianist!johnny, guitarist!reader, college!au, neighbour!au, strangers to friends to lovers, warnings : ten being a cockblock, it’s overall really cute. heavy making out, grinding, marking, slight choking, slight thigh riding, mutual masturbation, slight panty kink and menhandling, oral, penetration. word count : +22k synopsis : where you never really tried to make friends with your neighbours. after all, most of them – if not all – are families that would not have much time to talk to a college student. you don’t mind, you’d rather spend some time with your guitar. but your new young neighbour doesn’t seem as anti-social as you are, it’s eleven past meridiem when someone airdrops a tab sheet on your computer, you play it. a/n : i got this idea while i was showering just after i ordered my electric guitar, i also felt like shit so figured writing about my ult would cheer me up.

Calm and clean streets, pretty cherry trees dotted in red, small park filled with multicolor flowers, you remember the day you moved in your neighborhood like it was yesterday. You don’t say it much, but you love everything about your district. Yes, it might be mostly – if not totally – filled with small families and couples in their thirties, and they usually don’t have much to tell you, you still love the tranquility.

No college students being obnoxiously loud, no parties every week, no gatherings of wannabe frats.

You have to say, you got lucky. The small – but convenient and comfortable – apartment you’re ranting is what you could call a “perle rare”, a gem.

After searching and searching for anything that could fit a college student and it’s budget, you found this very building, freshly built. Only fifteen minutes away from the city center, exactly seventeen minutes away from your university, you couldn’t really believe your eyes, you even thought it was a scam at first. A more than decently sized apartment at the second to last floor, elevators, almost soundproof walls, balcony, big windows facing south, you couldn’t ask for more.

Even better, the owner was a family friend, a deal that made everyone happy was quickly made and, a few days after your twenty-first birthday, you moved in.

It was a bit more than a year ago and you have to say, you quickly made yourself at home, you didn’t mind leaving alone either. Besides, you had friends over a few times a month, and your family didn’t hesitate to visit without any notice.

Ah, and, a few days after moving in, you found this very cute and cosy coffee shop down the street. Oh, how you got addicted to their éclair au chocolat and their croissant. You’re a regular there, now, and the short brunette girl at the register still makes fun of you for your pronunciation. They also make a pretty good iced vanilla coffee, one you’re drinking this very moment, hands turning cold over the transparent plastic.

“Y/N, hey ! I have something for you !”, a voice you quickly grew familiar to sings the moment your badge opens the front door to your building. Sun Sangkyu, building H7’s concierge, doesn’t even wait for the glass door to close behind you to stand up from his chair, searching for the said “something”.

He’s a balding man, you’d say he’s around sixty-something years old. He agreed to work at the desk for good money despite his age, you remember him saying he loves it, it distracts him for the day while his wife volunteers with kids in a less wealthy area. Sangkyu wears big glasses that often fall down the bridge of his nose, eyes half moons whenever he smiles with his little diastema.

“Ah-a, I know what it is !”, you match his tone almost perfectly, a smile stretching your lips. Walking a bit closer to the men’s cubicle, one he customized so much it contrasts with the minimalist style of the entrance.

Red banner for the Chinese New Year, you’re surprised he did not take it down sooner. Next to it, he has multiple drawings from the kids in the building, pictures of him, his wife and kids.

“There it is. Such a tiny box, what did you order ?”, he asks, and the middle aged men doesn’t hesitate to shake the box a little, bringing it to his ear. He’s a bit too curious for his own good, but you don’t mind, it’s funny.

“Guitar picks.”, you tell him with a laugh once he lets the cardboard box fall into your waiting hands.

At that, he frowns.

Small pout on his thin lips, his dark brown eyes shift to the left as he tried and search in his memory.

“But…What about the ones you brought last winter ?”, he asks carefully, almost like he’s scared of not recalling things well. But, after all, you were the only guitarist in the building.

“I…lost them…”, you answer after a few seconds of silence, like a child admitting they misplaced something to their father.

“Ya…”, his instinct kick in with the noise escaping his face, slightly rolling his eyes, drawing out the last letter. “Anyways, I have something else for you.”, he looks at something on the floor, probably where he left his leather bag.

“But, I didn’t or-.”

“My wife made some yesterday !”, he cuts you abruptly, wide toothy smile as he slides a paper bag. And, oh, you already know what they hold by the smell alone. Baozi, steamed stuffed buns Sangkyu’s wife can make like a real master, your mouth salivates with the thought alone.

“Oh, bless her.”, a sigh tumbles from your lips, clenching the small bag against your chest. As you open your mouth to thank him, the slight buzz of the door opening catches your attention. You notice a rather tall men pushing the door with his back, strong arms holding boxes.

“Thank you very much, Sangkyu. Have a nice day !” You conclude with a smile, nodding as the oldest returns the gesture, face already towards the unknown men.

You don’t pay much attention, quickly walking towards the elevator with your two precious items in hand. Your index taps the code and your floor number like a mechanism and, just before the metallic doors close, you catch the unknown men sighing, “One more box and we’re done, Mister Suh !” Ehm, the apartment on the second floor probably found a new owner, you think at first, the thought brushed away in a second.

The ride to your floor is a quick one, your full attention on the small box in your hand, one you’re trying to open as best as you can. But you quickly find hard to rip the thick duct tape with your left hand occupied with the wrapped food.

“Oh, fuck !”

What was meant to happen, happened. As the feminine yet weirdly robotic voice announces your floor with a “Floor number nine, floor number nine.”, you drop the small box. The cardboard hits the floor with a small sound, laying lifeless a few centimeters away from your shoes. Great, that will teach you. Leaning down, you pick the box up with a sigh, straightening your back as the grey metallic doors open in front of you, left wrist twisting to let your digits wrap around your keys. And it’s your turn to frown. Eyebrows furrowed, you take a step forward, taking your body out of the elevator before the doors close and head down again.

Boxes, boxes everywhere. Your door’s on the left, body naturally facing your apartment but your eyes can not help but look at the overwhelming amount of…stuff laying there. Probably a dozen cardboard boxes in the hallway, the door’s open to the empty apartment if it’s not for all the wrapped furniture in the entrance. Uh, so it’s not the second floor. You have to say, you’re a bit surprised. When you moved in, you remember this very apartment being owned by a middle-aged woman, the fake blonde told you about the three other places she owned and ranted all year around. Be it to travelers, students, young adults. Someone ranted it for two months at best, before moving out, you don’t even remember their faces, to be honest. You never asked why it was always empty, you just figured the area was more appealing to families that would rather buy their own place rather than rant it for god knows how much.

Well, seems like you have a new neighbor. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll introduce yourself later, once they’ll be done with moving in. Let’s be real, you’re not Bree Van de Kamp from Desperate Housewives but, you were well raised. Ah, and, you should probably tell them about your habit of playing the guitar a bit too late at night, you think as you finally take your attention off the open apartment and go for your own. Everything might be pretty well isolated, you don’t want to risk starting beef with people you barely know leaving right next to you.

Plus, who knows, maybe they’re nice.

Knife stabs the duct tape, the brown layer easily ripping under the sharp object. Comfortably sat on your bed, you quickly tear the cardboard with your hands, leaving the packaging on the floor of your bedroom, neatly leaving the small bag of picks you ordered on your white sheet.

It’s around ten and a half post meridiem when you finally get around opening your order. College life is one you knew would be busy, but seventeen years old you never knew you’d spend hours on an essay’s introduction. But thank god, you finished a good chunk of your assignment, showered, ate and now, it’s time for a bit of relaxation.

It’s sort of a ritual for you, a way to reward yourself after a productive day. You take a long shower or a good bath – it depends on the bath bombs you have in stock –, you eat a good, hot meal and get to your room for some alone time with none other than your beloved guitar.

The sun’s already set, the streets’ lights filling your bedroom. And, that’s when you notice the dim light coming from the room right on front of you. The layout of every apartment being identical, you know it’s another bedroom, few meters away from your own. It’s a bad habit you developed after your old neighbor left, you’d pull your curtains to the side and eventually took them out, they clashed with your room’s aesthetic anyways. After all, if no one was leaving there, you would let your window wide open for a bit more light.

You figure you should maybe go and find where you stacked them and get ready to struggle for an hour before eventually, putting them up again. But for now, you don’t mind, if your new neighbor actually pulls his curtains to look outside, all they will be able to see’s your light purple colored walls, paintings and pictures, your overly packed schedule stuck right on top of your desk.

You don’t let your mind wonder too much, after quickly opening the thin packaging, you let the small plastic picks fall on your bed. Medium sized, you choose the color you like the best, abstract design in red, black and white. Now that you think about it, you really don’t know where the six other ones disappeared, you even used to keep the last one in your phone case.

Digits wrap around the slender neck of your electric guitar, picking it up from the stand it rested on for a few days now, instrument easily finding its place on your lap. Ah, how you love the feeling of the smooth material under your fingertips, left hand on the body to keep it from falling as you lean forward. The Jack cable you left laying there a few days ago moved a bit, hiding under your bed but you’re quick to grab it, plugging it where it belongs. A flick of the wrist, you turn on your amplifier, turning a few settings. Now that you have neighbors, maybe you should turn the volume a bit down. Until now, you could play as loudly as you wanted thank to the building’s isolation and a few other…reasons. The men living right above you was a bit older than Sangkyu, and he had a few hearing problems, plus he didn’t mind the music at all even if he heard it a bit, when your window was opened. The women leaving right under you is in her mid-thirties, a nurse that had a working schedule you cannot wrap your head around. One thing you know, she’s never there from nine post meridiem to some ungodly hour in the morning.

You’ll talk to your new neighbors tomorrow anyways, brushing the thought off as you place the strap on your shoulder.

“Eddie ate dynamite.”, you mumble under your breath, pick plucking at the three top strings. In tune, great. “Good bye Eddie.”, the three last strings are slightly out of tune, but your quickly arrange that with a few twists. Right hand flat on the six strings, you stand up from your bed, walking to your desk with a few steps. You had left a tab sheet open on your devise before going for your bath, screen lighting up as you open it. It’s a song you practiced once a few weeks back before forgetting about it. Bold, black letters, “Fangs – Matt Champion”.

Eyes scanning the numbers, your fingers quickly find the strings without you needing to even look at your guitar’s neck. Your body follows quickly, shoulders and head moving at the rhythm, it’s a chill tune you can warm your fingers up to. It’s a moment you adore, when your entire building’s silent, fresh breeze of the early summer sneaking into your room, multicolor lights flashing in your bedroom (tiktok made you buy them). Tones and sounds of stings being pulled fill your room, it’s no hard for you to remember the notes at the end, eyes closing as you finish the song.

A good song to start on, you think before opening your eyes and…?

“What’s that ?”, you ask out loud, eyes squinting at the window that opened itself on your screen. Apparently, someone’s trying to airdrop something. It’s probably a mistake, you think at first. A weird mistake, for sure, your laptop clearly had your name on it. Your index finger’s about to decline the request before you take a look at the actual picture sent. Is that…A tab sheet ? Your eyebrows furrow a bit more. Clearly, this was not a mistake. Eye travel to the window, could it be ? Your neighbor’s room is now lit up, but you can’t make anything up in it, unconsciously waiting for a head to pop-up. But hélas, no movement comes from the other side. It could come from anyone, but you doubt

“The Less I know The Better – Tame Impala”.

Ah, you’re not a stranger to the song, you have it in multiple playlists, but you never took the time to look at the tabs. At least the person has some good taste. It’s a weird situation for sure, is this…a request ?

Unconsciously, your fingertips press on the right strings. Eh, might as well try it, right ? Tune familiar, you go through the intro easily, though maybe you should’ve taken something to loop the sound. Irises focused on your screen, you try your best not to mess up, eyes sometimes traveling from your computer to the neck of your guitar. Brown polished wood glow under the purple light, it softly transitions to blue, green, and you stop after the chorus.

Maybe you’ll keep the sheet.

Cold morning breeze, sounds of a city waking up. Birds singing a bit too loudly, a few cars driving by, chatter from families and young adults all around, voices muted by how high you’re apartment is.

You follow along, body turning in your bed, though maybe in a less graceful way, softly shaking the sleep out.

You changed your sheet right before going to sleep, after playing a few other songs, flowery fragrance comforting, nose deep into the soft fabric. You almost think about not leaving your bed but hélas, you have some classes to attend today.

At least, they’re starting a bit late. Sleepy eyes shift to your clock, the very one that woke you up, nine ante meridiem, you have an hour to get ready, that should be enough.

Another bad habit, your hand grabs your phone as you roll over to your side, cheek squished on your pillow, one eye closed. Maybe you should not do that, apparently the second eye's vision can and will go down if you do this too much. You have an appointment soon anyways, working on your computer all day long got your eyes dry.

Checking mails, social media, texts, you tour your phone before finally stepping out of bed.

Music theory class, multiple hours of it. But, at least, it didn’t end late at all, today was your only free day. But again, depends on what is your vision of freedom, you'll probably end up at the bakery slash coffee shop down the street to study a bit more.

Arms stretching above your head, your lips part in a yawn you quickly hide behind your hand. Fuck, you probably slept on your arm, shoulder aching under your fingertips massaging the muscle.

Walking around your bed, you take a few steps, dragging your feet on your floor towards your window. You needed a bit of fresh air before anything else.

The weather's pretty good today, you note as you fully step in front of your window, skin gratefully taking in the sunlight, a few white clouds here and there in the sky but nothing to complain about. The sun seems to already be heating the air up, maybe you can go for a light coat today, or a thick top alone.

Naturally, your eyes fall straight forward, to the very window you were looking at the night before.

Curtains pulled to the side, your curiosity gets poked, maybe you can have a quick look at the room, right ?

It looks empty anyways, you think at first, but it seems the universe wants to annoy you a bit today. Just as you're about to detail the room opposite to yours, a figure walks in.

His shadow is the first thing you see, stretching on the beige painted walls of the room before he eventually steps in front of his window as well.

Fortunately for your dignity, the men has his back turned but how... Broad do they look, even from a distance.

You have no idea why, but you're stuck there, one side of your brain telling you to leave before you get caught and inevitably get label as the creepy neighbor while the other whispers that you might want to see the strangers' face.

Shoulder blades move against the tanned skin, hands quickly run in his honey colored locks, pushing them back, it seems your neighbor's getting ready too.

That's when you realize your hand's still gripping your window's handle, right hand falling to your side, you really should go and get ready too but... You wonder, is he the one that sent you the tab sheet yesterday ? Wouldn't you want to put a face a the music taste ?

As you're about to take a step back, the men turns slightly, applying what you can only assume is cream to his face, digits running down his jawline as he angles his head as desired. And oh, the one second long glimpse you get at his profile is enough to make your lips part.

Shiny locks falling in front of his eyes, straight nose, full lips, sharp jawline, a curse almost falls down from your lips. You'd think anyone would find the guy attractive from the small peak you just got but... Isn't this a bit... Weird ? You suddenly feel like a whole voyeur, your eyes detaching from the stranger as your morals kick in.

He doesn't look like a father, or maybe he's very young father ? But again, you didn't see anything for a baby yesterday, nor did you hear one crying yesterday night...

Maybe he moved in here with his significant other, even though young couple usually go for the other side of the city.

Or maybe, he's a college student like you are, does he have a roommate ?

Pupils traveling up again to the window, you're about to get on your toes for a better look. Maybe you should say introduce yourself tonight, rather than guessing and throwing hypothesis out there. And maybe, just maybe, you want to get a better look at his face.

He turns around, you duck to the side.

It’s around six after meridiem when you finally, finally get up from the sit you occupied for several hours now. Maybe you should’ve taken a break between two massive paragraphs to write, you think as your arms stretch up above your head. Thank god, the beloved coffee you decided to drop your bag in had some comfortable light beige chairs, cushion as still cloud-like, exactly like you found them the first day you entered the shop.

You wonder how they keep them so clean, someone must’ve dropped their dark coffee or chocolate on the unforgiving fabric at least once, you surely fear being one of these clients.

“You done ?”, familiar voice hums, and you just nod at the question, eyes falling on the black clock right behind the counter.

“Yeah, I can’t think anymore.”, you tell your friend, hand grabbing the second cup of coffee you brough, shaking it lightly to estimate the amount of liquid left. Jaehyun, maybe your closest friend in your university, pouts at that. Dirty blonde hair fall in front of his eyes as he grounds, before he lets his forward press against his computer’s touchpad. The poor guy had been struggling for an hour now, the rhythm of his fingers tapping on his keyboard gradually loosing speed. You have to say, you were in the same situation, writing and rewriting the same sentences again, brain refusing to cooperate after already vomiting out a few large paragraphs. But, unlike your friend, you decided to stop there for the day, you still had a full week to finish it anyways.  

“I can’t do this anymore.”, the Korean grounds again, dramatic nature kicking in as his head snaps back, rolling backwards, the men cannot go a day without faking death.

“Save it, we still have a week to do it.”, you sigh out, but you don’t hide the smile growing on your face at his antics. Though, you don’t wait for his answer, saving your own file before closing your laptop.

“Six days. Six.”, he corrects, like a day changes anything anyways. See, Jaehyun needs to turn his paper in a single day before yours, since he had chosen to attend the very class twenty-four hours before you. Rolling your eyes, you know the men cannot read your facial expressions, bag turned as you drop all your belongings into your bag.

“You gonna stay ?”, you simply ask, there’s no need for you to point out the slight difference in days. Jaehyun nods fingers running on his touch pad as he zooms out his Word Documents, eyes scanning over his six pages for any underlined errors. “Well, good luck. I didn’t finish this, want it ?”, you ask, eyebrows slightly raised as you push the still fresh iced coffee towards your friend, who doesn’t need more, lips wrapping around the straw.

“Text me when you’re home.”, Jaehyun mumbles, mouth filled with tiny ice pieces, pieces he quickly swallows. “Don’t work too late, text me too.”, you finish it like you too usually do, quickly waving before you walk out of view.

“Are you done, Y/N ?”, another familiar voice calls you out, one you know pretty well by now. See, the coffee shop is getting more and more exposure as days go by, but it does not meet the owner and workers will forget about the regulars, like you. “For the day, yeah. Still have a few things to write but I should be done tomorrow or the day after.” You smile at the brunette, Hana, coffee “Flâner”’s cashier. As said, she’s a brunette with the longest locks you’ve ever seen. Or maybe she has black hair, you think it depends on the lighting. Anyways, she’s been there since the opening, working 4 days a week, greeting costumers with a smile and a light French accent whenever she spoke, thought you remember her saying she was born somewhere else.

“Ah, I hope you’ll have a good grade !”, she says cheerfully, black irises leaving your form as she places some cakes into their signature black box. “Is…Jaehyun staying ?”, the smallest asks, even behind the counter, you can’t help but notice her small, petite figure. It’s like she doesn’t dare to look at you, and a small smile stretches your lips. Oh…She doesn’t hide her crush very well. You wonder, is Jaehyun staying late for another reason as well ?

“Ah, yeah. He’s proofreading what he wrote today.”, you explain, fainting obliviousness.

“Oh, alright !”, she responds with a smile, eyes flickering from your figure to the your friend’s. You’re about to leave, let them somewhat alone if you forget about the three other costumers drinking their tea, when your eyes fall the small cakes she’s arranging behind the glass. And god, how they look tasty. You guess they’re make of a chocolate mousse, a shortbread at the bottom, your mouth salivates. As said, you’re not the Bree Van de Kamp of your building but, if you’re going to greet your new neighbors today, shouldn’t you bring something ? And no, you’re definitely not doing this because of what happened this morning, no way.

“What are these ?”, you ask, taking a step closer.

“Un royal !”, she answers in French, your eyes squint as you try to say it back. How the fuck does she do that -r sound.

“Can I have two of them ? And a croissant, please.”, you order, hand already fishing for your phone. God, this shop will make you go bankrupt, they will also make you addicted to their food, if you’re not already.

“Sure, ma’am !”, the young girl answers, before she grabs yet another black box. Fingers push the cardboard until it takes the shape desired, iron tool dropping the cakes into it. You’ve done this so many times, it’s ironic. Right hand grabs the box, left hand turning your phone screen towards the young girl so she can scan the code.

“Thank you, good bye !”

“See you soon, Y/N !”

The glass door is pushed with a shoulder, smile stretching your painted lips when you give another look inside the shop, catching Jaehyun walking up to the counter. “Buying three coffees isn’t a way to flirt, Jaehyun.”, you laugh to yourself before leaving.

It looks like the sun is about to set, sunlight a lot less aggressive compared to the beginning of the afternoon. Cakes in hand, the walk to your building is a short one, though you come across the Hwang family from the fourth floor going to the park, greeting the mother with a smile, waving lightly at the twins she’s holding hands with. Ah, you really do love this area, you think as you walk along the park’s barrier, catching a few giggles and screams from young kids. And, from the sound of it, they started opening the water in the fountains.

“Cakes again !”, Sangkyu might be on the older side, he still has some sharp eyes, you note. The door closes behind you with a small noise, the lock activating itself. “Yes, cakes again.”, you say, shooting him a fake-ly offended glare, left hand to your chest. “But these aren’t for me, they’re for the new neighbor.”, you point out, walk slowing down in front of the men’s cubicle.

“Ah ! Mister Suh and…”, his face contours as he tries his best to recollect the second name. Oh, maybe it was a couple, good thing you got two cakes, even though you got one for yourself… “Right ! His roommate, Mister Leechayapornkul !”, his features light up with a smile as he correctly – you assume – recollects the second name. Ah, a roommate, you think, interesting. “Oh, I didn’t know they were two. I’m going to introduce myself now.”, you tell him with a smile.

“Ah, by the way, have you heard ? Miss and Mister Jeon want to organize something for the building’s anniversary, I’ll keep you up to date !”

On that, you leave the old men with a smile, quickly strolling to the elevator. The metal cubicle stops at the third floor, a young girl you don’t really know polite greets you before pushing the fifth button floor, she’s probably friends with the kids on that floor.

“Floor number nine, floor number nine.”, the metal doors open on your small hallway, and for the first time, you walk towards the right door. Deep, dark green color like yours, your shoes barely make a noise on the light beige carpet as they lead you to your neighbors’ place. You stay there for a second, mind questioning the dumbest things, should you wait a bit ? How many times should you knock…? Raising your fist up, the first joints of pointer and middle finger tap a few times on the dark wood. One, two, three. You wait.

Though, everything seems silent, if it’s not for the small noise of the elevator going up and down. Are they…Not there ? A small pout on your lips, you shift on your feet, both hands grabbing onto the black box. The apartment was silent, you guessed your new neighbors were not there, your luck.

From : Jaehyun, 8:37 pm. : “im home !!” : “ended up proofreading and wrote the second to last part” The well familiar name flashes on your phone, alongside a picture you took when you visited his family on the country side. Jaehyun’s rather tall body’s folded as he tries to ride on a small tricycle, legs so long his knees are above the handlebars. Quickly, your thumbs tap on the small keyboard as you walk toward your room.

After entering your bedroom, you decided to eat a bit earlier, taking a shower before going back to your guitar. The shower was a cold one, if the sun had already set, the air was dense, heavy. Moments after stepping out of your shower, a thin layer of sweat managed to gather around your hairline. It’s like the weather suddenly switched to the middle of summer, and you definitely were not ready for it.

To : Jaehyun, 8:38 pm. : “is it because of the third coffee you bought :D ?”

To : Jaehyun, 8:40 pm. : “…i do not know what youre talking about .” To : Jaehyun, 8:40 pm. : “when are you gonna ask her ?”

You send the message before locking your phone, throwing the devise on your bed. You’re quick to set up your guitar, since you left you amp’ plugged in yesterday. Right index flicks the switch up, before you plug the Jack cable in. However, as you’re about to flop on your bed again, you notice the screen of your phone lightening up as your college friend calls you.

“How did you know ?”, it the first think he asks, tone whiny, the second you accept the call and press the speaker button. “It is very much obvious, Jaehyun.”, you laugh out, left hand finding its place around the neck of your black and white guitar as you bring it on your lap.

“Do you she’s int-.”, Jaehyun starts as you play out a few random chords, thumb stroking the six strings ever so softly. “Yes.”, you cut him before he even manages to finish his sentence. “She’s into you. I thought you knew.”

“I, uh, I wasn’t sure.”, he mumbles, and you hear his fork pick whatever his eating. After hanging out around the male for some years now, you figured your good friend was a bit clueless when it came to his looks and charms. Yes, Jaehyun knows that’s he’s handsome, you don’t miss the opportunity to remind him whenever he gets dressed up or send you a selfie, as a good and supportive friend.

But, Jaehyun doesn’t really weight the affect he has on girls, guys, and everyone in between. You remember when this guy in your Music Therapy class, and another girl, you don’t really remember what hear studies were about, but she was in your distant group circle and they both had a big – massive – you’d say, crush on your friend. You remember both of them throwing some light hints at first, thought the girl went a bit harder after as the first eventually dropped it. Jaehyun, him, was completely oblivious until you told him one night, when he was staying over after a night out. “Ask her out already !”, you sign out, left hand over your guitar’s string, blocking any sound.

“I will soon, okay ! Give me some time, I’m…Thinking about the right way to do it.”, your friend starts, drinking something in between his words. “Anyways, moving on ! How’s your neighbor ?”

You sigh at the question, opening your laptop as you search in your files for something to play, you really should organize your things a bit better, you think to yourself.

“They weren’t there.”, you breath out, eyes unconsciously flickering to the window. From this angle, you can’t really see much, apart from the vague shapes behind the curtains, yellowish light on before you even came in your room.

“They ? Oh…Is it a couple ?”, Jaehyun asks, tone slightly disappointed. See, this morning, you obviously told your friend about the airdrop…Thing. Obviously, you had texted him before going to sleep but decided to keep much of the details for a real life conversation. After a hushed story-time, eyes travelling to your teacher every now and then to make sure he was not looking at you, you told him about what happened this morning.

Of course, it immediately poked the blonde’s curiosity, who would not be. As said, you and Jaehyun had been friends for some years now. When you two met, he was in a relationship that ended a few months after, you being there for him had strengthen the bond, he had been single ever since and you, had been single all the way. Sure, you had a few crushes, two or three people shooting there shot but, the crushes were always short-lived, nothing serious.

So, when Jaehyun heard that you found someone attractive after months of radio silence of the channel of your earth, someone who lives next to you at that, your friend jumped on the occasion, already hoping for something to happen before you even got to introduce yourself to the guy.

“I don’t know, Sangkyu said they’re two roommates.”, you inform, trying to recall the two names the oldest men told you hours before.

“…Are you sure you don’t want me to stalk ?”, Jaehyun proposes for the second time today. As soon as you finished your small story this morning, the Korean asked if you wanted him to do some stalking, promising and selling his apparently, amazing, skills in the domain.

“Jaehyun, no. I didn’t even introduce myself.”, you breathe out, half-desperate, half laughing at his antics. “Alright, alright. Go see them soon, alright ?”, there’s a small silence, you simply hum at his question. “Play me something while I do the dishes.”, your friend yawns and you oblige pretty quickly, after finally finding a song to practice to. Maybe you need a little more practice on the song, one by Frank Ocean in the “channel ORANGE” album he put out in 2012, if you recall correctly. On the other line, the sound of water running and dishes being done drowns the voice of your friend slightly singing to the song, one you two have on the collective Spotify playlist you have. Your attention stays on your screen, just in case you forget a chord and, as you’re starting the second chorus, something comes between your eyes and the sheet. Your hand comes flat on your guitar strings, stopping the music at once. You already know what it is.

Jaehyun does not stop the water, but his voice does comes closer, microphone muted every now and then as you hear him struggle. “Why did you- Oh, fuck, nooo. There’s sop everywhere.” You laugh breathlessly at his whines, eyes quickly looking at the black screen of your phone, like you’d be able to see your friend. Though, you hear him wipe his screen, cloth going over his microphone again.

“There ! Why did you stop ?”, he asks, bringing his mouth a bit too close to his phone. Staying silent for a second, your finger tap on yet another Airdrop. “He sent another one.”, you simply say, a bit quietly, as if your neighbor will be able to hear you. Pupils look over at the window, you almost want to get up and walk to your window but…

Jaehyun gasps softly over the phone, “Play it, play it.”, he says as you’re scanning the sheet sent. And oh, he’s that type. It’s crazy how two songs alone help you draw a quick sketch of your neighbor’s personality, or his music taste at the very least. Unlike yesterday, you don’t hesitate and open the file sent, though you have to say you already know the chords.

“Jae’. He sent The Neighbourhood’s Daddy Issues.”, you squick into the phone after grabbing into with your right hand. Jaehyun knows well, you still love the band but had an unhealthy obsession a few years back, not to mention your massive crush on Zach Abels.

“Oh. Ooh. He’s like that.”, Jaehyun notes as well, before he presses you again to play it. Urged by your friend, you lean forward to adjust the reverb on your guitar. “That’s…Kinda hot, though.”, your friend whispers out and you, yourself, can’t comprehend the sound that comes from your lips, something between a laugh and a choked gasp.

“Jae’…What ?”

“No, but, I mean…Daddy Issues, that’s hot.”, he tries to explain himself, you quickly shut him up by running your fingers over the six strings. You don’t really need to look at the tabs, from memory, your fingers find their rightful place.

“3D, 5D, 3G, 5D, 5B, 5G.”, you say as you play the notes, humming the rest as you play the intro.

“C minor, G minor, B flat major.”, and from then, you remember the song pretty easily. Between two chords, you turn the volume on your guitar up, just to make sure your neighbor’s hearing you play.

“That’s flirting.”, concludes Jaehyun once you’re done with the song, you know him well enough to know his mouth a bit agape.

“It is not.”, you tell him, though you’re not sure yourself what this is.

“You have to talk to him like, right now.”, he urges so loudly you have to turn the volume on your phone down.

“Now ? No ! I’m in my pyjamas, and I don-.”, you start, and it’s your friend’s turn to cut you off. “’kay, okay ! Go talk to him tomorrow, please ?”

“I will, don’t worry.”, you start, but before you can continue, you’re phrase’s cut again but this time, it’s by…A piano.

Your mouth parts for a second, a single syllable falling from your lips before you close your mouth. The tune’s familiar, but you never heard in played on a piano. Your head slowly raises, eyes fixated on your window.

“Can you hear this ?”, you quietly ask Jaehyun, who answers with a soft “Yeah”, sounding as dumbfounded as you do. Slowly, you get up from your bed, leaving your guitar on your bed, that’s when you realize how hot it is. The fabric of your shirt sticks to your skin, hands lacing into your hair as your push them up in a makeshift ponytail to let your neck get some air.

It's after a few notes that you finally put your finger on it. The Weeknd's last album, “After Hour”. “Repeat after me.”, you tell Jaehyun, I single “Oh” coming from his lips as he recolls the song.So he's a musician as well, you conclude easily. You never heard anyone play this very song on the piano, you wonder if it's his own arrangement.

On the other end of the line, the blonde's silent, carefully listening to the soft piano tunes as you do the same. Few steps take you to your window again, just like you did this morning. This time, curtains are pulled to the side, enough for you to  see the same broad shoulders under a black hoodie, back straight as his head hangs down towards the keyboard.

From your spot, you can't really see his fingers, but you do see his hands quickly running over the black and whites, pressing confidently. Seeing a pianist's always mesmerising, eyes stuck on the figure, you try your best to get a better view but, what can you do from your room ?

When the song ends, unlike this morning, you don't hide behind your wall. Your neighbor doesn't move, stretching his arms above his head, fingers laced together, a curse falls down your lips.

“Y/N. Send him a sheet.”

It's around five in the afternoon when you find yourself in front of your neighbor's door, holding a black box of cakes, for the second time this week. Your classes had ended two hours earlier today and maybe, maybe you should use that time to work on your assignment but since last night, you don't think you can go another day without introducing yourself to the building's new people. Plus, you have enough time, you tell yourself.

It's ironic, isn't it ? You weren't the type to go out of your way to speak to your neighbors, most didn't have a lot in common with you but now. Now, this nameless, a bit too handsome young guy moves in and you're bringing some patisseries in front of his door.

Music brings people together, you've always thought, you've always known and this, this is a pretty good example. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have went out of your way like this if the guy didn't send you a tab sheet, if he didn't play last night.

Like yesterday, you bring your first up, knocking a bit more confidently this time, thought you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

You barely have the time to let your hand fall down to your side when a deep, voice a bit far away let's out. “Coming !”

Of course, broad shoulder guy had to have a deep voice to go along side.

“Oh, hi.”, your soul almost jumps out of your body when the deep green door abruptly opens to reveal none other than your - handsome - neighbor.

“Hi...! Uh, I'm your next door neighbor, the name's Y/N.”, you let out, maybe you should thank your past self for practicing this very line right before stepping out of your apartment.

Your right hand's stretched out in front of your for him to shake, but your attention's on something else. Deep brown eyes stare down at you, they almost make you feel small. Or maybe they're a honey brown, you wonder as the plane blocking the sun finally moves away to reflect into his eyes.

Yes, definitely honey brown eyes, the same eyes that turn a crescent shape, just like before a full. moon.

He smiles at you with the same full lips you saw from your window, hands wrapping around your own.

“Ah, yes. Johnny, nice to meet you !”, he says, hand slowly shaking your own. Finally, a name on the face. You quickly notice the slight simple in the middle of his cheek before he lets go of your hand.

“Oh, I bought some cakes from the coffee shop down the street.”, you tell Johnny, both hands one the black box.

At this, his lips turn from a smile to an - o shape, eyes round. Maybe you guessed right at the moon phase.

“You didn't have to !”, your neighbor blurs out, hands at his sides for a few seconds before they eventually accept the gift when you slightly push the box towards him. Your eyes fall to his hands for a quick second and yes, definitely some pianist hands.

“It's just a small welcome gift ! I wanted to drop them yesterday but, I think you weren't there.”, you explain, a lot, lot more relaxed, though turning your attention away from the men's hands. This isn't the moment nor the place.

“Ah yeah, me and Ten we're out for the first grocery shopping trip.”, he explains, right shoulder leaning against his door frame. You get a quick glimpse at the apartment itself, though you don't look at it too long, everything looks already set up. You remember taking a week to get everything as home-like, but you guess having a second pair of arms help.

“Ten ?”, you ask, right hand wrapping around your left upper arm. Probably the one Sangkyu was talking about the other day.

“Yeah, he's my roommate.”, Johnny answers, letting a silence settle between the two of you. “Do you want to come in ? I won't be able to eat two cakes by myself.”, the men proposes after a few seconds, pupils landing on the black box. He probably saw the two cakes thank to the transparent part of the cardboard box, at the top.

Come in ? And... Eat with him ? Suddenly, your palms grow sweaty, slightly shifting one foot to another. “Oh, but. Your roommate.”, you mumble out.

Sure, at first, you bought two cakes, one for him and one for you. Though you thought you'd eat them by yourselves, when Sangkyu told you about the second person living there, you figured you'd keep the two cakes for your two neighbors.

“He's at his parents’ house to get some things, he won't be there until the day after tomorrow.”, the brunette tells you with a smile. His body moves a bit more, enough to let you enter. “Come on, I need someone to help me eat all of this.”

How can you say no to this ?

“Wait, it ends like that ? There’s no way he does that.”, laughs Johnny, a full laugh that shakes his chest, right under his plain white t-shirt. Short sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, his body leans back, black jeans covered legs spread on his one person sofa.

“I swear he does, watch the second season !”, you interject quickly, straw mixing the iced tea in your long glass, ice cubes clashing against each other before eventually melting away.

“Yeah, I guess I will…! I never thought he’d kill her.”, you neighbor says, and he seems genuinely choked, bushy eyebrows raised.

After taking a step in his apartment, the pianist led you to the biggest sofa, where he left you for a few minutes. People say boys are bad at decorating their place, but you have to say Johnny and Ten’s apartment was already looking pretty good. Beige walls, a few black and white pictures were hung up right above the dark sofa. Wide windows on your left, your apartment has the opposite view. While you have a view towards the city center, street lights fascinating at night, Johnny has an amazing view on the park.

Large television right in front of you, you quickly notice de PlayStation 4 and switch neatly placed under it. On your right, just like your apartment, the small open kitchen, counter the only thing separating the two rooms. The honey-eyed seemed to have found his marks easily, navigating in the kitchen quickly. After taking out two plates and two small spoons, he placed the two cakes, refusing your help every time you offered it.

“Iced tea ?”, he had asked, taking out two long glasses when you agreed. Red hibiscus iced tea was poured and handed, before he sat in front of you. You do not remember well how the conversation around the series “You” started, but you recall seeing his Netflix profile on the tv screen.

“So, you live alone ?”, he asked after some seconds of silence, pillow lips wrapping around his metal straw.

“Yeah, I’ve been there for a year, I’d say.”, you start out, spoon digging into the chocolate mousse. “You’ll see, it’s lovely here.”, you tell Johnny with a smile he mirrors.

“I’m sure it is, everyone’s really nice. Especially Sangkyu.”, you laugh at that, the old men really has the power to give one memorable first impression.

“Ah, Sangkyun-.”, you laugh, “He’s something.”, you point out, yourself taking a sip of the iced tea. “Really good memory too, he made fun of me for buying two sets of guitar picks in a few months span.”

“Oh, right, the guitarist.”, Johnny smiles, placing his empty plate on his table. Pink tongue pokes out to wet his lips, your eyes shamefully follow the movement before forcing yourself to find his honey eyes again.   There it was, you didn’t know when nor how to bring the subject up, but you were thankful it happened naturally. For two people, two strangers, the conversation was going pretty well.

“Exactly ! By the way, sorry if the music’s too loud.”, you add quickly, yourself reaching towards the table to leave your empty glass. You’ll have to ask for the receipt. Johnny’s reaction is almost comical, his head shaking from left to right. “No, no ! It’s not too loud, not at all. T-That’s why I sent you a sheet, I liked it.”, he blurs he words out quickly, cute, you think.

Crossing one leg over the other, your eyes shift to the left for a quick second at the small compliment. “Thank you. You’re a good pianist.”, you return with a smile, spoon scraping the last bit of biscuit.

“Thank you very much, it means a lot. Have you been playing for long ?”, he asks, glass a quarter full left on the table. His right arm comes behind his sofa’s backrest, getting more comfortable.

“Since I was…eleven. Got an acoustic for my birthday and ended up selling it for an electric a year and a half later. What about you ?”, you explain, remembering the light brown instrument your parents got for you, you also remember it being way, way too big.

“Ah, yeah, I’ve always liked the sound of an electric guitar better. I was seven, or eight. My mother wanted me to learn and I ended up really liking it.”, he explains, fingers tapping on the sofa’s fabric.

Music brings people together, you tell yourself a second time when Johnny tells you about how her mother loves the sound of a piano, how she’d always stop next to her when he played. A kind of art that helps you learn more about a person, when he tells you his favorite songs to play and you tell him yours.

“But you do have a real pianist’s hands !”, you argue back when Johnny down plays one of your compliments, to which the brunette looks down. Crescent shaped eyes fall on his ring clapped fingers, a small smile on his lips he struggles to hide. “You noticed ?”, he asks, and you try to convince yourself his voice did not get lower.

“Well, yeah. A music student always looks at people’s hands.”, nice save, Y/N.

You learn the young men kept music as a hobby and currently studies international commerce et economics, Ten is a long, long time friend pursuing performing arts. You learn your neighbor’s not only a good looking men, brown locks falling in front of his, nose crunching up every time he finds something funny, rosy lips tugging up to reveal a row of white pearls. He’s also extremely well mannered. Soft spoken, polite, his chuckles put you in a comfort zone, the way he almost doesn’t let you help him clean the two plates a bit too cute. You find his presence entertaining.

Maybe it’s because you just met him, things to learn about him awaiting, but you don’t see the hours running by, nor does he.

It’s around ten post meridiem when Johnny insists to walk you to your door, handwritten receipt of his hibiscus iced tea in hand.

“Do you want me to st-”, Jaehyun asks over the phone for the third time in a week, or maybe for the fourth time, you lost count. Your devise rests right next to your laptop, which is propped on your desk.

“No, Jae'. I don't want you to stalk him.”, you breathe out into your microphone, fingertips tapping on your touchpad at a random rhythm. A paragraph, the conclusion, and you should be done on your essay.

“Too late. Got him !”, he almost chants out and, at that, there's a silence. Clear sign of your disappointment and your blonde friend's concentration. “Oh, wow. He's a photographer too ?”, he asks as if you can see his screen.

You hate it, you hate how your curiosity gets picked by the simple sentence. Needless to say, Jaehyun was filled in by every bit of information you got once Johnny walked you to your door, at least he waited two days before searching for your new neighbor's Instagram. Or at least you think.

“Oh wow. OH. Woah.”, your friend gasps into his microphone, your index taps aggressively on your keyboard, deleting the last sentence you wrote. He’s obviously doing it on purpose, pushing your bottoms. The blonde knows how curious you are, he’s just trying to see how long you can keep it together.

“Uh, Ja-. Show me, what did you find ?”, not very long, obviously.

“Ah, see ! Wait, I'll send you some screenshots. He's hot.”

He is, you want to answer, but would rather shut your mouth for now or you’ll never hear the end of it. Eyes finally leaving the screen of your laptop, they travel to another, finger unlocking your phone.

Your text messages with your friend enlighten your features, bubble appearing at the bottom.

“Finding him was extremely easy.”, Jaehyun points out, before a few screenshots are sent at the same time.

And indeed, you see how easy it must've been for your blonde boy. User johnnyjsuh.

He must've been pretty popular in his old schools, you think after looking at his followers.

Pictures of him in the same white shirt you saw him in days prior, pictures of him with an argentic camera, selfies, mirror selfies, outfit pictures. His feed is almost as good as Jaehyun's. And that says something.

Unlike Jaehyun, you don't have to be careful, worried you'll accidentally like one of his pictures. Shamelessly zooming on the screenshots your university friend sent you, you unconsciously pull your bottom him between your teeth.

He's cute. Too handsome it should be illegal.

“That's a lot but, yeah.”, Jaehyun giggles, you learn you don't have much of a filter between your mind and mouth. “Follow him !”

“Are you crazy ?”, you almost scream out, eyes wide at the suggestion. “He'll know we searched him up.”

Basic social media rules, you can't follow the guy when you don't even have his number, nor talked to him more than twice at this point, if him talking to you in the elevator counts.

“Alright, alright. Don't scream in my ears like that, I have earphones.”, he complains, not leaving you a second before continuing. “Y/N, don't be a coward, airdrop something.”

“I-.”, you start out, attention drown back to your computer. With one tap of your finger, you manage to hide your word document, piano sheet open behind it. You’ve searched a few sheets the day prior, downloading one before going to sleep that night, just in case.

After all, he sent you two tabs, why wouldn't you send him something ?

Tap, tap, you open the airdrop settings. You really should, hm ?

“Alright. I'm doing it.”, you finally say, more to yourself but your friend softly cheers on anyways.

“Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish.”, from the songs he sent you, it's a fair guess your neighbor is familiar with this one too, you’d doubt he doesn’t know who Billie Eilish is.

“Johnny's IPhone”, it's a click away. One you reach, tapping on the touch pad again. Sent. There.

“Now we wait.”, you announce, leaning back .

“Tell me if anything happens, I have a call to take.”

On that, simple goodbyes are said, you promise Jaehyun you’d tell me if anything happens, he hangs up after saying good bye a second time.

Minutes go by, you don't really know how many, maybe five where you debate going back to your essay, finger frantically tapping on the Word Document icon. Before a few notes are heard.

Piano notes, fingers pressed down on white and black keys. It has the power to make you smile, lips tugging upwards, there’s obviously not a doubt who’s playing at this very moment. Even the way he plays feels confident, he's sure of himself, he knows what he's doing.

Attention for your school work long gone, your pupils naturally find your window again.

It's slightly open, the music would come in easier if it was fully pushed, you think to yourself.

Do you even have to hide anymore ? You guess not. He knows, you know, it's just music you want to enjoy, you convince yourself even though your palms are slightly warm, heart fluttering in your chest.

Leaving your phone on your desk, you quickly walk to your window, right hand in the handle pushes it towards yourself. Warm breeze enters your bedroom, in a soft gush that sends your baby hairs floating away from your face, framing your features.

The sun's just starting to set, purple hue tiger stripes on the blue sky but your eyes are on another shade of purple.

Johnny's wearing a light lilac hoodie, brown locks the only thing you can see, he hasn't moved his piano, his back facing you again.

Forearms against the window frame, you lean forward, humming at the summer sent floating in the air.

A bit too quickly, your neighbor ends the song, hands lingering on the keyboard. Finally, his right hand grabs the very phone he propped up on his piano to see the sheet you sent him, sliding it in his back pocket.

He stands up, fingers toying with a button on his instrument, probably turning some things off.

He turns around, you don't duck to the side.

The men's visibly taken back, his turn stopping mid-way, lips slightly parting for a second. Honey brown eyes find yours before his pupils travel down at your body behind your glass window. He genuinely smiles after a few seconds, eyes half crescents, full lips tugging upwards, you can almost hear his giggle.

“Hi.”, voice soft, Johnny says once he opened his own window a bit more, forearms on his frame, mirroring your own posture.

“Hey, that was very good.”, you tell him, head tilting to your left.

“Ah, thank you. I messed up somewhere in the beginning, though.”, one hand scratches the back of his neck like an embarrassed teenager, before his elbow rests on the frame, hand holding his jaw.

“Ah shoot, I'll send something easier next time.”, you tease, to which he laughs lightly, the sound airy.

“Would be easier to send it by text, wouldn't it ?”, Johnny asks, one eyebrow raised and you have to say, you took a second to understand. But when the brunette hands you his phone, pricy devise between two apartments on the ninth floor, your eyes grow wide.

Your number, he wants your number.

Probably just because you two are neighbors, you have a bunch of your neighbors’ phone number too...

And also probably because sending sheet via airdrop isn't the most convenient thing in the world. Don’t over think it, Y/N. Don’t overthink it.

Two hands grab his phone, just in case, and you struggle to remember your phone number all of a sudden.

You have to retract in your room, too scared you're going to drop the devise with your slightly trembling hands before eventually typing in your name and phone number. You don’t get why you’re so nervous, maybe it’s because Johnny didn’t stop looking at you, slightly giggling at your antics.

“Oh, by the way. I'm sorry if sending that tab sheet the first time was too much. I just couldn't resist.”, Johnny blurs out once he gets his phone back, sliding it back into his pocket. It’s his turn to look slightly nervous, hand rubbing at his shoulder.

“Ah, no, not at all ! It was fun, plus I think we might share the same music taste.”, you reassure him with a smile.

“Really ? You should send me your playlists.”, your neighbor says with an enthusiastic tone, eyes lightening up.

If Jaehyun was there, he'd tell you this was blatant flirting. Maybe you'd agree. At that very moment, you thank your past self for having a pretty organized Spotify accounts, you're one of these people with matching playlists accounts and vague names, a playlist for each feeling almost.

“Yeah, sure ! I'll send you my Spotify user !”, you immediately tell him, as keen as he is.

“Nice, and I c-.", his sentence is abruptly cut by a surprised noise falling from his lips, brown eyes looking up at the sky. He sticks out his right hand, palm up.

Rain starts pouring down.

Saturday, laundry day. It’s not a moment you particularly cherish but at least, you do not have to walk meters or kilometers to wash your clothes. Half thorn basket on your left hip, your right hand mindlessly scrolls through Johnny’s playlist, small smile on your features.

See, after the rain started pouring down, you two decided to return to your rooms in unanimity. Now that he had your number, communication was a lot, lot easier. As promised, you sent him your Spotify profile, where he followed you and you did the same.

User youngho’s listening to “The Weekend – SZA” from “late summer nights and city lights” playlist.

Your playlist.

User citylight’s listening to “Angelina – WIINSTON” from “yellow” playlist. His playlist.

Blatant flirting, Jaehyun would say.

Johnny has his playlist organized by colors, a simple theme you quite like. You have to say, you like all of them but, you had to follow his “purple”, “blue” and “yellow” playlist, where your neighbor managed to capture the color’s feeling. However, after a few days, the “red” playlist sat untouched. You didn’t dare. For having a similar playlist Johnny was actually shamelessly listening to, you knew exactly what the “red” playlist held.  

To : Johnny, 1:25 pm. : “how does angelina only has 40k view on youtube !!”

You quickly type on your keyboard, right after saving the said song to your likes. Finding new artist and finding new song’s always fun, especially when Johnny’s as invested as you are. He’d send you his thoughts on some songs, and you quickly learned the brunette was musically more intelligent than some people in your course.

From : Johnny, 1:27 pm. : “I honestly don’t know….” : “It’s such a catchy song too like”

Double text. Fuck, Jaehyun really got into your brain, didn’t he ? The notification bar slides down for a few seconds, enough for you to read his texts. At the same time, the metallic doors of your elevator open up to the lobby. Leaving your devise in your basket of dirty clothes, you figure you’d answer in a few minutes, once you’re done with your laundry.

“Good afternoon, Sangkyu !”, you call out the the older men before he manages to see you. It’s a fun thing you like to do, catching him off guard whenever you can. Turning his face towards you, the bold men vigorously waves.

“Y/N ! Hello !”

You don’t stop by his cubicle, rather turn to your left right before. There’s built the building’s laundry unit, you thank the architect every week for this. You do pay a little for it every month but again, it’s better than having to walk for minutes with a basket of heavy fabric. Four small machines and four bigger, it’s enough for everyone in the building. It’s also where some announcements are tapped, probably because people usually sit around the laundry room waiting for their clothes.

You’re probably going to watch an episode of Chambers while your clothes watch, you think to yourself as you open the door. It seems the universe has some other plans for you.

By now, it’s almost comical how easily you recognize Johnny’s back. Brown t-shirt on his broad shoulders, his head bob to a rhythm you can’t hear. He’s dropping his wet clothes in the machine to dry them, face turning towards the noise as you close the heavy door behind you.

“Oh, Y/N, hey !”, his smile is heard through his voice, right hand taking his earphones one. Johnny places his Airpods in their case, one you quickly notice is Marvel themed.

“Hey, Johnny.”, you wave with a hand, taking your earphones off as well.

“I was just listening to your playlist.”, the brunette says, shaking his earphones in his hand. You laugh at that, leaving your basket on the table. You assume the second basket there is Johnny’s. “Same !”

There’s a comfortable silence, the brunette pushes a few buttons on the machine and his clothes are sent for a cycle. You, yourself, drop your clothes in the washing machine after setting your phone on the brown table. You’re about to turn around and sit down, but you’re abruptly blocked by a tall figure, accidently bumping into Johnny’s chest.

“Oh, sorry.”, he breathes out, you hear him place another basket on his machine, right hand on your shoulder as if his chest did anything more than surprise you. “No worries…How many clothes do you have ?”, you ask with a laugh, not meaning to sound rude. But your neighbor’s dumping a second whole basket into the machine right next to you.

“Ah, Ten. He needs an entire outfit every day. Sometimes he even changes in the middle of the day.”, the machine quietly starts after the blue liquid is poured, Johnny leans against it. You’ve never seen your neighbor so up close, how is his face so symmetrical ? Slender eyes curling inwards, short little lashes batting a few times.

“Y/N ?”, fuck. His lips sure were moving and you didn’t register anything at all, you probably look dumb.

“I’m sorry, wh- what did you say ?”, clearing your throat, your eyes travel down to the machine, looking at the settings like you forgot to turn something on.

“I found your guitar picks. I mean, I assumed they’re yours.”, he says again, but he doesn’t hide the wide smile on his lips. You probably look dumb, really dumb. Right hand fishes into his back open, before he presents what indeed is one of your guitar picks, the light blue one. He holds it between his thumb and index, you notice he does so the right way, maybe he plays guitar.

“Oh, yeah. That’s definitely mine. Where did you find it…?”, you half ask, already knowing the possible answer. His palm opens to reveal not one, but two other picks of different colors.

“Washing machine.”, he says simply.

You learn Johnny uses a detergent that smells like vanilla and some flower blossom you can not distinguish, but the smell sure is comforting. It floats in the air as he folds his clothes next to you while doing a very detailed report on The Weeknd’s new album.

“But he’s right, though. “Repeat after me” is just a song where he brainwashes her but it’s so good.”, you tell Johnny while you take care of your wet clothes.

“His storytelling skills just keep getting better.”, he approves while popping a candy in his mouth. “Want some ?”

“Oh yeah, thanks !”, dropping the small chocolate in your hand, both your attentions are caught by the sound of the door opening. A lady in her mid-thirties enters the room, dyed red hair stopping at her shoulders.

“Miss Jeon, hi !”, you great the lady with a smile, one she easily returns. For the entire year you’ve been there, you don’t think you ever saw her without one tugging her lips.

“Hey, kids !”

Ah, yes. Miss Jeon also insists on calling everyone slightly younger than her “kid”. You don’t mind, though. You notice the rolled up paper in her right hand as she takes the hairband out.

“Doing laundry, eh ?”, she starts out, “Ah, it’s a great thing you two are here. Me and my husband are organizing a little gathering for the building’s anniversary.”

Right, Sangkyu told you about it, you remember. You hear Johnny hum behind you, to what Miss Jeon continues.

“It’ll be Saturday in two weeks ! Johnny, you and your roommate could come and get to know everyone a bit better, yeah ? Though I see you’ve already made friends with our Y/N.” Oh no, there she goes. You love the Jeons, but they’re so, so talkative, and they never know when to stop. They’re like parents taking your old embarrassing pictures out when your friends are over. Your eyes grow wide, a slightly embarrassed chuckle coming out of your lips.

The lady struggles to unwrap the paper, to which Johnny leaves the shirt he was folding to help her out.

“Ah, thank you. You know, Y/N isn’t really that talkative, but I think it’s because we didn’t share a lot in common, and we’re not as young and handsome as you.”

God. Stuck on your chair, wide eyes look at the scene as your neighbor chuckles. “Oh, really ?”, he urges her to continue to your misbelief,  but you quickly understands he’s doing it on purpose, crescent eyes sparkling with amusement as he looks over at you, the young and handsome bit wasn’t necessary but it sure did boost his ego.

Miss Jeon finally unfolds the paper, a big announcement on the anniversary gathering she’s holding. In the park, with the date and hour, you guess you should find an appropriate dress for the event and something to eat to bring.

“Anyways, it’s great having new faces ! You’ll come, right ?”, sticking he paper to the wall, the lady claps her hands, a little joyful jump when Johnny nods.

“Yeah. We’ll go together, yeah ?”

You learn Johnny isn’t only a good looking guy, he’s also a really good friend.

The friendship grows easily, after Miss Jeon left, he helps you out with your clothes while already planning what to bring for the gathering. The brunette tells you he’s better at cooking salty dishes than sugary cakes. You agree on that, it’s one of the many reasons why you buy anything sugary at the coffee shop down the street. Nonetheless, you and your new neighbor decide to challenge yourselves, you propose some French crepes and Johnny agrees on using his kitchen for it, with the help of Ten who’ll surely be here. Surely, the kids living in the buildings would love them and, they aren’t that hard to make.

You two walked to your apartment floor, basket in hand, though Johnny’s ability to carry two at the same time is rather impressive. One on top of the other, you try to be as discreet as possible when your eyes travel down to his arms, flexing, to his ring clapped fingers, gripping at the handles. He doesn’t walk you to your door but, is it really necessary ?

It’s funny how the universe seems so willing to put him on your path.

Every now and then, you catch a glimpse of the men through your window, walking in his room, mindlessly walking back and forth when he’s thinking about a composition, pen taking on his full bottom lip. He seems really concentrated whenever he tries to write something, eyebrows furrowed, whispering quietly to himself. He catches you carelessly dancing to songs late at night under your lights, moving like nobody’s watching, hands in the air as the singer’s angelic voice seems to control your body, silently giggling when you catch his eyes and abruptly stop.

He seems to vaguely have the same schedule as you do, you see him getting ready some days of the weeks, applying cream on his face like the first time you ever caught a glimpse at his sharp features at a distance. And you bump into him in the elevator every other day, both so exhausted with your classes, heavy backpack carelessly throws over your shoulders, so tired you two would rather smile and stay silent in the metal cubicle. You see him with his roommate a few times too, the first time happens to be right in front of their door, both of them carrying two bags of groceries.

Finally, you’re introduced to Ten, a much smaller and a bit thinner guy, though you quickly find out his personality might be as big as Johnny himself. His bright smile and laugh are both extremely contagious, and you also notice for yourself how much he cares about his appearance. Just like Johnny told you when you first saw him in the laundry unit, he wears different outfits like he’s going for a runway every day. Sharp eyes covered under his jet black hair, you can’t help but notice the multiple piercings on his ears.

Funny enough, you catch your new friend at the “Flâner” coffee shop, getting the exact same cake you brought him and some dark coffee, he tells you he got addicted to everything they do but regret not having enough time to sit down and study here.

On top of that, he never stops texting you, you never stop texting him. Conversation flows easily to the point where you sometimes have to pause to type out a response while you’re on the phone with Jaehyun.

Ah, your dear friend Jaehyun. Your blonde friend follows the events like a drama, though you tell him multiple times that “Nothing will happen, we’re just neighbors.”

Are you, though ? You don’t know if neighbors send each other sheet, you and Johnny never stopped, it became easier with his number. You don’t know if neighbors talk to each other by the windows, for so long it leaves marks on both your arms at the end of the night, red dent on your skin. You don’t know if normal neighbors talk to each other that much.

You and Johnny tip toe on the lines between neighbors and friends, the line between friends and…a little more ? The line snaps right before the building’s anniversary.

Thursday, one in the afternoon when the metal doors of your elevator open to your hallway. The sun’s shining, birds singing, your teacher’s car broke down, leaving you with a free day. Truly, the universe was on your side, you thought when you got the text from your classmate. After texting Jaehyun who told you he already went to the mall at your opposite, you decided to use that time to buy some curtains and take a day off your studies. A well deserved day off, you might add.

After searching again and again, you thought it’d be better to get new ones. You remember the old ones got dirty anyways. Plus, it’s not like you want to hide yourself from Johnny, he has some and you figure you should too for some privacy every now and then. A pack of clear curtains in your hands and some cushions in a bag for your living room, you step out of the metal cubicle, only to be greeted by a Johnny standing right in front of your door. Attention caught by the sound, your friend turns around, half expecting to see you and, he looks slightly flustered ? Short eyelashes bat a few times, rosy cheeks as he opens his month just to close it right after.

“Hey, Johnny ?”, you start, completely clueless at first, you don’t notice the white fabric he has in his hand. “Do you need something ?”, you ask, setting down all the new things you bought down, alongside your bag as you fish for your keys inside.

“I-uh…”, he starts. Why is his voice so shaky ? Eyebrows slightly raised, a knee down, you look up at your friend with a curious look. At that, the brunette looks away. Honey eyes diverge to his right as he shifts his body from left to right.

“Johnny ?”, keys in hand, you rise to your feet, slightly turning away to open your door, struggling a little at the last lock.

“We uh, got some clothes mixed up.”, he tells you, pink hue on his cheeks. You take a few seconds to understand, before recalling the meeting in the laundry unit.

“Oh ! I didn’t even notice anything missing.”, you tell him with a laugh, before your smile wavers to a more…stunned expression. The white fabric he’s holding in a hand, you only need a second look to distinguish the lace waistline you know too well. Your panties. He’s holding your panties. God, you didn’t even notice ? You wear these often, you don’t have that much panties. “Oh.”, you say again, with a much different tone. Heat washes over your body, a much deeper shade of pink coloring your cheeks.

Lips dry, you extend your hand down, almost timid to hold your own piece of clothing.

Johnny stays quiet, handing you the white underwear, hand hiding in his pocket right after.

“Erhm, thank you.”, you mumble out, hiding the fabric behind the pack of clear curtains, like he did not have the time to look at it before.

“I’m sorry, I found them in my shirts this morning and I first thought about just leaving them at your door but it would’ve been even more awkward.”, he laughs slightly, hand rubbing at the back of his nape again. You laugh lightly at that, it sure would’ve been even weirder to find your panties in a box in front of your door. Creepier too.

“Would’ve been very Joe-like.”, you tell him with a smile, the atmosphere immediately a lot less tense. You’re thankful for it, it’s clear Johnny didn’t want things to be…weird either. He laughs a little, cheeks high, before noticing your new purchase, especially your curtains.

“Oh, redecorating a bit ?”, his arms cross in front of him, biceps building up, stretching the sleeves of his shirt. “Ah, a little. I just needed new curtains, I forgot where I stored the old ones.”, you tell him, shoulder leaning again your door. “Putting them on was a nightmare.”, you sigh a little, head resting on your door as well. When you first moved in, you had to put the curtains all alone and only remember the ache in your neck and arms.

“…Was it ?”, he asks with a sly smile, eyebrows lightly furrowed like he’s questioning your experience.

“Some of us aren’t blessing with your height, Johnny.”, you tell him with a fakely annoyed glare, “I almost fell down and broke my back.”. You dramatize with a pout on your lip, to which Johnny only smirks lightly.

“Need some help ?”, Johnny finally, head tilting to the side. “I don’t want you breaking your back.” Yet, Johnny thinks.

“Ah, please !”, no need for him to propose a second time, you’d take anyone to help you with these demons any day, let alone someone like Johnny. One hand turns your door handle, proceeding to push it with your body. “Welcome to my humble home.”

Johnny lightly chuckles at your antics, curious eyes scanning over your apartment. It’s always weird to see an apartment so similar to yours yet so different, he hums at the sent of the light incense you blow out right before leaving. Sliding your shoes off, your friend follows quickly after, though he takes them with one hand to neatly store them right next to your door.

“It’s really pretty.”, he hums behind you as you walk towards your living room, letting the back full of cushions on your table. Smiling brightly as his compliment, you have to say you were pretty proud of your decorating skills. You took multiple months to pile everything you wanted up and, after a year, all your plants grew green and luscious.

“Thank you very much !”, hands gathering your hair, you quickly attach them with a hairband you always have on your wrist. “Do you want something to drink ?”

“Hm, maybe later ! Let’s start with these nightmare curtains first.”

“Alright, let me just get the stool.”, and on that, you take a second to remember exactly where you stored it before quickly jogging to the small closet near your entrance door. You don’t remember the last time you used it, you take a few seconds to take the cold iron object out of its hiding place, one foot stuck in a random box you still have there. You finally pull the object with a sharp tug and not without a small sound of struggle. Johnny is quick to grab into the heavy object and lets you take care of the pack you just bought. For the few seconds you take to move from your living room to your bedroom, you pray you didn’t leave anything too embarrassing there, you really didn’t think you’d have Johnny over today. But thankfully, when you open your bedroom door, the only think you left on your bed’s your pyjamas or rather, shirt you sleep in you didn’t fold the morning.

“So that’s the room.”, Johnny notices softly, the very room he seems fragments of from his own. Curious eyes look over your desk and the multiple things you sticked right above it, before they travel to the side he definitely never saw from his window. Denty fingers gaze at your guitar’s neck like he’s afraid of touching it without your permission, though it’s definitely clear you don not mind.

“It is ! Is it weird seeing it entirely ?”,  you joke a bit around as you sit the pack down on your desk. Scissors you leave on your desk are used to cleanly open the transparent protection as Johnny opens the stool and places it where he desires. “Really weird, I’m used to…this.”, he jokes too, thumbs and pointers digits forming a frame in front of his eyes. “And that’s what you see. My room looks so empty from here.”, Johnny notes, leaning a little in front of your window.

“It looks like you only have a bed and a piano in there.”, you tease him.

“I don’t ! I spent two entire days decorating it ! I’ll show you next time.”, he promises and somehow, it has the power to make your lips part a little, heat slightly burning your cheeks. The brunette doesn’t notice though, and immediately starts helping you out with your curtains.

Or rather, you help him. Johnny does most of the work on your curtains and you won’t complain. The men takes things into his hands, stepping onto the stool. Where you needed to climb the four steps, Johnny barely needs to climb two, body barely needing the extra height. His hands work quickly to detach the metal bar on each side, fingers twisting at the sides. When the black bar is finally off, he hands it to you so you can work on the hoops and slide the curtains in, which you do quickly.

As easily as he took it out, Johnny slides the metal bar back in before screwing each side in. From this angle, his jaw looks even more sharp, eyes focused never leave his work. He looks even more intimidating, especially when his eyes look down at you and you have to dodge eye contact. “Much easier like that.”, you say, almost dumbfounded at how easily he just did…that. Johnny laughs with the breathy giggle you’re starting to get used to. “See, only took a few minutes at best.”, Johnny says while stepping off the stool, hand lightly touching the curtains.

“Wait, let me throw this away.”, you mumble out, picking the packaging in your hands. Again, Johnny isn’t slow to follow, telling you he’ll help you with your stool. The young men follows you quickly, easily finding the small closet you store anything and everything in once you point it with your index. From your small kitchen, the sound of the stool being pushed inside and the door closing is followed by Johnny’s joyful “Done !”.

“What do you want to drink ?”, you finally ask when the brunette sits down right in front of your kitchen counter. Elbows on the cold grey material, he stares for way too long at the two choices you offer him. Tropical juice in your right hand, still unopened bottle of some bubbly beverage in the other, your friend acts like it’s a life or death decision. “C’mon ooon.”, you laugh out, arms getting tired at the way you’re holding the heavy bottles.

Finally, the brunette points your right hand with an index.

“Oh, you’re a slytherin ?”, he asks when you open your cupboard. Glasses on the bottom and mugs at the top, you look up at the same exact mug he noticed. Right in the middle, the grey and green logo is a clear statement on your Hogwarts house.

“Yes, a very proud slytherin.”, you tell him while setting the two tall glasses on the counter, pouring equal amounts of juice into them. “Let me guess, Gryffindor ?”, you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“I actually never took the test.”, Johnny says, to which you dramatically gasp. “And I never watched the movies. One of my friend’s just a really proud slytherin as well, I bought so many slytherin themed gifts that I just can recognize the logo right away.”

Double gasp, you set your glass down, eyes growing wide as you’re trying to judge if he’s actually joking or not. You found he definitely isn’t, but he does find your reaction quite funny. His laughs resonates into his glass, liquid half drowned.

“Are you for real ?”, you ask him just to make sure, and your neighbor just nods.

“A hundred percent, I just never really had the chance to watch it.”, poking his tongue out, pink muscle collects the drop of juice threatening to fall down.

“In 2020 ?”, you’re dumbfounded, you never thought someone could actually go so long without watching it. “You have to watch it.”

“I will. One day. Maybe.”, Johnny teases, eyes falsely rolling back.

“Now.”, you tell him, a certain sense of urgency in your voice. “I won’t let you get out of my house uneducated, young sir.”, you tell him before looking through another cupboard, hand pushing some unopened chips bag and opened for too long biscuits. Finally, your hand find the flat package you were looking for, proudly taking out for Johnny to say right after checking for the expiration date. “I have popcorn.”

How can Johnny refuse ? How can he, who he has to say, already has a soft spot for you, say no to such a proposition ? Not when your clutching the said uncooked popcorn bag against your chest, slight pout he’d probably kiss away on your lips. Wait, what. Johnny understands he’s utterly fucked once he agrees after a very short time thinking, he’s fucked because he knows the more time he spends with you, the more he’s probably going to fall. You, on the other hand, only understand what you did once Johnny comfortably takes place on your coach. You’re unaware of it, but you have the same exact soft spot, the same small butterflies whenever music is heard from the other’s bedroom, the same tiny smile creeping up whenever one sends a song recommendation, the same tingly feeling in the middle of your chest whenever one catches a glimpse of the other.

Another thing the two of you have in common, you two have some impressive actor abilities, if Johnny acts cool and unbothered, totally not lowkey stressed and watched over by adrenaline at this very moment, you can do the exact same.

Has his thighs always been so…Muscular ? Firm ? Your eyes quickly move away when you catch the train of your thoughts, looking into your bowl like it’s most interesting thing ever as you pour down the hot popcorn. Picking one up, you pop in into your mouth, unconsciously trying to distract your thoughts. This brand’s popcorn really good, right amount of caramel on each piece, you wonder what hickeys look like on Johnny’s caramel skin.

Fuck, bravo. Way to go. It’s his jeans, you blame it on his jeans and how they seem to perfectly hug his legs as he spreads them on your coach, one arm right behind it as he scrolls on his phone with the other.

If the brunette’s thumb is scrolling ever so slowly on his twitter timeline, his mind isn’t really able to read the small tweets at this very moment, not when you set the bowl full of popcorn down on the table before dropping on your knees in front of your tv. Why does he have to see everything in such a way, Johnny quickly blinks and tries to get his attention back on his phone but what can he do when you’re right in the background, in the peripherical vision.

He sees you looking for the movie in the pile of CDs and games you have, before finally finding the very first Harry Potter, a triumphant “Ah-ha !”, coming out of your lips.

“You’ll love it.”, you tell Johnny once you place the CD in the CD player, something you haven’t done in actual months, seating down right next to him. You’re some what grateful you only own one single sofa that’s enough for two people and a bowl full of popcorn right in between.

“Wait, is that how Cedric dies ?”, Johnny’s mouth hangs open at the young actor laying seemingly lifeless on the grass after a fatal spell, a gag sound coming out of your friend’s lips when Voldemort’s bare feet comes in contact with the Hufflepuf’s face. “I hate this shot.”, you tell him, slightly disgusted at the scene, before you yawn loudly against your hand. The glass you refilled many time is now empty, you leave it right next to the empty pizza box Johnny insisted on buying.

It’s midnight, you can barely process the hour it is, not how long you stayed by Johnny’s side to the point where you’re curled up next to him under the blanket you two are sharing. At the end of the first movie, you were happy to see a pretty speechless and invested Johnny, it was still pretty early, around four and a half in the afternoon and you both agreed to watch the second. At the end of the second, he offered to buy pizza and something to drink while you popped the third movie. Let’s just say Johnny got a bit excited when you said the four movie was your favorite and midnight being still a bit early for two students, you agreed on watching a last one.

“So, what do you think ?”, you ask once the credits starts rolling, lazy smile stretching your features. Your tall friend flops off the coach, letting his body slowly fall on the ground to grab his phone charging. “This one’s definitely the best, I mean, the whole Marauders thing ? Love it.”, he tells you, head resting on the sofa you’re still on. “I wanna know what my house is now.”, he mumbles while unlocking his phone, searching the right quizz.

“Wait, wait. Let me read the questions !”, you tell him, hand stretching to get his phone, and the brunette gives it to you without hesitation. You, who took the exact same official test four times, are familiar with questions and ask them one by one. Day or night, forest or beach side, Johnny thinks about his answers before. Familiar animation before the sorting hat reveals his pick, you hide the phone with a hand. “Guess.”, you tell him after looking at the result, results you would’ve easily guessed.

“Gryffindor ?”, he asks with a slight bit of doubt in his voice.

“Gryffindor !”, you tell him with a dramatic shout, mimic the sorting hat’s. His head rolls back with a grown, eyes screwed shut even though he has a smile stretching his full lips.

“Ah-! I lowkey wanted to be a Slytherin.”, he tells you, big puppy like eyes looking at you from below.

“Oh, really ?”, you ask, slightly surprised. You had to say Johnny was more of a Gryffindor than a Slytherin.

“Yeah, I wanted us to match.”

Full lips out in a pout, it’s your turn to think about kissing it away.

You understand you’re fucked when Johnny helps you out in cleaning your living room, washing your glasses while you dry your plates and bowl. He understands he’s fucked again when you hum a song he’s familiar with but can’t put his finger on the name. You both are fucked when he slides right behind you to set your glasses in your cupboard, chest brushing against your back. It feels strangely domestic, comfortable and…Normal ? A soft “Be careful”, comes out of his mouth and his breath moves a few pieces of your hair, arms stretching up to carefully place the glasses he just washed. It’s your turn to walk him to his door, where you two understand Ten’s already fast asleep, loud snores coming out of one of the rooms.

How strange it is, people say time alters in airports, empty trains stations and others. Time alters in front of Johnny’s door. He leans against his door frame like the first time you two met, lazy eyes looking down at you as you stretch a bit more.

“It was fun.”, he tells you quietly, tired smile stretching your lips. You return it, sighing as your muscle wake up.

“Yeah, glad I got you into Harry Potter.”, you tease him a bit, “Might have to buy you some Gryffindor themed things.”

“Ten’s gonna lose it when he learns he wasn’t the one to get me to watch it.”, you frown at that, head tilting to the side.

“Wait, he tried ?”

“Yeah, but he never sold it like you did.”, he hums and for a moment, it seems his mind isn’t really where his words are. Honey eyes drop for a quick second to your lips, but he regains his thoughts as quickly.

“Oh, he’s gonna kill me, isn’t he ?”, you joke a bit, though you’re surprised you managed to get Johnny into the saga quickly when he told you before that him and Ten knew each other for years. The brunette’s laugh is breathy, controlled so he doesn’t wake up his roommate who’ll probably kill him right before killing you. “If he finds out, totally. We don’t have to tell him, though.”, and, did his voice just drop even lower ? You didn’t think it was possible, the man’s voice is already deep but right now, in the dead of the night, it almost seems sultry.

“Oh wow, having our secrets already ?”, you breath out, biting a laugh down on your bottom lip. It does it for Johnny, his attention was already on them right before but, his slightly clouded mind could not really help himself. He doesn’t take his eyes away, not even when your mouth slightly parts at the realization. Only then do you wonder if it is mutual, your breath alters for a second, just when the taller let’s a simple “Yeah” tumble from his lips.

He leans down, or at least, you think he does. A millimeter, maybe you dreamt it, maybe he was going to hug you, a millisecond, a third voice gets heard from the deeps of the apartment.

“Johnny ? Turn the fucking light off.”

“Y/N-ah, Y/N !”, Sangkyu sings the moment you step foot in your building with your grocery bag. You guess quickly it’s because of tomorrow’s gathering, the old men always loved a reason to party, with moderation obviously.

“Hi ! You seem particularly happy today.”, you tell him, stopping in front of his cubicle, you notice he added another drawing to his wall, probably the kids on the first floor.

“I am ! We finished making the cakes a few hours ago and they are de-li-cious.”, his eyes disappear as he smiles brightly, you decided you love this man with all your being.

“Ah, I can’t wait to taste them !”, you hum, switch your bag from your left hand to your right. Even without knowing what him and his wife did, you can at least guess without a doubt that it is going to be as delicious as he says it is.

“Just a day ! What are you making ?”

“French crêpes !”, you tell him while lifting your bag, proud smile at your pronunciation, you just went and bought some milk and flour for it right after leaving your university, Johnny told you he had everything else.

“Ah, yes, with our new neighbors, hm ?”, he starts, smile turning vicious and oh, you know where he’s going. You wonder if Jaehyun and him are working hand in hand. Let’s just say Jaehyun did not drop the subject, not when he learned you accidently ignored his texts the other night because of a movie night with the brunette. Not when you told him you think Johnny almost kissed you. Or hugged you.

“Yes.”, you tell him simply, not going any further. You hope he will drop the subject, but you know he probably won’t.

“We hear you two playing, but you should both play something together.”, Sangkyu tells you, not taking the hint or maybe, he decided to ignore it. But he is not wrong, you two should play something together. You have to say, you didn’t know your playing was so loud but if no one ever complained, it was a good thing, right ?

“We should.”, you tell him with a smile, ready to go towards the elevator, his voice stops you a second time.

“Do you like him ?”, he suddenly asks. God, he really is acting like a father who also wants to be a friend. You suddenly stop right in your track, hand turning towards the oldest.

“Who ?”, you ask dumbly, but Sangkyu isn’t one to take your fake attitude.

“Johnny.”, he tells you straight forward and a bit too loudly, arms leaning against his counter with a too happy smile.

“Sangkyun…”, you whine, quiet in case anyone walks in.

“Y/N-ah…!”, he mocks the tone of your voice and you whine even more.

“Come on, you can tell me.”, you says, you know he won’t ever let you go and even if he does, he’ll draw his own flowed conclusions, better tell him already.

“Maybe, yes.”, you tell the oldest before walking a bit too quickly towards your elevator, index jamming into the up button.

“I knew it !” and, when you hide yourself in the metal cubicle, you see your old friend making a few happy dance moves with his arms, you wonder if you’re seeing Jaehyun in the future.

“Alright, how’s this ?”, you ask Jaehyun after stepping right in front of your phone. You’re actually video chatting with your blonde friend, but you can barely see half of his face, he decided to hold his phone so close you could only see from his hairline to the bridge of his nose.

“Turn around.”, he says, breath overloading his device’s microphone. You do so anyways, showing him the outfit you decided to wear for tonight. Obviously, it was just a small gathering between neighbors, you didn’t have to go all in with a cocktail dress but, a nice and pretty one was expected. Following your friend’s order, you turn to show off a black, thin strapped, body hugging dress you got a year ago and yet, never wore.

“Is that your mom’s jacket ?”, Jaehyun asks, chewing on what you think is a handful of chips. You hum at the question, you’re indeed wearing the oversized jean jacket you mother used to wear when she was in college. “The dress looks hot, when did you buy it ?”

“Eh, last year ? Around the middle of the summer.”, you tell your friend, stepping out of your phone’s camera to search for your earrings. “Wait, you never wore it, right ?” “Nope.”, from a distance, you can hear Jaehyun mumbling something about you having too many clothes. Maybe he’s right, but you brush the remark anyways, taking your rings.

“How’s my makeup ?”, you ask, kneeling in front of your phone, you step closer to let the blonde have a closer look at your eyes makeup. “You know I don’t know shit about makeup !”, he complains, finally letting you see his face as he moves his phone. “Jaehyun, does it look good ?”, you ask him, acting annoyed at his antics.

“Yes, you look good.”, he says, voice somewhat a high pitched tone as he snaps a picture once you stand up again. “If lover boy doesn’t kiss you tonight.” Small smile stretches your lips at the compliment, you decide to brush the second sentence off, applying some lipstick before checking your watch.

“And you’re telling me he acted like nothing happened ?”, Jaehyun asks, sound of the chips bag covering his voice. You sigh at that, eyes rolling a little, you think no matter how many times you’ll tell him, he’ll keep asking. “He did. I mean, his roommate was there so, he couldn’t really…Y’know ?”

A quick glance at the bag you’re supposed to bring down to the gathering starting in fifteen minutes, it holds the dozens of crêpes you, Johnny and Ten made a bit earlier. Just like it was planned before hand, you showed up after class to their apartment, Ten was the one who opened the door. Apparently, Johnny was a bit late, his teacher’s lecture went on for a bit longer than anticipated and when he showed up, he immediately helped with the batter. The brunette greeted you like he usually would and acted like nothing happened the night before, though you don’t blame him, not when his roommate was between the two of you half of the time. You had to bring your own pan after realizing how many crêpes you’d actually make and, after about two hours, you left to get ready. Let’s just say Jaehyun was not happy with the lack of exciting events. You weren’t either, but you still somehow hoped something would happen tonight, somewhere deep in your thoughts. However, you didn’t want to think too much about it, tonight was a gathering to celebrate and have fun, you didn’t want to overthink what happened the night prior.

“Anyways, I have to go.”, you finally tell you friend, who simply tells you to enjoy yourself and text him after before hanging up.

Heavy bag of crêpes in your hand, you slide out of your apartment after spraying some perfume on your neck. Locking your door, your neighbors are quick to follow as you agreed to go together and, fuck.

He looks hot, Johnny looks hot. There’s a slight second where you stay silent and take in his figure, legs hugged by a tight pair of black jeans, cotton white blouse slightly open on his caramel chest, the golden hour isn’t even here and yet, the slight bit of sun hitting his skin makes him glow. You know, you know he caught you staring and yet he stays silent, slight smirk tugging a side of his full lips.

“Y/N, Ma’am !”, Ten’s voice drags you out of you reverie. The men takes a step closer, you notice the very pricy Yves Saint Laurent grey and white top he’s wearing. “You look fucking good ! Right ?”, it seemed the men only needed a few hours to get familiar with you, but you don’t complain and smile at the compliment.

“You do, you look amazing.”, if Ten managed to make you smile brightly at his antics, Johnny’s low voice only makes you blush and your eyes waver a bit, not knowing where to look, almost unable to keep eye contact with the tallest. “Thank you. I-, hm, you too.”

Great.

“Thank you. Let’s get going, I don’t want to be late.”, thankfully, he doesn’t say more, hand grabbing onto his own bag where you assume he has the chocolate and strawberry spread.

“Wait, what about me ?”, his roommate asks, acting so offended you wonder if he isn’t actually hurt by the lack of compliment you and his roommate showed. The smallest frowns, angry glare at Johnny who doesn’t even notice him as he went towards the elevator to call for the metal box.

“This shirt looks amazing on you, very pricy too.”, you tell your neighbor with a laugh, stepping right behind the tallest, waiting.

“And I already told you it looked good.”, he says, right before stepping in the elevator.

“Thank you, Y/N.”, the black haired says your name a bit louder, but you don’t pay too much attention either.

Poor thing, if you and Johnny aren’t aware yet of the tension, Ten sure is, and he hates every bit of it when he understands, stuck in an elevator where he’s the third wheel. By the way, has your elevator always been so small ? Your back leans against one wall as Johnny does the same right in front of you, honey eyes traveling from your eyes to your uncovered collarbones. The brunettes tries, he really tries to stop his eyes from traveling down but they do eventually, swallowing built up saliva when his pupils travel down your hips, to your naked legs.

Ten’s almost about to say something, just to break the thick silence before the doors opening saves the young men, he decides he definitely is not going to stay with the two of you tonight.

You, on the other side, seem to finally be able to breathe once you step out the elevator, Johnny’s attention did not go unnoticed. Try and act normal, probably the only thing going on your mind and Johnny’s.

“Hey, look who it is !”, Miss Jeon’s voice is heard before you can even see her. You’re familiar with the park the gathering is taking place in, but it sure looks amazing in the late afternoon. At this time of the year, the grass’ green, flowers bloomed, small fruits are starting to turn red under the summer sunlight. Even better, the water fountains are on, the one right in the middle is large, tall, multicolor lights when the moon shines. Finally, when you and your two friends turn the corner to enter the park, you’re physically greeted by Miss Jeon who’s wearing a really pretty pen skirt, hair flowing in the soft summer wind. “Miss Jeon !”, you greet her with a smile which isn’t enough for the lady who pulls you into a hug. One hand grabs yours and the tallest makes you swirl around, a high pitched “Wow ! Look at you !”, coming out of her lips.

“You look amazing, darling. You two, too.”, as always, the lady is extremely cheerful. You notice hers and other neighbors’ kids already playing around in the park, loud screams every now and then. A bit closer to the fountain, multicolor light are hanging from the threes, you can faintly distinguish a song playing. Large tables are set there, alongside chairs were parents and others are all talking together, setting whatever they bought.

“Go set everything there, we’ll start eating soon.”, Miss Jeon instructs, and you follow her orders as she stays in front of the park to greet anyone coming.

Everything is quickly set up where all the deserts are, neighbors come until you they flood the park, you almost think everyone’s here. “I did not expect so many people.”, Johnny tells you, taking a plastic cup to get himself some juice right before giving you a cup.

“Me neither.”, you tell him, eyes glazing over the last people walking in. Almost everyone responded to the call, a pretty heart warming sigh. Some of your neighbors you never actually talked to are here, mostly because they’re from other buildings from the same project.

“I see Ten is already making friends.”, you continue, eyes catching your friend talking to another neighbor, one you think is in his early thirties, you’ve talked to him once, maybe.

“Ten is a social butterfly.”, Johnny laughs into his cup, before eventually taking a step forward toward the black haired. If his roommate was going to socialize, he might as well too.

“I think it is overrated.”, ah yes, now you remember why you did not much to this guy. James is a foreign, blonde, man bun type of guy who finds everything overrated, it’s almost impossible to talk about your hobbies and interests with him without being ripped apart. He probably isn’t that mean just, not that good at social interaction. You see Ten’s expression turning from excited to somewhat confused, to what you intervene.

“What is ?”, you ask, and you don’t really like when the blonde acts like he did not notice you and Johnny walking.

“Oh, Y/N, hi. Long time no see.”, he says, not paying any attention to Johnny. You greet him anyways, slightly taken back by his attitude. “And you are ?”

“Johnny.”, the men behind you says, stretching a hand out to shake his.

“Oh, strong grip.”, slight contortion of the blond’s face, he quickly retracts his hand when Johnny lets go.

“Anyways, when are you letting me see you play ?”, James ask and oh, how you have to search in your memory to understand what the fuck he’s talking about. The blonde wants to learn how to play the guitar, that was, maybe eight months ago.

“Oh eh. One day, maybe.”, you awkwardly laugh.

“We hear you play every night, don’t say you don’t have time for me !”, he tries and laugh off the sentence. Ten shifts, poor thing seems taken back but thankfully, Johnny’s quick to react. As you’re about to respond, his hand slides on your waist, “I’m pretty busy with uni’, but I can send you some great guitarists’ videos.”, you choke out, mind slightly bugging at the brunette’s touch.

“She’ll let you know when she has time for you.”, the tallest does not hesitate and, it visibly annoys the blonde. A sharp “Okay .”, tumbles from his lips before he leaves towards the salty foods.

“He’s weird.”, Ten finally says, Johnny doesn’t take his hand away.

It takes hours for Johnny to address it again.

The midnight breeze always feels special, soft, fresh, it licks the thin layer of sweat the bolt sun created on your skin. Your jacket’s off your shoulders, loosely hanging on the crook of your elbows, seating on the cold marble of the fountain.

Soft sound of the water running behind you, all the kids have been sent to sleep, alongside their parents and other hard working adults needing of sleep, just the low sound of some jazz music you’re unfamiliar with and some chatter as the background noise.

You shoes kick off some small rocks and sand, eyes looking up at the multicolor lights still hanging on the trees. You laugh off one of Johnny’s joke, before he gets serious again, his left hand lightly touching the fountain’s water.

“By the way, sorry about earlier. I didn’t ask if I could touch you like that.”

You have to think for a slight second to understand what he’s talking about, hand grabbing onto the bowl of ice cream you set aside for yourself. Your spoon digs into the chocolate cream, taking a fair amount of whipped cream.

“Oh ! Oh, no. Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind.”, I liked it, you would’ve said if you were a little bit more brave. Spoon in your mouth, you eagerly gulp down the frozen desert, Johnny only softly smiles.

“Is he always like that ?”, he asks, body turning a bit more to face you. He’s close, really close, but it became normal. It became normal for him to have your naked thigh against his, you shamelessly look down at it for god knows how many times tonight. It became normal for you to almost be able to feel his breath die on your skin.

“I don’t know, tonight was the second time I ever talked to him.”, you tell him, tongue quickly cleaning the tiny drop of ice cream forming at the corner of your lips. Johnny stays silent for a second, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips, before its feels like he shakes his thoughts away. His gaze stays fixated on your eyes so confidently it’s even worst than him looking at your lips, you shift under his pupils, crossing a leg over the other.

“He seems really pushy.”, Johnny breathes out, and he finds the exact same octave he was speaking to you in just last night, right in front of his apartment. It’s clear he only is replying for politeness.

“You have hm, some ice cream, here.”, the brunette hums, again ripping you out of your reverie. Left hand covers your mouth, index and middle finger brushing at the corner but it seems you are not picking the right side.

“Wait, no-.”, he laughs for a quick second, crescent eyes before they shift to something else. His thumb quickly wipes the other side of your lips, and you freeze. You lock dead in your position, eyes slightly larger as he helps you clean up with a soft yet deep “There you go.”

For hours now, Johnny had been the only thing on your mind. From the moment he stepped out of his apartment, the moment his eyes seemed to devour every bit of your body, the moment he left is hand lingering on the small of your waist. To the moment he sat down to eat, legs, strong thighs spread, the moment he talked to the smallest kids from the second building, the moment he lead you behind the fountain with a hand in the small of your back.

But, when Johnny lets his lips capture the tip of his thumb, cleaning the bit of ice cream, you think you might never be able to think about anything else but him, but Johnny.

You have to look away, desperately trying to gather your thoughts, something you can’t do when the brunette’s looking at you with such innocent eyes.

“You okay ?”, he asks like he didn’t do anything, like he did not just do that.

“Yeah, I-.”, you have to leave you plastic bowl somewhere behind you, brain fuming to find something else to say.

“You’re blushing. You had the same look yesterday.”, he notes, and…He knows ? He knew before you did, that’s what his slight smirk tells you. “It’s a shame Ten had to ruin it, but I like this setting better.”, Johnny hums, but he never takes his eyes away.

“Could’ve kissed me anyways.”, you dare to say. Your mouth goes dry, for some reason, biting down on your bottom lip. The brunette comes a little closer, and just like last time, you can't help but get lost in his irises, notice the way his eyes curl at their inner corner, now how his pupils slowly eclipses the soft brown of his eyes.

Tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, his lines a bit closer again, hand sliding under your chin. You stop breathing for a second, eyelids involuntarily growing heavy.

“Did I miss my shot ?”, you can almost feel him mouth the words.

“Maybe, but I can give you another one.”, you manage to tease, face tilting to the side before he even does anything. If he doesn't do it himself, you'll break the distance, but he holds you in the palm of his hand, so hypnotise under his spell you can only anticipate his next move.

“Good, would've hated myself for missing it.”, he says and, as you hoped, the brunette finally lets his lips crash against yours. It's soft, a kiss to taste the water, though he himself taste the chocolate you just ate.

Pillows lips slowly starts moving against yours, you easily follow his rhythm, sighing when his hand moves from your chin to your neck, deepening the exchange.

Your hand easily finds his hair, finally letter your fingers grasp onto the soft locks. It's a soft grip, yet Johnny sighs softly against your lips, sound turning into a slight groan once you bite down on his bottom lip.

That does it for him, the kiss quickly turns needy, desperate, he touches where he can, second hand lightly running up your thigh.

Arms wrap behind his neck to keep him close, body leaning backwards, Johnny has to plant a hand on the marble behind you, second hand wrapping behind your waist.

The brunette doesn't hesitate a second more, like he's afraid of letting go of the moment, afraid you're gonna slip away between his fingers like the clear water of the fountain. Pick tongue laps at your bottom lip, you part them without a moment of hesitation. It's eager, rushed, the taste of the desert you just ate still lingers on your tongue while you get the fruity drink he was sipping on moments before.

Finally, when you have to let go for some air, breathing altered by the exchange, Johnny doesn't let go. Long kisses are planted at the corner of your lips, he takes his time until he travels down to your jaw where you stop him.

And, before he can ask you anything, you quickly grab his hand in yours, “Let's go inside.”

He follows quickly behind, leaving everything behind, you take the second gate of the park. Shorter, you also don't have to walk in front of all your remaining neighbors like this, lips swollen, eyes blown.

You don't think you've ever walked so fast to your apartment, you don't think you've ever been so happy to see Sangkyu's spot vacant.

The silence is heavy, breath still uneven when you push the button of the elevator and the doors open immediately.

If you didn't know the men behind you was as desperate as you were, you definitely understand once he pushed you inside the small cubicle.

He blindly pushes the button to your shared floor, right hand wrapping around your throat to swiftly push you against the cold wall. If he doesn't tighten his grip, you sure wish he did, but you have other things to care about at the moment. The hand previously around your neck plants itself right next to your hand and this time, he has to lean down to capture your lips another time.

Completely pinning your body to the cold metal, he uses his hips against yours, a gasp escaping your lips he uses to slip his tongue between your lips again. And, you let a breathy moan come out of your lips when he pushes his hips flush against your, hard on pressing against your body. Even with the two layers, you can feel him.

You never felt so hot inside this elevator, it moves without stopping at any floor, no music as the silence is filled by your soft breaths and the sound of his mouth against yours.

Beat washes over you, if your panties weren't ruined already, they sure are now. Now that the brunette rolls his hips, slowly, tentatively slow, just to make you feel every inch. Your mind's clouded, body reacting by itself when it archs away from the wall.

He lets his forearm rest against the metal wall, about to travel down to your neck, hips grinding against yours.

When he's about to bite down on the skin of yours neck, teeth grazing over the flesh, the doors open to your floor.

It's Johnny's turn to grab onto your hand, pulling you out of the elevator but he never stays too long away from your body.

Full lips pepper kisses on your face, before he breathes out against your skin.

“Your apartment, yeah ?”

Obviously, you want to tell him, naturally walking towards your door.

“Unless you want your roommate to walk in on us.”, you let a breathy giggle out, facing your door.

Fuck, now out of all times, you can not find your keys. Maybe it's because your shaky hands can barely search your pockets. Hard to blame yourself when the brunette stands behind you, hard cock pressed against you, arms tightly wrapped around your stomach, face buried in your neck.

“Baby, they're here.”, the tallest hums, voice so low it vibrates against your skin. His right hands pats one of your front pockets. A simple “Oh.” tumbles from your lips at that, mind hardly registering the way he still his moving against your body, nickname rolling out of his tongue too easily.

Finally, you manage to force your key into your door, quickly twisting the metal piece before you push the door open.

This time, you don't know if you pull Johnny in your apartment or if he pushes you in, the door is loudly shut before the men tries to take your near your coach, as you drop your jacket off somewhere.

“Johnny.”, you try to whine, but it comes out as a breathy moan as the men soflty sucks on the skin between your neck and shoulder, a pale purple petal blooming. His name coming from your lips sounds oh so delicious, Johnny decides he loves the way it sounds, determined to hear it again and again, louder and louder. “Let me at least close the door.”

When he lets you do so, not whitout a pout on his lips, they find yours again in a desperate kiss, hands grabbing the back of your thighs.

“This dress looks so fucking good on you.”, he growls once you let him pick you up, black fabric riding up your thighs.

“Got dressed up for you.”, you confess, your own lips traveling down his neck when the brunette sits down on your coach. He chuckles lowly, head rolling back, humming at the small attentions you're giving him. “Hm, saw you putting your makeup on and knew you'd look ravishing.”, he says.

Large hands on your hips, Johnny easily pushes your hips down on his thigh.

“Wow, I'll make sure to pull my curtains next time.”, you tease, blooming flowers on his collarbones.

“Give me a fucking show next time.”, he growls out, hand ghosting over your neck before his thumb traces your bottom lip again.

You almost freeze, mere thought of following his oder the next time you catch him in front of his window a little bit too appealing. Having him so close yet, too far to feel his touch, you already felt it for days.

“Come on, ride my thigh.”, you moan out.

Forceful hands help you find a rhythm, one you easily follow once your thoughts get over your dizzy mind. You mouth hands open, hands grabbing onto his arms at the sudden gesture. Johnny only smirks, an eyebrow arching up.

If he didn't before, he sure does look like a god at this very moment. Blown out pupil look directly into your eyes, honey color you know so well eclipsed. Swollen, red lips, a hue painted over his cheeks, small love bites trialing down. Soft brown hair messy by your hands.

“What ? You think I didn't see you glaring ?”, there's a slight mocking tone in his voice, slight embarrassment washing over you but your body follows his voice anyways. Strong thigh under your core, you can barely gather words to reply, it's even harder when he flexs his muscles under you.

Your hips rocks back and forth, delicious pressure against your nub but you need more, more than just his thigh. He has everything to offer and if you don't get it now, you might go crazy.

And so, you tell him. “Johnny, need more.”, your voice sure sounded a lot less weak but the men obliges.

“Impatient little thing.”, he gestures towards your room, and when think you might not be able to walk all the way there without him pushing you against another wall, you surprisingly do.

When you turn around and crawl up your bed, Johnny's quick to follow, hands gripping onto the fabric covering his back before he pulls it over his head.

Defined abs under his caramel skin, strong arms holding himself up, you need a moment to take everything in, hands running down his chest when he hover over your body.

“Take it off.”, he demands, voice almost strict. Leg over his hip, you barely use any force to change positions.

You sit on his lap a second time, supporting yourself on your knees to take off your dress. The brunette uses his elbows, mouth parting when you pull the fabric over your hips. He barely needs any support to sit up, hands grasping the black dress to help you take the fabric off entirely.

The brunette mumbles praises into your skin, lips ghosting over your neck, hands touching wherever they can. Desperate, he maps your body, learning every curve, every inch.

“So beautiful.”, he mumbles out, before his right hand traces the line of your panties.

They're soaked, wet patch on his black jeans and he doesn't fail to notice.

“Already so wet, hm ? Fuck, can I ?”, he doesn't hesitate once you give him your verbal permission, a finger running over your folds over the light fabric.

What a simple touch can do to you, you don't doubt the men doing it also has a huge part in it, but you shiver under the slight attention.

Biting down on his bottom lip, ring clapped hand dips into your panties, where his index and middle finger gather your juices, humming contently.

You're about to complain again, ask him to do something already but he beats you at it, both fingers effortlessly sliding between your lower lips.

“Fuck, ah— Johnny.”, hands gripping his shoulders, your eyes screw shut once he finds a slow and torturing pace, moving in and out as his thumb brushes over your bud.

It's sensual, burning, one hand travels down his chest until you're met with his jeans, quickly working on them once he nods.

You curse his tight jeans for a moment before he helps you push the fabric just enough, alongside his grey briefs.

And fuck, he's big. You knew when he grinded against your inner thigh, but the way his cock slaps against his stomach, head red and hungry, has your mouth parting, core clenching against his fingers.

“Shit, yeah. Good girl, right there.”, Johnny loses himself in praises, head rushing with thoughts he groans out once your hand wraps around his length.

It's probably the honest thing you've ever seen, Johnny's head rolls back, it hits the wall of your bedroom, Adam's appel bobbing up and down. The pace of his fingers matches the rhythm of your hand around his cock, eyes slightly opening just to watch your slender fingers around him and the way you take his.

“You're so fucking tight, god.”, a third finger goes alongside and you have to pose, jaw hanging open and the brunette can not resist.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses deep, messy, hurried. It's like his starving, he growl against your mouth when your thumb runs over his slit and your hips move against his fingers.

“Fuck, wanna taste you.”, he flips you over too easily, a gasp coming out of your lips when you back harshly hits your bed.

Strong hands gripping at your panties, your hear the sharp snap of the elastic breaking under his soaked fingers.

“Johnny !”, it's between a whine and a moan, how can him ruining your panties be so fucking hot.

“Will get you new ones if you want.”, you can barely recognise his voice, his fingers slide the fabric down and he looks up at you, eyes hungry, lips red.

“You have no fucking idea how hard I was when I found your panties.”, he confesses and, before you can reply, his mouth dives in. Tongue flat against your core, your legs instinctively close around his head, but his hands are quick to pin your thighs to the mattress while yours find his hair, messing it even more.

“Yeah ? Fuck, you're so good, your tongue feels so good.”

Johnny only hums, tongue running up and down until he wraps his lips around your button of nerves. The brunette's eating you out like a starved men, shamelessly, the wet sounds filling the room.

When he takes a break to breathe, he pops his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them.

“Taste so good.”, every word he says fires your body up even more, his mouth doesn't even need to speak for it to affect you, but you need him.

He dives a second time, fingers joining this time. Pace a lot less slow, his lips wrap around your bud a second time, focusing on the small button while his fingers quickly move.

In, out, in, out. Long fingers quickly build up the tension in your stomach, cold rings contrasting with his hot breath.

You only need a little bit more, when his fingers curl the right way, his groans vibrate at the right moment. Your fingers tighten around his locks as you come undone, loudly, unapologetically.

Wet lips, glossy eyes, Johnny looks at your figure as you arch your back away from your bed, moaning into the air.

It takes almost minutes for you to come down but, when you do, Johnny's about to dive a third time. Your hand stops his head.

“Want you inside, want to feel you.”, you tell him once you pulled him towards you face again. A quick kiss is planted on your lips where you can taste yourself, before he hides his face again in your neck, breathing heavily.

“Do you have a condom ?”, he asks, blown out eyes looking into your own.

You nod quickly, pointing at your bed table. You hear the brunette thanking the gods, he didn't want to have and walk all the way to his own appartement to get one. Leaning towards the said bed table, he pulls the small door open and find the box there.

Taking a little foil package between his lips, Johnny quickly closes the small door before hovering over you again.

Pearly teeth are used to open the packaging, he doesn't wait a second to roll the material out on his hard shaft, sighing slightly.

“So tiny, can you even take me ?”, it seems the brunette asks himself, hand jerking himself off.

You answer him anyways, “I can, please.”.

Soft smile on his lips, the brunette uses his hand to align himself with your drenched core.

The tallest thought about this very moment for hours the night before, but nothing prepared him for the tightenes, your wet, hot core wrapping around his head.

You both moan in almost unison, Johnny has to hold himself from slamming in. You, on the other hand, have a hard time wrapping your head around how he's stretching you out so nicely.

A mixture of pleasure and slight pain you're quickly addicted to. A hand claws at his back, the tallest moves inch, by inch, by inch.

“So fucking tight. When's the last time someone fucked you properly ?”, his sudden change in behaviour gives you whiplash, you can only whine at his question and mumble something about not knowing when, exactly.

“Please, fuck me.”, if you have to beg, you will but thankfully, Johnny doesn't have much patience tonight. Once he's fully in, he doesn't hesitate to pull out just to ram in. Your body rides up, head thrown back, moan silent.

“Gonna fuck you nice and deep. Stretch you, yeah ?”

You can only nod eagerly, Johnny laughs breathlessly. His forearm supports his body right next to you head, necklace hanging over your body, right hand tightly holding your hip.

He barely gives you the time to adjust, hips snapping at a steady pace.

Headboard sharply knocking against your wall, your thankful your neighbors aren't here. Still sensitive, your moans turn breathless, barely audible. Forehead against your own, Johnny doesn't hide his moans, your name, any profanities coming to his mind.

“Fuck, turn around for me, baby.”, breathless, chest irregularly moving up and down, he helps you do so after moving out.

Flipping you on your stomach, the brunette curses at himself a second time. His body flush against yours, he supports himself next to your head again, second hand affectionaly running in your hair.

He takes you from behind, cock easily sliding in this time. Moans hidden in your pillow, Johnny doesn't take that, using the hand locked in your locks to turn your head.

“Don't hide your moans, wanna hear you.”

Just like he wanted after stepping into your apartment, the tallest has you whining his name, loudly, until you're numbed, fucked dumb until his name's the only thing you know.

A snap of his hips reaches deeper, it's there you feel the tension threatening to break.

It's like he can read you, he does it again, breathy laugh coming out of his lips.

“Come around me, let go. Let go for me.”, it's all you need, you easily follow his order, core tightening around his shaft.

“God, your pussy’s gripping me.”, his hips alter, lips finding yours again. “Gonna make me come so hard.”

Fucked out, yet you managed to raise your hips, core clenching around him. That does it, loud growl resonates in the room, mixed in with your name.

“Are you okay ?”, Johnny asks, voice soft after he pulls out, throwing the condom in your bin.

You hum, too tired to answer, you smile nonetheless when he takes you into his arm, arm pushing your hair to the side.

“This isn't how I wanted things to go.”, he hums, picking a fallen eyelash from your cheek.

“Oh, really ?”, you ask, tired, his hand running up and down your spine putting you to sleep.

“Wanted to take you out on a date first.”, he admits. “But how do you want me to resist when you were calling me like a siren singing at a lone traveler.”

© NEOVISIONED l NO REPOSTING OR TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED.

[mst3kproject]

Sting of Death

Sting of Death was directed by William Grefe, who also made Wild Rebels, so it wouldn't be surprising if actor John Vella appeared in both, too (which he did). It's got a specially-written theme song which, while not the equal of The Green Slime, is certainly as infuriatingly catchy as anything ever sung by Arch Hall Jr.  Mostly, however, this film makes the MST3K cut just by being very, very silly, and almost unbelievably fucking bad.

A bunch of 35-year-old college students arrive at an isolated manor in the Florida everglades for spring break, where one girl's father is doing his research on jellyfish. They spend their vacation doing some of the whitest dancing ever committed to film and being cruel to the jellyfish scientist's inevitable deformed assistant, Egon.  Too bad for them, Egon has a secret weapon: he has created a wetsuit that makes him invulnerable to jellyfish stings, and he uses it to murder people with a giant Portuguese man o' war that he wears like a hat.

I am actually not a hundred percent sure that's supposed to be what's going on here, but the movie never really explains so it's the best I've got.

Before I do anything else, I'm going to nerd for a bit.  Since the movie bothers to name a specific kind of jellyfish, I did a bit of reading, and wow... you wouldn't think an organism that looks like six roadkilled balloon animals and an inflated condom would have much going on, but Portuguese man o' wars (men o' war?) are fascinating. Rather than being a single creature like most jellyfish, each man o' war is a set of quadruplets, who have divided the 'be a jellyfish' duties between them.  One forms the bubble that lets the animal float, one is the tentacles, one is the stomach and intestines, and one is the reproductive system.  I drew y'all a diagram.  It's very scientific.

This is cool on its own, but it also means that had the writers so wished, they could have suggested that what Egon has done is persuaded these organisms to accept him as the fifth member of the colony!  They could have a symbiotic relationship in which the man o' war gets the ability to move and hunt on land, and Egon gets to have revenge on his enemies!  At the end Egon might be dead, but the man o' wars are still out there, and they're searching for a new human host...

The people who made this movie of course did not go in that direction, because they did not bother to so much as read the World Book Encyclopedia entry on the Portuguese man o' war.  I think they picked it because they liked that it's purple.

Sting of Death really sounds like it ought to be fun.  It even looks like it'll be fun.  It's a cheerful-looking, colourful movie, which is slightly incongruous for a story about people dying agonizing tentacly deaths but just perfect for a slice of sixties monster camp. The characters wear brightly coloured sixties clothing that looks like it came from an old Archie comic, and the ones who aren't mad scientists are students on spring break.  This all sounds like a silly beach party movie with a really dumb monster, and it ought to be a comedy... yet I can't actually tell what Sting of Death is trying to go for.  It never actually winks at the audience, but it's full of stuff that makes you go, “wait... they can't be serious, can they?”

I mean... this guy wears a jellyfish.  While doing so, he somehow manages to lurk in a tiled swimming pool and be noticed by nobody, including the girl who is actually in there swimming.  There are chase scenes so slow that they seem like they must be parodies.  Everything is just beyond cheap, beyond silly, beyond badly-written, and yet if these things are jokes they never have punchlines.  Instead, the impression one gets is that the film-makers are, indeed, deathly serious, and that makes the whole thing downright embarrassing.

For starters, I cannot even describe how atrociously bad their monster is.  It is very clearly a guy in a wetsuit and swim flippers, wearing a plastic bag on his head and draped in what looks like one of those bead curtains.  They try the thing where they only show a little bit of it at a time but even that doesn't help, and finding out that it's supposed to be a man in a wetsuit somehow makes it worse.  It's like in Shriek of the Mutilated, where the fact that the monster really is fake just makes it risible that anyone was afraid of it.

Egon dies when the jellyfish on his head gets popped like a balloon, leaving his face covered in some kind of bloody goo (as distinct from the non-bloody goo he got covered in earlier, in a scene with some very strange and uncomfortable sexual overtones).  I was actually sort of relieved to see that plastic bag go, because it had to be sealed in order to make sure it stayed inflated and the stuntman was probably in severe danger of being poisoned by his own carbon dioxide.

While wearing his jellyfish friend, Egon is apparently able to command swarms of actual Portuguese man o' wars to attack people.  I do not know how you command something that lacks a brain and has no capacity to communicate with its own kind... never mind that man o' wars cannot actually swim but simply drift wherever the currents take them.  His gelatinous minions appear to be plastic bags with paint or half-inflated party balloons inside them. The movie does not explain how they are able to sink a boat.  I googled this and apparently a fishing boat in Japan capsized and sank after their nets filled with too many jellyfish, but that's not the same thing.

There's also one hell of a Hero's Battle Death Exemption.  The movie establishes that jelly-Egon can sting people by touching them – he touches two of the party kids and leaves hand-shaped welts on them. Yet at the climax a guy manages to wrestle with him for a minute or so and at the end there's not a mark on him.  No explanation is given for this, or for the fact that their fan boat runs just fine despite the fact that they said it was out of gas minutes earlier.

Anyway. Even more embarrassing than the monster is the dancing. You can go the classic MST3K route and make jokes about white people, but that really does not capture just how awful the dancing in this movie is.  There's a whole song urging us to do the Jellyfish without ever telling us just what this dance entails, which is a shame because I for one would prefer to avoid doing the Jellyfish at all costs.  Worse, the opening credits actually name a choreographer, which means that somebody told the actors to dance like that!  A room full of eighth graders doing the Sprinkler would be easier to watch.  It makes the dancing in Catalina Caper look good, and it goes on forever.

Oh, but it gets worse.  How, you ask?  Well, as in Village of the Giants, the dancing exists mainly to show us butts.  Sting of Death is not subtle about this at all.  We'll get a wide shot of people dancing badly, and then a sudden close up of an ass in a bathing suit.  Sometimes the asses are upside-down, just to be artsy or maybe to show us that everybody's having a wild time, I don't know.

Then there's the acting, which varies from 'bland' to 'painfully bad'. Jack Nagle, playing Dr. Richardson, talks like he's narrating one of those old Disney nature documentaries I mentioned in my review of The Painted Hills.  The only notable thing about his performance is that the script had to make an excuse for the giant bruise on his forehead, but they couldn't come up with one that was plot-relevant.  Also, the bruise shrinks and grows over the course of the movie because they didn't film the scenes in order.

Valerie Hawkins as Richardson's daughter Karen (an actual Karen in her natural habitat!) and Joe Morrison as her boyfriend John are just incredibly uninteresting, but they're still better than Karen's empty-headed friends, who are so bland and poorly differentiated, by the actresses and the script, that IMDB lists them by their hair colours. The other students who turn up to party are a bunch of raucous drunks distinguished largely by what swimsuits they're wearing.  The only one who talks much is the guy in the red shirt, who spouts embarrassing pirate jargon.

Then there's John Vella as Egon.  Half his face is covered by very bad makeup that's apparently meant to represent some kind of deformity but I have no idea what they're going for, honestly.  I guess he gives the best performance in the movie, since he at least manages to come across as a creepy sexual predator the way he hovers over Karen. He really has no more depth than any other character, though, being simply a stereotype mad scientist determined to Show Those Fools who made fun of his theory.

Sting of Death was never going to be a good movie, but it had lots of potential to be a fun bad one.  The premise is ridiculous, the music is goofy, and there's plenty of supposedly exciting stuff like murders and boat chases happening.  Yet tragically, it is never, ever enjoyable. Everything takes just that little bit too long, or is that little bit too bad.  The result is a movie that was just about made for MST3K, in that Joel and the bots are probably the only thing that could render it entertaining.

[srose-foxfire]

“Under an Autumn Moonlight” Part: 3 (Damirae fic)

Part #1

Part #2

Part #3 

Raven let out a deep sigh as she exited her history lecture hall. Her mind should had been in class, but her mind she kept going back to the very uncomfortable lecture they received from their landlord outside their apartment building. Raven and Donna had returned to find their apartment building evacuated because their friend and roommate, Jinx, had started a small fire in their kitchen. Their landlord was furious with them all, this wasn’t the first time Jinx had endangered lives before. It was her third, and their landlord was running out of patience to let them continue renting the three-bedroom apartment. The only thing saving them from being evicted was that they were college students trying to get by and focusing on their degrees. Though Raven was certain with another ‘Jinx incident’ they be kicked out to the streets, for sure.

Their friend seemed to be a magnet that attracted misfortune wherever there was any electronic device. Nevertheless, they all cared for Jinx very much. Raven wouldn’t be true to herself if she didn’t feel a bit least upset for leaving Robin. She was starting to feel at ease with him and wanted to continue talking with him. It also seemed he wanted to talk about something more personal before she got the phone call from Jinx.

“I hope to see you again.”

Was the last thing Robin had said to her and in truth Raven wanted to see him too. She didn’t know how to though, it would look strange if she just showed up at the warehouse, besides she didn’t know when the band was there. Maybe if she could contact him directly? Robin was friends with Jon, maybe Raven could ask Jon for Robin’s number, but knowing Jon he would question her and then go gossip to Donna who would interrogate Raven on the matter. Raven didn’t even know what all this was, the only thing she was certain was she wanted to see him again and just talk.Right? That’s all she wanted nothing more.

Raven continue walking down the main walkway of the university going to her next class. Introduction to Astronomy. One of the class assignments she was looking forward to was going to an overnight camping trip to stargaze and map out constellations. Their professor also added that they could distinguish the planet Saturn from the stars because it was closer to Earth during the fall semester.

Raven could hardly wait and just stargaze to ger heart’s content. Since a child, Raven always liked looking up into the starry night sky and letting her worries be swept from her.

Raven didn’t have the best childhood; she lost her mother at very young age where her memories were blur glimpses. What always made her think of her mother was the smell of lavender. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could had sworn seeing her mother standing next to her crib and light a lavender scented candle, singing her a gentle lullaby. When her mother passed, she was left with a drunken father who wasn’t home at all doing who knows what. She was confided in that small apartment for eighteen years, the only times she was allowed outside was to go to school. During the day she was the good student, getting the highest remarks in every class, but when night came, she let herself cry out. One night she looked up to a full moon and imagined it was her mother’s way of lighting her dark world. Since then Raven found solace in the night sky.

When Raven graduated from high school, she left that small apartment and moved away with her only friend Donna Troy to Gotham City, for a new start. There they met Jinx, this made Raven feel she had someplace she could really call home and have a family. She entered the new school year without declaring a major, but knew she wanted to be surrounded by books. During her second year in the university, Raven was passing by a small vintage store and through the window saw a mother and her very young daughter look through a worn-out book. In that moment Raven imagined herself in the girl’s place and transformed the woman to what vague memory Raven had of Arella, her mother. That’s when Raven decided she would open her own bookstore, in memory of her mother, and help others find sanctuary.

Raven finally arrived at her astronomy classroom. She sat down in her usual lab table and took out her notebook and textbook. There were ten tables in total, separated in pairs to force students to work together. Though the seat next to Raven’s was always empty, which was weird there were exactly twenty seats and twenty students were enrolled. One student was never called for, yet the seat was taken since no one had dropped out. To act like she could rely one someone, Raven always placed her backpack on the empty seat, the bag was a trusted ally who always carried her things. The classroom was starting to fill as each student too their seat before the professor arrived.

Raven was looking over her notes from last class when she noticed someone out of the corner of her eye standing next to her table.

“Is this seat taken?”

Raven looked up and her gaze widen in shock. Standing before her dressed in designer clothes was none other than Damian Wayne. Like theson to Bruce Wayne and heir to run Wayne Enterprises. What was he doing here?

Raven managed to squeak out a no, and quickly as she could remove her backpack from the chair. Damian sat down, and took out a notebook, flipped through it till he found a clean page. He scribbled something on a corner and then very gracefully pulled out his textbook. This made no sense, Raven thought. Was he the one student that was enrolled and never show up? And why show up now of all times. They were halfway through the semester and come to think he wasn’t around for the midterm they had taken a few weeks ago.

She could feel the atmosphere change in the classroom as everyone stared at the young man next to her. Damian Wayne was someone who didn’t allow anyone get near him other than his family, in interviews and documentaries on his family’s company he was always seen to be at a distance from everyone. Raven wasn’t much for gossip, but all these were just rumors and online news articles she had heard from.

From the corner of her eye she saw Damian read over some notes, he looked so calm. Like he had no care in the world. Which was surprising given to the fact she caught some of her classmates taking pictures of him. Probably posting on their social media pages that the infamous Damian Wayne had graced their presence. Raven would lie to herself if she didn’t admit he was handsome. His olive skin looked almost that of a god of sun, his emerald eyes containing vivid green forests in them. Raven wasn’t staring she had seen countless pictures of him to study his features. The room went silent when Professor Charles, entered the classroom.

Professor Charles was in his late sixties, with a small rounded belly and fine gray hairs still trying to cover his baldness. He went straight to his desk, plugged in his flash drive into the classroom’s computer and turn on the projector. Someone who sat behind Raven, cleared their throat rather loudly making Professor Charles look up from the computer screen. He was about to address the student when his eyes caught something unusual. He removes his small round glasses, gave them a quick wipe, and placed them back on the brim of his nose.

“Ah. Mr. Wayne. Glad you could finally join us. I assume you will be with us till the remainder of the semester?”

“Yes. Professor.”

Raven tried so hard to pay attention she hadn’t been focused in her previous class but now this was ridiculous. Her mind kept screaming:

Ahh it THE Damian Wayne! Is he going to be OUR lab partner?

When did she revert back to a lovestruck teenager? He was just another classmate nothing more. Raven continue to try and focus on the lecture and take notes as the studious student she was. Her mind wondered again but thankfully this time it made her start doodling on the corner of notebook page. She was going to pay for it later, but Raven manage to write down some words she heard her professor say. Raven will have to go over one of her classmates notes after deciphering whatever her brain allowed her to retain. She allowed her hand to move to whatever direction it wanted, she wasn’t paying it no mind.  

Raven stopped when she heard countless chairs screech, she looked up to find her classmates collecting their belongings and heading out the door. Raven shot a quick glance towards Professor Charles and he was erasing something he wrote on the white board. Panicked kicked in and Raven quickly wrote whatever was left of the assignment. Maybe she could ask someone for clarity on the homework through the class’ online portal? Feeling very disgruntle with herself, Raven started slamming her things into her backpack.

“A robin.”

Raven looked up to find Damian standing from his seat staring at her notebook. She then looked down and saw she had doodled a bird, though she wasn’t sure with herself if it was a robin. “I guess.”

“Your favorite bird?” he continued.

Damian was trying to make small talk. Why with her? “Not really, but birds are cool.” Brain stop talking. Raven was making a fool of herself; she flipped her notebook closed and slammed it into her backpack. Out the corner of her eye, Raven could still notice Damian just standing there. Was he waiting for a longer explanation? “I was thinking of some… thing that happened over this weekend. Made me draw a bird.” Truth was she had met someone but he didn’t need to know that little detail.

“Sounds interesting. I’m Damian Wayne by the way.” I know. “I have been away due to personal matters and would like to ask if you could assist me? I fear I may be a little behind and could use a study partner for this class.”

“Well according to the seating arrangement, we’re supposed to be lab partners for the whole semester. I’m Raven.” She extended her hand out and Damian shook her hand.  

Damian smiled at her, “pleasure to meet you.”  

Raven could had sworn she seen that smile once before, but couldn’t place it in her mind where she had seen it.

--------------------------

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this update, I wanted so much to happen but had to pace myself for the sake of this story. I am not sure when I will update this one next, trying to figure out a route that I like best. HOWEVER be on the look out this Friday for the first two chapters on my Dark Robin Au! I am excited to share with you all this fic, also because I want to multitask I will be sharing a chapter  for another longer Damirae fic sometime this weekend. 

Till next time!

~ S.Rose

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

>  I’m doomed >  paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll.  >  help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End. 

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared. 

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest. 

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth? 

It’ll be fine. 

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air. 

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly  from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does. 

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot. 

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge. 

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?” 

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter. 

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory. 

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle. 

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?” 

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease. 

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face. 

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts. 

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body. 

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl. 

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned. 

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.” 

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room. 

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious. 

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture. 

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue. 

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream. 

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back. 

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing. 

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye.  Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

*

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