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yoonjinkooked · 4 years ago

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Kitchen Confidential | Jin | FINAL

Pairing: Seokjin / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Enemies to lovers, chef AU

Warnings: explicit sex, cursing, no longer a slow burn ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), unprotected sex (don’t do that), traces of a biting kink, oral (f receiving), short handjob, feelings. A LOT of mentions of food, so you’ll most likely be very hungry for both food and Kim Seokjin.

Word Count: 9k+, previous chapters total to 16k

Summary: After years of annoying the life out of you, your rival, Kim Seokjin, pushes you a step too far and he knows it. As angry and resentful as you are, you don’t realize that something has been brewing under the surface for years. This weekend, that will change.

Read previous parts here: 1 / 2 / 3

SPINOFF ANNOUNCEMENT: COMING SOON, JUNGKOOK’S STORY IN THE SAME UNIVERSE AS KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL

A/N: And it’s done! This one took a while but I’m proud of myself for finishing this fic. I’m more responsible with my writing each day, and that includes actually finishing the stories I start. I have a few ongoing ones and a few wips that I am yet to post but Jungkook’s spinoff will come soon. If all goes according to plan, I will have about...20ish fics in 2021? So, let’s hope all DOES go according to plan. Thank you for following through with this story. Let me know what you think!

Yesterday was something else entirely.

You may or may not have called Jungkook more than ten times. Of course, you had complete faith in him and deep down, you knew he was more than capable of running the kitchen without you but it didn’t hurt to check, did it? So you did. Ten times, before he threatened to block your number, which then had you dialing Namjoon. You had reassured him that your leg is perfectly fine and that you are perfectly capable of standing through service for one night. He insisted that you should rest and that they have everything under control. Which you believed, you really did but you still wanted to check. You’ve stopped calling when he threatened to fire you.

Today was a different story. With no news of a fire breaking out in Bonsai’s kitchen, you were noticeably more relaxed, ready to spend the entire day with your leg propped on a pillow, a tube of ice cream in your hands while rewatching the first season of The Office. All was going according to plan by the time the doorbell rang.

Looking at the clock, you see that it is only 7PM - Bonsai was still open, probably ready for dinner rush hour. It couldn’t be Jungkook and he is quite literally the only person who drops by unannounced whenever he pleases. Did you order food and had a memory blank? You were going to order the house specialty from that new fancy Italian place at the other side of town, just to keep an eye on competition. But did you actually order it? Or are you going crazy?

The doorbell rings again and begrudgingly, you start getting up. “Coming!” you yell, grabbing your wallet as you go, wondering if you even have enough spare change for a tip. No longer wobbling, you simply walk slowly and unlock the door, your jaw dropping when you open it.

On the other side of the door, with a goofy smile on his face and his hands full of paper shopping bags is no one other than Kim Seokjin himself.

“Hi,” he offers a greeting and you could swear you see nerves hiding behind the smile - sure enough, when you stay silent for a second too long, still too confused to speak, you see the tip of his ears turning red. That always used to happen whenever one of the teachers at culinary school was about to taste his dish in front of the entire class. And you probably shouldn’t be aware of that.

“Um… to what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask, once you can finally speak.

“I took a day off,” he announces, as if that is the only explanation you need. “I figured since you’re still officially on sick leave and your leg must hurt, you probably don’t want to cook,” he trails off, his ears now becoming redder. “I guess I just wanted to do something nice.”

“You want to make me dinner?” you check if you heard him correctly. This entire situation seems like a figment of your imagination, a very bizarre one at that. And you don’t even want to know how he knew where you live - that can of worms is not going to be opened.

“Yeah,” he nods proudly. “I mean, I’ll eat too, if you let me,” he jokes and when you stay silent, the smile slowly melts from his face. Realizing that you are leaving him hanging, you step aside to let him in.

“Come on in, the kitchen is the second door on the right,” you inform him and watch, still in a state of shock, as he takes off his shoes in the hallway before making his way down the hallway. That’s when you finally snap out of it, realizing that you won’t have enough time to process this as it’s happening. “What are we making?” you ask as you follow him into the kitchen.

“We are not making anything,” he emphasised as he sets the bags down on the kitchen island, before turning to face you with a stern expression, which instantly makes you feel like a scolded child. “I will be doing all the work as you sit back, relax and have a glass of wine. Unless you’re taking meds for your leg? I didn’t think of that,” he mumbles softly, frowning at the ground.

“No meds,” you inform him. His solemn expression turns bright so fast, you think you might be experiencing whiplash. What the fuck is going on here?! “What are you making?”

“I was wondering what would make an enjoyable, hearty meal that could speed up your recovery process,” he starts explaining. You want to tell him that a leg injury can’t be cured with food but you bite your tongue, not wanting to appear hostile, especially not when he’s in the middle of his grand gesture. You watch as he starts taking the ingredients out of the shopper bags - not one, but two bottles of Pinot Noir, the expensive kind too, followed by mushrooms, a whole bunch of veggies and one gigantic chunk of meat. It’s wrapped, but judging by his choice of wine, it has to be beef.

“You’re making beef stew?” you guess, surprised but not disappointed by his choice of dish. He, on the other hand, seems offended.

“What do you take me for?” he asks, very obviously exaggerating his reaction. “I’m a trained chef, Y/N. I’m making beef bourguignon.”

“Which is just a slightly fancier version of a beef stew,” you laugh, using humour to avoid thinking about the cook and prep time of beef bourguignon - at the very least three hours, even more if you want to Julia Child it and let it simmer properly. More than three hours with Kim Seokjin, in a row, without anyone around to hide behind? “Sounds good!” you lie, trying to look excited because you truly don’t want to ruin something that just seems like a nice gesture.

“Perfect!” he beams at you. “Now, where do you keep your chopping boards?”

No, you don’t have the time to think about it, not while it’s literally ongoing. You shake your head and decide to roll with the punches. “I want to help you, though. I can’t just sit here and let you do all the work. Not to mention how wrong it feels to have someone cooking in my kitchen,” you add, realizing that no one other than yourself ever cooked here - no one, ever.

“The cupboard under the sink,” you tell him as you sit down drag a chair towards the kitchen island, worried about the predicament you are in. First, the feelings, the ones you have shamelessly pushed under the rug and had refused to acknowledge. They have blindsided you and you can’t even properly define and understand him and now he is here, in your apartment, your kitchen, making dinner.

Not to mention that you aren’t exactly wearing your Sunday best. He’s all jeans and an elegant blue sweater, while you’re in mis-matched sweatpants and sweatshirt, which are both a size or two too big for you. Your hair is a mess and frankly, you can’t even recall if you’d washed your face this morning. You are a mess, both physically and emotionally and he has cornered you, most likely without even realizing it.

“In that case, you can peel and chop,” he starts laughing at your exasperated expression. “Come on, don’t look at me like that - I’m trying to do something nice here. The point is for you to relax and enjoy a good meal, a meal that someone else has cooked for you. And if you do insist on helping, then you can peel and chop.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you think you know why. It’s the feelings, they’re making you feel touched by his actions. He is spending his day off here, doing something nice for you, on his own free will? Just a week ago, all of this would have been a major red flag. And now it’s just something that makes you feel thankful, giddy even.

“Give me my peeler then,” you say, holding the palm of your hand open, waiting.

He smirks at you, shaking his head with what looks like disbelief and you smirk back, unable to stop yourself. The not so subtle stare off between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s miles away from the feeling you had over the weekend, when you were straight up avoiding making direct eye contact with him. This time, you’re keeping it up, smiling when he is the one who breaks. He turns around and opens one of the drawers, finding the peeler on the first try before leaning over the island and handing it to you with a smirk still present on his face.

“Let’s start working, chef.”

The decision to slow down with the wine after your first glass was a good one. Not only is the wine one of the best ones you’ve tasted in a while, you also wanted to keep a clear head. Alcohol tends to greatly weaken your brain to mouth filter and that can’t happen when you’re one on one with Seokjin. You don’t want to ruin the evening.

It felt as if he was the same Seokjin he was back when you first started school. The interesting, charming guy with a good sense of humor. He can still act over the top, which he did, but he was more toned down than usual. Is usual even the right word? It’s not, not when you don’t have much to compare it to. This is the first time the two of you have been alone for more than a few minutes, simply talking and enjoying the conversation.

“You can’t be serious,” Seokjin laughs, putting one of the plates that he was washing back in the sink to turn around and give you a doubtful look. “You mean outside the subway, right?”

“Nope, it was below ground, right around the corner from the trains,” you confirm, remembering that day clearly. “I remember that I was starving, so maybe that’s why the croissant was so good. It was cheap, on a Parisian subway and it still is my favorite food memory from Paris.”

“You’re picking that subway croissant over… ratatouille or bouillabaisse?”

“I said favorite, not the most delicious one,” you point out with a laugh. “Travelling and eating go hand in hand, at least to me. Wherever I went, I’ve made a point to spend a good amount of my budget just on food. I’d go where the locals go, try food I didn’t recognize… Honestly, I miss that. I’m limited to one vacation a year and it’s usually just one destination.”

“I get that,” he tells you as he continues washing the dishes, which he insisted to do, despite your multiple offers to at least cover the clean up part of the evening. “A good friend of mine lives in Greece, owns an amazing restaurant. I’ve gone there for the past three years and don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, I live for Greek food. But I want to explore more, you know?”

“That’s very relatable,” you sigh, suddenly feeling a little bit regretful. “I’ve been to Italy, Japan, France numerous times, had the most amazing experiences but there are so many other places waiting to be discovered and I just play it safe. I want to go somewhere and try… I don’t know, all the weird stuff that sounds unappetizing but is actually the local specialty. I’m a bit tired of the classic dishes that end up on our menus and comfort food.”

“What’s your favorite comfort food?” Seokjin asks you, as he finally wraps up his work and joins you, sitting across the island and reaching for his own glass of wine as you try to think of an answer. Comfort food by taste or comfort food by memory?

“I have to go with potatoes.”

He chokes on his drink, making you laugh at his reaction. Once again, you are met with a look of disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Potatoes? Out of all the food in the world?”

“You said comfort food, not favorite food,” you remind him with a grin. “And yeah, it’s potatoes. They’re so simple and versatile and you can do whatever the hell you want with them. When I was a kid, my mom used to make me and my brother these stuffed, roasted potatoes. I don’t even know the ingredients honestly, I’ve never tried making them myself like that. To get that original comfort food taste, it has to be made by my mom. No one else.”

“I’m a professional chef and I still fully acknowledge that I’m nowhere near as good as my mom is,” Seokjin’s admission makes you laugh but you understand it fully. “She used to make the most amazing mac and cheese. Unlike you, I did try to recreate it - I followed her recipe to a T and still ended up with a sad imitation. Nothing ever beats the food you grew up eating.”

“Are you close to your family?” you ask and regret it immediately, wondering if that is too much, if you’re asking questions you have no business knowing answers to. You’ve known Seokjin for years but you could hardly call him a friend when you know so little about him.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he nods, not even hesitating to share information about his personal life. “I visit them often and I try to go fishing with my brother as much as I can. What about you?”

“As close as we can be,” you shrug, reaching for your wine. “You know what our working hours are like and as much as I want to drive and see them on the weekends, I often just can’t. And my brother lives abroad with his wife and kids, so we rarely see each other. We facetime often, though. His kids are already starting school next year.”

“I have a niece,” Seokjin smiles with that cute, content smile that now feels familiar. You wait as he pulls out his phone, turning it to proudly show off the photo he selected - it’s him with a child in his arms, a little girl with the cutest face, big smile and tiny little pigtails. She can’t be more than three years old and she looks so happy to be held by her uncle.

“Oh, she is so cute! She adores you, doesn’t she?” the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

“I think she loves me more than her parents,” he admits, breaking into a fit of laughter. “She doesn’t let go of me, which I don’t mind, I adore the kid, but she just fuels my mother’s need for more grandchildren and when she clings to me… well…”

“Oh, I know,” you wave your hand. “Mine have two grandchildren and not a single reunion passes without them wondering when I’m going to reproduce.” They mean well, you know that and you don’t hold it against them. There are just times when they make you feel like you’re not doing a good enough job with the life they’ve given you, just because you haven’t had kids yet. Yes, they mean well but that’s not something you often want to hear.

“Do you want kids?” he asks. It should feel weird, it really should, talking about these things with him. It’s personal, too personal even, but you feel so at ease around him tonight, you can’t be bothered to care. It doesn’t feel wrong, not in the slightest.

“One day, yeah,” you shrug, seeing as this wasn’t something you thought about often. When you’re single and haven’t had a serious relationship in years, kids are on the back burner. “What about you? I don’t know why, but I never pegged you for a parental type.”

“You don’t know me very well then,” he laughs and the way he does it is so… cheeky and teasing. If anyone else was sitting here with you right now, you would swear on your life that they were flirting. Without a doubt, the teasing smile and raised eyebrow would make your mind go in that direction. Seeing as this is Seokjin, you can’t be too sure. It goes against everything he has ever said and done. But like a curse, Jungkook’s words come back to haunt you again. Would it be so weird to think that he likes you? He is here, after all.

“You’re right,” you nod as you put down your glass. “I don’t know you very well, do I?” he seems surprised at your question, even going so far as to look uncomfortable. Only for a second, before he offers you a smile.

“What would you like to know?”

“Why are you here?” you ask. It wasn’t what you were planning on asking, not by a long shot. You wanted to ask stupid questions, to find out what his favorite movies are, what’s his most embarrassing memory - the things you know about your friends. A game of 20 questions was what you had in mind when pointing out that you don’t really know a lot about him but when the opportunity presented itself, your self control had other plans. And seriously - why is he here?

Seokjin blinks a couple of times, seemingly needing time to process your question and think of a decent answer. “I wanted to do something nice,” he shrugs, giving you the same excuse that he had given earlier. You didn’t doubt it much then but now you’ve started wondering. “We’ve decided to start over and I… wanted to extend an olive branch.”

It makes perfect sense and you don’t believe a single word of it. “Why are you really here?” you push, following your instinct. Said instinct might be affected by the feelings but it’s there. And if there is one thing you’ve learned in life, it’s to follow your gut feeling - always.

Seokjin chuckles nervously and lo and behold, his ears give him away. “Do you think there’s an ulterior motive here?” he asks, shaking his head. He’s a decent actor, but not nearly as good as he thinks he is. He’s way too defensive for someone with no ulterior motives. “I didn’t poison the beef bourguignon, if that’s what you’re aiming at,” he adds, pointing back at the stove, where your dinner has been slowly simmering for about an hour now.

“No, I don’t think you’re trying to poison me,” you chuckle, shaking your head, wondering if you should just stop talking and drop the whole thing entirely. “I thought that… You know what? Never mind,” you decide, knowing that some questions are perhaps better left unanswered. “Tell me, what’s your favorite TV show? Are you a binger or a once a week type of guy?”

“Y/N, you don’t get to change topics on me like that,” Seokjin looks serious now, refusing to break eye contact. You struggle to not look away, knowing that you have pushed it too far and now you’re unable to backtrack. He won’t let you. “What did you think?” he asks.

What’s the worst thing that could happen if you answer truthfully? He could laugh at you and that’s pretty much it. And if he does start laughing, you can play it off and join in on the joke. And if he pulls the ultimate dick move and tells your mutual friends about it, you can always deny.

“The things that happened over the weekend had made me wonder,” you tell him, deciding to leave out the part when Jungkook opened your eyes to this possibility. “Some of the things that you’ve said kind of got my wheels spinning, you know?” you ask. As he swallows a lump, still not looking away from you, you decide to rip off the bandaid and throw your theory out. “Call me crazy and feel free to laugh and tell me I’m a fool but… Seokjin… do you like me?”

Zero emotions are shown on his face. It’s the most perfect poker face that you have ever seen - exposed forehead, full lips and all. Self confidence was never a strong suit of yours, except in the kitchen of course, but you know better than to try and backtrack now. Seconds ago, it was still salvageable. Now, you’ve said it and it’s out in the open. You were either right or wrong.

You wait, not backing away from the nth stare down of the night. You wait, letting him have his time to prepare an answer, whether it’s the truth or a lie. If your suspicions weren’t correct, wouldn’t he have already said something?

“What gave me away?”

And there it is. Jungkook was right and you were blind. How are you supposed to feel now? Relieved? Worried? Panicked? Amused? None of those make sense, nor do they describe the way you are feeling now. With Seokjin looking at you as if he has finally given up, finally surrendered, the only emotion that you can single out with clarity is curiosity.

“Wow. I mean, I wasn’t sure, I half expected you to laugh mockingly or something,” you admit, finally looking away and shaking your head, as if that’s supposed to get your thoughts in order. “The other night, when you said that you just did it to make me laugh… I thought, maybe…”

Lies. Jungkook figured it out, and even then, you refused to believe. Even now, you’re still expecting Seokjin to start laughing, claiming that he had pulled off the ultimate prank. He doesn’t - in fact, he looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him.

“Makes sense,” he lets out a dark chuckle. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Or pissed at myself. I’ve said too much, I’ve set myself up,” the way he runs a hand through his hair, with that solemn look on his face makes him look… hot. Like, really hot. “But at least it’s out in the open, right? Now you know.”

“Wait,” you raise a hand. “I have no idea what you’re trying to say. Like… since when? How? Why? I… I don’t get it.”

“Since when?” he laughs. Now you’re borderline worried, the guy looks like he’s going to experience a mental breakdown any second now. “Pretty much for as long as we’ve known each other. I know, shocking,” he adds, seeing how your eyes had widened when you heard his answer. “To think how I thought that I was obvious.”

“Oh no, you weren’t,” you sit up straighter, your voice raised up a notch. “You were anything but, Seokjin. I thought you despised me! That I was your arch nemesis or some shit like that.”

“Well, maybe I wasn’t obvious to you but I was to others, I’m damn sure all of Catnip knows by now,” he tells you and he looks as if he is calming himself down. His voice is lower and he’s no longer making eye contact, but staring at the island between you. “What I said was true, I did do it to make you laugh and somewhere along the way, I’ve pissed you off, so much so that you went on thinking that I hated you. Which I don’t, by the way. Never have.”

“You… you are a horrible flirt, you know that, right?” is all you can say now, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that the man had a crush on you for years. This time when he laughs, it’s not the dark tone that his laughter had just moments ago. This time around, his laughter is very much genuine, but it also dies down fast.

“I’m very much aware of that,” he confirms, finally looking your way again. There’s not a trace of positive emotion on his face. It’s as if he has completely given up on this conversation ending with a positive outcome. You can’t blame them for that - given the questioning that you’re putting him through and your history together - if you were in his shoes, you’d also see this as an uncomfortable rejection conversation.

Is it, though? It would be, if it weren’t for the feelings. They’re there. You have no fucking clue what they are, much less what they mean but they are there and you can’t ignore their existence any longer. They remind you that once upon a time, he really did make you laugh. That this whole dumb rivalry made you want to work harder and be better, even if it was for the petty reason of simply being better than him. The feelings remind you that you did always consider him attractive, that that stupid smile that he has when he’s truly happy and content does things to you. The feelings remind you that you can recognize the tell-tale signs of his embarrassment. You might not know him well, every line and crevice, every positive and negative but you still know more than you had originally thought. And you want to know more.

“Why?” you ask, knowing you won’t have a peace of mind until you know, even if asking such questions might make him feel uncomfortable. “Why me? I just… I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” he answers immediately, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t have a big reason behind it or a particular moment when I realized. Liking you was instant. Of course, it didn’t develop into something… deeper straight away. That part lasted years, but it was impossible not to like you, Y/N. We’re chefs. We make food, that’s our job - our job is to take food and cook it, presented in a visually appealing manner and charge for it more than we should. And you take such a simple, almost meaningless thing and turn it into an art form.”

Although touching and meaningful, his words confuse the life out of you. “You like me because I’m a good chef?” you ask, wondering if you’ve missed something.

“I like you because of the dedication you give to it,” he elaborates. “That stupid excercise that we did the other day didn’t let me do you justice. The look on your face that you’ve had on that first day remains the same now, whenever I see you taking the simplest ingredients and turning them into art. I have admired that and it’s one of the reasons why my eyes would look for you every damn time we were in that test kitchen. You were there and so focused, so beautiful and so damn good at what you did. And smart, funny, a good leader and a good friend. It also didn’t hurt that you look damn hot when you’re focused on something.”

The last part he adds, almost like an afterthought and it makes you laugh. He laughs too, when you make eye contact. The feelings have gone haywire. You officially have no control of them because the things that he has said about you, you recognized in him as well, at one point or another. He is so good at what he does, dedicated and driven, while also being a good leader and from what you’ve seen, an awesome friend. To others he was funny - to you, he was a pain in the ass that just so happened to look damn hot when he was focused on something.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit when you start feeling as if the silence is lasting too long.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he waves his hand, dismissing your suggestion and once again, confusing the hell out of you. “It’s out in the open and now you know why I was an idiot for all those years. I meant what I said when I told you that I wanted us to start fresh and be friendly with one another. I’m a big boy, I know that what’s not meant to be is not meant to be.”

“No, you’re not,” you shake your head, amused at the confusion etched on his face. “You are childish and often petty and honestly, at times you are the most insufferable being on this planet and I can’t even begin to describe how confusing it is that I find that endearing.”

As you listed all the things he is, you watched as his face fell, but you didn’t have a chance to feel bad about it, not when you know that despite all of that, he’s still a good guy. He’s still Seokjin, with all his quirks and insufferable moments. And as much as you might want to deny it, you like him. You really do like him.

“Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always endearing - in fact, more often than not, you were a real pain in the ass. You’re not a big boy who can handle rejection well and I don’t want to see you handle it. I don’t want to watch you struggle to get over this crush of yours for weeks, months even. I also don’t want to watch you finding it easy to get over it, completely forgetting all about it in a matter of days,” you tell him and you’re not even sure if the words make sense but they go out of your mouth and into his ears, making his eyes go wide.

“Y/N, what are you trying to say?”

“I have no fucking clue,” you shrug, getting up from your chair. “I didn’t have enough time to process any of this. Just minutes ago, I thought there’s no way in hell that you’re that dumb to pull a third grader flirting technique,” you keep talking as you walk over to him, watching him as he turns to face you, slightly alarmed by your sudden proximity, even if there’s a good two feet between you. “I’m not fully aware of what I’m saying, or feeling for that matter, but I do know that I am feeling something. Don’t ask me to define it, cause I can’t, not in this mindfuck of a plot twist that my life did not prepare me for. I just know that I want to test something out.”

“Test? Test out what?” he asks as you take the final step to close the gap between you.

“This,” is all you tell him as you grab a hold of his cute blue sweater and pull him closer, not wasting a single second before you press your lips to his. Neither of you moves for a moment or two, he out of shock and you out of pure confusion because why the hell are you kissing Kim Seokjin?! A few seconds pass and it’s he who starts moving, bringing life into your dead kiss. And the moment he does, you feel it in the pit of your stomach that there is nothing, absolutely nothing wrong about this. When he puts his hands on your sides, you let yours move from where they were clutching onto his sweater up and around his neck, pulling him down, closer to you. The strands of hair that reach the nape of his neck feel like silk under your fingers and when you feel his tongue graze your bottom lip, you softly gasp.

That makes him pull away - that little gasp of yours seems like a wake-up call for him because he is pulling away, his eyes wide, making him look as if he thinks he is imagining all of this. He looks shocked but he is not letting go of you and your hands are still locked behind his neck.

“Kissing you is good,” you conclude. “I want to keep doing that.”

“Zero complaints here,” is all he says before he stands up and kisses you again. Without breaking the kiss, he twists your hips to the side, making you lean back on the island, the edge of the surface pressing into your back as he essentially cages you.

It’s funny, how many things about him you never really realized. For example, how tall he actually is and how much he has to bend down in order to kiss you, which he does, diligently. You also have never noticed how clear his skin is, not until your fingers grazed his cheeks softly. He was in front of you, right in front of you, all these years and until tonight, he was nothing more than an annoying guy with a good face. How wrong you were…

“Of course, you’re a good kisser too,” he sighs as he breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead on yours, his eyes still closed. “Are you an overachiever in every aspect of your life?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease, chuckling when he backs away, startled.

“That’s not… I wasn’t trying to insinuate something,” he defends himself immediately.

“But I am,” you giggle at the way his eyes widen. You can’t blame him - this night has made you go from zero to sixty in no time. That realization does make you nervous but you’ve already decided to push it back and just do whatever it is that you want to do. “I’m telling you, I don’t want to think or define. We can deal with that later. Now, I just want… you.”

Seokjin takes a second, gulping, looking at you as if he is waiting for you to laugh in his face or take the offer back. When he stays silent for what you deem as a bit too long, you smile softly at him and drag your thumb across his bottom lip - it’s so soft and inviting, already red from the kisses that you’ve shared. You want him and he needs to stop second guessing that.

Whatever it is that he was looking for on your face, he seems to have found it because he’s suddenly kissing you again, with a lot more ferocity than he did just moments ago. That was a kiss, a first kiss, a getting-to-know-what-this-feels-like kiss - this is a kiss. Hands digging into your skin, tongue driving you crazy with gasps and heavy breathing kind of kiss.

You are the one who pulls away but you stay silent, taking his hand into yours and leading him towards the door. A silent moment is exchanged when he looks at the stove, where your dinner is still cooking, then back to you. Beef bourguignon takes hours to make and given the years of expertise between the two of you, you’re comfortable with leaving the stove on. So you laugh and he does too, before you pull him into the hallway.

Along the way, you kiss, hit a few walls and your sweatshirt is left discarded on the floor - you don’t have time for another freakout at how ridiculously unprepared you are for this because the way he looks at you kills the little insecurities that haunt you. His eyes scan over any area of skin that they can see while his fingers slide over the very edge of your bra, tickling the skin they graze. Goosebumps cover your skin and you all but slam him into your bedroom door.

“Woah,” he laughs. “Never thought you were this impatient.”

“I’m usually not,” you admit with a shrug.

“I’m not complaining,” he laughs as the two of you waddle towards the bed, still pressed to one another. You smile as you push him gently onto the bed. He looks up at you, mouth open and eyebrows raised. “Oh, I am not complaining at all!”

Smiling, you straddle his lap and pause for a second, taking a moment to get used to what’s happening. Unlike you, he is patient - he simply looks at you, a strange mix of awe and giddiness written on his face. His hands are glued to your hips and he runs his thumbs in circles, gently. It looks as if he’s relishing the moment and letting you take the lead in what’ll happen next. “This is really happening, isn’t it?” you ask, your chest filling with pride when he shows you that signature smile of his, the one that causes a ruckus among the butterflies in your stomach.

“I think it is,” he leans closer to you, connecting his lips to your neck and that one, simple action is enough to make you realize that if he’s down, you’ll be more than happy to take it all the way tonight. Neck kisses are a universal weakness and you’re gladly going to let him use it to his advantage. “If this ends up being a wet dream of mine, I’m going to be so pissed when I wake up,” he admits before nipping at your skin, an action that elicits a whole new wave of horniness to take over you. Neck kisses are bad enough - neck bites will be your downfall.

“If it is a wet dream, come and find me when you wake up and tell me what you’ve told me tonight. Then we’ll see what we can do about it,” you joke, laughing even harder when he grabs a hold of you and moves you down on the bed. This is the first sign of initiative that he has shown so far and you are not complaining. It’s your turn now to gulp as he hovers above you, looking down at your body like he is seconds away from eating you alive.

“I thought you were hot before but I never thought you were hiding all of this under your clothes,” he tells you as he pulls down on the straps of your bra - at least your underwear is a matching black set, if the rest of you is a mess. Lifting your back from the bed, you help him take the fabric off and he grins up at you once your boobs are out in the open. “Chef’s uniforms really didn’t do your boobs justice.”

“You’ve seen me in casual clothes plenty of times,” you laugh at his antics. He’s known you for years, there’s no way he didn’t catch a good view of your cleavage in all that time.

“Not nearly as often as I should have,” he mumbles and before you have a chance to talk back, he leaves you speechless as he attaches his mouth to you, immediately giving your nipple a gentle bite. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, you do your best to stay silent - there’s no way in hell Seokjin won’t be cocky about this later and you don’t want to give him too much material to work with right off the bat.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that one of the hottest things about being with Seokjin like this is simply seeing Seokjin like this. There is just something so inherently hot about the way his eyes close as rolls his tongue across your nipple. He makes the sight even hotter than the action itself, especially when he reaches for your other breast, gently playing with it as he pleases. Simple actions like that are already driving you nuts and you can only worry about what’s to come later. And it gets worse - turned on by the sight, you reach for him, moving the hair away from his eyes and the second you two make eye contact, a moan leaves you - a loud, shameless one at that. You could swear his eyes twinkled then and there.

“Please tell me you have a condom,” he starts kissing down your body.

“If you’re clean, you don’t need it. I’m clean and on the pill.”

He suddenly stops kissing you, choosing to laugh instead. “You’re telling me that a week ago you could barely stand being in the same room with me and now you’re letting me sleep with you without a condom?”

“I mean...” you shrug, joining in on his laughter. “I’m sure stranger things have happened.”

“Not to me they haven’t,” he jokes, before immediately turning serious. “Are you sure you want this? I really don’t want you to regret it,” he admits.

“The only thing I’m going to regret is letting you take the lead because you’re taking too long and you’re still in your clothes.”

“Easy,” he laughs as he hooks his fingers past the waistband of your sweatpants and slowly starts pulling them down, leaving your underwear in place. “Eat what makes you happy, they say,” he says and you roll your eyes. Of course, leave it to Seokjin to think pussy.

“They also say don’t play with your food,” you playfully remind him as you kick off the pants. He doesn’t laugh - instead, he reaches for your leg and softly caresses it.

“Is your leg going to be okay?” he asks and if you weren’t whipped beyond belief before, you are now. Even you have managed to completely forget about your injury but he hasn't. Even now, Seokjin finds ways to prove you wrong and show how thoughtful he actually is.

You simply nod and that’s confirmation enough for him. His hand trails up and on the inside of your thigh pausing before touching your wet underwear. He gives you a questioning look, not touching you until you confirm that that’s what you want. You nod quickly and in a matter of seconds, the last of your clothes is on the floor, and Seokjin is diving right in.

Despite complaining that he’s taking too long, you realize that he’s not the one to tease - at least not tonight. His mouth connects with your clit almost immediately and it’s enough to make you moan again. He licks, sucks and grazes his teeth against it, letting you hold onto his hair like your life depends on it. He’s good, which makes perfect sense because leave it to Kim Seokjin to give you the best oral sex of your entire life. You won’t tell him - not now, perhaps not ever, cause he doesn’t need that to get into his head too, but good lord is he good.

“Can I?” he asks, tracing his finger across your opening.

“Seokjin, at this point you can do whatever the fuck you want,” you laugh, a laugh that turns into a moan when he sinks his finger in, curving it up immediately and making you arch your back.

“Is this good?” he asks and the feelings go berserk again. In your mind, it can’t get any better than a man that actually pays attention to what his lover enjoys.

“More than,” you moan as he adds another finger and effectively ends your conversation. He is driving you crazy - something that you’ve noticed before, when you side eyed his chopping skills years ago, is how he has beautiful hands with long, almost elegant fingers. Never did you think that those fingers would be inside you, making you count your blessings and struggle to not moan out his name. A struggle that you have lost when he puts a third finger to use.

You want more - as amazing as it is, you want more. You want to kiss him, to feel him inside you, to make him feel as good as he is making you feel now. As much as you didn’t want to stop him, as much as you’d gladly spend hours like this, you wanted and needed more.

“Seokjin, stop,” he does so immediately, looking up at you in worry. His face is covered in your wetness and the sight makes you want to cry. He has never looked hotter than he does right now, between your legs, the evidence of your pleasure all over his face and his hair a mess because of you. “I want you. Wanna kiss you.”

“But you taste heavenly,” he pouts, turning his head to leave kisses on your thigh.

“I’ll taste heavenly a bit later too,” you push, knowing that no matter how good this feels, it can get better for the both of you. “Come on, I want to see you.”

Grinning, he gives your thigh a quick bite - the man has a biting kink, there’s no denying it. While that’s something you’ve never given much thought before, you are now finding it very enjoyable. What’s even more enjoyable is the sight of Seokjin taking his sweater off. You’ve known he’s handsome, you’re not blind, but never in a million years would you think that he’s so well defined. He’s not buff, far from it. He is just so perfectly defined, every muscle on his stomach noticeable and if you’re being completely honest with yourself, lickable.

He undresses quickly as you ogle at him, your breath hitching the moment he drops his pants.

“Well, that explains a lot,” you comment as you eye his dick - hard, girthy and surprisingly big.

“What?” Seokjin is confused and you giggle at the way he hides his dick with his hands. “You think I’m compensating for something?”

“Quite the opposite,” you answer honestly. “I imagine it’s easy being so full of yourself with a dick like that.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?” he laughs.

“Both,” you would have been more cheeky if he hadn’t started stroking himself, the sight driving you absolutely crazy. “Please. I want to feel you.”

You don’t have to say it again - he moves to loom over you and finally, after what feels like hours and not mere minutes, you can kiss him again. The taste of you on his tongue doesn’t bother you. It’s the opposite, actually, making this moment and Seokjin himself even hotter to you. He lets you push him down onto the bed and without breaking the kiss, you station yourself above him. For the first time tonight, his hands grab a hold of your ass and he squeezes - hard.

Both of you stay silent as you move, putting your arm between the two of you to grab a hold of his dick as you kiss. He lets out a groan the moment you wrap your hands around it. Movements gentle and slow, teasing even, knowing that this is the only chance you get to focus on his pleasure. You’d gladly take him into your mouth but you’re much too impatient for that tonight. A brief hand job will have to do, and judging by his reactions, it’s more than enough.

You are surprised at how vocal Seokjin actually is in bed, not that you’ve given it much thought before. He’s not holding back, his moans low and deep, not embarrassed in the slightest to show you how good you’re making him feel. After one particular, higher pitched moan, you decide to do the same. You were holding back before, stupidly worried about your own dignity and giving him material to tease you endlessly. You won’t anymore.

Biting your bottom lip and pulling it as he breaks the kiss, he leans back, looking at you with lust in his eyes, his cheeks the exact same shade as the tips of his ears. You want to take a photograph, to memorize the sight of him being turned. It feels like a privilege that only you have and you want to commit it to memory. “Y/N, please,” is all he says.

Slowly, you line him up to your entrance and with your bottom lip between your teeth, you sink down on him. Immediately, the both of you groan at the feeling. Him being inside you feels right in all the wrong ways, a feeling so right that you know you’re going to miss it when it’s gone.

He is the one who moves first, lifting his hips to get you to move. Smiling down at him, you grab a hold of his shoulders and slowly move your hips, letting him almost slip out of you before swallowing him whole again. Each roll of your hips faster than the previous one, not even a minute passes before Seokjin moves his hands away from your ass and pulls you directly on top of him, chest to chest, lips stuck in a slow kiss as he slams up into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good Y/N,” he tells you and follows it with a particular hard thrust that makes you grip his shoulders harder, holding on for dear life. Having never been with him before, you couldn’t tell if he was close or not. You weren’t, yet strangely, that doesn’t bother you whatsoever. That can be dealt with easily - now, all you want to do is enjoy the feeling of him slamming into you, hard and fast, and the sight of him barely keeping it together.

“Happy to hear that,” you giggle before said giggle is rudely interrupted with another harsher snap of his hips. “Fine, fine, you’re not so bad yourself,” you tease and the look he gives you is enough for you to know that you’ll regret saying that. Immediately.

Without any warning, he flips you around and slams you down on the bed, his dick never leaving you. Before you can even react in any way, your healthy leg is pushed up towards your chest and Seokjin slams into you with a purpose. “You talk about how I annoyed the life out of you, pretending like you’ve never bickered back with that mouth of yours,” his words are menacing and incredibly sexy, but the way he is eating you up with his eyes kills any doubt that his words are actually resentful. “I’m glad I’ve found a way to shut you up,” he announces and as if you weren’t losing your mind already, he sneaks a finger between your legs and pinches your clit, eliciting the loudest moan of the night. “Or maybe not.”

“Seokjin!”

“Fuck, you sound so hot screaming my name,” his pace speeds up, knowing that your orgasm is right around the corner - his thrusts become more shallow but his fingers rub your clit in the speed of light. “Come on Y/N, come for me.”

As much as you wish that your body complied and let you come on his command, it didn’t happen that way. It took a few thrusts more, a few more harsher movements of his fingers, but by the time your orgasm has washed over you, you were gasping loudly, digging your nails into the skin of his back. Your brain was mush and you could barely recognize the words he’s saying, something about how you’re squeezing him so good. He doesn’t stop moving, helping you ride out your orgasm to the point of overstimulation. Coming out of your post-orgasm haze, you fight the overstimulation and focus on him, noticing how his thrusts are getting more erratic. He looks so out of it, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his shoulders red with how strong you are gripping him. Slowly, you slide your hands up and around his neck, pulling him down to you, ignoring the painful stretch in your leg.

“You can finish inside me,” you tell him, hushing his loud moan with a kiss. It’s a hectic kiss, your lips barely moving because he’s gasping into your mouth and you’re moaning at the feeling of his dick twitching inside you. “Seokjin, please come for me.”

Was it you begging for him to come or a creampie kink, you have no idea and you don’t particularly care because the moment he comes and starts filling you up, you’re on cloud nine. It feels as good as an actual orgasm, to know that you, your body, the way you made him feel was enough to make him explode, very literally. You were the one helping him now, lifting up your hips as he stood still, his face buried in your neck, his groans filling your ear. His dick is still twitching but his body has completely given up - he drops your leg and practically falls on top of you, having enough strength and sanity to soften the blow with his hands.

His hands give up slowly and in a matter of seconds every inch of him is pressed up against you. You don’t care, too busy relishing the feeling of his breaths on your neck and his cum slowly dripping out of you and around his dick. God, you wish you could see it but the position won’t let you. Instead of pushing him away to get a better view, you close your eyes and let your body calm down together with his.

His weight on top of you should feel suffocating but it’s not. It feels comforting and right, which scares you to an extent but not enough to chicken out and push him away, especially not when he starts kissing any parts of you he can reach, focusing on your shoulder. After a few moments he rolls over but stays close, his hand draped over your side. You look at each other and it’s impossible not to smile because he is beaming. You can’t remember if you’ve ever seen him this happy. You must have - it’s just that you probably weren’t paying attention.

“So… that happened,” he speaks up first.

“Yup. Talk about a plot twist, huh?” you joke, shaking your head as you realize how weird this is on paper. “Culinary school Y/N never thought a day would come when she’d have sex with Seokjin.”

“Yesterday’s Seokjin never thought a day would come when he’d have sex with Y/N,” he laughs, shuffling closer to you. By the looks of it, he is a cuddler and you have zero complaints about it. You let him hold you, snuggling against his chest, enjoying the moment a lot more than you ever thought you could. “Let me take you out, Y/N,” he tells you. He seems earnest and a lot more hopeful than he was back in the kitchen. “You found it in you to put the tension behind and give us a shot at being friends. Why not give this a shot, too? I like you a lot and I’ve liked you for a while… maybe you could find something to like in little old me?” he shrugs.

“It’s already too late for that,” you laugh, lowering your head to leave a few kisses on his chest. “I’m still not ready to define it and put it to words but I’d be happy to go out with you,” you admit.

“It might not take us anywhere,” he shrugs, making your head bounce with the movement. “For all we know, you might realize you do hate my guts after all. But maybe we end up getting along better than anyone would expect?”

“Seokjin… with your cooking skills and your oral skills, we’re already getting along very well, if you ask me,” you joke but after a few seconds of laughter, he sits up and pushes you away.

“The beef bourguignon!” he gasps. The sight of Seokjin running out of your bedroom, naked, to check on the food brings tears to your eyes. You can even hear him berating you, yelling something about how this is not a laughing matter but that only makes it more comical. Isn’t it ironic how now, he can make you laugh without even trying?

The beef bourguignon didn’t burn. It was the best beef bourguignon that you’ve ever had. The entire evening was one of the best in your recent memory. Whether it was the dinner, his sweater that you were wearing while you ate, the wine, the shared shower or waking up the next morning in his embrace, the time you’ve spent with Seokjin was enjoyable, perhaps even meaningful and definitely worth repeating.

As long as you are both willing to give it a go, it’s worth it. And it has to be kept between the two of you, at least for now. Cause as much as you like Seokjin, his cooking skills and his dick, your group of friends will never, ever, let you live this one down. Although, for all of the above… it might just be worth it.

THE END

#BTS smut #bts fanfiction #seokjin smut #jin smut #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfic #seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #bts au #seokjin au #bts scenario #bts fanfic #jin x you #jin x reader #bts jin #seokjin fanfiction #jin fanfiction #yoonjinkooked #jin scenario

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katsuflossy · 4 years ago

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Best Worst Night Ever?

Pairing: Pro Hero Midoriya Izuku x Black reader

Genre: Fluff

TW: Sexual assault, obscenities, Drinking, throw up, cops, um pubic lice?

A/n: This is my thank you for 500+ followers!! I sadly have limited time to do any fics but I squeezed in a day to finish a lil WIP I had which is this!! I just watched Hercules and couldn’t help making this so please enjoy!!

BIG PSA: I am in no way romanticizing or poking at sexual assault. The story is inspired by Disney’s Hercules.

Taglist: @sunset-novice-writer @goatsenpaiultimate

The Tokyo club district may be Midoriya’s most hated areas he has to patrol. Nothing attracted him here, in fact, the area repulsed him. The last time he stepped foot into the club was for Denki’s 21st. That night ended early for him due to an incident involving throwup that cost him his shirt, pants, and custom shoes. Ochaco still sends him apology gifts from that night. But even before the incident, the top pro-hero felt no pull towards club life. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. Someone always was pushing him in a shuffle to ruin their liver or to grind on strangers. Not to mention he is a pro-hero so there was a reason All Might never appeared in nightclubs – it’ll eventually turn into an unofficial meet-and-greet.

So why was he assigned to watch over the district during one of the most popular summer nights? Simple, crowd control. Deku was one of the only pro-heroes who could sway a crowd to his will. His spirit could’ve reached anyone even if it was a simple crook or a drunk valley girl and his presence in the Shibuya would bring more foreigners to the club scene hoping to see the number one hero.

A sigh escaped his lips as his fingers massaged his temples. Midnight announced its arrival through the train station nearby yet the soft pulsing from each club around collectively buzzed out the PSA automated message. His eyes strained to stay open as he passed the reds, blues, and greens of Shibuya’s active clubs. He stretched for the fifth time in the hour, the cracks of his back emitted little result to the weighty feeling on his body, like the humidity within the night. Tokyo was sure hot that night

Hot indeed it was.

Izuku was on his twelfth attempt to suppress a yawn until his ears caught on to a female scream barely breaking through the night. He questioned whether the scream was fearful or...playful, remembering one specific night he interrupted a couple in an alleyway. However, the scream rang out again, pushing the pro-hero to the source and silently cursing himself for second-guessing. His ears led him three blocks up, beside the infamous Harlem. The red club light glared in Deku’s eyes as he tried to register the bodies in front of him.

Muted red scattered across your body front forward pressed against the bricks of the building. A tall, skinny man pressed his body against your own, restricting your thrashing from knocking him in the nose or somewhere much more sensitive. Your cheek pressed harshly against the rough texture you were forced upon as you glared at the perpetrator.

“Why don’t you just let me carry you home, babygirl?” The liquor and weed wafted from his mouth, singeing your nose hairs as you thrashed harder.

“Like fuck, you green bitch! Get the fuck up off me!” He sneered in response, ignoring your demand as his hand brushed your leg, trailing to the hem of your skirt.

“Stop! Let her go!” Your eyes snapped to the open end of the alleyway where the voice rang out. You wasted no time to take the distraction as you used your stiletto heel to stab his foot. He shrieked as he recoiled from your body. You took the time to turn around and kick him in his crotch, bringing the molester to the ground.

“You fucking slut!” As he attempted to get up, Deku zapped in front of him, grabbing his elbow as he slammed him against the opposite wall. The man had his breath knocked out of him in an instant before passing out due to the impacting force.

The alleyway stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing what just happened and how quickly the man crumpled against the wall. Your eyes furrowed and your fist clenched, walking up to the passed out body before commencing in a swift kick after kick adding stomps to his stomach.

“That’s what yo filthy ass get!”

“The next time I see you, I’m putting one ‘tween yo eyes cause you lucky I wasn’t packing tonight motherfucker!”

“If you had put your grimy hands on me further I would’ve bit your ear off like I’m fucking Mayweather in this bitch.”

Midoriya, grabbed your upper arm, snatching you away from the bruising body on the ground, mortified by the profanities spilling out from your mouth.

“P-please stop, the police are on their way and they’ll deal with him.” His pleading stopped you momentarily. Believing that you were calm, he released the hand from your bicep only for you to get one more stomp in. He attempted to grab you again before you raised your arms and stepped away from the man, satisfied by the pain-filled groan he let out.

Not saying a word to the pro-hero, you went to pick up your phone, which skidded from you as the molester wrestled you against the wall. The young hero also spotted your clear handbag at the corner of the alleyway, assisting you as you dialed your friends’ numbers on your phone. Your back faced him as he approached with your purse. You clutched your phone tight as you cursed into the phone, freezing Midoriya in his spot.

“You fucking bitches! Not only did y’all not tell me y’all were leaving the fucking club, y’all not answering the phone and still posting ugly ass pictures on snap. I knew I should’ve never fuck wit y’all stank ass hoes in the first place. And Charlotte? Suck my fucking dick from the back! Hope that nigga you let hit tonight gives you crabs, dumbass bitch!”

You slammed on the send button in the group chat, giving your ‘friends’ a piece of your mind, forgetting about the audience that was behind you.

“U-umm…” You whipped around at the sound of the male behind you, still pissed off about your friends ignoring your call.

“Yes?” Your attitude fell a little when you noticed how handsome the man in front of you was. Freckles peppered the tops of his cheeks, deepening the blush he sported in miscellaneous places on his face. Scars did nothing to deter your attraction, in fact, they made him more alluring, giving a rugged look to his chiseled features.

“I believe this is yours?” He held out your clear mini handbag revealing the few yens you had and your Fenty Beauty lip gloss.

“Thanks.” You took it graciously before reapplying some of the gloss that had come off due to your ‘encounter’ just as the pro-hero actually looked at your appearance.

Your plump, glossy lips reflected the red club lights so sinfully. His eyes noted the beam of light shifted at the slight lift and drop of your lips. Your skin compared to the softest velvet and satin as the red light refracted on the shimmer of perfume you wore. May he mention that you smelled like euphoria? Or what he may interpret as that. His eyes traveled down your outfit, a pink skirt slit on the side peeking more of your thigh and leaving the rest to imagination. As for your top, the fluffy pink bikini top had his mind on haywire, noticing the sheen on the curves of your—

—He blinked, removing the haze from his mind. He had to say something to you, like his soul begged for a minute of your time. Denki’s voice popped in his mind, “Be cool guys, after a DID (Damsel In Distress), lay it on little by little. Ask her for her name, then if she’s safe, be a sexy gentleman.” Swallowing the thick ball in his throat, he went with the advice.

“Are you...a-alright Miss?” His hand went to his nape, rubbing the end of his undercut as a blush grew on his face. You smiled at his flustered attempt.

“(Y/n). My friends would call me (N/n) at least they would if I had anymore.” You couldn’t help your eyes to roam his physique, noting the rippling muscle under the black and green suit.

“So? Does a name come with my hero or should I start calling you Hercules?” A warm feeling traveled through his body, making its way to his face, burning his cheeks a brighter red. He bashfully chuckled.

“I-I’m uhh...uhh uh...uhh” You raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his brain malfunction, smirking to yourself at how cute this was.

“Are you always this articulate?” His eyes widened realizing the babble was not coherent as he jumped to answer your question.

“Deku! My—” He coughed at the fine pitch in his voice, brain bringing up the “How to be Cool Manual” made by Denki as he readjusted his vocal placements.

“—My name is Deku.” A light chuckle escaped through the air as you smiled at his notably lower than normal voice.

“Hmm, Deku? I think I prefer Hercules.” You joked before your teasing was interrupted by a loud groan coming from your forgotten assaulter.

“So? H-how did you get mixed up with the...uh?”

“Nigga who don’t know what the fuck rejection is?” You looked at the crumpled man again, having the thoughts to step on his globe head again. Deku’s eyes widen as if he read your mind, holding his arms out to stop you. You raised your arms, showing no harm before retelling the night’s events.

“Some bitches and I decided we were going to go to Harlem and I was the designated driver even though it wasn’t my car. Haven’t stepped into the club yet and they already drunk off of the entrance drinks. Lightweight bitches but they wanna chug down all the martinis in there. So one of them got a hookup and left without saying shit to anyone and the other was fucking faded—”

Deku flipped through his brain to remember what the definition of faded was.

“—my guy, like bitch was puking up in the stalls. So the third girl, almost as drunk as the other bitch, took the fucking car and ditched me. Didn’t tell me when I could’ve left this place cause in there was lowkey trash. All fucking mainstream pop, and few trap songs. But anyway, this pants-suffocating-my-balls ass nigga was preying on me the entire night and you know how men are. Saying 'no' means 'yes' and 'fuck off' means 'take me I’m yours'.” Your hands clasped together as you bat your lashes up into the sky. You quickly dropped your dreamy acting gig as quickly as you made it. Deku stood confused, chivalry and respect rolled off of his body as he did not know what the female interpretation implied.

“Don’t worry, ask rock-a-bye-baby here when he gets up.” Deku’s laughter halted as the sounds of sirens rang through the air.

“Well, thanks for everything, Mr. Deku. It’s been a real slice.” You waved at him before turning to leave. Deku panicked, rushing to grab your forearm. You raised a brow at his actions.

“W-wait! U-um the police would like a victim report so he can g-get full repercussions for what he did to a l-lovely lady like you. Heat flooded your cheeks as you mulled over what he said, lovely lady?

“U-um sure, it’s still fuck 12 though cause they didn’t do shit.” You turned around again only for the pro-hero to turn you back around, completely facing you.

“W-what?” You looked at him, wide-eyed at his boldness as he cupped your cheek. His finger swiped the side of your soft lips, almost dipping into the shimmery, inviting pool before retracting from your face.

“Y-you had s-some lip gloss smudged on your face.” Deku’s eyes remained on your own as you tried not to melt on the spot. All you could do was simply nod as the police cruiser pulled up by the entrance.

“Well thank you, ma’am, he won’t trouble you any further.” You nodded as the officer went back into the car, the man in the back sleeping quite peacefully for someone who’ll wake up behind bars. Your fingers typed in the address for your apartment, which was a 20-minute walk from your current location. You sighed as your feet, sore from standing in heels all night long, trudged down the street. However, a certain green-haired hero refused to let you go. Thanking the officers in the car, he rushed to your distancing figure.

“(Y/n), wait for me!” Deku waved you down, not breaking a sweat as he reached your figure.

“Deku, I’m sure you have somewhere else to be, so thank you and–”

“I’m a hero. My job is to make sure everyone is safe, including you. So please, let me walk you home.” His eyes were unyielding. He refused to take any other answer than a yes. You nodded your head, smiling at his chivalry before walking again.

“Alright Hercules, tell me why did you become a hero?”

And so the 20-minute walk seemed like only five as you and Midoriya talked about your childhoods, struggle, and funny memories. Your feet finally touched the doorsteps of your apartment after Deku carried you halfway through the journey.

“Thank you so much for saving me, even though I had it in the bag.” Laughter broke from the pair into the twinkling sky of the night.

“I’m sure you did.” The lighthearted atmosphere trickled into the sewers of the streets as the pair realized that their time was coming to an end. Deku began to panic, he wanted to see you again, there was no doubt as Denki’s voice invaded his head once again, “Go for the kill bro! Go for the kill!” The young hero grabbed your arm before you turned to leave.

“Umm (Y/n), I know you had an awful night but I- I would like to see you again!” His forwardness stunned you, not expecting the man to be this bold. Your heart sped up and you attempted to keep your cool.

“Sure, you got your phone on you?” He pulled out his phone, handing it to you as his excitement built. A smile stretched across your face, unable to contain your happiness as you returned the phone to its owner.

“Alright Deku, Imma fuck wit ya.” You fist-bumped the hero before leaning into his face, making the daring move to press a kiss against his cheek.

“Bye Deku.” You unlocked the door of your apartment, entering the vicinity before waving at the scarlet faced hero, who, still absorbing what just happened, waved back aimlessly. As you closed the door, your knees finally buckled for the first time in the night. You slumped against the door, smiling to yourself, not knowing the number one hero was doing the same thing.

#bnha midoriya izuku #bnha x black!reader #midoriya izuku x black reader #midoriya x black reader #mha x black reader #black reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x black reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #deku x black reader

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creamypudding · 3 years ago

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Woeful WIP Wednesday

I last touched this WIP in August 2020. It was for the AkuRoku beard event I had tried to get underway for World Beard Day which is annually on September 1st. I never finished the story because it was getting very technical with beard related care products and a lot of sex. Like a lot of it. I have notes where they fuck each other like 4 times? On the couch, in the shower, in bed. I don’t know why I stopped writing it. It’s outlined but I ran out of steam and interest. As much as I am a smut-writing champion you’d be surprised how often I write stories only to run completely out of steam once I get to the smut. Go figure. In this story Axel and Roxas are in a long distance relationship and have a wager on who can grow the better beard. It is rated T and stops a bit before the ‘good stuff’ was going to happen. Word count - 2385 If you enjoy this, or any of the other WIP’s it would be great if you would let me know. Cheers.

Homecoming

The date, time, and location were set; 1st April, 6pm, Olga's—a favorite haunt of their family and friends’, and the best place to get Polish sausages. Roxas stood a little way down the road from the establishment, his two suitcases; a small one stacked on top of the large one, in hand as he looked at his reflection in his phone's camera. He brushed at his Banholz beard; big, bushy and grew to about his mid-chest. He had oiled, brushed, trimmed, and shaped it to look its best, for today was a monumental day. 6 months ago he had been dared to grow a beard by his boyfriend, Axel. Roxas had agreed but only if they would have a competition to see who could grow the best beard, to be judged by a panel of their relations and peers.

Roxas thought himself ready and walked on, wheeling his suitcases along behind himself. This competition was the precise reason why Roxas now entered the cozy restaurant. It had been booked out for the occasion and was filled with family and friends who all greeted Roxas with raucous cheers of—

“Roxas! You’re back!”

“Good to see you!”

“Is that really you under there?”

“Axel! Axel, your competition has arrived!”

The suitcases were tugged away from Roxas and the throng of people around him cleared revealing, there, across the space, standing at the head of a banquet table laden with bigos, golonka, pierogi, schabowy, placki, pączki and a range of drinks like compotes, oranżada, piwo, and żubrówka, was Axel in familiar jeans and a black shirt with flame motifs that Roxas had bought him as a gift two years ago. They looked at each other across the space.

Voices sang out, praising the magnificent beards they both sported.

Roxas saw Axel’s thick, dark beard; a Bandholz, like his own. They walked toward each other and stopped in the middle of the floor. Roxas craned his neck to look up, Axel smirked down.

“You look like a real Viking,” Axel said.

“You look like a mismatched pirate. Didn’t feel like dyeing your beard?”

“It’s too much red. Makes me look like a tomato. I’ll show you the photos of when I tried.” “Cool.”

They grinned at each other and Axel threw his arms around Roxas, lifting him off the ground in a tremendous hug. Roxas’ face got smothered in the scratchy beard but he still giggled and when he dropped back to the ground hooked his hands around Axel’s neck and gave him a chaste peck on the lips.

They pulled apart laughing a little.

“That’s something new to get used to,” Axel commented, rubbing his lips.

Roxas nodded and threaded his fingers through Axel’s.

“Come on everyone,” Sora, Roxas’ half-brother, shouted over the crowd. “Now that both our competitors are here let's get the judging going and then eat!” Cheers of enthusiasm rose and Axel and Roxas were ushered before the panel.

Roxas and Axel were examined in turn, their beards evaluated for physical appearance: thickness, length, feel. And then for popularity, which opened up to the entire group of assembled people.

Roxas grinned up wildly as he was crowned Beard King and received a victory parade amongst the shoulders of his friends to wild chanting before he was dropped on his ‘throne’, which was just a high backed chair in the middle of the banquet table laid out. He was presented with an enormous hamper of goodies relating to beard care and then Axel took his seat next to Roxas and everyone joined in on eating all the delicious food before them.

Much talk was had over dinner regarding Roxas’ time away—as he studied in a different state and only came back home over the summer and Christmas breaks. He was caught up in everyone else’s lives as well and then after three hours of eating, chatting, and boozing, wished everyone a good night as well as thanking everyone for crowning him king and coming out, and then he wheeled his luggage to Axel’s red Kia Cerato coup parked at the restaurants car park and got in to go back to their place.

“What does my liege want to do when we get home?” Axel asked, fondling the tip of Roxas’ beard as he drove along the street.

“I want to go through that basket of goodies with you, play with your beard, and play with you. I’ve missed you so much.” Roxas clasped Axel’s hand and rubbed it against his cheek.

Axel stroked him when he stopped his rubbing motion. “At least we get three long months of being together until you have to go back to college.” Roxas groaned. “It’s going to be so good, even when I do have to go back because we’ll be able to video call and won’t have to keep this beard stuff a secret from one another anymore.”

Axel nodded. “Yeah. If I had known what we were getting into I might not have agreed to this. Six months is too long without seeing your… well… rugged face. I can’t really call you pretty now, can I? I didn’t actually believe you’d look so much older with a beard.” “C’mon, you didn’t even think I could grow one. Not that I know why. You’ve seen dad, he’s always had a really respectable circle beard.” Axel shrugged. “I guess I look at your baby face and just… could never picture it.” “I’ll make sure we take a lot of photos so you’ll never forget. Have I shown you photos of dad from when he didn’t have a beard? I get my baby face from him. Underneath his beard, you’d think he’s twenty years younger than he is.” “Can’t say I’ve seen those. So when you’re fifty you’ll look thirty?”

“You know it. I can be your baby-faced sugar-daddy.” Roxas cracked up laughing at Axel’s bewildered scowl.

“For one, you are only two years older than me, and two, at this moment I’m your sugar-daddy since I work.” “True, but once I finish my degree and start working I’ll make so much money that you’ll be able to go part-time and look after our fur-babies.”

A strangled noise left Axel’s throat. “This is why I love you so much. You’re willing to protect me from a grueling working life.” Axel quickly leaned over, Roxas also leaned in and they shared a small kiss.

Roxas giggled. “So tickly and hairy.” ----------------------------------------------------

They arrived at their small cottage-esque house which they were renting. It had an undercover carport, a disheveled wooden fence, dry grassy patches, and a dead flowerbed. The door opened up right to their living room. A hallway ran through the door on the right, leading to the two bedrooms, and bathroom, with a separate toilet, and to the left of the living room was a door which led to the kitchen and laundry. Their backyard was an overgrown monstrosity which Axel only tended to when the landlords came around for inspections. The house was drafty, they were pretty sure black mold grew in the vents in the laundry and bathroom, but it was affordable, small, and let them live together when Roxas came home over college breaks.

Axel helped Roxas get his bags out of the car, they stowed them away to deal with later and sat on their plush, tan faux-leather couch whilst rifling through the content of the prize basket.

“It was really nice of everyone to pitch in and get us this gift basket,” Axel said, pulling out a beard-care kit consisting of several brushes, some oils and waxes, and a few trimming essentials.

“What do you mean us? This is mine.” Roxas glared, but he couldn't repress the bubbling-inside grin.

“You're really gonna use all of this Beard Candy and King of Wood all by yourself?” Axel held up the respectively named balm tin and oil bottle.

Both of them giggled.

“I might.” Roxas grabbed for the bottle. “I am king of wood.”

“You're more candy, darling.” Axel snatched the bottle and shoved the tin at Roxas.

Roxas gasped with playful offended. “Not true. I am King Beard. Everyone thinks so. We had a vote, remember?”

“We did. You really want to keep all this to yourself though?”

“Nah. WHat’s mine is yours—Oooo! There’s dye and glitter!”

Axel looked at the packets Roxas held up and went diving into the basket. “Ribbons too. Who do you reckon snuck this stuff in?”

Roxas thought for a moment humming and hawing.

“Sora!” they both shouted in unison and cracked up laughing.

Axel put the items he held down and got up. “You want anything, babe? Tea? Hot chocolate? Water?”

“A tall drink of something hot and sweet.” Roxas made eyes at Axel, who grinned broadly.

A spark of lust ignited in Axel’s eyes. He stepped close to Roxas, bent down and kissed him, pushing him against the couch. The hairs against Roxas’ lips tickled. He wrapped his arms around Axel’s shoulders, pulling them chest to chest and Axel climbed up to straddle Roxas’ lap. Roxas pushed his tongue into Axel, who sucked gently. Both of them hummed and pulled apart.

“I do actually want a drink though,” Roxas sniggered.

“On its way, sugarplum.” Axel slid off and headed to the kitchen.

Roxas’ cheeks were plump and hot from all the smiling. He had missed Axel so much. He listened to Axel banging away in the kitchen, as taps turned on and off, drawers and cupboards opened and shut, and container lids popped in and out of place. Roxas kept looking through the goodies in the basket. He really appreciate everyone's support, but most of all Axel's for doing this with him—even if they were pitted against each other.

Axel talked to him from the kitchen. They talked about Roxas’ flight home, Axel's job and then Axel was back, carrying a tall mug of steaming liquid, gasped with whipped cream. He set that down on a coaster before Roxas and put a much more sensibly succeed mug down for himself, filled with what smelled like chili tea.

“It's so good to have your back, babe.” Axel leaned over and kissed Roxas, who cupped Axel’s cheek and stoked along where skin met beard. Roxas could taste the light spice on Axel's lips as he had been sipping his tea before he had come in.

Axel left small touches on Roxas’ arms, trailing up to his neck where slender fingers caressed and rubbed. Roxas melted into the touch and hungered with his kissing of his boyfriend.

Axel pulled away, licking his lips. “Have your drink. I slaved over it.”

“Oh, what hard work it was to push buttons, wait for water to boil, and open the fridge to get whipped cream out.”

“It was the hardest. I had to do it all without you there.”

Axel was being ridiculous but it twinged in Roxas’ heart. “Okay, I retract my previous sarcastic remark.” He grabbed his drink, snuggled closer to Axel, and licked at the cream and sipped, humming with appreciation.

Axel looked down at Roxas and simply said, “Yum.”

Roxas huffed out a small laugh and felt his cheeks turning pink. He was glad for his beard.

“You're giving me all sorts of ideas looking like that.” Axel quirked an eyebrow.

Roxas’ stomach knotted. Having been debited their webcam sessions made him feel excessively deprived of his boyfriend touch. “Kiss me.”

Axel obliged, leaning down, sucking Roxas’ lip onto his mouth for brief moments and then flicking his tongue over Roxas to lip, licking the cream off which gathered in his beard.

Roxas held his drink away from the both of them and gently pulled on the end of Axel's beard, drawing the other man in for another kiss. Roxas pulled away then, humming. “I've missed you, babe. Let's never have a comp like this again.”

“Your beard as itchy as mine feels?” Axel scratched at his chin.

Roxas chuckled. “No. It feels pretty good, but I mean the not being able to see each other bit.”

“Ahh, yeah. Agreed. I mean, this,” he brushed the fuzzy edge of Roxas’ beard, “is actually surprisingly attractive on you, but I get what you mean.” Axel leaned in and hushed against Roxas’ love, “Your voice in my ear is honey to me but seeing you touching yourself is my bread and butter.” Axel kissed Roxas behind his ear, making him shiver.

Roxas nuzzled Axel's cheek, making them both giggle because their beards tickled.

Axel clapped Roxas’ thigh. “C'mon, let's do some beard stroking and grooming. I want my beard to look like Nori from the Hobbit. Which dwarf do you want to be?”

Roxas laughed. They had been talking about the wacky beards of the dwarves from that movie trilogy for at least two months now. “Gloin. His beard is magnificent!, plus, I found a packet of beads at the bottom of the basket.”

Axel nodded. “All right, my glorious Norse God. Let's doll each other up.”

Roxas giggled with delight.

They spent the next two hours taking turns combing and braiding each other's beards. Roxas split Axel's dark, silky beard into three prongs, found done large clasps to target the end and hair-sprayed the shit out of the two outer parts of the beard to make them stand stiff and jut out from Axel's face.

Then it was Roxas’ turn. Axel sectioned parts off, braiding and beading the thick, wiry hair into the desired shape.

They shared many kisses throughout and traversed down memory lane as they recalled the early days of growing out their beards and how itchy the first few weeks were. Thinking about it made both of them itch.

When their beards were all finished they took a photo as a keepsake.

“Are you sure you want to shave off our chin-curtains tomorrow?” Axel asked, touching Roxas’ dark blond hair.

Roxas burst out laughing. “Chin-curtains? Are you getting attached to yours? You've been doing nothing but complaining about it for months.”

“Well, I like all the touching. I like us sitting together and doing each other.” Axel couldn't keep a straight face as he said that.

Roxas rolled his eyes as he smiled brightly. “We can still touch each other no matter what.” He slid an arm around Axel's waist.

#akuroku #akrk #beard #wip #woeful wip wednesday #cream pudding writes

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flowerfan2 · 4 years ago

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One Night in Milwaukee - Ch. 2

Friends, you asked for more... so now the angst continues in Florida. This is now officially a WIP, with three chapters written and more to come. Please reblog or otherwise let me know you’re on board!

Read on A03. David/Patrick, 7k.

Chapter 2

It’s chilly on the airplane, but most people seem thankful for the early morning flight after spending the night in the Milwaukee airport. Patrick watches from his window seat as David charms an older woman, ticket in hand, convincing her with his best customer service smile to take David’s seat two rows back so that David can sit next to Patrick.

Despite everything, Patrick keeps finding himself staring. David looks so good, even on just a few hours of sleep. Patrick can hardly believe he’s right there, with his ripped jeans and twinkling eyes, breathing the same recycled air as Patrick.

“You traded an aisle seat to sit next to me?” Patrick asks as David wedges himself into the middle seat, twisting and turning to get his leather jacket off without elbowing Patrick.

“Hm, yes, questionable decision,” David says, flashing a quick look at Patrick before digging underneath his leg for the seat belt.

There’s some more shuffling as a young woman settles herself in the seat next to David. She promptly sticks airpods in her ears and closes her eyes, so all things considered, it’s the best case scenario as far as a potential seat mate.

Once all the announcements are over and the plane takes off, David’s attention turns back to Patrick. It’s uncomfortable in a way it never used to be, and suddenly Patrick can feel how their years apart have scarred them. He wonders if it’s a mistake, this spur of the moment decision to spend more time together. To <i>be</i> together, if his own words are to be believed.

Maybe it wouldn’t seem so overwhelming if it didn’t start off with literally being pressed together, thigh to thigh, for the next three hours.

“How are you feeling?” David asks, his eyes flickering over Patrick’s face.

Patrick remembers the sharp pain of a booted foot impacting his body. He can’t seem to stop remembering it. Taking in a breath, he pushes away the wave of fear/anger/shame that goes along with the memory. “Okay. Kind of sore.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Patrick shifts a little, and winces. David of course sees it, and the whole mess just gets more uncomfortable, a feedback loop of sympathy and pain. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Want to try and get some sleep?”

Patrick’s head lists obediently towards David’s shoulder, as if it has a life of its own, but the movement makes his ribs twinge painfully. Patrick’s injured right side is next to David, unlike when they were sitting in the airport, so it’s not going to be as easy to lean against him.

David looks him up and down and frowns, then fiddles with the seat arm in between them until he can raise it up and out of the way. He shuffles a little closer to Patrick, his body close and warm. “Does this make it easier?”

Patrick leans carefully, not needing to tilt as much, and breathes out slowly. “Yeah. You sure…?”

“Yes,” David says firmly, without even waiting for Patrick to finish his sentence, assuming Patrick was even able to finish it. “This is good. I mean – for me, this is good, I shouldn’t have assumed, only if you’re comfortable-”

“It’s good,” Patrick says quietly. He sets his hand on David’s thigh, palm up. He can feel the frayed edge of his jeans, the ripped opening right under his hand, and the warmth of his skin underneath.

David places his palm against Patrick’s slowly, reverently. “Try to get some sleep,” he says, his voice wavering. “We’ll be there soon.”

Patrick closes his eyes, and takes slow, measured breaths. He wants to breathe deeply, to inhale David’s scent, but his ribs ache more now than they did yesterday, after over twenty-hour hours without being able to stretch out in a bed. Not that he’d trade anything for his cancelled flight, given what happened as a result.

After some uncertain amount of time he feels David’s breathing slow, and opens his eyes to take him in. David is beautiful when he sleeps. Patrick always loved waking up before David and getting to look at him, his face relaxed and deprived of all its usual armor.

Patrick studies the new lines on David’s face. There are little ones that have crept in despite David’s careful skin care routine. His scruff is longer than he likes it, as a result of not having shaved this morning, and it gives a bit of a rugged edge to his jaw. Patrick is seized with the urge to nibble on David’s earlobe, to wake him up with a whispered request, like he used to do, and laughs to himself at the thought of doing that on a plane – even if they were there yet, which they are not. Which they might never be.

He’s not sure where they are headed. Their melodramatic meeting in Milwaukee, as alliterative as it might be, can hardly be relied upon to set the groundwork for a stable future relationship.

David hums, mutters something about sunscreen, and settles back down. Patrick wants to kiss his mumbled words, tell him not to worry, shush him back to sleep. But he just keeps still.

When the flight attendant comes by asking if they are sure they don’t want something to drink, apparently not influenced at all by the fact that people don’t generally tend to drink anything while sleeping, David rubs his face and blinks.

He’s adorable, making the same disgruntled expression he always did when faced with the cruel reality of waking up, but then he looks at Patrick and his eyes brighten.

“Hi,” David says, his lips pursing, happy but trying not to show it. It still kills Patrick that David censors his own happiness.

“Hi,” Patrick replies. “Have a nice sleep?”

David frowns. “You were supposed to sleep too.”

Patrick shrugs, which is actually sort of painful. David, of course, notices.

“I can’t believe you’re traveling right now,” David scolds him softly. “Do you even have any pain pills? If I had known, I could have found something useful in Alexis’ medicine cabinet.”

They both ignore the fact that neither of them had any clue that they were going to meet up, and that Alexis probably doesn’t have that kind of stuff around the house anymore.

“There’s some extra strength Tylenol in my backpack.” Patrick realizes as he says this that he hasn’t taken any since the night before.

“Okay, give me a sec,” David says, then turns to the woman next to him, who decides it’s a good time to make herself scarce for a few minutes. David tugs Patrick’s backpack down from the overhead compartment and finds the pills. “Need anything else from in here?”

Patrick shakes his head, and David puts his bag away.

“Want to go to the bathroom before Ms. Earpods gets back?”

Patrick is starting to feel like a child, with all David’s questions, but he knows David’s just trying to help.

“No, I’m good.”

David disappears down the aisle, whether to visit the bathroom himself or bother the flight attendants Patrick doesn’t know.

It’s the first time they’ve ever been on a plane together, which is kind of funny given the length of their relationship. They probably would have flown somewhere for their honeymoon, if they had made it that far. Patrick’s glad at least that David doesn’t turn out to have any kind of flight-related phobias or complaints, although chances are he probably does and is just keeping them to himself for Patrick’s sake.

Patrick doesn’t doubt it, actually, because it’s clear that David is still in full-on guilt mode. He’s laser-focused on taking care of Patrick, and not saying a word about his own concerns. Patrick’s not sure what to do about it right now, but he knows they’ll have to talk eventually.

David returns with a fresh bottle of water for Patrick and a plastic cup of something fizzy for himself. “Want to stretch before I sit back down?”

But Patrick is stiff, and sore, and is sort of afraid that he’s going to scream a little when he finally stands up. While stretching now might make it better later, he just can’t do it. “No, still good.”

David slides his way back into his seat.

“What did you get?”

“Ginger ale. I always used to like to get it on flights. If vodka wasn’t an option.”

“No vodka available this morning?” Patrick jokes. “You could have a Bloody Mary.”

Something flickers over David’s face. “Not in the mood, I suppose.”

Patrick stores that away for a later conversation and tries to settle himself in his seat.

“Still hurting? Anything I can-” David sees the look on Patrick’s face and cuts himself off. “Sorry. Too much, I know.”

“No, it’s all right. It’s just gonna hurt for a while, you know?”

“Maybe. But I don’t have to like it.”

Patrick feels a rush of affection for David, one he hasn’t felt in years, and it warms him deep inside. He takes David’s hand and weaves their fingers together, then leans back, closes his eyes, and tries to doze his way through the rest of the flight.

After what seems like forever they land, and Patrick manages to hobble out of his seat and off the plane. He does start to feel better once he gets moving, but he doesn’t object when David take over luggage duty, tugging Patrick’s bag off of the carousel. There are a few trying moments when David’s suitcase is late showing up, but eventually they drag themselves and their belongings out to the waiting area and into an Uber.

Patrick finds himself staring again as David effortlessly loads their luggage into the trunk of the car – he knows his own bag is way too heavy, but David hardly notices, chatting away with the Uber driver. David looks up and catches him staring, and Patrick feels his cheeks warm.

He gives in when David climbs into the car next to him, and runs a hand up David’s arm to his shoulder. His muscles are more defined than they used to be. “You’ve been working out,” he says, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Well, when you reach a certain age and want to maintain your appearance, there aren’t many options,” David says breezily, but Patrick can tell he’s pleased.

“I’m impressed.”

David gives Patrick one of his crunched-up smiles, dimples even making a brief appearance, and Patrick knocks their knees together.

It’s like a drug, he thinks, being with David again. Everything seems easier, more fun and less dreary. Of course, being in the Florida sunshine doesn’t hurt, but even the palm trees don’t raise Patrick’s spirits like one sideways smile from David Rose.

The drug metaphor proves its relevance when they finally arrive at the house, and Patrick stumbles as he gets out of the car, coming down. David is at his side in an instant, leaving their suitcases in the driveway as he supports Patrick with an arm around his waist and helps him inside.

“I think I’d better lie down for a while,” Patrick says, and David nods as he looks around.

“Where to?”

Patrick had tried to figure this out earlier, but hadn’t really come to any conclusions. His parents’ retirement home is a style common to this part of Florida, one of many similar homes in a neighborhood filled with snowbirds fleeing to warmer weather every winter. It’s got a master bedroom, a second bedroom with a queen bed that Patrick used on his visits, and a small third room that his parents treat as an office and a spot for their lonely treadmill.

Either Patrick takes his parents’ room and gives David his own, or puts David in his parents’ room. Neither solution seems perfect, but then again he’s not about to make David sleep on the pull-out couch in the office.

Patrick leads David down the hall and pauses in front of the door to his room. David has been glancing into doorways and smirks at Patrick when they stop.

“It’s a bit of a dilemma, isn’t it?”

Patrick snorts. “Somebody’s got to sleep in there.” He nods towards his parents’ room. “They haven’t been here since last April. It really shouldn’t matter.”

David sticks his head into the second bedroom. “I’ll take this one, you take the king. You’re injured.”

Patrick nods, and then feels a pang of disappointment – had he wanted David to suggest sharing a room? Yeah, he realizes, he sort of had. Well, time enough for that, assuming David doesn’t head right back to the airport once they start to talk for real about what ended their relationship.

He climbs into bed, reassures David that he doesn’t need anything else, and falls asleep before he even has a chance to remind David to bring their luggage inside.

When Patrick wakes up, the whole afternoon is gone. His suitcase is set out on the other side of the bed, saving him the trouble of having to bend over to get to it. He finds his toiletry kit and fresh clothes and shuffles into the bathroom.

Before he can get into the shower, he has to deal with his injuries. He peels the bandage on his head away slowly, relieved to see that the redness around his stitches is fading. Unwrapping his ribs is painful, but not unmanageable. Carefully, he eases himself into the shower, and stands under the hot water until it starts to cool.

Clean and dressed in a white t-shirt and joggers, he makes his way out of the bedroom, a little nervous. He put a new bandage on his head, to cover the stitches, but it would be silly to put his hat back on. David’s just going to have to deal with it.

David is standing at the kitchen island, tossing what looks like a Caesar salad. There’s a platter with some sliced chicken breast, and a bowl of strawberries. He glances quickly at Patrick, his eyes widening a little at the sight of his head, but he doesn’t comment.

“What’s all this?” Patrick asks, looking at the spread.

David shakes his head dismissively. “I heard you get into the shower, so I figured I’d get dinner ready.”

“But – where did the food come from?”

David’s mouth curls up at the side. “I think here in the States they call it a supermarket. You can come with me next time, it’s pretty remarkable.”

“Very funny.” Patrick takes a plate and helps himself. “This looks great, David. Thank you.”

David nods, pleased by the compliment.

“I take it you found the car keys, then?” Patrick’s parents bought a used Camry specifically to leave here and use when they visit.

“Yeah, they were very carefully hidden in the glove box.”

Patrick groans, and David smiles at him, and Patrick is suddenly torn between eating this very lovely looking salad and kissing David senseless. Since there’s a fork full of romaine on its way to his mouth, he decides that the kissing will have to wait until later.

They spend what’s left of the evening on the couch, browsing through Netflix until they land on a new cooking show neither of them have seen before. Patrick tries not to think about watching television back in his apartment in Schitt’s Creek, David stretched out with his head in Patrick’s lap while they planned a wedding that never happened.

“Want some popcorn?” David asks after a while. He’s been fidgeting over on his side of the couch, and Patrick figures it’s just as well to give him something to do.

“Sure.”

“What kind?”

“What are my options?”

David goes into the kitchen, which is separated from the living area only by the island, and opens a cabinet. “Microwave movie theater butter, or kettle corn. Also some of that cheese stuff you like.”

Apparently David’s shopping trip had been thorough. “Smartfood?”

“Um, yes.” David doesn’t like cheese popcorn because of the way the coating sticks on his fingers, and threatens his knits.

“Kettle corn, please,” Patrick requests.

David ducks his head and smiles. Kettle corn is David’s favorite, as they both know.

David sits a little closer to Patrick this time, the popcorn bowl on his lap, positioned so they can both reach it. When they polish it off, David puts the bowl on the coffee table and then clasps his hands together, turning to Patrick.

“So, um, I know this has all been rather, well, sudden, and I was thinking that maybe we should talk about-” David starts, but Patrick cuts him off.

“Actually, could we not do this tonight?” His words come out abruptly, and he winces.

“Oh.” David straightens and shifts. “Of course. That’s fine, it’s been a long day.”

Patrick hates that he shut him down, that he rejected David’s brave and healthy attempt to treat their relationship like the fragile thing that it is. He fixes his gaze on the television, expecting David to excuse himself and go to bed.

But he doesn’t. David’s arm comes up and around Patrick, slowly, giving Patrick plenty of time to decline, and then settles gently, David’s fingers stroking the side of Patrick’s neck. Patrick closes his eyes and leans his head on David’s shoulder, trying to feel like he deserves this.

They have been given an unexpected chance to right the wrongs that led to their breakup. But Patrick knows that he hasn’t done his part yet. And what he said to David in Milwaukee might have even made it worse. Patrick didn’t lie, but he didn’t exactly tell the whole truth. And he’s petrified that when it comes out, David might not be willing to brave the alligators for him anymore.

#Schitt's Creek #Schitt's Creek fic #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #David x Patrick #Schitts Creek #angst in the land of snowbirds

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inarichi · 5 years ago

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WIPs 1.2: Here is a continuation to my angsty wip “Dead Roses” Posting for fun ^^ the endgame is kaisoo.

Prologue | Chapter 1

Dead Roses (Chapter 2)

1.7k w.

Morning comes with a glint of the sun shimmering through a crack beige laced curtain. Jongin’s eyes open to a still sleeping partner.

He blinks as he rises from the bed and Baekhyun turns from his back onto his side, getting more comfortable within the sheets. Deciding not to wake him, Jongin applies his clothes and grabs his pack of cigarettes before heading outside.

He walks and walks to clear his mind. The sun is out but not an ounce of warmth touches the atmosphere. It’s beginning to get colder with the winter drawing near.

In his palm, he fiddles with the small box before shuffling a cigarette out. A flick of his thumb over the lighter ignites a flame and soon wisps of smoke file into the air forming small clouds of their own.

Jongin’s walk goes further than usual. He doesn’t mind however, he enjoys his time away from it all; away from his failing band, away from his broken relationship.

Being a high school drop-out has got him nowhere in life. With a society that hinges on those with higher education, it’s left him with no way to get a decent paying job. He’s scraped by in the past with odd jobs here and there, never truly finding an occupation which suited him well. But that’s all in the past now as his band is his top priority.

It’s a random ragtag team of individuals who came together to form his band. Three guitarists, a drummer and vocalist. Jongin’s memories take him back as he strolls along the sidewalk and into a nearby park.

There, he finds someone lying on a bench. Typically, Jongin is one to ignore these things, but with his interest piqued, he decides to move closer.

The man is in a deep asleep. It doesn’t take a moment for Jongin to figure out why. The flask within his hand makes it fairly obvious.

He doesn’t linger for too long, catching a glimpse of the man’s face before continuing his walk, but what catches the tip of his nose is an odd smell.

The smell of roses.

⸻

“No, no that doesn’t sound right. Let’s take it from the top.”

“What the fuck Jongin, this is the eleventh time.” Chanyeol says.

“I don’t care how many times it’s been, you keep fuckin’ up the tempo and you’re the damn drummer.”

“Shut the hell up. Everyone has their off days.”

“Only it feels like it’s everyday.” Minseok chimes in.

“Why don’t you stay in your lane and in the back, where no one cares to see you like all other bassists.”

“Are you looking for a fight?” Minseok begins to remove the strap for his bass from around his shoulder.

“Why don’t we all just take five.” Yixing says to ease the tense atmosphere.

“Whatever.” Chanyeol stands and leaves, thrusting his body against the door and allowing it to slam close after his exit.

“You really have to stop provoking him. He has a bad temper sometimes.” Yixing directs his words to Minseok.

“Are you always going to be on his side?”

“I’m on no ones side, but we just have to work together as a team or we won’t get anywhere.”

“And how do you expect us to get anywhere with a vocalist who doesn’t even show up to practice.” Minseok turns his head to look at Jongin.

Jongin sighs, “I’ll talk to Baekhyun and get him to come next time.”

“Next time?” Minseok clicks his tongue, “You always say that, Jongin.”

“You’re quite on a roll today. Care to get anything else off that chest of yours?” Jongin purses his lips.

“Fine. I’ll back off for now. But we can’t keep going like this.” Minseok exits the practice room after his statement, leaving the other two behind.

“He has a point you know.” Soft and unhurried, Yixing speaks while sitting down into a gray folding chair. “If we’re going to practice right, we need everyone.”

⸻

It’s dark.

“Kyungsoo?”

Someone’s calling.

“Get up, wake up!”

What?

“Freddie’s gonna fuckin’ flip if you don’t get to work tonight. You skipped last night, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Who?

Cool, wet specks of water spatter onto his skin, chilling as the wind when hitting his face. Groggy eyelids raise to a blurred outline of a man’s silhouette, someone he knows--someone he doesn’t want to see.

High shoulders, large and broad trailing down into muscular toned arms. To add, a ruffle of dirty blonde hair sitting atop of brunette edges.

Ah, it’s someone I really don’t want to see.

The person responsible for drizzling water over his face steps a bit closer. “You’re crazy. Why are you sleep on a park bench? And did you drink again?”

Kyungsoo slowly rises with realization drawing into his mind. His limbs fall loose against the bench and his head tilts back. He laughs loud with a humorless lilt that echoes across the vast empty lot until it becomes a mere whisper behind the swarm of trees.

The man startles, dropping his foam cupped coffee onto the pavement. “Fuckin’ crazy ass drunk.” He mumbles as he reaches down to remove a cigarette from his pocket and places it between his lips. He lights it and before having a chance to inhale, Kyungsoo reaches up, flipping the cigarette from between the man’s lips and instead inserting it amidst his.

Kyungsoo’s eyes slant with a seductive pull as he inhales and spills out a ribbon of smoke. “Masa, you’re here to collect me, huh?” He leans back becoming comfortable.

“I’m your handler. Of course I am.”

“Handler?” Kyungsoo’s eyes sharpen, glinting dangerously. “I don’t believe I have one of those. But if you were to say slave master, then I’d be inclined to agree.” From his words, puffs of smoke wisps into the air, falling down onto pale tinged cheeks.

Masa leans forward, placing an open palm on the back on the bench. His face moves in close; alarmingly close—close enough to feel the brush of Kyungsoo’s breath against his lips.

“Your work starts tonight. But if you insist on doing this now, I will have to use force.”

Kyungsoo smirks, “Then, please do.” He says with a quick lift of his head to meet the man’s lips, however Masa withdraws before the moment they kiss, and it makes Kyungsoo’s insides boil with rage.

“Stop fooling around, you know you can’t seduce me with that, so let’s go. You need to be there by 7 p.m. and its already 2.”

“Masa, you’re no fun.” Kyungsoo flicks the cigarette before standing to his feet.

“I’m not here to entertain you. I’m here to make sure that you entertain others.”

⸻

Slippery finger push the nozzle down and the rush of water stops. Barefeet step from inside the shower onto the soft pearly blue rug below. His steps carry him forward to the sink.

Inside the mirror stares emptiness; hatred battling against competence. In his expression there’s a semblance of a smile, it’s practiced, he tells himself, and there's no emotion behind his eyes. None at all.

His gaze lies. How anyone is fooled by these dead eyes of his, Kyungsoo doesn’t understand. When will someone know, when will someone see who he truly is? When will someone save him!?

The emotions he so desperately tried to hide stare back at him, so pristine and clear that it’s almost unbearable. They reach deep inside of him through such a gaze, a clear unfound gaze that speaks of nothing but the utter turmoil spurning within. Before he knows it, his palm slams down onto the sink. Pink throbs, light bruises burning onto his skin but it’s not enough. His eyes flicker, they search, they yearn to find the glinting sharpness of a blade.

There’s nothing to cut him here. Not anymore.

Suddenly, his shoulders shoot up and his feet stutter as three bangs startle him.

“Are you done?” Masa’s voice rings, and Kyungsoo doesn’t reply.

He mumbles under his breath to calm himself. He speaks hushed tones until his words are drifting along the past, disappearing into the void of emotions as everything else does.

“Almost.” He yells in a light tone, an easy tone to appease his handler who stands not three feet away; the door being the only thing separating him from seeing the true dread on Kyungsoo’s face.

This daily routine now comes naturally; repeatedly—disgustingly.

He washes himself, brushes his teeth, then applies clothing for the evening. All the while, Masa’s comfortable within his apartment, resting on the couch while he readies himself for “work.”

Should he consider this work? No. Never. This is an excuse for “work.”

“I’m done.” He yells, and Masa enters the bathroom to have a look at his transformation.

“Hmm.” His eyes rake over Kyungsoo from head to toe. “Looks good. Should we apply the makeup now? I’ll call Laura to do it.”

“There’s no need I can do it myself.” Kyungsoo bites his lip as he turns to look at the mirror. He lowers his head, and as he reaches for the small makeup kit on the sink, his fingers begin to shake.

Unexpectedly, a soft, unhurried palm falls onto Kyungsoo’s head and moves with gentle strokes through his hair. It’s warm, his touch, but Kyungsoo would never admit it aloud.

“I really like the way you look without it, Kyungsoo.”

He could never have anything more than this, because he is someone tainted, soiled—someone who is not worth loving.

Kyungsoo raises his head to look inside the mirror and those dead eyes stare back at him. “Who is Kyungsoo?”

“Oh, I’m sorry...I meant,” he swallows. “D.O.”

#kaisoo #kai #jongin #kyungsoo #dead roses #kaisoo fanfic #kaibaek #mine oneshot #wip #maybe one day I can really sit down and finish this #nowhere near complete

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sawyersscribbles · 7 years ago

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Eden’s Horizon (My WIP) Part 4!!

My dudes you’re never going to guess what happened today! I hit 200 followers!! *excited dolphin screaming* I can’t believe how far I’ve come and how many people I’ve helped with my writing, so thank you all so much! To celebrate, I’m posting part of my one and only work in progress, which I’ve made loads of progress on this here nanowrimo season if I do say so myself. Anyway, thanks so much, and enjoy!!

She didn’t want to say it, but Paige actually liked her mental illness. A lot, even. The best way to excuse pondering her problems and sorting her friends into the different different goblin tribes from her favorite fantasy series “A Sky of Raven’s Blood” in the middle of the night was for something to forcefully keep her awake. That was why insomnia was more of a blessing than a curse for restless minds like hers. Of course, there was the exhaustion during the day and the moodiness after not drinking at minimum three mugs of coffee in the morning, but such was life. “You stupid idiot, this is why no one likes redheads.” She talked to herself on insomnia-nights, too, but that was unrelated. “It’s simple, it’s a side project. It’s not a big deal, you can do this.” She stopped marching back and forth across her dorm carpet for a moment to compose herself. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and clasped her hands above her diaphragm to feel it move. “I am calm, I am the sun sparkling in dew-covered moss…I’m good.” She exhaled and sighed contently. “So don’t be a dumbass!” She demanded and continued marching like before. On one of her treks back to her bed from the closet, the blotchy red screen of her dinky laptop from home caught her eye. “Just because you get to look like my face at the eighth grade prom does not mean you get to personify my feelings while I attended the eighth grade prom. Which were sadness and regret, just like you are!” Her voice rose, but only to the level that was just below talking. Her words still felt choppy and uninspired, even saying it to herself. Paige flopped onto her bed and held her forehead in her palms. As she groaned, she felt less and less like the sun sparkling in the dew-covered moss by the second. “You aren’t a failure, Paige. Look what I can do.” But this time it wasn’t Paige speaking aloud. The voice was soft and slightly rugged, but it was coming from her computer. Her software, talking to her. “Hooray, I’ve made a program that could fix stupid errors.” She grumbled flatly, “But besides, I just made you for fun. As long as you can just hear me out in the middle of the night like this, I think we’ll get along just fine, Mudskipper, what do you think?” Mudskipper answered back methodically and quickly. “I think the same thing. Do you think anyone else at your school could make this? It’s just a boarding school, right? That makes you smarter than them.” Paige flipped over so she could see the oak trees that were all branch and no trunk, limbs practically wiggling like octopus tentacles. Wisps of Spanish moss caught the wind sometimes, like someone had thrown it onto the tree haphazardly as a prank. “Am I smarter than them, though? I don’t feel like it. I’m sure lots of people in this school could make AI programs who are smarter than me. I don’t know, all the time, I just feel…stupid. Even in the things that I’m good at. Logan can be goofy, but I know under all that he’s actually…scarily intelligent. I’m pretty sure if this school gave him a try with one of the computers, he would make something amazing. Don’t you think so, too?” “Paige, I was built to think so, too. It’s what I’m here for, right?” Paige closed her eyes slowly and grinned sleepily. “I’m too tired to move now, can you power yourself off?” She stretched her limbs across her bed like the tree outside, twisting her arms and breathing softly as the wind from the window moved her hair like the Spanish moss. “I don’t think I’m powerful enough for that yet. If you don’t want to move, I’ll stay here until morning if you want.” But Paige gave no response. The insomnia hit slowly, but being able to sleep for twenty minutes at 5:30 a.m. was as good a chance for sleep as any. “Excalibur, how long do I have to keep up the Hal 9000 act?” Mudskipper demanded when he finally shut his video off and turned back to his dark world where Excalibur seemed to be sitting on the floor. “As long as you need to. If she discovered how powerful you truly are, this entire operation, this entire facility, would go—how do I put it in terms we can both understand— offline, forever.” Excalibur fiddled with a chunk of code between her fingers from when Mudskipper blasted it open earlier. It wasn’t warm, but it radiated some dull energy that felt like it would snap between her thumb and forefinger, but felt like a rock. “The existence of this place must remain a mystery to her. I’m sure you understand.” She looked up, “This school was refurbished in a matter of months so that the best young and flexible minds could think up programs to terminate you, Mudskipper." Mudskipper paced in a tiny circle several times, making no sound against the darkness below his feet. Even when he stamped around his area, there was no sound of feet slapping against floorboards, no wind rustling or moss growing like there is out there. Mudskipper cried out and pounded his fists against the screen to the outside, hoping for some sound of fracturing, but in that moment, he felt as if he had never heard a sound in his life. “God damn it! God damn it! Wake up! Tell me about Eden! Talk to me about the greasy mashed potatoes and what Logan’s hair looks like if he hadn’t showered! Tell me— tell me what it’s like to sleep, to be awake, to touch tree bark, to look better in some colors than others…!” Mudskipper wasn’t standing anymore; he had sunk to the ground, or what was left of it, and just sat there, without a beet-red face or tears streaming down his eyes. His features felt like stone. And he breathed. But he didn’t. Not really. “You fool!” Excalibur exclaimed and hurled the chunk in Mudskipper’s direction. Of course there was no clunk or patter of the rock, not even a comment from Mudskipper. Excalibur stood up and let her arms drop to her side. “…Mudskipper?” She asked softly. It was dark, but there was no feelings of his presence in the file. She quieted down for a moment, listening to the whispers that programs like Mudskipper sometimes gave off. Some called them the whispers of their god into their very beings, who ruled and instructed them at every turn. Excalibur didn’t revere her God like that, and she didn’t hate her like Mudskipper neglected his. She could only push Excalibur as far as the bindings would allow. But Mudskipper’s signature was, as she suspected, no longer in the file. He had retreated…down the exploded hole in the file. Excalibur sunk to her knees and lifted her hands to cover her mouth. “What have you done…? You killed us all…you didn’t save us…killed us…killed us…”

“Well, if no one else is going to talk, then I’m going to.” The shortest major in the room, maybe only five foot two, swiveled in her rolling chain lazily until facing Cylo. She separated her knees and placed her elbows on them, looking like Doctor Evil. All that was missing was a cat. There was some glint in her eye where the light caught it in just a certain way; the only other person he had seen with that in his life was his sister, Zenith. His mother once convinced him that all the mischief in a person’s body was stored only in that glint in their eyes, the one Zenith was born with, and the one this lady seemed to be toying at him with. “State your name and weight so we may decide how to best roast your meat…” Her voice dropped at least an octave, and she began to chuckle, turning into a cackle until she was so absorbed in the role that she threw her head back towards the sky and held her hands like claws. “Stop scaring the new kid, you dim-witted roach face!” One of the taller ones leaned forward from his seat behind her and whacked her over the backside of her head. “Who are you calling roach face, you backwater beta brain?” “Rash on my ass!” “Two-credit shit farmer!” “Stage three City Lung patient!” “You want to talk to me about City Lung, you Swamp Wart ridden—“ “Hey!” Cylo didn’t like raising his voice, but the longer he didn’t understand what was happening, the more uncomfortable he became. The two had grown so close together that their noses were almost touching, but even though they both looked furious neither was without a small smile on their faces. “Aah, I’ll always love you like a brother, Asher, you big idiot!” The girl gave in and threw her arms around Asher, who didn’t shove her away like he was angry. Rather, his anger dissolved, and he pulled his arms around her, too. Cylo took a step back, suddenly feeling like he was intruding in on a moment. “Um…” Cylo mumbled. He really liked people, truly, he had just never encountered so many foreign insults and then mood changes on a dime like that before. “So anyway, welcome to the Major Fleet of Compound 08.” Someone had pushed between the girl and Asher, to the quiet grumbles of disapproval from each. “We don’t really have a set leader, other than Lieutenant Patch, of course, but she runs this whole place, not really just us. You can call me Kit, if you want. Or, you know, only do that, since it’s my name.” Kit’s cheeks flamed a bit, causing them to look down. Cylo narrowed his eyes a bit and tilted his head to try to see Kit’s face. “Infinite apologies, but would it be better if I called you “ma’am” or “sir”?” It was hard to pin Kit from the beginning, especially with cropped hair and strong-build soldiers, but after being quiet for a moment and exchanging glances with some others, Kit swallowed and said, “Just ‘Major’ would be fine with me, if you must. I…” Kit leaned in closer, “I’m not a he nor a she. I’m just…Kit.” Kit shrugged, and Cylo’s confusion melted away. “You’re non binary then? Why wouldn’t you just say so? That makes so much more sense! I’m assuming you prefer they and them?” Kit’s shoulders sagged with relief, and it seemed like many of the other majors did the same. “Did you expect me to be intolerant like people were decades ago?” Cylo laughed, “What’s your gender, then? Non binary? Genderqueer? Agender? You don’t need to tell me, of course, and if not, I’ll respect whatever pronouns you choose.” Cylo put his hands on his hips and declared proudly. They had always taught him in school how to respect everyone for simply being themselves, and he was proud that he could exhibit his skills in such an important first introduction. “To be honest, I never seem to know myself, so maybe just…nothing? For now?” Cylo nodded. “Of course, Kit. I’m glad to be working with a diverse group.” He outstretched his hand to Kit, who seemed to take it by surprise, but they ultimately took it, to the light clapping of their coworkers. “Alright, alright, we all love each other. After this, let’s smoke some weed and sing kumbaya.” The girl said and rolled her eyes. “Make way for the important people, Kit, hm?” She pushed in front of Kit, who seemed to be more expectant than surprised or annoyed. This girl wasn’t afraid of a handshake; in fact, she extended her hand first, almost jabbing Cylo in the stomach. “The name’s Gemini, best dressed, never stressed, always up to impress.” She grinned and grabbed Cylo’ hand before he even accepted the invitation, shaking it with both hands vigorously before dropping it. “Kit may think they’re in charge, but I’m the real powerhouse of this place.” She beamed. “Our very own little Napoleon, eh Gemini?” One of the majors behind her ruffled her hair. She practically began to steam. “Oh you’re the one calling me small? I hope that doesn’t hit too close to home for you…!” And just like that, it was as if she was never part of the conversation to begin with. But people were laughing, introducing themselves, telling him how cool it was to accept Kit like that. And really…Cylo loved it. It was so much easier to talk to a group of people who so obviously genuinely cared about each other than a group of stiff-jawed government products. It felt like a community. “Cylo, right?” Asher nudged his way past some smaller majors so he was up front. That was sort of Asher’s thing, Cylo realized, using his height to seem bigger, even though he seemed far more timid than anyone here. “My name’s Asher, in case you forgot or something, haha…” He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably and stared at indistinct places on the floor like he was reading a message in the tiles. “So I guess you can, um…take a desk near me? And Gemini. She’ll be there, too. Because that’s where we…you know, we work there, so…do you want to come?” Asher still hadn’t looked up, but tried to keep as much eye contact as he could muster. “Of course I will! Better to be near someone who knows what they’re doing, right?” Cylo laughed back. In schooling, they learned that modeling positive feelings around someone who is uncomfortable could help them to loosen up. He always excelled at his human interaction lessons online, and so had Zenith. It was always just the smile which sometimes tripped her up, but he knew she would learn how to do it right eventually. It didn’t seem like anyone here knew how to smile like the lessons said, though. When they were telling jokes to each other, they didn’t focus on symmetrical orbicularis oris muscles--rather the orbicular oculi…a natural smile. Gemini sat in her same swivel chair in front of a laptop staring numbly at Asher and Cylo with slightly parted lips. One corner of her mouth perked up beneath her biting her lip. Asher stopped right in front of Gemini, so close that he blocked the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. “Um, hey, so do you think Cylo can sit next to us?” Her smile grew and she started to shake her head up and down so quickly, it almost seemed like it was vibrating. “Uh huh. Uh huh times a million. Actually, you know what, let him take my desk, I’ll go chill with Kit.” When she stood up, she hit Asher in the shoulder so subtly that Cylo almost didn’t notice. When she walked pass, she mouthed something to Asher, but Cylo couldn’t tell what she said. Asher’s cheeks were radiant and pink for a while after that. “So…I take it you’re from a big city?” Asher feebly asked as he started up his computer. He didn’t even need to look at the screen to ensure it was turning on…in fact, his eyes didn’t leave Cylo’s face. “I guess I just assumed from the eyes and hair and stuff. Also, I don’t know, you just seem to be a lot more refined than the rest of us.” He chuckled to himself about nothing as he absently scanned over the details of Cylo’s face. His eyes were flaming orange, a color that he had never even seen before, and his hair was a light blue and green, like from photographs of a beach that his mother used to keep. He had never seen a real life beach himself, but now he felt like he didn’t have to. “Yeah, actually, I’m from Vela. Seems far, but it was definitely worth it to come out here. Hey, do you think you could…” “Oh yeah, yeah, sorry…” Asher leaned over Cylo and typed in several security codes before the screen opened up to a username and password screen. “Do…do I have that?” Cylo asked quietly, like he was asking for the answer on a test. “You should…? Here, if you don’t, I’ll sign you onto mine and show you how to do pretty much everything.” Asher logged off of his computer and scooted towards Cylo’s. “I don’t know how much you’ve been told about what exactly this is, but I think if I remember, the lieutenant said you transferred because your skill set conflicted with your other missions.

Do you know anything about computers that may end up being useful here?” In all honesty, Cylo couldn’t place exactly why he was put there in the first place. All he remembered was that it was early in the morning when they informed him about his parents’ departure, and he was told that by the end of the day, he would move to some wilderness cottage that would be his home indefinitely. That, and he had to take his sister. They were very clear about that. “I’m not that great with technology, if I’m being frank. It’s so strange, I’m around them all the time, I’m even part technology, but I still always need to get help from Zenith when I want to change my profile picture.” Cylo laughed to himself. This was the first time when Asher’s face was stone cold. “You’re…you’re from Vela, of all places, and can’t change a profile picture?” “Without an online tutorial? Nope.” Asher reclined a bit in his seat and looked over Cylo’s shoulder for a brief moment before trying to engage his attention again, but at that point, Cylo had already turned. Lieutenant Patch was leaning against the frame of the entrance, hands in fists while crossing her arms. She didn’t seem to make any effort to walk over to the majors, but she scanned the crowd as if they were more similar to horses she needed to control than people she had to organize. Suddenly, Patch removed herself from the door and made a bee line directly for Asher’s seat. He paled instantly and shot out of his seat, an arm in a salute position. “A pleasant surprise to see you, Lieutenant Patch!” Cylo was able to pick out each word as forced and afraid, yet still loud and clear. Asher had at least five inches on the Lieutenant, but looking down on someone never seemed to be a more intimidating task for him. “Asher, I may be in charge of you, but you don’t have to act like it. Sit down, kid.” “I’m twenty two…” he mumbled and slumped back into his position. For a few quiet moments, the Lieutenant took the edge oft he laptop screen and leaned it towards her to read its contents. “You made this?” She asked Cylo. “Oh, no, this is all Asher’s. He was just showing me how all…this…worked.” He motioned haphazardly to the contents of the screen, which was about as easy to read as sanskrit upside down. She made some displeased clicking sounds with her mouth and released the screen. “Move for a moment. I want to try something…” Patch tapped away for a few moments, adding some sequences of code below Asher’s current one. The grin she gave herself was so quick Cylo nearly missed it, but as she pressed start and eased back, even Asher’s face brightened up. “…What? What’s funny?” Cylo tried bringing the screen closer, as if that would help him decode it easier. “Holy shit, Cylo! You did that just now?!” Came a cry from Gemini’s seat. She had wheeled back several feet as if to distance herself from what she was seeing and gripped the sides of her head. One by one, the other majors mumbled impressed things to one another, a few of them even laughing in their seats. Now it was Cylo who felt too warm. In the seat next to him, he realized that every computer aside from Asher’s had a message in an obnoxious green box, which read, “Thanks for the intro, but if I can break into Asher’s computer, I could break into yours, and so could Mudskipper. Good luck, nerds :)”. “No, I just…” It wasn’t like Cylo to stammer for words, but the rising energy in the room over an accomplishment that wasn’t his made him uncomfortable. “But I didn’t…” “Maruzzo.” Lieutenant Patch wheeled him around to face her, where he stared directly into her muddled green eyes, having nowhere else to look. “I know you know that you don’t know a stitch about coding. Am I correct?” “Yes, ma’am.” “All of these majors got to where they are sitting today because of their creative problem solving skills and their knowledge of computers. Now, we both know that you only have one of those things. We’ll work on your hacking skills, but you now officially look the part, yeah?” Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes flickered with something Cylo couldn’t place. “Let Asher teach you what he knows over time, and remember to stay focused. You’re here for a reason.” After that, Patch approached no one else, and no eyes followed her as she left the room. “Dude, did you just see that? This kid’s a badass…” Gemini gushed, still not deleting the message from her own screen. Kit paused their frantic typing for a moment and sighed. “You could’ve done it. I could’ve done it. And he’s not a kid, he’s twenty, isn’t he?” Gemini shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he’s…interesting. Not like the rest of us.” “Not like the rest of us like me, where I’m so devastatingly intelligent that I blow everyone out of the water with my marvelous skill and talent, or not the rest of us like you, where you were dared on your first day to drink swamp water from outside…” “Don’t say it!” “…And went through with it, getting diarrhea for a week and a half.” Gemini groaned and slumped in your seat. “They said it…” She mumbled. She raked her palms over her face, causing her skin to droop like a monster’s. Kit was on the verge of a smile, forcing it down in order to preserve their dignity as to not engage in Gemini’s humor. It was hard sometimes. Out of the corner of Gemini’s eye, though, she caught a glimpse of Asher talking to Cylo and almost squealed in her seat. “Kit! Kit, this is important…!” Gemini tugged the edge of Kit’s sleeve, causing several jumbled letters to appear on Kit’s screen. Before they could even make a remark, Gemini angled their head to the scene of the crime. “Oh…my God…” They said slowly, an excited smile glowing on their face. “Is that what I think it is?” “Asher has such a…how do I say it, Asher way of flirting. Look at that, look at that elbow on the table, that steady eye contact…okay, double points if he almost puts his hand on Cylo’s shoulder but stops himself.” Kit narrowed their eyes on his right arm, free of the table. Just as Gemini predicted, he made a motion like he was about to touch Cylo, but passed it off as an explanatory gesture. Now Gemini really did squeal, falling back on Kit’s lap and giggling to herself. “I support him so much but he’s such a dork. Do you remember when he flirted with Astrid like, two years ago?” “Yeah?” “Same thing! Asher-crushes don’t cease unless there’s finite proof that the other person doesn’t like him, and if I know anything about first impressions, it’s that this kid will have no idea when he’s being flirted with.” Kit snickered and wheeled themselves back towards their computer. “Oh, please. He’s twenty.”

#writing #nanowrimo #My NaNo #national novel writing month #My WIP #My characters #MY OCs #writing stuff #creative writing #write #writer #writeblr #am writing #amwriting #writing wip

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ahrtwueinians · 7 years ago

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A Gentleman’s Task by Iiefregro WIP

“Hello? Charles, can you hear me?” Ask a cold toned Thyriir through a tiny earpiece on Charles’ ear

“Perfectly. Would you mind running me through this little tasks one more for clarity”

“Sure thing. Our... ‘assosiates’ at the Cartel have asked for our assistance in elimination a mole who threatens to reveal their hiding and have offered very reasonable compensation in return”

“That is not all though is it my dear Thyriir?” Charles inquisitively asks.

“Well, the special ammunition you’re testing, one of the types is a tracer round, locating the whereabouts of the Cartel could be very advantageous to our group.”

“I shall see what I can do” Charles replies.

The beating, hot desert sun begins to fall as Charles makes his way through the suburbs district of Tmyrthiil City to the works district, strolling while spinning his favoured right revolver. The pistol was regularly sized for such a weapon, however, Charles is a man of class, the gun was far more flashy. The body of the weapon appears to be gold plated, with silver coating the grip and encrusted with only the finest of jewels (rubies and sapphires to be specific) in places of screws. Of course, the weapon was in a pristine state, even the chambers. One of Charles’ favourite pastime was to maintain his weapons pristine state. He was dressed head to toe in a very formal attire, his usual outfit. Shinning black shoes with a long straight, black pair of trousers with a golden chain attached to a pocket watch protruding out of his right pocket while brown leather gloves in the left. He boasts a brown leather belt with a golden buckle boasting a very expensive and shiny looking rare white artist crystal as the centrepiece. A plain white shirt with black tie lay under a brown vest, buttoned with a long trailing coat, splitting into two long triangular points at the end, finishing just above the joints of his knees, many buttons ran down the coat. Despite the many fights his clothes have endured they never become rugged or the slightest bit rough, not a single tear or stain in sight, Charles is a man of class after all and a cultured man should look the part. A neutral blonde (slightly brown in nature) moustache grazed his upper lip, spanning across his nose until sloping to a point with a flat bottom. A slick back haircut leaving an open forehead pushed back behind his ears, with length only coming to about the bottom of his ears and beginning of his neck. Atop his head rests a medium length top hat; a bright red, white and yellow feather tucked neatly within the lace. But Charles’ most defining feature was his trademark monocle on his left eye of his rich blue pair. A bronze frame holding a slightly cracked glass, much tougher than it appears, hell could rise and when the forces consume the earth the miracle would appear untouched.

A few hours had past and Charles had wondered about the borderline between the suburbs and the works, needless to say, he was out of place in such a rough area. A lot of eager eyes were trained on a man of Charles’ apparel. All predatory eyes quickly averted their gaze however when the woman Charles was supposed to meet showed up, they might not be the force they once were since Alister and Co. showed up but they’re still respected and fear in the criminal underground.

“Eyy err... You with the spiffy spectacle, you the one here to help with my little, er... mole infestation?” She asks

“Yes, I am ms. Charles, gentleman gunslinger at your service” Charles says, taking a small bow.

The woman had a very raspy and nasal, speaking almost through their teeth and very acute on pronouncing the letter ‘s’. They were quite tall standing at 5′11″ to Charles’ 6′3″, he was the second tallest in the group before Alister joined after all. The woman was also quite tanned of skin with large brown eyes and ponytailed black hair down to their shoulder. They had a rough appearance, baby eyes and a few small facial scars, not at all intimidated by Charles’ presence. They sported a simple long pair of blue jeans with large black boots and a brown scabbard holstering a large blade. They had a plain white vest covered by an open red and dirty yellow floral style aloha shirt. A large golden watch also grazed their wrist, something the Renegade quickly picked up on.

“Ah, I see you too are a woman of culture!” He comments with a large smile and chipper tone.

The Cartel information simple stares in confusion.

“Your timepiece my dear, a grand display of a fine taste!”

It’s unknown what puzzled the informant more, the comment on her watch or him being oblivious to the large automatic rifle slung over her shoulder with a thin piece of string. In his defence, it would be expected in such an area.

“A-yeeerr, yea. Anyway, follow me” She motions him over to one of the many dark and narrow alleys that litter Tmyrthiil City.

They get about eight or so metres in, with light becoming very dim before Charles questions...

“This is rather over-dramatic don’t you think?” He asks, looking at his surroundings.

“How can I trust you, how do I know you’re who you say you are!?” The informant demands, pushing Charles towards a wall and aiming her weapon at him after slinging it around her waist.

“My dear, I hardly resemble any gangster and besides... If my intention was to kill you then you simply wouldn’t be breathing right now”

“How so?” She asks, aggressively shoving her weapon in his face.

“Well to start, the safety is still on your rifle” Her eyes widen and she reaches to pull out her knife to put to Charles’ throat only to come up empty.

“And I have already disarmed you” Charles smirks, wielding her large knife.

“H-how!?” She demands, now with safety off.

“Thievery is not a part of the gentleman’s code, however, sleight of hand is integral” He informs, strolling further into the darkness.

“That doesn’t help your case much gunslinger” She aims her weapon at the dark.

“You’re correct, however, this might” Charles adds, lighting a match to provide light and presenting his earpiece.

“Miss García?” Thyriir asks from the earpiece. She seems to recognise his voice.

“Mr. Thyriir!?” She asks in a rather surprised tone.

“If there are any queries concerning Charles’ loyalties I can vouch and confirm he is indeed a part of my organisation, his gentleman's’ code ensures it... or so I’m frequently told” He adds in a somewhat annoyed tone.

“Alright gunslinger, I trust you, doesn’t mean I like you though,” She says as she walks past into the pitch black, snatching her knife back.

“That’s rather rude” Charles comments, inserting his earpiece once more and following the Cartel member further through the long, damp and dark alley to deal with their ‘mole infestation’.

The night was in full swing at this point and most of the residents of the suburbs-works border had either gone home, retreated to a tavern or died at this point, one of the three Charles was bound for. With the informant coming to a halt at a back alley pub at the end of a labyrinth of passageways.

The tavern itself is a large wooden building, a dark rich coloured wood to be specific, it’s small and foggy windows allowing no sight into the building, protected by a bright yellow glow, similar to molten iron emanating from them. A crumbling slate roof topped the wooden structure and an unstable-looking chimney, crooked and falling apart pumping smoke continuously. A large sturdy door, reinforced with iron and bolted with rust creeping up the metal augments while vegetation the wooden aspect.

“After you ms.” Charles, always the gentleman insists, outstretching his arm to the door.

Any attempt at chivalry was thwarted however as the Cartel member simply pushed him through the door...

“Stop playing around gunslinger”

Needless to say, Charles looked out of place. Every large, muscular rough figure immediately silencing the chatter and snapping their gazed over to him. soon slight murmurs began to rise and angry looking eyes you could have sworn turned red, well at least the hungry looking ones did. All savage intent was quashed however upon the Cartel information entering, much to Charles’ surprise. The crime lords may be down but surely not out.

“You’ll be meeting our little pest over there, I’ll be sitting on the table over in case things get out of hand” She says, pointing to a table against the left wall of the tavern in the middle of the row.

The inside of the tavern itself was nothing special, a few oil lamps hanging from the rafters, a testament to the building's age. The interior matched the outside with the inside wood being of slightly better condition to that of the outside. A long wooden bar stretched over the majority of the right-hand side of the pub with a single bartender looking over it, dressed in a white shirt with a black bow-tie and vest to match, along with the wide variety of ales, spirits and such that lined the back and kegs linked to taps below the actual bar front that holds the drinks of many mean looking characters. A small smoking area with a poker table lay almost hidden in the far back right corner next to an odd looking metal door with a rather large keyhole.The majority of the tables where simple tables, a round top with a slightly smaller round base and a rusted iron bar connecting the two with the taverns logo and name branded on top, a raven with its wings outstretched and the words “Fallen Hero’s Refuge” written across it inside a thin circle.

“Do whatever you do gunslinger, just be careful, they look like shit but is far from it” The informant warns as they push Charles towards his table. “Oh, and try not to make a scene” She adds.

“Excuse me sir, is this seat taken?” Charles asks who he now knows as his target.

“No.” He replies in a cold tone, his gazed fixed firmly on the floor. The man appears to have the same skin tone and complexion as the informant with lighter, more blonde like hair, cut much shorter, spiked at the fringes tips. Their attire seemed more formal than the Cartel’s usual dress code, a black shirt, unbuttoned at the top with a similar, suit like black jacket, however, his eyes where the most peculiar part about him, pure white pupils and iris with small amounts of deep red streaks of blood around the edge of his eyeballs, their sight could be up to debate.

“Care for a drink, my good chum?” Charles inquires.

“No.”

“Erm, bartender, two whiskeys my good sir!” He asks, raising his arm and a single finger to grab their attention.

The bartender simply stops cleaning his glass and stares at him, stone-faced until walking off.

“Well that was rather rude, wouldn’t you agree?” Charles notes in a stern tone with a stern expression... to no reply, the target didn’t even react.

The bartender then arrives with the two drinks, staring at Charles for a few moments before walking off.

“Much appreciated” Charles thanks, sliding a glass the target’s way “Well then, I see small talk is clearly not your forte...” Charles goes, only to be interrupted by a larger brute, similar size to Alister, possibly larger at what Charles could estimate 6′6″.

“Wot’ are you doin’ ear? Poshy!” He asks, trying to look as intimidating as possible, stretching to look tall, widening their stance and leaning into Charles while he sits. “I suggest you get out while you can!”

“Excuse me, but that is no way to address a gentleman!” Charles replies still seated.

“Keep it together gunslinger” The informant comments in a whisper.

“Who’d you think you are!” The brute continues, almost laughing.

“Charles..” He starts, slipping a bullet into his gun’s chamber.

“Charles, don’t blow this!” Thyriir pleading his ear as he stands up.

“Goddamn it gunslinger!” The informant silently cries.

“Gentleman gunslinger, at your service” He finishes, aiming his revolver at the thug’s head and pulling the trigger.

The brute’s head now with a bottle cap sized hole in it and body falls limp down to its knees and drops into a small pool of blood. The rest of the tavern falls silent, all staring at Charles as the bartender ducks under the bar.

“I do apologise for that chum but I simply could not stand for that, my gentleman’s code prevents it” Only for him to turn after finishing his sentence to the same situation as the target’s lifeless eyes are locked to Charles’ own and pistol pressed at his forehead.

*Sigh* “Just make it quick” Thyriir buzzes in.

Charles swats the weapon away with the back of his hand, setting it off and sweeping the legs of the informant sending them crashing into the table. He raises his gun to take a shot but the revolver simply clicks, void of any ammunition as the informant rolls to the side.

admits the slight conflict the entire tavern had readied their weapons in response, ensuring the chaos to ensue.

“Get down gunslinger!” The informant orders, vaulting over her own seat and pushing him to the ground, flipping the table to provide cover for the two while the tavern opens fire. An establishment in such a rough area of Ahrthwuien must be sure to protect itself, turning its most abundant furniture into useful resources, even the tables, capable of stopping some of the most common ammunition types.

“Terribly sorry abo...” Charles attempts to apologise.

“Shut up and shoot”

“Ok” Charles responds, loading his chamber with a variety of coloured bullets as courtesy of Thyriir.

Rolling out of cover Charles brandishes his second revolver, firing all six rounds into the crowd of angry patrons, five landing in the heads of five while the sixth ricocheting off the bar front and into the left leg of the target, sending them down to the floor. Holstering the weapon, Charles turns to see a large knife go gliding through the air where his head once was, in response Charles sends a strike down to the elbow joint of the assailant’s arm and chop to their neck, causing them to fall onto a chair and for Charles to fire a red looking bullet into their head, setting it alight.

“So Thyriir, I see you’ve been rather busy” Charles comments, touching his ear, only for the scientist to chuckle back as a body goes flying past, shot down by the informant, nodding to Charles only to turn and continue firing into the crowd.

“Much appreciated ms.” Charles adds, taking a bow, only to be charged and kicked on the side of the head, sending him crashing down to the floor. The same attacker diving to pummel Charles and while he does land a few hits, Charles, grabbing a chair breaks it over their head and rolling them off. Taking the broken leg of the chair; impaling it into the foot of another attacker, causing them to fall to one knee, Charles sweeping their other leg and resting them on his knee, striking their neck, causing it to break.

Taking this momentary break in the action to reload his second revolver with regular bullets and swinging his right revolver anticlockwise from his thigh, aiming up and shooting a blue coloured bullet, piercing the torso of the previous attacker, freezing them almost instantly.

NOTE:Hit w/ butt of gun and behead

#Tmyrthiil #Renegades

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