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blossomwritesthings · 3 months ago

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𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 | 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞

⬷ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ┊ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ┊ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

pairing: minho x felix (minlix)

genre: dancer!minho/artist!felix. brothers best friend troupe. college au. age gap (abt 4 years). minho pov. extremely dark themes throughout, including smut - MDNI, 18+ only.

word count: 5.3k

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a/n: Heyyyy, how ya'll doingggg????? 😜🤍 im back bitches, and BETTER than ever (I'm not, trust me. I'm just completely lying here). But yeah, I've been so busy with life that I haven't had the chance to upload a new chapter in a hawt minute... so here ya'll bitches go 👺Also, I saw NCT DREAM OVER THE WEEKEND AND HELLO!?!?!??!?!?!?! THEY WERE BETTER THAN I EVER, EVER THOUGHT THEY COULD BE!!!!! I loved it so fucking much, and it was so crazy finally getting to see them live after being a fan since before debut. I missed my baby renjunnie though, and since he's one of my biases, I def missed his presence. but I completely understand why he wasn't here and I look forward to his return very soon! 💗🥺

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). do not copy, spin-off, or write inspired work based off of this fanfic without full permission to do so. ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀ��ᴇᴅ

̶﹒⊹﹒Lᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɢᴏʀɪᴛʜᴍ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ I ᴋɴᴏᴡ I’ʟʟ ᴏɴʟʏ ʙᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ！،، 🌌 𖥻 𓂃 ɪғ I'ᴍ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ, sʜᴀʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴜʙsᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴛᴏ╰╮ 🌑

Never in his life, did Lee Minho ever think he’d wake up beside Lee Felix.

But that’s exactly what he found himself doing the next morning.

The morning after everything had crumbled apart and they had shared half of their feelings and felt each other in the deepest of ways and passions.

Turning onto his side, Minho reached out and ghosted a few fingers against Felix’s freckled cheek. His skin was warm to the touch, his presence in Minho’s bed sending a comforting aura across the entire room.

Then, Felix was stirring. The early morning rays were shining down on them through the nearby window, hitting Minho’s back and cascading across the younger man’s face. It highlighted his sharp cheekbones, his puffy lips that were still a little swollen. Eyes skirting down just a tiny bit, Minho noticed the way Felix’s bare collarbone and shoulders peeked out from underneath the covers, glimmering in the sunlight.

He looked like a real-life faerie. Like a tiny sprite that had just creeped out of the woods the night before, slipping into Minho’s bed and keeping him warm for as long as he wished.

“Mornin’.” A low, gravelly voice broke through the serene quiet of the bedroom. The contrast of his dark tone compared to his ethereal features thew Minho for a loop, as his eyes locked onto Felix’s.

Hands reaching out, Minho grabbed at the younger’s bare skin. Until he had a hand on his waist and the other woven in his messy blonde tresses. “Morning, princess,” Minho whispered, yanking Felix close and planting a few messy kisses to his lips. Felix let out a tiny giggle, hiding his growing blush in the crook of Minho’s neck. “Sleep well, my pretty princess?”

“Stop calling me that…” Felix whined out, shifting in Minho’s hold as he carded his small fingers through dark locks.

Skirting one of his hands across Felix’s skin, he traced the grooves of his spine, circling the middle of his back before continuing to go south. Soon, Minho’s fingers were sinking into the flesh of the blonde’s ass, squeezing there by the tiniest bit as he spoke. “Why? Does it make you… feel good?” Muttering against Felix’s ear, Minho bared his teeth and scraped them against the younger’s earlobe.

That earned a strangled groan from Felix, and Minho could feel him growing hotter by the second. His temperature rising at Minho’s actions and words. So Minho did the only thing he felt like doing in that moment - reaching down with his other hand, past the thick comforter and sheet, and firmly taking ahold of Felix’s ass.

“H-hng…” Was the only thing that slipped from Felix’s lips in reply to Minho’s earlier question. He moved against Minho, squirming on his side as the older’s nails made half-crescent shapes into the flesh of his asscheeks.

“What was that, princess? You’ll have to speak up, daddy can’t hear you that well…” Minho said, tone lilting and playful. Unmistakably, the air in the room had shifted. To something with much more weight to it— heated, and insatiable.

Felix was rising from his spot beside Minho abruptly, towering over his form with a furrowed brow and an annoyed light in his eyes. But the quivering of his bottom lip didn’t go unnoticed by Minho, neither did the furious blush that dusted across his freckles.

“M-Makes me horny, okay?!” Felix exclaimed in a rather loud outburst, ripping his hands away from Minho’s hair. Then, he was placing his warm palms against Minho’s shoulders, using the body underneath him for better purchase.

One of Minho’s hands left Felix’s ass after that, reaching up to the younger’s face. Tracing gentle fingers against his warm cheek, before curving under his jaw, Minho watched in astute pleasure as Felix all but melted into his touch. “Of course it does… because you love looking pretty, hmm? You love making people talk with your bold outfits- with your slutty booty shorts and sparkly tube tops.”

“Do you think I’m pretty in those things?” Felix asked, failing to meet Minho’s gaze and instead focus on his chest. His small fingers drew aimless shapes against Minho’s skin, forcing gooseflesh the surface of the elder’s entire body.

Minho could feel something break and dissolve in the pit of his heart— at the thought of Felix dressing in such things for his attention only. “Oh princess— every time you wear those kinds of things, I—” But he cut himself off at the last moment, deciding to hold himself back.

Jeongin’s words from earlier came into the forefront of his mind then, the long text string that he had been sent in relation to Felix’s childhood after Minho had left flooded all of his thoughts again.

Because there he was— there Felix was, practically straddling his waist, completely bare of clothing. Looking down at him with such a pitiful expression on his face. Asking— begging, silently, for Minho to speak his mind.

But all Minho could think about in that moment was that they still had so much to talk about — and Felix had no idea that he knew.

“Tell me. Please— tell me, Min.” Felix whispered, leaning into him then and pressing a few light pecks onto his lips. He was trying to coax the words out of Minho, but the older man wasn’t budging. “You can dress me up, if you want… I’ll be your pretty doll. I can be anything you want and I—”

Felix’s words made Minho freeze up completely.

I’ll be your pretty doll.

I can be anything you want.

And it just… it didn’t feel quite right.

The things Felix was saying to him in the early morning light had a different tone to them than they had in the throngs of twilight.

Like, as soon as daylight appeared, the Lee Felix from the night before was wiped away. And what was left was… a shell of the man Minho had fallen asleep next to.

Instead, this Felix was begging for him—

Begging in a way that left a sour taste in Minho’s mouth,

That made his heart clench in pain,

That made his mind spin with millions of different doubts.

“Felix, stop. Stop, baby.”

He had to say it twice, cutting through the mindless void Felix had seemed to fall into so quickly.

Subspace,

That’s what Chris had called it once. When divulging Minho in some of his one-night stands with girls around town.

Felix was in subspace, and Minho was afraid he had put the blonde there.

Feeling like he was a spectator looking on at the scene, like he was currently breathing outside of his body, Minho’s hands moved up Felix’s sides. Then he was moving their positions, until Felix’s head was back on the pillow and Minho was standing up from the bed.

“Wha— did I do something wrong?” Felix slurred his words only slightly. Like he was drunk off of grape soju. But Minho knew he was completely sober in that moment. Just that… he was still slipping into subspace, and that Minho would have to be a lot more careful about their dynamic from then-on. With the nicknames, too. As princess evidently triggered something deep seated in Felix’s mind.

Minho hastily pulled his legs through a pair of black sweatpants, before he was leaning over the bed and brushing a few gentle fingers through Felix’s hair. “Baby, no. You did nothing wrong… it’s just that— we need to talk. Before we go any further.”

Felix sat up in bed after that, resting his back against the headboard as his eyes fixed on Minho’s body. “Okay… what do you wanna talk about?” He was still speaking slowly, but Minho could tell he was beginning to come out of… the space. Thank God Minho hadn’t pushed any further while in bed, otherwise he was afraid Felix wouldn’t be able to pull himself up again.

“Chris will probably be home soon. I think it’d be best if you were back at your place and he didn’t find his little brother naked in his best friend’s bed,” Minho said, throwing his phone onto his nearby desk and fitting a shirt over his head. “Besides, after everything that’s happened in the last few days… I don’t wanna put him through anything else.”

“That can’t possibly be what you wanted to talk about.”

Felix was a lot more intuitive than Minho gave him credit for. A lot more. Perhaps the younger man could read his face a little too well— how his brow was furrowed the tiniest bit and the corners of his mouth were dipped towards the floor.

But one look at Felix in his bed, bare chest completely exposed as he rested against the mountain of pillows. Blonde hair messy and cheeks still rosy from the night before, dark brown eyes glossed over by the tiniest of bits…

And Minho didn’t have the heart to break the perfect, quiet bubble they were still in.

“It doesn’t matter, forget I said anything,” Minho said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. And so suddenly, he felt like he was about to suffocate under Felix’s gaze there in the bedroom. So he made for his bathroom, deciding to brush his teeth and wash his face before having to brave the outside world again.

There was silence for a few moments, but Minho could hear the bed creaking and movement just beyond the bathroom door. Then, like a beautiful phantom ghosting his presence once more, Felix was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, boxers now covering at least part of him. “But it does matter, because you matter to me.” His words came out soft and light, and Minho could feel the younger’s eyes on him as he finished washing his face with his green tea foam cleanser.

Minho said nothing to that, instead focusing on drying off his face with a towel. But Felix was unavoidable, it would seem. Since he was blocking the doorway out. Eyes sliding across the bathroom to meet Felix’s, Minho tilted his head and offered him a deep sigh. “I just— I don’t wanna hurt you anymore than I already have.”

“You could never hurt me, not again.”

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. Because I definitely will. Again, and again.” At that, he managed to slip out of the bathroom, striding across his bedroom floor.

“I don’t fucking care, Minho. Hurt me all you want, but I’ll never stop loving you. Never. I want no one else in this world to hurt me but you.”

Minho stopped his pacing across his bedroom, staring back at Felix who was now perched at the edge of his bed. “You have to know that it wasn’t by my own volition. I never asked to be aware of it.” Minho started, as he began his pacing once more. Each one of his movements was tracked by keen eyes, like a cat watching its owner prowl around the world.

Felix stayed quiet, allowing Minho to collect his jumbled thoughts. The older man could feel his heart beating his chest in that moment, thumping against his ribcage. It hurt to breath out, his nostrils felt like they were on fire and his throat constricted with the lump that was steadily growing against his tongue.

“Jeongin told me.”

For a moment, nothing happened. But Minho stopped his manic walking, turning around to face Felix once more. He was halfway across the bedroom, watching for anything to register on the younger’s face.

“Okay… and what exactly did he tell you?” Felix asked, raising a dark, quizzical eyebrow in the wake of Minho’s words.

Fists clenching at his side, Minho almost didn’t have the heart to tell him. To tell this small, beautiful being sitting on his bed that he knew all the sins committed against him previously. To tell him that he knew— about all the hurt and abuse and violence. Even still, Minho couldn’t bring himself to hold it back any longer. Knowing it all had been killing him silently for long enough.

“He told me about— you, Felix. About everything that happened after I left for college during your high school years.”

Immediately, that’s all it took.

All it took, for the life to completely drain out of Lee Felix.

In an instant, he was no longer a stunning, otherworldly faerie sitting atop a plush bed.

Instead, he was a ghostly shell of a person - bleached of all color, like a black-and-white painting on canvas.

Nothing happened for what felt like a millennium. Time seemed to stop, as Minho watched the Felix before him break down. Outer wall crumbling brick by brick, shoulders drooping and face draining of all semblance of life.

Suddenly, he looked so tired.

So, so fucking tired.

“Why would he tell you…” Felix whispered in a low tone, shaking his head slowly. His limbs were beginning to shake, as his fingers clenched tightly into fists. Then his gaze was locking onto Minho’s, and the older man could see the rage boiling just beneath the surface there. “Why the fuck would he tell you?!”

The scream came out in a guttural, heart-breaking kind of way. Minho didn’t know what to do just then - he was frozen in his place, watching as all the emotions rippled and cascaded through the man sitting before him.

Felix was rising up from the bed in the next instant, beginning to tear across the room for his clothes that had been tossed aside the night before. The entire time, he was muttering things under his breath, heaving strangled breaths in his anger. “This is complete bullshit! After all the shit I did for him— he stabbed me in the fucking back!” Somehow, he was able to find his purple tracksuit and shove him limbs into the fabric. “I swear to god I’m going to fucking kill him!”

The pure venom in Felix’s voice sent a shiver down Minho’s spine. He had never seen him so full of rage - so vengeful, even despite all of the bad arguments they had had in the past. Minho feared this was unlike anything Felix had ever experienced before… and the older man did the only thing he knew in that exact moment.

“Felix, please— he was just doing it to protect you. He knew you’d never tell me.” Minho started, making his way over to Felix and grabbing ahold of his arm to stop him from fleeing the bedroom entirely.

Felix stared up at him with a dark look under his eyes, the rosiness in his cheeks completely gone and instead replaced with a shadowy haze. “Protect me… protect me!” Felix shouted, laughing incredulously. But Minho knew nothing was directed at him. The younger man was just upset, and he didn’t know how to express himself properly. “It’s my life. It’s my fucking story to tell, no one else’s!” Felix turned to face Minho finally, poking a finger into his chest with each of his words.

“I know, and I’m sorry he did that. He should’ve gotten permission first. He wasn’t thinking right, he was drunk and—”

“I didn’t want you to ever know, don’t you see?!” Felix suddenly cried in an outburst. In an instant, his small fingers were gripping onto the collar of Minho’s shirt, clawing at it for dear life. Like if he held on long enough, the nightmare would end and he’d wake up and realize it was all a murky dream. “But now- oh God, you know… oh God, you know and you hate me and—”

He was crumpling after that, entire body convulsing with the tremors of anger and hurt that coursed through his veins. Minho grabbed onto him so tight, he feared if he squeezed the blonde’s sides any stronger he’d break ribs. Instead, he sunk down to the floor with Felix, holding him as close as he possibly could.

And Minho didn’t know what to do — he was frozen again, in that odd limbo space between wanting to cry, but not being able to.

Felix’s sobs wracked through his entire form, ripping out of his mouth in the most blood-curdling kind of sounds.

“Lix- I don’t hate you, I don’t… how could I ever hate you?” Minho started in a quiet voice, hoping beyond all hopes that Felix could hear him over all the crying and heartache. “It’s not your fault, Lixie… it’s not. It never was. You were a child, it’s never a child’s fault.”

At that, Felix was yanking away from his chest. His cheeks were still bleached of all color, but now icy tears were trailing down his skin. They clouded his eyes, making his bottom lip quiver and his brow crease. “But God— you do! You think I’m the one that led things on… you think it’s the same reason why I got mixed up with that stranger at the club and—” His cries were so guttural, Minho could feel each and every one of his words punch through his chest like knifes to thick muscle.

Tearing at flesh and sinew and bone.

Minho felt like he was nothing more put a pile of useless limbs, clinging onto a shell of a boy he had once known - that he still loved.

Even still, he had the mind to press Felix for answers, “Is that true, Lix? Is that why you allowed that man to defile you so much?” He was talking about the man at the club, that much they both knew.

“If I told you the answer you’d abandon me,” Felix wailed, voice cracking in between his tears. Pressing this forehead into the center of Minho’s chest, the wetness cascading down his cheeks began to dampen the older man’s shirt. But in that moment, Minho couldn’t give a damn about such frivolous things. “You’d throw me in a hospital— in a physic ward. Just like they tried to do all those years ago.”

“Felix.” Minho said, stern voice trying to cut through the murky depths that Felix was drowning in. And when he didn’t rouse at the sound of his name, Minho reached out and wrapped his hands behind the blonde’s neck. Soon, he was cupping Felix’s wet cheeks and guiding his focus back onto him. “Felix, listen to me. I’d never do such a thing to you, never. I never wanna do anything that will hurt you.”

Then Felix was wiping furiously at his cheeks, the hiccups vibrating across his shoulders as he shook his head in a manic kind of way. “I didn’t know, Min. I swear, I didn’t— I thought he was safe and I wanted to get my mind off of you and I’m sorry and—”

But Minho didn’t have the heart to ask who he was talking about. Because he already knew the answer to the question — both men that Felix had gotten mixed up with, during high school and only just recently — had been an escape from real life. Had been a means to an end, to fend off all the thoughts Felix had of… Minho.

That was the hardest thing for Minho to come to terms with.

The fact that, had he been around - had he been by Felix’s side, and loved him the way he was supposed to and needed to, things wouldn’t have turned out so horribly.

Fate was a weird thing, though.

The Gods living high above in the skies were cruel, in some ways.

For looking down at Felix during so much turmoil and allowing it to happen. Allowing the two of them to be separated, knowing that— if they had been together, none of it would have happened in the first place.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, all those years ago. I’m sorry I didn’t love you right and that you got mixed up in those situations because of me…” Minho started, his mouth close to Felix’s ear. He was whispering, rocking the both of them back and forth to try and calm the younger male. He could tell it was working, too. By the way that Felix was melting into his grasp, the hands around his waist growing a little slack. “I want to kill them, trust me— I really fucking do. But I’m not about to end streaks of violence with even more of it. So instead, I’m going to protect you with my life, from now on. I don’t give a fuck what anyone else says or thinks about it— about us or our relationship. It’s none of their concern. You’re never getting rid of me, and I swear on my entire family’s grave that I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.”

There was silence after that.

For a long time, nothing was said between the two men. Instead, they just held onto each other for dear life. Almost like, if they separated for even a second- the precious moment would break and they’d go right back to being strangers again.

Minho had the mind to check the clock that was on the nearby nightstand. It was close to noon. Chris would be home soon, and the last thing Minho wanted right then was for his best friend to walk in on them. He’d question things immediately, and Minho was too mentally spent to talk it all out. Explain their relationship and why Felix was having a literal mental breakdown in his arms.

Finally, after Felix had stopped crying and his shoulders stopped shaking, he was rousing in Minho’s arms. Until he was leaning his head against the older’s shoulder, staring up at him with wide, puffy eyes.

Like a helpless little woodland faerie, innocent against all the sins of men in the world.

And Minho wanted to do everything in his power to protect such pure, raw beauty.

“What do you need from me right now, Pixie?” Minho asked in a gentle voice, one that was so quiet, only Felix would ever be able to hear. He used the nickname that he had given the blonde when they were living back in Busan. Growing up together, hanging from the bows of trees and frolicking on the beach. He stared down at the boy, thumb ghosting against his pale cheek as he studied the emotions swimming in Felix’s eyes. “Tell me what you want, pretty. And I’ll do anything.”

“Kiss me. Please.”

Minho needed no further instruction. As he dipped his head down, capturing Felix’s lips up into a soft kiss. Their mouths pressed together in an ethereal kind of way. They were a perfect fit, practically made for each other.

Minho’s lips drawled away from Felix’s after a few moments, littering soft kisses across his face - his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. “You’re so good, Felix… too good for me. I promise— I’ll be with you through all of life’s ups and downs,” Then he was catching Felix’s gaze, and seeing the sincerity of the words register in the younger man’s mind. “I’ll kiss you as long as you want. Kiss it better, kiss all the pain and sorrow away. Kiss you until you’re sick of it.”

Then he was capturing Felix’s lips against his again, this time with a little more force. This time, their teeth clashed together. This time, Felix let out a strangled gasp as Minho poked his tongue out, trailing the line of his lips with it. This time, Felix’s jaw slacked and allowed Minho’s tongue entrance. This time, they got a taste of each other. Just like the night before.

And soon, without even realizing what was going on, Felix was already crawling on top of Minho. Situating himself into the elder’s lap, as his fingers grasped at dark locks. As Minho’s tongue pulled moan after soft moan out from deep inside of Felix.

Before they could go any further, be any more reckless and emotional than they already were - and it was still the morning time - Minho’s hands found their way to the nape of Felix’s neck. He was pulling them apart then, a messy string of saliva parting from both of their lips. Felix gave him a pout, and the frown he had made him look so much cuter than he already was. Made the tent growing in Minho’s pants get a little stiffer.

“We need to stop, Lixie. Chris is gonna be home any second now.”

“But why?” Felix whined out, bouncing up and down a few times in his protest.

The bouncing of his thighs wasn’t doing Minho’s current horny state any good, so he made to grab ahold of his hips to stop Felix’s movements. “Because— I don’t want this to be the way he finds out about us. I wanna tell him in a clear state of mind and not when I’m really fucking horny.”

At the last of his words, Felix’s gaze caught with Minho’s again. A wicked smile spread across his lips, and he was turning into the exact replica of a Cheshire Cat. Tucking a few strands of hair behind Minho’s ear, Felix leaned away from him only slightly to survey his current state. Rumpled clothes, curly black hair that was wiry from stress, and a crazed look in his eye, no doubt about it.

“Oh… so you’re horny, huh?” Felix started, voice deep and wavering as he pulled a little bit on Minho’s locks.

For a second, the older man’s eyes rolled into the back of his skull. Completely involuntary, it would seem. “Yes, and I really wanna finger your pretty little hole and stuff you with my cock until you’re crying for me to stop. But I can’t do that right now, so that shit will have to wait.” He said, giving Felix a deadpan look as he grabbed ahold of his wrists and yanked them out of his hair.

Tilting his head to the side, Felix’s eyes trailed down the length of Minho’s body. Until they stopped at his middle, where their bodies were barely touching. Still, the tent in Minho’s pants was clearly visible. “Then, I guess you don’t wanna hear what I wanna do to you… that’s too bad…” He was hoisting himself up from Minho’s lap entirely after that, staring down at him with a shadowy kind of remorse.

“No, no— tell me.”

Minho didn’t even know why he was playing into Felix’s hand. It was a dangerous game, that much he knew. And he also knew that his best friend would be home any second. It was a miracle he hadn’t already walked into Minho’s bedroom yet, what with it being so late in the morning.

“Nah— I don’t wanna make you any hornier than you already are…” Felix started, turning his back on Minho. And then he was reaching over the bed to grab his things that were still on the nightstand. His phone and his wallet and—

All Minho could think about was how adorable he looked right then—

Ass sticking out in the open,

Practically begging to be spanked.

He was teasing Minho, and the older man wasn’t gonna stand by the wayside and take it any longer.

So he did exactly what Felix was silently asking for.

In the blink of an eye, he was standing up and was right behind Felix, spanking him so hard his palm came away from Felix’s purple sweatpants hot to the touch.

Felix was whirling on him soon after, face red as a beet as he clutched his things close to his chest. “Hey! That was very uncalled for, sir.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t asking for it, princess.” Minho smirked, staring down at the blonde with a triumphant stance. Hands on his hips, he watched as Felix’s eyes blazed with the insinuation. A certain kind of heaviness was filling the bedroom again, weighing down on either of their shoulders.

It was suffocating Minho, in the best of ways.

“Well there’s lots of things I actually want, which I can’t ask for because of— obvious reasons,” Felix’s eyes flit around the room. Like he was a nervous deer, caught in the headlights of a hunter. “And don’t call me princess!”

Minho was inching closer to him then, watching the pretty line of his lips and how pink they were. And how good they’d look wrapped around his co- “What kinda things do you want, hmm— princess?”

Felix gazed up at him, now that they were just a mere hairsbreadth away from each other. Reaching up, he brought Minho close to his lips, his mouth hovering over his but not kissing him. “I wanna litter pretty purple and red marks across your neck— wanna choke on your cock and make it messy… wanna swallow your cum and then get on top of it and ride your sensitive flesh until you come again.”

Minho was silent after that, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment. Fighting off all the demons that wanted to take over him — fighting the urge to throw Felix down onto the bed right there in that moment, and rip those pretty screams out of his mouth as he creams against Minho’s cock.

Instead, he was leaning back from Felix. Motioning to the door with his head, his lips pulled up into a sardonic kind of grin. “Get out right now— before we both ruin our relationships with Chris.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna kick your boyfriend out of your dorm?”

“No, I’m telling you to leave. For the good of everyone.”

But Felix knew better, that was for sure. Because already, he was moving to the door and stepping through the threshold. Minho was hot on his tail, following him through the kitchen and to the front door.

“Will I see you again sometime today at least?” The blonde asked, as he stopped in the doorway. Peering up at Minho with sparkly, imploring eyes. He was going to be the absolute downfall of Lee Minho.

“I have a final exam to study for. I’ll be at the library later tonight.”

“It’s open past midnight right?”

“Til’ two in the morning I think.”

Leaning up towards Minho, Felix placed a light peck on his cheek. “Guess I’ll see you around then.”

But before he could pull away again, Minho was reaching out. Arm snaking around his small waist, Minho pulled the younger boy closer to him. Craning his neck downward, he swiped his tongue against Felix’s bottom lip, before kissing him with all the passion and fire that was thrumming through his veins.

The kiss didn’t last for more than five seconds, but to Minho, it felt like a whole lifetime passed. And that nothing else mattered, besides the otherworldly boy that he was kissing in the doorway of his dorm. When they pulled apart from each other, Felix’s cheeks were flushed and his shoulders were heaving again.

“Get home safely, Felix. Text me when you arrive,” Minho said, as Felix was finally leaving his presence and beginning to turn towards the common ground that surrounded all the senior’s dormitory complex. But he hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand yet, and was still holding onto it for dear life. “I love you, my pretty princess.”

Felix froze in his place then, turning his head back to give Minho a whisper of a grin. Then he was squeezing his fingers, “I love you more, Minnie.” And with that, he was on his way. They were parting and Minho was watching him trek across the damp ground.

He didn’t close the door until Felix was completely out of sight. And as soon as it was locked, he leaned his back against the wooden frame. The hardness between his legs was the first thing he registered in the wake of Felix’s absence. Staring down at the tent in his sweatpants, Minho let out a dark chuckle. Shaking his head incredulously, he muttered to himself as he filed into the kitchen to start on a quick brunch. “Lee Felix, you will be the absolute death of me.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

🖤 taglist: want to be added onto my taglist? well then, comment below on this post/reblog it, and indicate your interest in my taglist and i'll add you... or, you can send me a msg and request to be added!! to be removed from the taglist, please send me a msg and i will promptly take you off of the list.

🖤 tags: @sleepyleeji :: @if-spearb :: @hyunes4ngel :: @drhsthl :: @seosalad :: @toomuchtellyneck :: @endzii23 :: @smally97 :: @ana-marais98 :: @sherryblossom :: @priincehoseok :: @biribarabiribbaem :: @/leyknxw :: @linovely :: @lolqxv :: @linonyang :: @morningstardada :: @taeriffic :: @day6andetcetera :: @hyuka-luvbot :: @linohumina :: @urmomma0324 :: @poisonivy2 :: @nappynapnaps :: @/annsunakai :: @bellamuerte1987 :: @julciaqwerty :: @abbiestearsricochet :: @leeknowsramen :: @maeleelee :: @cb97breathing :: @/wealwayskeepfighting :: @armystay89 :: @drhsthl :: @skzcollision :: @noellllslut :: @skz-streamer :: @hello-2-u-from-me :: @h0p3l3ssromantic :: @bangchanbighandsome :: @imastraykidsfan :: @feellikecinderella :: @hyundumpling :: @/weirdkoaladuck ::@hyunnieshannie :: @astralis-is-typing :: @ivyisnotokay

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dance-like-an-idiot · 7 months ago

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HAPPY FALSETTOS DAY!!! congrats trina and mendel falsettos on your 45th anniversary 🙏‼️

i would do something because im hyperfixated so here's whizzvin i wrote yesterday

writing under cut :D

"I'd love to be somebody's "The one who got away"," Whizzer said for the millionth time since they've been together. And it's been 10 months, —Not 9 Whizzer stop smelling the damn roses.—

Marvin rolled his eyes and he knew by proximity alone that Whizzer saw the action. Whizzer slouched from where he sat in Marvin's lap and pouted with a huff that blew on Marvin's stubble. Marvin could barely stand him. "Ever thought of monogamy? It's a joy, I'm sure you'll love it," He drawled, repeating words of his own.

"I'd love to leave you, ever think of that?" Whizzer quips mercilessly, but still it's repeatitive. He's smiling now, though, testing Marvin. They both know where this leads.

"I'd love for you to love me, or want me, or need me even."

Whizzer scoffs, "Don't be so foolish, Marv. You know you'll never get what you want from me." Whizzer's smirk is wide, Marvin wants to kiss it off.

So he does, because he always gets what he wants.

——

"Marv, did I end up as your "One who got away"?" Whizzer asks off handedly one afternoon on the weekend. Which means Jason is quite literally a room over and Cordelia will likely be busting down the door any second now, Charlotte in tow.

It's been years since Marvin's heard that phrase, and every time Whizzer would bring it up they would fight. Marvin hates those fights now, and that phrase is so negative in his mind now that he freezes up.

Whizzer who is sat on the chair in front of him notices —of course, Marvin couldn't be discrete about it— and he seems to perk up. What? "You okay?" Whizzer asks simply... But could it ever be that simple? Two years ago Whizzer would have never showed that kind of care however simple. Instead Whizzer's mouth would form a familiar insult, whether it be about his clothes or rightfully calling out the sack of shit Marvin was.

So hearing such a simple question fills the burnt pit in his stomach before he feels the words finding their way up his esophagus and out of his mouth. "I am. I am so much more than okay with you."

Whizzer smiles and his face scrunches together like he's trying to surpress it. He looks uncharacteristically bashful. Whizzer stands from his chair and walks to Marvin, causally taking a seat beside him, so close their knees touch. Marvin responds by placing his hand on Whizzer's thigh. Whizzer lowly chuckles and takes Marvin's hand in his own. He traces Marvin's knuckles, rubs circles into his palm, and Marvin had never thought he was a touch starved man until now. Until Whizzer. Whizzer had flipped his entire life upside down. Whizzer indirectly made him better. Whizzer was constantly on his mind for the last two years. Whizzer speaks, "You still didn't answer my question."

Marvin snaps out of his trance and looks at Whizzer's eyes which are fixed on their connected hands. "Shit, what was the question?"

"Oh, it's only the question i brought up pretty much everyday for nine months straight," He lightly teased and Whizzer connected their hands fully, tilting his head to return eye contact. His smarty smile is beautiful.

Luckily the hint lands and Marvin squeezes Whizzer's hand and smiles faintly, wanting to return his joy but still the thought of that question... "Yes... But you're here now, aren't you?"

"I am," It's a finality. "I just remembered how often I would ask that and got curious." He leans into Marvin and their hands never part.

Marvin preens at the contact but takes a finger to guide Whizzer's head up again. Their eyes meet and Whizzer must be the most beautiful thing in the world. Marvin has never felt so lucky to be loved, to have Whizzer again in his arms and in his hands. Marvin pecks the tip of Whizzer's nose before saying softly, "Then that makes you the one who stayed."

#fandoms rambles #fandoms fics ish #falsettos #may 27th at 8 #falsettos day #whizzvin #marvin x whizzer #whizzer brown #whizzer falsettos #marvin falsettos #marvin gardens #soz if i tagged something wrong btw i haven't posted about falsettos before </3 #writing #mini fic

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 4 months ago

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🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼 im loving the dynamics you're writing here and i am politely asking for more

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨 chris thinks buck is his dad!!!!!! i love them so much

HI! THANK YOU!!!!! <3 <3 <3

45 for 🔼 :

---

He brings a sort of light to any conversation he’s a part of. A brightness, even when it’s clear he’s been wading through a lot of dark lately, in the aftermath of his injury. Shannon doesn’t know how much of a believer she is in fate or destiny or whatever. Some things seem so unfair if that’s all true. Like her mother’s long and repeated fight with cancer, only to lose. But there seems to be something fortuitous about Buck being a coworker by happenstance - Eddie has explained that he almost chose another station - that turned out to be someone important in his life, their son’s life, and now somehow hers, too. Like he’s been woven into things. Whatever tapestry exists of their lives. And with that strange thought in mind, she finds herself persistently wanting to spend more time around him. Even if all she has are those physio appointments.

The last thing, and it cannot be understated in terms of importance, is Eddie. The change between her and Eddie. They’re not perfect. It’s not some magical one-eighty where their problems are gone and they’re expert communicators. Not at all. They’re still in the limbo of an on-pause divorce, figuring out coparenting, carrying a fuck ton of baggage and trust issues when it comes to each other. That’s not going away any time soon. But it’s alleviating. It’s moving in a direction that feels constructive. Which is more than she can say about anything since she got pregnant with Christopher.

After the night they told Chris about the baby, she came over one school day while Eddie was off work and talked. Given their history, Shannon was sort of scared they’d end up in bed. Thankfully, it didn’t happen. Eddie didn’t make a single advance. Although, maybe Eddie isn’t attracted to her like this. Who knows? Regardless, they ended up having a productive conversation.

It came down to two very simple matters. Shannon, and having an identity outside of wife, mother, and caretaker to a dying mother. Eddie, and feeling secure in his role in the new shape their family was about to take.

“I don’t want to only see my kid every other weekend, Shannon,” he had said. “I know the baby will need you more than me, but I can’t do that.”

And it’s so entirely different from the man who enlisted and left and said it was for the best, that she doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s still hung up on being a provider, she thinks. But not in exactly the same way. His time being a single parent to Christopher has changed him. A lot.

So they’re moving forward. They’re trying. To be friends and co-parents before people who are divorcing each other. They’re talking about Shannon coming to stay with him for a while after the baby is born, so they can both be hands on during those early days. Hence her spending more time there now, just for Chris. So far, despite some residual awkwardness, it’s going okay.

Take today, for example. Today, Shannon has woken up at Eddie’s, while he is at work.

---

45 for 🚨:

---

Yeah, Eddie is with him on that.

“I think her timing was great,” Buck says. “Maddie’s daughter is going to have two fantastic parents. Twice more than some people get.”

That causes a wave of silence.

Eddie squeezes his hand. As much for comfort as for a reminder of their plan. Just get through the evening. Then they can go home to Christopher, who is also lucky enough to have two fantastic parents, despite losing one. And all will be right again.

“Well, yes,” Phillip says after a moment. “It’s… It’s wonderful to see you with a partner who makes you happy, Maddie.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. Not that Buck’s tight grimace this evening is any indication of the relative happiness of their own relationship, but once again, they’re commenting on her life while overlooking his entirely.

“Yes,” Margaret agrees. “Especially after how everything ended with Doug.”

Buck stiffens.

“Mom,” Maddie scolds. “We really don’t need to talk about him.”

How things ended? Eddie’s brain spins. Wait… The way they’re talking about it just doesn’t make sense. Eddie feels a pit forming in his stomach. He looks at Buck, a question in his eyes. The sad, resigned look on Buck’s face says it all.

Is that why they’re ignoring him? Because of how Doug died? Because… Because Buck killed him, defending Maddie?

Not when you’ve had to wait this long.

Oh fuck.

Eddie knew they hadn’t been supportive during the trial… But do they blame him?

“Well, I’m sorry, Maddie. It’s only that we haven’t seen you since,” Margaret defends herself. “So it still comes to mind.”

“Can we switch topics?” Maddie begs. “To literally anything else?”

For the first time that evening, since asking about his name, the Buckleys focus on Eddie.

“Edmundo, you’re a firefighter too, right?” Phillip asks.

“Eddie,” Eddie corrects. “And, yes. Started at the station about a year before Buck.”

#daisies and briars writes #buddie shannon throuple fic #any other way fic

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crazylittlejester · 5 months ago

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DAILY BRAINROT

Rejoicing in the fact that it is Friday, and I'm home free for the weekend! Which means more time to dedicate to my projects. >:)<

I've been feeling very inspired by somerknights' Burial Rites and Zarvasace's White Walls. They're both very fantastic, creative stories, and I particularly like the way that they use little details to seem more bizarre or unsettling or horrific. I am aspiring to have that level of awesomeness someday.

Anyway, I've been thinking about the AUs again because when am I not thinking about the AUs?

I started thinking about LU EAH AU Fi again. Her story is so tragic because it really was preventable! But nobody did anything, so now she's not exactly dead and not exactly alive. :( And I was thinking that, if she didn't lose her memories, she'd be a very different person.

Best case scenario, simply a sad story about loving someone so much you sacrifice your own happiness because you believe that they're inherently more valuable than you are. Which is the truly tragic part about this whole thing. Fi believes that Hylia's happiness is more important than her own happiness, to the point that she is willing to lie and suffer and give up her entire life for Hylia! And while her soul is being put to good use to save the world, there is absolutely no reason why she should treat herself as less morally valuable just because she's in love.

Worst case scenario, she'd become not only a holy weapon, but a likely corrupted holy weapon. I think it'd be awfully hard on her to be wielded by the reincarnation of Hylia's lover over and over again so that Hylia's reincarnation can be reunited with him, and that would probably allow space for some vices to grow. I get that the whole point is defeating evil and saving the kingdom, but the cycle started because Hylia loved Link so much she gave up her immortality for him. She basically died for him. Which... is romantic, but probably not the best idea.

Honestly, at this point the only person who hasn't died for their lover is Link, and that's probably going to change with the way this story seems determined to emulate Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare.

YIPPEE FREE TIME!!

ooooh, i havent read those two. I’m familiar with the authors, but not the fics

OUGH. OUGGGGGH. god im so obsessed with this au and fi’s story for it. grabbing it in my evil little hands and squeezing it with the upmost care and appreciation

#jes talks #jes ask #DAILY BRAINROT

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peachysunrize · 4 months ago

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So I desperately need the bedding ceremony fic in my life please!!! I also wrote this nasty thing mostly in second person because I generally like writing that way more and I’m spicing it up today since it’s a long weekend and I get to go home!!!

Also, I think we should talk about jealous!Aemond. I think if someone looks at you for too long, he either acts like he doesn’t care for you in the slightest (if the relationship is relatively new) or goes out of his way to be over-the-top with affection. He’s got his hands on you at every chance, and he even kisses you in public!!! Everyone is so shocked to see Aemond being affectionate, even kissing his wife, that they’re all wondering what happened??? Aegon figures out that his brother is being jealous and possessive and decides to lend a hand…

He waits until he knows that Aemond is with his wife before he invites the insulting other man to stand outside their chambers. Aegon just makes small talk until the moaning starts, at which point he talks up Aemond in bed. Perhaps he exaggerates a bit, but you’re on the other side of the door moaning so loudly while Aemond goes to town on you that Aegon’s exaggerations are perfectly believable.

Eventually, Aegon starts feigning sneezes because he knows that Aemond will make an appearance. The imbecile who foolishly thought to stare at you is terrified when Aemond appears at the door, entirely naked, sapphire out, a murderous look in his eye, and with your slick all over his face. There’s even a glimpse of you, trembling and whining on the bed behind him. Needless to say, the other man makes himself scarce as Aegon giggles. Aemond even thanks his brother before returning to coax several more orgasms out of you.

-🪴

I AM SO LATE FOR THIS THOT OMG BABE IM SO FUCKING SORRY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

OMG HE IS SO HOT WHEN HE’S JEALOUS AAAJSOSJSOSJSIZJAIZ and Aegon being helpful and a maniac??? I LOVE HIM😩😩😩😩

Oh Aemond will get EXTRA touchy!! Squeezing your ass and kissing you like he’s STARVING for ur lips!!! He’ll make you scream his name so the man outside your doors will hear how his bed is cracking and you are screaming for HIM

#inbox open #🪴 anon #aemond thots

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yslkook · 4 years ago

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UNFUCKWITABLE (9)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: jungkook convinces you to take a staycation with him for a few days (a week).

pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc

warnings: cursing, alc, excessive use of pet names, oc and jk discuss their unprotected sex practices, vomiting, some jealous jk, mild exhibitionism, fingers in oc's mouth grinding, making out, oral (m), titjob

word count: 7k

a/n: if you want to be tagged, send an ask plz. would love to hear your thoughts. also...cant believe mom manifested into butter jk im in pain

****************************************

Jungkook is unsurprised to enter your home with the key you’d given him the other week and find it completely empty. You’ve been working early mornings and incredibly late nights for the last week and a half, and he can tell it’s beginning to take a toll on you. The first sign that you were beginning to wear down was when you had skipped dinner in favor of sleeping. The second was when you had snapped at him in irritation and then immediately cried over hurting his feelings.

He can think of about a dozen other things, including the even more pronounced bags under your eyes. You’ve always had dark circles under your eyes naturally from hyperpigmentation but these days, not even concealer can help you mask them.

In fact, the reason that you’d even given him a key was because you felt like work was taking over your entire life. You’d hardly had a chance to see anyone who wasn’t a work colleague, and you just missed Jungkook. At least this way, you could wake up and go to bed with him.

You had only been calling Jungkook your partner just shy of four months, and he had a key to your home. Perhaps it was fast for other people, but with him, it felt right. So he keeps a copy of your keys on his lanyard- it’s possibly his most prized possession right now. Jungkook usually only comes when you ask him to, he’s been staying at your place for the last week because of how tired and busy you were.

Usually you stop by the tattoo parlor at least once or twice a week, but you have been sparse because of work. So he’s here, in your home without you. It felt strange the first few times he’d been here without you, but then he started leaving little pockets of himself- his shoes next to yours, his hair product on your shelf, and his two of his jackets hanging near yours in the closet. He’d even purchased a new plant to keep on your windowsill in your living room (which you take turns dutifully watering and making sure she gets enough sunlight).

It’s all very domestic. He had jokingly told you not to expose him to your shared friends, specifically Mina and Mei. To which you had rolled your eyes.

Though some small, very small, part of him wonders if the magic will fade away soon. Considering how fast you both are moving both physically into your home and in your relationship.

It’s only been a few months, and you both were incredibly comfortable with the idea of unprotected sex- after all, Jungkook always pulls out in time. Until, of course, you’d had a pregnancy scare. Hoseok and Yoongi, ever the pair of realists, had scolded him when Jungkook had revealed that you both hardly ever used any protection-

“Are you trying to knock her up? Is that it? You both ready to potentially be parents?” Yoongi says mildly as he polishes off his wine, looking at Jungkook expectantly. Jungkook’s cheeks burn.

“No, I’m not trying to knock her up and no, nobody’s trying to be parents-”

“You both are lucky you haven’t knocked her up already,” Hoseok says, with more heat in his voice, “You both are fucking stupid, but you especially.” He even smacks the back of his head with the book in his hands and Jungkook glares at him.

“Hey, my pull out game has always been strong, and I’m serious about her. We wouldn’t fuck raw if-”

“Oh, yes, then we definitely have nothing to worry about,” Yoongi says, “Keep it moving, Hobi.

“Talk to her about it, or else,” Hoseok threatens, “I don’t wanna hear about another pregnancy scare because you’re both idiots.”

“I know, I know,” Jungkook relents, “We’ve been talking about it. It just sucks that birth control can fuck up a woman’s body like that, you know? Mood changes and appetite changes, nausea and everything…”

“You could always get a vasectomy,” Yoongi says bluntly.

“Mei said the same thing. She was way more mean about it, though. Told me she’d cut my balls off if I didn’t get my shit together.”

“I don’t blame her, considering what a mess you both were last month.”

“We were not a mess!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so stressed ever in your life, not even when your first bike got run over by a car. Or when your tattoo got infected three consecutive times. And I’ve never seen her cry so much before.”

“Alright, maybe we’re a little bit of a mess.”

In the end, you and Jungkook had both decided that yes, condoms were probably a good idea. Considering the pregnancy scare you had last month, you both were on edge and a little paranoid. Jungkook hadn’t even mentioned the idea of you taking birth control or getting an IUD, knowing that your last few experiences with the former were unpleasant-

“I can get a vasectomy, you know. In fact, Yoongi suggested it,” Jungkook shrugs nonchalantly but your jaw drops.

“Jungkook. I don’t think vasectomies are reversible like that. Think about what you’re saying,” You murmur, “I’m touched you’d consider a surgical procedure so I don’t have to take birth control, but what if-”

“I looked it up, they can be reversed-”

“But Jungkook! You don’t know that, what if you want to have kids later and you can’t because you decided on a fucking whim to get a vasectomy? It’s still trauma on your body! You can’t just snip snap, snip snap your vas deferens tube whenever you please. At least with birth control you can start and stop it, even if that’s not a completely benign process.”

Jungkook looks at you long and hard, his tongue poking his cheek and you sigh. “But I don’t-”

“Honey. I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” You murmur, squeezing his hands in yours, “But we’re both being stupid. We’re both acting like condoms don’t exist. Why don’t we start with condoms and then think about getting your tubes tied or me getting an IUD?”

“You spoiled me,” Jungkook complains dramatically and drops his head to your chest, “With your pussy. I’m spoiled now.”

“Shut up.”

And so now, a box of condoms sits in the drawer of your nightstand and you’ve taken to bringing a few with you in your purse as well (and so does he). You’d been far more nervous buying condoms than you’d ever been of buying anything else, and Jungkook had only cockily grinned at you.

Today’s Friday and it’s the day of your deadline. Meaning that you’d hopefully be home soon and be his for the rest of the weekend. He fully plans on getting you to relax and stay in for the majority of the weekend, so that you can catch up on sleep.

But then you come home past dinner (you had sent him a text earlier telling him that you were going to be late. He knows your mood is sour- you had been in a foul mood all week, and the fact that you’re so close to being home but so far just makes it worse). You come home with an empty belly, a weary mind and wetness along your lash line. Climbing into bed next to him, you circle your arms around his waist and cry tiredly into his chest.

“J-Jungkook,” You hiccup, “I’m so tired, they kept me s-so late today but it’s done. Everything is finished-”

“Oh, baby,” He sighs, rubbing your back soothingly, “It’s okay. We can just sleep now. You should take a few days off next week, baby.”

“I don’t know…” But your eyes are wide and considering it.

“You’ve been running on empty all week,” Jungkook points out, “For longer than that. Your job can handle two or three days without you while you recharge. Text your boss, baby. You need to rest, too.”

He nudges your cheek with his nose and you hum in agreement. “Okay. Five day weekend? Sure you won’t get tired of me?” You murmur and laugh when he squeezes your waist.

“We can make it a staycation.”

And you’re already texting your boss, telling her that you needed a few days off next week. She gives you a thumbs up and encourages you to rest up, making it a point to recognize how hard you’ve been working. She even suggests you take the full week off, which you jump at and Jungkook only grins at you.

“My brilliant girl, charming her way into a full week off.”

You swat his hand away and hide your burning but satisfied face in his chest. “Yeah, your bad habits are rubbing off on me.”

“Oh, that’s not the only thing rubbing off on you,” Jungkook says wickedly and pushes his hips into yours, earning a fierce pinch to his bare waist.

“Hush, I’m trying to nap,” You mumble, your voice muffled. Without warning, you lick his neck and bite lightly at the base of his neck, ignoring his soft yelp. He doesn’t have a chance to question you on what that was, as you’re already falling asleep.

You’ve always thought from the beginning, even when you and Jungkook were just friends, that he was an ass man. You’ve caught him staring at your ass many, many times- in jeans, in a dress, in a skirt. And now that you both are officially together, he spends any and every moment he can with a hand on your ass. Casually, when you both walk side by side. And purposefully when you’re both just in his bed or on your couch. His hand is a well known presence on your ass, not that you’re complaining.

One of Jungkook’s favorite places to nap is on your ass, with his cheek pressed into you and one hand firmly gripping your ass. He also likes laying with his head on your lap. But his favorite place to nap is with his head buried in your chest, specifically buried in between your tits. He is currently analyzing his hypothesis that your right tit is smaller than your left, a thought he’s had for a while now, but needs further samples of evidence to properly assess.

But he’s always had an affinity for your tits, whether you’re blissfully unaware of it or not. You don’t notice it not really- you like any and all of his touches on any inch of your skin, as you’ve told him many times before. Especially when he holds you close next to him or under him and you feel protected, surrounded by only him.

He holds you, looks at you as if you’re as soothing as the sea and as bright as a supernova. And yet, the universe is contained in his big, doe eyes.

But really, at the end of the day, it’s an affinity for you. Jungkook loves every part of your mind, body, and soul, and he thinks he has for a long time. His heart has been tangled with yours since the first time he had seen you years ago at Hobi’s surprise birthday party that you had planned. Jungkook is sure that when he had seen you with a homemade red velvet cheesecake with a ‘Happy Birthday Hobi <3’ written perfectly in red icing in your arms, a silly party hat on your head, and a shy, beaming smile on your lips, he had been magnetized to your center of gravity from then on.

But even then, he had only hovered. Barely introducing himself, if it weren’t for Mina and Mei. He thought he had known girls like you- girls who baked cakes, planned elaborate birthday parties for their friends and wore flowery dresses liked other predictable people. It’s another one of his hypotheses (which has been clearly debunked)- but by now, he knows not to be so judgmental of others.

But he doesn’t dwell on that for long. Even the first time he met you, right after he had introduced himself to you and you had stared at him with starstruck eyes and stammered a quiet ‘hello’ in return, Sora had cornered him. And told him to back off from right then, that you were off limits. That you’d never be interested in a guy like him, so to not even spend a second in his stupid little mind even entertaining the ridiculous idea.

So he backed off subconsciously, thinking it wasn’t worth it to even know you as a friend. He’d convinced himself that it was too much trouble, and Jungkook has always been an easygoing kind of guy in most instances. After all, your best friend would know you best, right? And really, what did he care? As the saying goes, there were about a million other fish in the sea.

However. Even then, with each word uttered between you both, with each laugh that he pulled from your soft mouth, he couldn’t help the reluctant fondness for you that began to bloom. You had surprised him every few months after that, just saying hello at events that you were both present at and asking how he was. With that stupidly beautiful smile and those bright, shy eyes.

You were a smart, kind woman, always remembering details about others. And he was no exception.

That was years ago. He’s known you since your third year at university, hanging by a thread just outside your orbit. But this is now.

This is now, and your lips are against his neck, your chest pressed to his. You climb into his lap haphazardly, nearly knocking your mug off of the coffee table. You both have only just woken up and stumbled out of bed for coffee and breakfast. You had combed the tangles out of his bedhead with his head in your lap, but now sleepiness has washed away and you’re tugging at his oversized shirt.

You promptly bite him, right where his neck tattoo starts and ends. Jungkook meets your eyes with an incredulous, breathy laugh. “What’s gotten into you?” He murmurs, palming your chest from under your shirt.

“Nothing. You just have a very biteable neck, I told you,” You say, resuming your inspection of the vein next to his tattoo, “What a juicy jugular vein-”

Jungkook holds your wrist and flips you so that your back is on the couch. “My sexy vampire girlfriend. Love when she starts talking about my jugular vein.”

“Watch out, I might drink from it. You never know,” You giggle with a wink, squirming in his grip.

“You can do whatever you want,” Jungkook murmurs but then an idea that has been planted in his head for weeks now spills from his lips without him meaning to, “I wanna fuck your tits, baby.”

Your eyes go comically wide, mimicking Jungkook’s own. His cheeks are a little pink from his abrupt confession as silence falls between you both.

“That’s really interesting,” You muse.

“Is it?” He asks, feeling a little lightheaded. You tug a little at his purple locks to pull him down to you.

“Yeah. Always thought you liked booty. And legs,” You shrug, “But I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

Jungkook’s throat is too dry for him to reply coherently. But he finds his voice after you give him a reassuring smile, “Uh, when it’s you, I like everything.”

“Me too. When it’s you, I like everything,” You mumble, heat rising in your cheeks, “And uh… you can. Do that I mean.”

“Do what?” He asks teasingly, tilting his head to the side.

“Don’t play dumb,” You whine, shoving his shoulder.

“C’mon say it,” Jungkook jeers, not unkindly, “Put your big girl panties on.”

“I hate you,” You sigh dramatically, “Fine. You can fuck my tits, if you so desire.” His face splits into a grin as he thumbs your chin and ducks his head into your neck. He playfully nips at your skin, murmuring that he’s just giving you a taste of your own medicine, but you feel his half hard cock pressing against your thigh.

The image of his cock wet and slick between your tits is now imprinted in your mind, and when both of you want something, you’ll surely get it.

Despite your eagerness of making Jungkook’s wish a reality, neither of you have had the chance for your usual shenanigans just yet. You still have quite a few days of your staycation left, so you won’t rush it. You had spent most of the first two days sleeping, cuddling, spooning, eating and lots and lots of slow sex.

You think you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve left your bed. Jungkook has been nothing short of wonderful, bringing you food (just this once, you hate eating while in bed), giving you shoulder rubs and booty rubs without you asking. Your favorite ice cream is in your freezer. Life is good.

His shirt hangs off of your shoulder and you’re too lazy to fix it. In fact you’re too lazy for pajama bottoms, only settling on your favorite pair of comfortable panties (nothing flashy. Just a standard black cotton panty) to wear under your shirt. One might even call them granny panties or whatever, but lace was uncomfortable on your skin. Lace and thongs are for very, very special occasions (hardly if ever) and you are in the comfort of your own home. You’ll be comfortable if it’s the last thing you do.

In fact, you’re too lazy to even raise your head to pucker your lips for a kiss from Jungkook. You only open your arms and hum, as if he’s supposed to telepathically know what you want from him. But he does, and he flops onto you once he tugs his shirt off. Jungkook’s face remains buried in your chest as you gently rub his scalp.

He hums happily, nearly purring at your touch and shoves himself closer into your hold. You can’t believe this man, the man who mildly intimidated you for years, is now in your arms and purring like a baby kitten. He’s admitted a few times that his scalp has been irritated and inflamed ever since he dyed his hair purple. One of his favorite things is to lay in your lap while you massage a mix of coconut oil and peppermint oil into his scalp.

He looks up at you, warm heat blazing in his eyes. You’re about to ask him what he’s thinking about but he palms your pussy from under your shirt- your still swollen, puffy pussy from the four times he’s made you cum already.

“Can I help you, Jungkook,” You ask flatly, but your poker face breaks when he dots you with kisses up and down your thighs.

“Yeah, fuck,” Jungkook groans, voice slowing to a whine, “I’m still hard, baby, fuck. Help me.”

“How are you still hard,” You wonder with a grin, “Damn, Jeon. You must really like me, huh?”

“If that wasn’t obvious then I’m clearly not doing something right here,” He breathes into your skin.

“Gimme a kiss then,” You murmur, pushing his long hair behind his ear. His eyebrow piercing glints in the light of your bedroom and you trace it gently with your fingertips. Jungkook desperately pushes his lips to yours, parting your lips easily and slipping his tongue into your mouth. He kisses your teeth hungrily, strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks.

His hips roll into yours impatiently, hands already pawing at your shirt. The air in your bedroom is suddenly so stifling, thick and nearly choking you both with the intensity of your desire. You just want him to feel good with you.

“Jungkook,” You say softly with warm cheeks, “You can use me, however you want. Tell me what you want, bunny.”

He lets out a quiet gasp, his eyes bright and wide.

You’re both on the same page, because he’s scrambling to chuck his boxers to the side and you’re tossing your shirt on top of his boxers.

***********************

“Fuuuck,” Jungkook groans. He’s breathless, heart racing erratically. All he can do is hold your shoulders as he watches with a piercing, hazy gaze as his cock is swallowed in between your tits. You squeeze them tightly together, trying to create as much friction as you can for him.

“Fuck,” He whines, “Fuck, you look so good, baby. O-oh, shit, my pretty baby, you’re pretty-”

Jungkook nearly cums when you mischievously stick your tongue out to brush against the head of his leaking cock. The visual is almost too much for him and his breaths are choked, strangled as he forces himself to look into your dark eyes.

“So big, bunny, look,” You say softly, “You like this? You’re so hot like this…”

He’s nearly in tears, eyes shining and wet at how good this feels. If your pussy was a slice of heaven, then your tits were the next best thing. You moan softly, feeling your own wetness and heat pooling. Jungkook’s cheeks and chest are flushed, eyes wild and wet as he slides his cock in between the valley of your tits languidly. Almost as if he doesn’t want the moment to end.

You’re so warm, warm everywhere.

His muscles are tense, the furrow in his brow beginning to appear when he’s about to cum. “Shit, baby, oh my god, I love your tits,” Jungkook moans, tossing his head back, “Fuck, I love everything about you-”

You don’t know how he’s able to form coherent sentences to you when he’s this close to cumming. But he’s always been a man of many talents.

“You know what I just realized,” You gasp suddenly, “Neither of us made it official that we’re dating. Like I never asked you ‘out’ and you never asked me ‘out’-”

“Fuck, you talk too much,” Jungkook nearly snarls, “My cock is literally in between your tits and I’m about to fucking cum all over you and you think I belong to anyone else?”

You swallow thickly, Jungkook narrowing his eyes at you. He looks intimidating and intense above you, his powerful, golden thighs straddling either side of you.

“N-no, I was just-”

Jungkook shoots you a glare, reaches behind him and gathers your wetness with two fingers. Before you can ask him what he’s doing, he pushes two fingers into your mouth to shut you up. You send him a glare right back, but it melts away quickly when you swirl your tongue and suck on his digits.

He cums without warning, hastily and with a broken sort of sound ripping from his throat. It’s warm and sticky as it lands on your chest and your cheek. But he cums so much and much to your chagrin some of his cum gets in your eye and you nearly shriek at the burn.

“Jungkook! What the hell, your cum is in my fucking eyeball-”

He’s still panting above you, like some sort of golden boy, and it takes him a few seconds to register your irritation. “Oh shit,” Jungkook says and jumps into action. He tugs you into the bathroom to gently wash your eye for you (after washing his own hands), with you grumbling the entire time.

“I’m sorry, baby,” He says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. You roll your eyes and demand to be taken back to bed and lavished in kisses as penance for his cum shooting into your eye.

Jungkook tastes himself a little when his tongue slips into your mouth, but it hardly registers as he rolls on top of you, caging you in between his arms.

Jungkook fleetingly thinks he should’ve spent more time trying to convince you to stay home with him. Maybe with a few soft, long kisses to your neck, he might have. You looked delectable, good enough to eat- your dress fitted around your hips, nails, hair, and makeup done, the scent of your perfume subtle but not irritating to his sensitive nose.

You had asked him to pick what jewelry to wear, so one of his long necklaces sitting around your neck and disappearing into the valley of your chest. It doesn’t really match with your dress, but you don’t care.

And Jungkook… well, it was difficult for you to keep your hands off of him as well. His hair is tied back into a neat ponytail, he’s wearing a sequined black (fitted) button up with the top four buttons undone, a thick, silver chain and ripped, black jeans. Your eyes are glued to his chest and he knows it- you can’t help but grip his arm, his bicep whenever you can.

Neither of you really enjoyed the club scene, but you had wanted to go out since it had been a really long time and after all, you were on your staycation. Mei had planted the idea in your head, and so now here Jungkook was.

Here he was, catching flashes off the satin, coral colored wrap dress that you were encased in. For someone who doesn’t like the scene, you blend in effortlessly. But you’re a grown woman, so he takes his eyes off of you and orders a round of shots for him, Jimin, Taehyung and Jin while nursing a bottle of soju.

In the midst of the thumping bass bouncing off of the walls in the club, you’re only aware of you and Mei while you both sing along to whatever song is blasting through the club. Mina disappeared a while ago, presumably to find Jimin.

You’re holding two drinks, one in each hand, and all you feel is the vibrations of the club. Along with your own drunkenness. Mei holds your arm to keep you steady as you move your hips in time with hers. You laugh loudly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders at something she said. Everything is amplified and muted at the same time, the swirl of alcohol settling comfortably in your veins.

You’re having a great time with your friends, dancing, swirling, singing and drinking. It’s a nice night to unwind, in the company of dear friends and strangers.

“Hey,” Mei murmurs in your ear, “I gotta pee and I’m gonna go find Seulgi-”

“You can just say that you wanna go find her,” You giggle, “Don’t blame your bladder on it, Mei.”

“Oh, you’re funny. I’ll text Jungkook and tell him to come find you, alright?” Mei says, patting your head. You nod and tell her to go find her girl, and she does. Leaving you to your own devices for a bit, at least until Jungkook makes his way to you.

However, what neither of you realize is that the cell reception in this building is terrible. Mei’s text never goes through and you stay in your bubble, with your two drinks in your hands and bounce along to the music.

You’re not sure how much time goes by, but it feels like you’ve been alone for quite a while. You squint your eyes at your phone to check the time and send a text to Jungkook. A text that never goes through. You frown and are about to turn on your heel to link up with your man (wherever he might be), but you hear a surprised call of your name.

It’s hard to keep the incredulity out of your face when you come face to face with Yunho, the man who had stood you up all those months ago. The air has almost been punched out of your lungs, and you have to squint at him to believe what you’re seeing.

He calls your name again, giving you a wave and a bright smile. “Funny seeing you here, huh?”

“Uh…”

“Can I buy you a drink? I feel like I owe it to you after…” His eyes are sincere. At least you think so, with your drunk goggles on.

“I don’t know, Yunho, it’s okay…” You mumble unsurely, “Isn’t this weird?”

“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” Yunho says and pulls a chuckle out of you.

“Oh, alright. I guess a drink won’t hurt,” You shrug and lead the way to the bar. The least he can do for you after standing you up and hurting your feelings is buy you a drink, you think.

“Hey listen, I owe you an apology,” Yunho says, sliding your drink towards you.

“Oh, it’s- it was a long time ago,” You shrug, avoiding his eyes. Sure, it was a hit to your ego, but in hindsight it doesn’t matter. Not when you have Jungkook. Honestly, you’ve forgotten that Yunho had even been a blip in your radar once upon a time. It was only because of Sora, anyway.

“I had something urgent come up last minute that day and I asked Sora to tell you,” Yunho continues, “I’m sorry I didn’t follow up or even reach out to you after. But I’d heard that you were with Jeon now, so didn’t want to… overstep, I guess.”

And even through your drunken haze, you understand. You sigh deeply, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Oh boy,” You groan, “Sora never told me about that but we’re not close anymore, Yunho. It’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry she got you, too.”

Yunho’s lips part in surprise, “She didn’t… Alright. What’s done is done, I guess.”

“Yeah,” You murmur airily, “And yes, I am with Jeon. Though I can’t seem to find him…”

“I’m happy to keep you company until you do.”

Despite how well you and Yunho seem to hit it off (most of your time spent bitching about Sora), you can’t help but think of Jungkook. You quite miss him, not having seen him all night in the club. You want to dance with him, and little do you know that he’s been scouring the entire club for you in a frenzy once he ran into Mei and Mina and hadn’t seen you with them.

He had sent them a glare, his jaw clenched and walked away to find you. So when his eyes finally land on you at the bar, after about twenty-five minutes of searching and trying to get through strings of people around you, his heart soars. But he sees you laughing with someone else at the bar. With Yunho.

Jealousy is petty, he tells himself. But he struggles to keep it at bay as it rears its head and comforts him. He’s always been protective and possessive of those he loves and cherishes. You’re definitely no exception.

You wobble a little on your feet, but you hold your own. Even from here, he can see the drunkenness of your smile, beads of sweat as they race down your neck to hide in the valley of your breasts. He zeroes in on your necklace (his) around your neck and reminds himself. It’s his necklace that you’re wearing, after all.

Then why is the man who stood you up all those months ago making you laugh like that?

You must have a sixth sense or something for him, because you turn your head a bit as if you can sense him. Your entire face lights up when you see him, in a way that makes his tough heart swell in adoration.

You make your way over to him with your drink and peck his lips chastely, despite his desire to pull you into his arms and kiss you long enough that your knees buckle. So that Yunho sees that he is yours.

“You disappeared on me, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, adjusting your necklace. He’s gripping it tightly, but you don’t notice.

“I was with Yunho, remember him? ‘Member, he stood me up but he didn’t because it was Sora’s fault-”

“That’s no surprise,” Jungkook says, rolling his eyes. You take his hand, squeezing and introduce him to Yunho. As if he doesn’t know him already. Jungkook’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, his jaw clenched. He doesn’t like how Yunho looks at you, how his gaze lingers on your skin and the curves of your dress. You lean against Jungkook heavily, absently playing with his fingers. You stay mostly quiet, sipping your drink as the two men speak (rather tersely).

Jungkook knows he’s being ridiculous.

“Kook, finish my drink?” You murmur, offering him the glass. Jungkook maintains eye contact with Yunho as he downs the remainder of your drink in a few solid gulps.

“Was nice to see you, Yunho,” You say, “I think Jimin and Mina are looking for us, Jungkook. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

With that Jungkook firmly holds your waist, keeping you close to him. You both know that neither Jimin nor Mina are looking for either of you. You’d only wanted to be alone with Jungkook.

So Jungkook leads you to a spot where he knows Yunho can visibly see you both. You let loose, giggling as Jungkook twirls you easily and moving your arms to match the beat of the music. He makes you laugh with his moves, winking at you and shooting finger guns at you as he twirls and swivels around you. He’s always been a great dancer, you realize. That’s funny, because you’re sometimes clumsy on your own two feet. He pulls you into him, his chest to your back and his hips pressed against your ass. You sigh contentedly, head lolling against his shoulder and you rest your hand over his hand to let him lead you.

His nose is buried in your neck, lips lightly brushing your pulse. He bites your earlobe gently, earning a soft laugh from you. Jungkook tilts your jaw to the side to meet your eyes and plants a deep kiss to your glossy lips. He holds you steady when your knees weaken, your belly flipping at the intensity that he pours into you.

Jungkook is all around you, encasing you within his arms and there’s not a single place you’d rather be. When you pull away for air, you thumb away your gloss on his bottom lip and bite his bottom lip gently.

“I adore you,” You say dreamily, “You are so… Everything. Everything. I adore you.”

Jungkook’s cheeks burn, but he ducks his head for another sharp kiss. And if Yunho is watching him shove his tongue down your throat and holding your hips to his possessively then that’s fine by him.

The journey back home is a quick one (after you both stop for fried noodles, despite the inevitable heartburn it’ll give you both the next day but you’re both so hungry). You both stumble into your home in a mess of giggles and groping, nearly falling to the floor due to your clumsiness.

Jungkook has been hard since he kissed you in the club, in front of Yunho. He knew Yunho had been watching, feeling the man’s eyes on you both the entire time. His jealousy has crawled back into the box that it was unleashed from, but he knows that’s something to revisit later.

Something else to revisit is that he liked that someone else was watching him with you. He stores that information for later, instead focusing on keeping you upright from falling.

Somehow, through your blurry vision and wobbly legs, you get on your knees and palm Jungkook’s cock through his pants. A shameless moan rips through you- any and every inch of him makes you dizzy with desire.

You like him so much that it nearly makes you cry.

“Gonna blow you now,” You announce happily, fumbling with the button of his jeans and using all of your concentration and strength to pull his pants down along with his boxers. You sloppily kiss your way down his chest, spending extra time on his tattoo and licking (then biting) his happy trail before humming around his leaking cock.

He’s so wet already, and it’s all because of you.

Jungkook groans, eyes closing in pleasure as your pretty mouth wraps around his cock. He thrusts lightly into your mouth, peeling his eyes open to watch you. Only to find you already staring up at him, your makeup smudged and tears already forming in your pretty eyes. He cradles your cheek affectionately, stroking your cheekbone-

But before he can compliment you, softly praise you, he hears a noise. It originates from the back of your throat, something both familiar and unfamiliar. You gag uncontrollably around his cock, and while it’s certainly not the first time it’s happened, it’s different this time. Because you’re a little drunk. So he should be unsurprised when you retch on his cock, pull yourself off of him before your drunk self can get any more vomit on his cock and sprint into your bathroom.

You manage to lock the door in your frenzy of utter humiliation and alcohol addled mind. You hover over the toilet bowl, the sounds of you throwing up bouncing off of the walls. You’re crying, sobbing more like it- from both the pain in your chest from vomiting violently into the toilet bowl coupled with the humiliation of quite literally throwing up on your boyfriend’s cock.

You groan and squeeze your eyes shut, as if that’ll erase the memory.

“Baby,” Jungkook calls softly, his cock fully hanging out in the open, “Baby, please open the door. It’s not a big deal, but I need to wash my dick off.”

You let out a choked, watery laugh at that and move to flush the toilet and rinse your mouth out. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment when you unlock your bathroom door, and you can’t bear to look Jungkook in the eye. But he holds your wrist to his when you try to escape into the safety of your bedroom.

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest, heat flooding your ears in shame. It feels like your head is empty, static filling up the spaces that the silence between you both doesn’t.

“It’s just me,” Jungkook coos, “Do you want to shower with me?”

“Jungkook, ‘m absolutely mortified,” You say flatly, voice a little high in pitch as fresh tears burning behind your eyelids, “I want to evaporate from this plane of existence in about three-point-four seconds, I literally threw up on your penis, I’m so sorry. Don’t even look at me-”

Jungkook winces at your tone and the way your shoulders are hunched, hands gripping the hem of your dress unsurely.

“Baby,” Jungkook sighs, “It’s really okay, there’s nothing to apologize for. Come shower. The vomit is drying on my dick-”

But that’s the wrong thing to say because you start to cry immediately, shoving your face in your hands. Jungkook sighs, mentally kicking himself and running a hand through his purple locks. He calls your name softly and pulls you into his arms for a tight hug, despite the drying vomit on his dick, which is hanging out and brushes against your hip. You sniffle, peeking at him with shy eyes and he rubs your back soothingly.

“When I say it’s okay, I mean it,” Jungkook murmurs into your hair, “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how drunk you were. I know you feel embarrassed, but it’s just me, baby.”

He kisses you, despite your protests, and helps you rinse your mouth again. You allow Jungkook to somehow maneuver you into the shower, peeling you out of your clothes. You feel grimy and sticky from the club and you’re grateful for the cool water against your skin. You stand behind Jungkook, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face in between his shoulder blades, letting him wash himself.

“Can I wash you?” You whisper, voice unsure. You feel awful, cheeks burning but still. He nods and you take your body wash and lather him with it, washing his now limp dick gently and swallowing nervously.

“See? Not a big deal,” Jungkook says, coaxes you out of your nervousness, “Lemme wash you, baby.”

And so he does, taking your loofah and gently rubbing your skin. Under the cool spray of water, your nerves slip away with each giggle and kiss that he pulls and plants from your lips. Your eyes are still a little shy, a little slick with alcohol. But it’s just Jungkook, and you’re safe with him.

Jungkook nearly wrestles you to get you to eat something more, after throwing up the remainder of your guts after you both had showered (it was mainly just water and alcohol at this point). You’re nearly falling asleep on his shoulder but he manages to shake you awake for a slice of leftover noodles and two glasses of water. But eventually, he coaxes you into eating with a few kisses, hugs, and shoulder rubs.

Once you both are in bed, Jungkook wraps himself around you, his hands immediately drifting below your sleep shirt to your belly. Your cheeks burn as the events of the night replay in your mind’s eye and you press your face into your pillow with a groan.

“I can’t believe I threw up on your dick a-and you’re so nice a-about it,” You mumble, “You really are everything.”

“Well, what else am I going to do if the girl I like vomits on my dick,” Jungkook murmurs, “Don’t worry about it, baby. It happens.”

“To who? Only to me,” You say sadly, “I drank too much. I’m sorry, Kook-”

“Shhh,” Jungkook says, tightening his arms around you and kissing your forehead, “I promise it’s okay. I promise I’m not looking at you any differently.”

His words make you relax in his hold and you nod. Jungkook tilts your jaw towards him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You don’t say anything else after that, only allowing your soft, breathy sighs to spill out of your lips and into him with every comforting kiss and every slip of his tongue in your mouth.

He tells you to rest in between kisses, but your eyes are already closed.

**************************************

MOM TAGS: @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria @kaepjjangiya @drumsofheaven @ppeachyttae @tae-bebe @yiyi4657 @mygscafe @beeeetsandskzreads @maichiverse @hordanhearsawhooo @anonymous2505 @dreadity @mysugarkoo @ultraanonymousey @moonchild1 @fan-ati--c @yeotan07

TAGS: @kookdbean @codeinebelle

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook fluff

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sunrisefairy · 4 years ago

Text

Cameras and crushes

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Warning: Alcohol, small mention of death, pure fluffiness

Summary: Y/N is used to being a background character someone you glaze over but never really notice. But more recently she longed for someone to see her, well she longed for a certain redhead to see her.

A/N: Wrote this for @theweasleysredhair writing challenge based off the prompt “You remembered?” very proud of this fic so i hope you love it as much as i do. All feedback is welcomed :))))

italics represent a flashback

Taglist: send me a message if you would like to be added @hufflepuff5972 @inglourious-imagines @klausdatprettyboi @georgeweasleyswhre

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Y/N is very content with being a background character, she’s quite used to it actually. Growing up with 3 older and much louder brothers she was pretty happy with sticking to the sidelines, letting them be noisy and crazy while she kept to herself. Y/N grew up with mostly boys around her, her mother passed away when she was young. Y/N would always beg her brothers and her dad for stories of her mother, wanting to feel closer to her. Y/N’s dad would fondly retell memories of his beautiful wife, reminiscing on how witty and charismatic she was. He’d mention all the small, quirky things she would do which made him fall hard and fast for her. Y/N longed for that kind of love, she longed for someone to take notice of her in the way her dad did for her mum. Ever since Y/N was a little girl she yearned to be heard and seen but that proved difficult when you’re as shy and quiet as her.

Judging by most of the people in Y/N’s life she seemed to attract the boisterous types, guessing her quiet nature balanced them out. She loved her friends with her entire heart, even if their personalities were the opposite of hers, Y/N wouldn’t change their qualities if she could.

One of her friends, although still lively and vibrant as the others, also had a calm and tranquil side to him. George Weasley. Y/N had only known George for a few years having met at Lee Jordan’s 18th birthday 3 years ago. Somehow that night she had ended up climbing a tree with the tall redhead whom she had only met 30 minutes prior.

“How the hell did you get up to that branch?” Y/N mumbled, trying to figure out how to reach the higher branch where George Weasley was currently sitting, his long legs swinging back and forth as he chuckled at the girl below him.

“I used that branch sticking out there and then swung my leg up to get here.” George points to the branch to the girls left.

Y/N grunts as she attempts what George said but huffs and pouts her lip feeling defeated, “you forget that I have little legs, unlike you Mr. giraffe.”

George rolls his eyes and stretches his hand out, “try again, I’ll help pull you up.”

Somehow, George manages to pull Y/N up and they sit comfortably next to one another up high in the tree. “There you go little bunny, don’t go falling off now.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the nickname wishing she had brought her cider up with her feeling very self-conscious and unsure of what to do her shaking hands.

The pair fall into a comfortable silence, watching the party goers below them gathered around a very intoxicated birthday boy chanting as he chugs another beer, “we love to drink with Lee cause Lee is our mate and when we drink with Lee he gets it down in 8…7…”

Their voices drown out as George gently nudges Y/N’s shoulder pulling her attention back to him, “soo, Y/N I hear you’re not much of the talker?”

Y/N blushes hard grateful for the lack of light outside. “No I guess not. Not many are interested in what I have to say.”

George smiles, his eyes not leaving the girl beside him, “well I am. Tell me something.”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip nervously and looks back at the drunk crowd, “like what?”

George shrugs, he didn’t really mind what the conversation was about, he just wanted to hear the pretty girl speak. “I dunno, anything. Tell me about something that makes you happy.”

Y/N racks her brain for something to talk about, her palms getting sweaty from the long silence. Finally, she settles on something that always fills her with joy, her mother.

“Um okay so,” she starts staring at the leaves swaying in the tree, pushing down the anxiety. “Before my mother died she always had this film camera with her, my dad used to joke around saying that she loved this camera more than him,” Y/N chuckles quietly before continuing “She would take photos of the most random things, we have this big box back home filled with all the photos she ever took with that camera.” Y/N pauses, fumbling with her fingers. “I wish we still had the camera. You see after my mum passed, dad had to look after us 4 kids and with only one income coming in, it was pretty tough. For my 12th birthday I reeeaaally wanted a new bike, I’d complained for years that I couldn’t have my brothers old one because it was a gross boy’s bike. So, my dad sold my mums camera to get me a pink one. Kind of wish he didn’t because I would have loved to still have mum’s camera with us.”

Y/N finished and chewed her lip realising speaking about her dead mother probably wasn’t a great conversation piece, but any story of her mother always made her feel warm inside.

George hadn’t taken his eyes off her throughout the whole story, his heart fluttering when her eyes had lit up as she spoke about her mother.

“I’m sorry, probably not what you wanted to hear, it was the first thing that popped into my head.” Y/N mumbled.

George simply shook his head and replied, “you don’t ever have to apologise to me for saying what’s on your mind Y/N. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

For the first time in a while, Y/N felt seen.

Y/N’s phone dings and she pulls it from her pocket to read the message.

-Hey bunny :) so 4 tonight, we’re aiming to get to urs at like 7. does that work for u?

It was from George. Even if she didn’t have his number saved, she’d be able to tell it was from the redhead simply from his choice of nickname. Y/N hated when he called her bunny but George insisted on using the nickname ever since Lee’s 18th mainly because he thought it was cute not that he would tell her that.

Y/N’s heart thumped harder in her chest purely from the fact that George had texted her. Her crush on George had amplified over the years of knowing the boy, feeling both thankful and uneasy at the fact that he had so effortlessly slotted into their tight friendship group mainly because he was always around making Y/N a stuttering mess.

Y/N’s fingers fumble as she types out a response, it was her birthday today and all her friends we’re persistent in throwing her a party. They had agreed to a small gathering at Y/N’s place, Y/N didn’t want them to make such a fuss over it.

-Hey Georgie, 7 is perfect! Cant wait.

-See u then bunny, hope ur ready to get ur drink on ;)

-IDK, after the other weekend I dont think im ready to face alcohol again

-nope! no excuses from u, u only turn 21 once

Y/N chuckles at George’s message and goes back to tidying her house, ready for tonight.

~~~~

As soon as it hits 7pm her friends are barging through her front door lugging drinks.

Each of them greet Y/N giving her a hug and wishing her happy birthday.

“We’ll do presents later, first let’s get some drinks into us!” Angelina cheers as she starts to mix some deadly concoction. Alicia connects her phone to the speaker, the living room filling with music.

Y/N jumps as a voice pipes up from behind her, “happy birthday little bunny.”

She turns facing George as he places a brightly coloured wrapped box on the counter with the other presents. He opens his arms, engulfing her into a giant hug. Y/N wraps her arms around his waist, giving him a tight squeeze, “thanks” she mumbles into his chest before pulling away looking up at his warm eyes. They stare at each other for a second before the moment is broken when Fred places something on Y/N’s head.

“A birthday tiara for the birthday girl” Fred states loudly, Y/N glances at the mirror hanging from the wall on her left sees a plastic silver and pink tiara perched upon her head.

“Oh god,” Y/N mumbles adjusting it slightly.

Lee shouts over the music, drawing everyone’s attention over to him. “Okay everyone, the ever lovely Angie has made us each a questionable looking but delicious drink to start the night. So get your butts over here and let’s get this party started!”

A few hours and many, many drinks later, everyone is huddled in the living room, sitting on the couches watching Y/N open her presents. So far, she had gotten some perfume from Angelina, chocolates and a gorgeous photo frame from Alicia and Fred and Lee had gifted Y/N with a bottle of wine and voucher from the little boutique at the corner of her street. Y/N’s cheeks were hurting from smiling so much and her heart swelled at the sweet gifts her friends had gotten her.

“Okay, only one left,” Alicia says, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Probably the best one,” Fred whispers to Lee.

“Of course it’s going to be the best one you idiot,” Angelina says as a matter of fact, overhearing the two boys.

George, who is sitting to Y/N’s right, hands over the brightly colour box, trying to hide his excitement and nerves. “Here you go Y/N, happy birthday.”

The box feels heavy in Y/N’s grasp as she places it in her lap tearing off the wrapping paper. Y/N glances around, noticing everyone’s eager eyes on her. She sees Angelina nudge Alicia’s side smiling at each other knowingly. Y/N furrow her brows, slightly confused then draws her attention back to the box. She ripped off the paper carefully and uncover a brown box, no hints as to what is inside.

“Oh my god, hurry up and open it the suspense is killing me!” Fred says impatiently, George whacks him across the head telling him to shut up.

Y/N take off the lid and immediately her mouth gapes open finally seeing what’s inside. She shakily lifts the film camera out of the box and hold it so gently as if it’s made of diamonds and gold.

Small tears prick in Y/N’s eyes, shocked and surprised at George’s gift, it looks exactly like the one her mother had.

She manages to squeak out a small, “you remembered?” referring to the first conversation they had 3 years prior.

George has a small smile etched onto his lips. “Of course I did, I remember everything you tell me. I take a lot of pride in knowing everything about you actually.” He says, puffing his chest out proudly.

“Yeah like what?” Y/N cradles the camera in her arms.

“Well,” George starts. “I know that you hate the smell tequila because it reminds you of your 18th when you spent most of the night by the toilet. I know that you can’t sleep if the room is dead quiet. I know that you love buying plants but can never seem to keep them alive. I know you never wear matching socks because you think it’s a fun way to spice up an outfit.” He finishes smugly.

Alicia and Angelina let out a small aww in the background reminding Y/N of the 4 other sets of eyes watching her and George right now.

“Well there’s one thing you don’t know about me.”

“Yeah? What’s that then?” George counters.

Y/N doesn’t know where she musters up the courage from to speak the next words, maybe from the alcohol buzzing through her body or finally being sick of keeping this to herself for the past 3 years. Whatever it may be, she’s rather proud of herself, ignoring the way her stomach churns.

“That I have a huge crush on you.”

She expected George to laugh in her face before rejecting her gently. What Y/N definitely didn’t expect was him to cradle her face in his large hands, pressing a sweet but passionate kiss to her pink lips. She squeaks in surprise before melting into the kiss, gripping onto his shirt tightly, scared he would slip away.

Much to Y/N’s dismay George pulls away from the kiss tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear, “no I knew that too.”

“Wha-how?” Y/N stutters.

The attention is pulled to Alicia as she begins to speak, “it wasn’t much of a secret babe. Everybody knew you were crushing on George. Can’t believe it took either one of you so long to do something about it.”

“Little Georgie here spent months trying to find that camera for you as a way to confess his undying love for you.” Fred reaches over and ruffles his twin’s hair who shoves him off.

“Yep, we were all so bloody excited for you to open his presents so you two can stop pining over each other.” Lee adds downing the rest of his drink then standing up. “Right, now the two love birds have finally confessed their feelings. Who’s up for a round of beer pong? Reigning champion here has yet to be defeated.”

“You’re on Jordan, that ego of yours has gotten large enough.” Fred challenges, everyone moving over to the table to set up for beer pong. Leaving Y/N and George alone on the couch.

George wraps his lanky arm around Y/N’s shoulder pulling her into his side, “I hope you’re enjoying your birthday bunny.”

Y/N grins widely, playing with her new camera before lifting it up and aiming it at George. “best birthday ever Georgie, thank you.” She squeezes the button down, snapping a picture of George who is staring at her like she’s the only person in the world.

Y/N is very content with being a background character, she’s quite used to it actually. But for once she doesn’t mind being the centre of someone’s undivided attention.

#George weasley #George weasley one shot #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fluff #george weasley fan fic #Fred and george #george weasley imagine #twrh9kwritingchallenge

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

Text

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest.

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles.

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.”

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack.

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself.

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window.

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air.

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze.

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay.

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take.

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely.

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?”

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line.

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot.

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests.

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening.

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!”

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity.

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.”

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest.

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.”

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo.

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips.

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.”

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you.

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together.

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau.

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt.

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back.

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him.

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime.

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes.

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years ago

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Recovering Your Catfish: Changes

Summary- 1.6k Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader. Being back home after the ill fated trip trying to cross the Andes has left your Frankie a different man. While he deals with the trauma, you are there to remind him he still has you. Thick and thin, you are with him the entire way.

Warnings- None except uncomfortable flashbacks.

A/N- this was just an indulgence @babiiface95 has dragged me into for this man. I have no idea how accurate any of this will be, its pure just my fantasy with it. Also I have no clue why, but I see him living in Louisiana, so again I self indulged and that’s where home is for him.

“We’re not dropping the money! Push it, it can go over that ridge.”

“Fuck off Tom, you cant get this thing over it without blowing one of the engines.”

“Get it done.” Tom grunted at him and Frank pushed the lever, making the Mil Mi-8 helicopter shake and rattle. Then it popped, the levers on the dash spinning out of control. They pushed it too hard.

They were going down.

“Frankie! Frankie wake up.” Gentle hands cupped his face and his eyes sprang open to a moonlit dim room filled with the rattling sound of an old AC unit trying its best to combat the midsummer bayou heat and failing miserably. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, but all he could feel was the permanent deep chill of the Andes that was forever ingrained in Franks memory. “Its a dream baby, your home.”

“Fuck Y/N, I’m sorry.” He groaned, his hand raising to cover his eyes as he came back to the present.

“It's okay. You were just mumbling in your sleep.” You smile softly and your touch turns to one that smooths along his cheek, and drops to gentle strokes to the side of his neck and rubbing his earlobes, feeling him start to relax now that he is awake again. In this lighting his brown eyes seemed almost black as he stared up at the ceiling, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. You settle back down next to him, dropping your hand to the center of his chest, which he covers with his own to clutch at it, like he was afraid you were going to let it go. “Do you want to tell me about it?” You offer him, sometimes Frank would share his dream, other times he wouldn't.

“It was just when our engine blew. If I just had one of them cut that load, we would have made it over that ridge. Tom was so stubborn. Wanted the whole load. I knew it wouldn't make it… but I just kept following orders.” He admitted softly while you shifted in closer regardless of the stifling humidity.

“All the men heard you Frankie, any of them could have dropped the load . Its not just on you, you warned Tom.” You reminded him softly, knowing he would continue shouldering the blame because he was the pilot.

Frankie hummed to agree with you, but you knew it was simply to appease you for now. His head tilted to press a kiss against the top of your head.

You sat outside of the therapist office, the windows rolled down and was sure to park in the shade, occasionally you would sip from your water bottle, waiting. Franks sessions usually ran 45 minutes to an hour and you worked it out so that you were here for him afterwards, he never liked being all alone after them, said that all the thoughts would get overwhelming. You were happy to do this for him and were incredibly proud of how far he had come from when he came home.

You waited in the little office at Gerald’s Airstrip where Frank worked on and off since retiring from working Delta Force. The man who left on some “secret mission” he wouldn't tell you much about had been hopeful, promising life was changing for the two of you when he returned.

How right he was.

When the small plane landed and the door opened, you made your way out of the office. The first off the plane was the youthful face of Benny followed closely by Will, which you smiled and hugged them both tightly as they made their way off the steps. “Im so sorry” You whispered to each of them, a rub to their backs and a step back. “I'm so glad you are home though.”

“We are to Y/N.” Ben went in for a quick hug once more and you embraced him once more before separating. The two of them splitting from you and you turned back towards the plane to see Frank making his way carefully down the steps and that's when you felt overwhelming relief. Giving a gentle sob, you rushed the last few feet and vaulted at him, hugging him tightly which he welcomed.

He squeezed you into him and buried his face in your neck just as you did, your fingers clutching at the back of his shirt, taking a shuddering breath, just holding one another for a few moments till you pulled your head up, nuzzling against his ear. “Thank you for making it home Frankie.” “I missed you so much Mon Cherie.” he matched your grasp, like he couldn't lose you, couldn't hold you tight enough to him. Truth be told, after the time he left till he returned home had brought back so many memories of his Delta Force days that you wanted to put it all behind you. For good. No more secret missions, no more worrying if he wasn't going to make it home. Easing back enough to look at him, his hands falling to your hips as you cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing along the smoothness of freshly shaven cheeks.

“You ready to go home Catfish?” you say his nickname with affection and he nods, his brown eyes softening the way warm chocolate would turn when melted.

“More then anything please.”

The therapist’s office door opened and you saw Frank drop his baseball cap lower over his eyes to block some of the midday glare as he made his way across the parking lot where you were parked. You turn the car on and ease out to meet him halfway, which he slipped into the passenger side next to you, going to buckle up.

You never ask him how it went, Frank needed time to process his own thoughts before he was one to share, you knew he would come to you with it probably over coffee the next day or middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, the dark making it easier to face himself. Instead you treated it like it was a normal day. “I got to stop Breaux Mart for some groceries, want me to drop you off at home?”

“Nah, I will come with you. We can stop at the fish mart on the way home, on me.” He offered and you nodded with a grin.

“Deal.”

The market was not too busy, midweek usually wasn't close enough to the weekend for the crowds, which is why you worked your shopping time now along with his therapy sessions. It was all a part of Frank not wanting to be alone afterwards, but did not want to be in the overwhelming presence of people trying to go about there everyday lives, always in a hurry.

Just like he had hurried through the jungle with his rifle against his shoulder, his heart pounding in his ears as he followed behind his team, spinning on his heels to be sure they were not being followed. The rain was drowning all sound, meaning he had to rely on sight alone.

Hurry hurry hurry while loading the vehicle.

His hand shot out and grasped your thigh, overwhelmed searing his chest. You didn't flinch at his sudden movement, just dropped your hand from the steering wheel while waiting at a red light and covered his.

He didn't have to hurry now, didn't have to have orders screamed at him that it was life and death, they gotta move faster to get out of there. Never again, he was home.

With you.

He glanced at you to see you biting at the bottom of your lip as you maneuvered the truck through traffic to the supermarket you preferred to use. Letting go of his hand to use both hands on the wheel when turning.

“I was thinking about making a lemon layer cake for this weekend.” You kept up an idle conversation, glancing at him. “So don't let me forget the lemons.”

“No Ma’am, I won’t.” he promised as they both left the truck. Frank grabbed a cart on the way in, and you pulled out your list, steering him towards the vegetable section to start. You picked through leafy greens, picking up bundles and giving a slight shake to lose the excess water before slipping them into a baggie and setting them in the cart. The drizzle of water shot off near Frank making him wince when he felt the spray settle on his skin, closing his eyes to push the memory of rain water drenching him till his clothes clung to him in a suffocating way, heavier from all the rain while running. Even drinking water made him cringe now, remembering the saltier mix of sweat and blood streaming down his face unable to escape the taste of it with fresh rainwater.

Suddenly he felt your hand slide against his on the cart, pulling his hand into his and giving a squeeze, leading you two away from the spray of the water, towards other vegetables. Somehow you always knew when he needed to be brought back to the here and now. Lifting your hand, he pressed his lips to the back of your hand in a silent thank you while you dropped in a few ears of corn.

“We can do a boil this weekend if you are up for it.” You draw him back into the here and now. Fuck how did he get lucky to have you.

“You know I'm never gonna say no to that. We got the seasoning?” he questioned and you give him a light push, laughing.

“It would be a sin if I didn't have it on hand permanently.” You winked while grabbing other ingredients to use. Approaching the lemons, Frank pauses while grabbing a bag of fresh lemons and you reach to grasp one lightly through the netting, bringing it to your nose to inhale the fresh citrus scent.

“Just what I needed, thank you.”

“Anytime Mon Cherie.”

#finding your catfish #frank morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier au #amber writes #sweater writes

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years ago

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Jealous (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Jealous Rating: Explicit Length: 3100 Warnings: Smut (jealous bathroom sex) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set August 1996. Jealous Javier, as prompted by the glorious @rzrcrst. Summary: Javier gets jealous.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie

Tonight was long overdue. Javier had just wrapped up his first week of teaching at the university and you were ready to celebrate his new beginning.

As much as he had loved staying at home with Josie, it had been patently clear all week that he had needed something more. Teaching seemed to really suit him. He was meticulous with his lecture notes and you’d helped him work on his transparencies for each class. You were only mildly disappointed that you couldn’t be one of his students, because you knew he’d be a hell of a teacher.

You glanced at your watch again. It was all of two minutes closer to six. Javier got off at half past five and it would take him half an hour to get to the bar.

“Would you like a refill on that?” The bartender questioned as he stopped in front of you, gesturing to your half-consumed cherry martini.

“Can you just hit me with a little more of the soda water?” You questioned, pushing the glass across the bar towards him. “Thanks.”

“Well, look who it is.” Drawled the familiar voice of Smith Nyman, one of the liaisons with the The Narcotics Bureau that worked across the hall from you at the department. “Who knew you could clean up on your time off.”

“Cute.” You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t know you drank here. Guess I’m gonna have to find somewhere else to drink.” You laughed, thanking the bartender as he returned with your topped off martini. You took a sip, before turning back to your co-worker, “How are you doing, Smith?”

Smith tucked his hands into his trousers, shrugging his shoulders. “Looking forward to the weekend.” He settled down on the barstool beside you, ordering a gin and tonic from the bartender. “Mind if I keep you company while I wait on a friend?”

“Yeah! Of course,” You glanced at your watch. “Javier should be here in about fifteen.”

“He started teaching this week, right?” Smith questioned, cocking his head to the side.

You nodded, taking a sip of your martini, “Honestly, I think it’s a perfect fit for him. I’m sure it’s killing him not to be home with Josie, but it’s a great gig.”

“I don’t know if I could do the stay-at-home-dad thing,” Smith admitted, picking up his glass as the bartender returned with it. “Hell, I don’t know if I’m ever going to be a father.” He dragged his fingers through his hair with a shrug.

“I never thought I was going to be a mother,” You confessed, running your finger along the rim of your glass. “And I don’t think Javier ever expected to be a father. Sometimes you’ve gotta let life throw its surprises your way.” You gestured towards Smith, “So who are you waiting for? A lady friend?” You wiggled your brows suggestively.

Smith chuckled with a shake of his head, his cheeks reddening with a blush. He took a sip of his gin and tonic, tapping his fingers against the bar as he stared straight ahead for a moment. “Not a lady friend.”

Your brows furrowed together for a moment, before you read between the lines. That would make sense. Smith did tend to get a bit antsy when the other guys would run their mouths about their wives and girlfriends. “Oh.” You nudged him in the arm. “Good for you.”

“Thank you,” He seemed to relax a little then. “The rest of the guys from the department don’t usually make it out this direction.” He gestured around the bar. “I figured it was safe.”

“It is,” You promised him, giving his shoulder a pat. “I am surprisingly good at discretion. Your secret is safe with me.” You took another sip of your drink, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “What’s his name?”

“Troy.” Smith tapped his fingers against the bar nervously. “It’s a second date.” He took another swig of his drink, sitting the glass back down on the bar. “How’d it happen for you and Javier? What date did you realize he was the one?”

“Well,” You made a face, biting down on your bottom lip with a short laugh. “There weren’t exactly any dates. But we had been working together for about five years before our relationship began.” You weren’t ashamed of how the two of you ended up together, but you tried to avoid the scrutiny of a one night stand that ended in a pregnancy. “I think I always knew he was the one.”

Smith hummed thoughtfully, “I haven’t figured out if Troy’s the one.”

“Maybe you’ll figure out tonight.”

He tilted his head to look at you, “He thinks I’m the one. Well, at least that’s what our mutual friend told me.”

“Oh.” You took another sip, glancing past Smith to search for Javier. He should be there soon. “Just play it by ear. It’s always fun and exciting in the beginning. Troy’s probably just smitten with you.” You gestured to Smith as you turned your attention back to him. “Who could blame him?”

“You flatter me.” Smith winked at you and you couldn’t help but laugh, shoving at his arm lightly.

“Just have fun.” You told him, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“This seat taken?”

You jerked your head to the left, eyes widening as you were surprised to see Javier standing beside you at the bar. “Javier!” You grinned, “I didn’t even see you come in.” You slid off the stool with your glass.

“You were occupied,” Javier retorted, his jaw clenched as he nodded his head towards Smith.

“This is Smith,” You told him, reaching down to take Javier’s left hand into your hold, slotting your fingers in between his. “We work together.”

Smith held his hand out and shook Javier’s hand, undeterred by his somewhat icy greeting. “I have heard many good things about you, Javier. You’re a lucky man,” He pointed at you. “This one keeps us on our toes.”

“What he means is, I’m a real ballbuster.” You snorted, shaking your head. “They all sat around eating donuts before I showed up.” You teased, trying to alleviate the slight awkward air that had settled between the three of you.

Javier chuckled, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his dark eyes as they flickered between you and Smith. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

You rolled your eyes, giving Javier’s hand three tight squeezes, “Smith’s waiting on his date.”

“Enjoy your dinner,” Smith offered with a warm smile. “And thank you… for the advice.”

“Anytime,” You said kindly, before you steered Javier away from the bar and towards a table near the back that the waiter had already set up for you. “Bad day at work?” You questioned as you sat down across from him.

“What?”

You arched a brow at him, giving him a pointed look. “If looks could kill, I’m pretty sure Smith’s date would be arriving to find a cadaver right about now.”

Javier shrugged, his jaw still noticeably tense. “I’ve got a stack of essays to grade, but aside from that, work was fine.”

Your lips parted, a response primed on the tip of your tongue, but the waitress appeared with two menus and interrupted you before you had the chance. You couldn’t believe he was jealous.

Except, you couldn’t exactly blame him. Smith had a look about him that actually reminded you a bit of Lance. The only difference was that Smith had a strong Boston accent. He was tall, fit, blue-eyed, and had sandy blonde hair that wasn’t entirely dissimilar from your ex-boyfriend. Oh, and he was apparently not into women.

It didn’t help that you had just seen Lance last week — a fact that you knew had gotten under Javier’s skin.

“Javier,” You started once the waitress had taken your drink orders.

“Hmm?” He questioned, lifting his eyes to meet your gaze.

“You’re going to break your teeth if you clench your jaw any tighter.” You reached across the table, taking ahold of his hand. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not being an asshole.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, cocking your head. “Just a little bit.” You rubbed your thumb over the side of his hand. “You’re jealous.”

“Of him?” Javier scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not.” He shifted in his seat, his gaze flickering back towards the bar where Smith was sitting. “I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” You released your hold on his hand, winding your fingers through your hair as you sank back in your seat. “Not gonna lie, this jealousy thing could work for me.”

His brows rose upwards, “I’m not jealous.”

“We’ll go with that,” You rolled your eyes, sitting up straight when the waitress returned with your drinks. “Anyways, we’re supposed to be celebrating your first week back in the workforce.” You raised your martini glass. “Shall we toast?”

Javier held his whiskey up, clinking his glass against yours. “To my first week.”

You smiled at him, nudging his foot under the table. “I’m proud of you. Your students are extremely lucky.”

“I think it’s going to be a great semester,” Javier took a drink of his whiskey, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The other faculty are a bit old school, but I think I can break them out of their bullshit.”

“What? Are they still picking your brain for tales of Colombia?”

“Every fucking day.” Javier huffed, shaking his head slowly. “I get it. We were part of something that they all think is exciting.”

“And it was awful.” You pressed lips together as you stared across at him, your eyes flickering over his face.

“A fucking nightmare.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Do they ask you about Colombia?”

“Sometimes,” You shrugged. “I’m not the one whose name is known, however.” You pointed out, “Most of the time people want to know about us.” You gestured towards the bar, “Like Smith and everyone else from Narcotics. They’re curious.”

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he sat his whiskey back down on the table. “I don’t think that’s why they ask you about me.”

“You are jealous!” You slapped the top of the table and laughed. “Javier, you’re such a goddamn idiot sometimes.”

“He was hitting on you!”

“He was not.”

Javier knocked back his whiskey, sitting the glass down heavily on the table. “You always tell me when waitress and fucking dance moms are hitting on me.”

“Smith wasn’t hitting on me.” You insisted.

“Maybe you just didn’t realize he was.” Javier gritted out through clenched teeth. “But he was.”

You took a sip of your martini, before following suit and finishing it off in one drink. “I’m going to the bathroom.” You were going to take advantage of that buzz you felt from two martinis.

“Baby—“ Javier tried to catch your hand, but you moved too quickly.

You turned around, taking a few steps backwards as you caught his gaze, before you headed down the hallway that led to a short set of stairs that led to another hallway where the bathrooms were.

No sooner than you had stepped inside the bathroom and shut the door, Javier was knocking at the door. He was no fool — he knew what you were angling for.

“Are you going to admit that you’re being jealous?” You questioned as you opened the bathroom door to let him in.

“Oh, fuck you.” Javier seethed with a wicked smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you and kissed you with all the heat he had in his gaze. He pinned you back against the door, one hand at your hip as the other fumbled with locking the door behind you.

You curled your fingers around his tie, loosening the knot enough for you to start unbuttoning his shirt. “Jealous.” You taunted, nipping at his bottom lip — just to get a rise out of him.

Javier’s fingers tangled in your hair, cradling the back of your head, his mouth hot and greedy as he trailed kisses down the column of your throat. “I’m not,” He drew back, meeting your eyes. “Jealous.”

You cupped his cheeks with both hands, grinning up at him as you tilted your head to kiss him again. “You are and I love it.”

He groaned against your lips, his tongue sweeping out to drag over the roof of your mouth. Javier ran his hand down your side until he reached the hem of your suede skirt. His fingers met the soft skin there and he slid his hand up over the expanse of your bare leg to grab at your hip.

You arched your back, pressing towards him as you curled your fingers around the back of his neck. “Javi,” You whispered as he pulled back, his dark gaze settling on yours.

“I just fucking hate it sometimes, baby.” Javier admitted, working his jaw as he kept his eyes on you. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“Yes you do.” You surged forward and kissed him again as you ran your hands over his bare chest and stomach, until you reached for his belt, working to unfasten it. “I love you.”

Javier peeled your skirt upwards, bunching it around your hips as he slid one hand in between your thighs, his fingers ghosting over your cunt through the fabric of your underwear. “Yeah? Do you?”

You dragged your teeth over your bottom lip as you sank back against the door, angling your hips towards his touch. “Asshole.” You hissed out as you tugged at his hair, pulling him back towards you.

His nose brushed against yours, lips barely meeting your lips as he breathed out without reluctance that he loved you too.

You worked his slacks open the rest of the way, shoving his boxers down far enough to free his cock. There was nothing elegant about fucking in a bathroom — but there was something about it that you absolutely loved.

This had you wondering what things would’ve been like, if you had capitalised on Javier’s bad attitude when you had dated Lance. He had been a perpetual dick those first few months and now you wondered if he would’ve fucked you in a bathroom all those years ago.

“Turn around.” Javier ordered, his voice low and rough and you felt that pool of arousal in your lower belly burn hotter.

You rested your forearm against the door, resting your forehead against your arm as Javier’s hands skimmed over your bare legs. He crowded close to you, your back to his chest as he slid a hand around to cup you through your underwear again. He was teasing you — on purpose.

His fingers pushed the crotch of your underwear aside, sliding between your folds before he worked one digit into your slick center. “Fuck, baby. Look how wet you are. Is that all for me?”

You bit down on your bottom lip as you nodded, your inner walls fluttering around his fingers as he worked a second into you, working them in and out of you. You could feel his cock pressed against your ass, hard and hot and everything you wanted pounding you into that door right then and there.

Javier’s tongue teased at your ear, his teeth catching your earlobe with just enough pressure to make you moan.

“Is that all you’ve got?” You quipped, grinding back against his cock. He had mercy on you — he swiftly withdrew his fingers, nearly ripping your underwear down your thighs before he replaced his fingers with his cock in one rough thrust.

You cried out, louder than you should’ve in a restaurant bathroom — but the angle had him hitting your sweet spot every time he slid into you.

Javier curled his fingers loosely around your throat, drawing you back against him as he snapped his hips into you again and again. “You have any idea how fucking lucky I am to have you, baby?” He rasped out, his lips brushing over your jaw. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

You reached behind you, fingers gripping at his hair as you rocked back into his thrusts, “Then show me.” You managed, your nails scraping over the back of his neck.

He groaned out your name as his fingers curled around your throat tighter. Javier’s hand grabbed roughly as he picked up his pace. “Fuck, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

“I’m close,” You warned him, letting your head fall forward against your forearm.

Javier gave you exactly what he wanted. He grabbed at your hip roughly, holding you steady as he slammed into you again and again — driving right into that sweet spot until he had you seeing stars as you came for him.

He was fast behind you, but he didn’t stop pumping into you until your inner walls had milked every last drop of his release from him.

“I love you,” Javier whispered, turning your head so he could press a kiss to your cheek, his breath dancing over your skin as he lingered there.

You played your fingers through his hair as you reached behind you, “I love you too.” You laughed breathlessly. “Especially after you fuck me like that. Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah?”

“My legs are trembling.” You told him, biting down on your bottom lip as Javier ran his hand along your inner thigh. “Did you rip my underwear?”

Javier snorted, nuzzling at the crook of your neck. “Maybe.”

“You’re a menace.”

He gave your ass a playful swat, “Which is exactly what you love.” Javier reluctantly pulled free from you, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you standing.

You turned around in his embrace, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “It’s true, I do.” You admitted as you ran your hand over his bare chest.

“I’m sorry I was a jackass,” Javier told you gently as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You should be.” You tilted your head to look up at him, “Especially when we go back out there and you see Smith with his boyfriend.”

“What—“ Javier’s brows drew together. “Well, shit.”

“Mhm.” You shoved him in the chest. “Like I said. He wasn’t hitting on me.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair, “Now I really do feel like a jackass.”

“It’s a good thing I love you anyways.” You gave his cheek a pat, before you kissed him again. “Why don’t I close out my tab and we go home?”

Javier nodded, “We’ve got leftover pizza.”

“You’re speaking my language.” You winked at him as you reached out to work at his buttons.

As much fun as it sounded to spend the night out, an evening in after a long week seemed even more appealing, especially with the mess you’d made of each other.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

149 notes · View notes

keichan · 4 years ago

Text

Mutual Interest

Request: AAAAA IM IN NEED FOR SUM OSAMU X SHY READER where she loves to cook like him and they meet through a library bc she’s finding new recipes and they both want the same book and bc of that they become friends and then he tries to confess! Adding the team trying to help him too lmaoo ✨✨

A/N: midterms do b kickin my ass! Happy birthday twins! MIYA SUPREMECY

Warnings: Swearing

WC: 4.2k

★Osamu x Reader ★

It was a quiet afternoon in the public library. You wandered down the cookbook isles with your hands in the pockets of your sweatpants, peering through the shelves. Lately you feel like you’ve run out of ideas for your cooking. You were so occupied with your eyes glued to the shelves, you didn’t even notice that someone was right in front of you.

You collided to the side of a tall boy around your age. Heat quickly rushed to your cheeks and you bowed whispering a brief apology. You avoided his gaze as he reassured you it wasn’t a big deal before his back turned away from you.

You caught a glimpse of his jacket reading the words ‘Inarizaki Volleyball Club’. It was a neighboring school close to yours was the only thought in your head before you returned your focus back to the shelves. Your hands hovered over a book that caught your eye. You gently pull it off the shelf before analyzing the cover.

“Damn, I’ve been looking for that one this entire time.” The voice of the boy before rang in your ear. You pull the book to your chest before turning around to meet a pair of startling gray eyes.

“S-sorry, I don’t think there’s another copy.” You stuttered.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “It’s just kind of a bummer, every time I’ve come here, it’s always gone.”

You look down at your sneakers, teetering on your heels nervously.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it! So do you like to cook? I think I’ve seen you here a few times. In this section I mean.”

You nod with your gaze to the ground.

“It’s definitely my favorite thing to do.”

“Really?” Excitement flooded his voice. He leaned down to meet your gaze. His eyes bore into yours. “I love to cook! If it’s not too strange I was going to cook some agemochi for a small lunch time snack. I hope it’s not too weird to invite you to my place. Maybe I could browse over the book!”

You didn’t know the tall gray-haired boy at all… But agemochi was definitely one of your favorite things to eat…

“Only because of the agemochi.” Your head snapped towards his followed with a confident nod. He clapped his hands together (silently) with a coy smile etched on his lips.

“Perfect! Let’s go…” he tilted his head at you.

“L/N F/N.”

He began walking to the book checkout. “Let’s go, L/N F/N. Also my name is Miya Osamu.”

Luckily for you, Miya Osamu lived between your home and the library.

He halted at his front door fumbling for his keys. He paused to turn to you with a blank look on his face. “I just want to tell you now, if my brother is home, I’m so sorry.” With that, he turned his keys in the door to hear a voice yelling from inside.

“‘Samu! Is that you? I’m fuckin hungry.” Osamu walked into his home with you in tow, rounding the corner you saw a boy who looked exactly like him, though his hair bleached and had the most bored expression pasted on his face. You peeked your head around Osamu’s shoulder to see his face contort into something completely different. A resting smirk.

“My, my, who do we have here?” He propped his chin up on his hands before glancing up to meet his brother's eyes.

“This is Y/N. We became friends at the library roughly 15 minutes ago because she likes to cook, so I invited her over so I can cook for her.”

“How sweet!”

“Shut up.”

The two broke into snide remarks and your eyes traveled back and forth between the two as if it was a tennis match. After roughly a minute Osamu quit bickering and grabbed your wrist gently to bring you into the kitchen.

“Sorry, he’s a little much.”

“No, it’s okay my-“

“I’m literally right here, ‘Samu.”

Osamu ignored his twin as he began to sort out his ingredients to cook for you.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m over?”

Osamu turned to give you a reassuring smile.

He began to ask more questions about you, always turning his head to give you a sign that he was all ears for whatever you had to say to coax you out of your shell. He didn’t push you to answer anything but words came out easy around him. Turns out that you two had loads in common on top of cooking. It wasn’t before long before you thought in your mind that you were more than happy to have met him, and not just for the agemochi.

“Osamu, I’m just saying that you’re cooking this wrong. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I’m sorry, but what did you two just say to me?”

“Oh! This is getting interesting!” Atsumu’s eyes switched between the two of you, holding his drink in both hands like a toddler watching cartoons.

You covered your face with your hands contemplating, before taking a deep sigh.

“Osamu, if you cook your vegetables like that and add it in it’s not going to taste right. And you’re cutting it in the wrong shape so it’s not going to cook evenly.” You stammered, looking everywhere besides the twins.

Osamu crossed his arms with an annoyed expression. “Really?”

You stiffly nodded. Osamu noticed your body tense up and walked towards you with a small smile.

“It’s okay! I haven’t had your cooking yet since you’ve been coming over! I’d really love to try it, could you show me how?”

“Really?”

“Really.” He placed a hand on your shoulder for reassurance, offering an eye squinting smile.

“Why aren’t you this nice to me ‘Samu?!” Atsumu glared at his brother. Osamu used a single hand to wave off Atsumu without another word.

Atsumu eventually got irritated and went to his bedroom. The only request being for someone to get him when the food is ready.

The entire time you prepared the dish Osamu peered over your shoulder. His eyes were as big as saucers as he watched you in amazement.

“Y/N, I hate to admit it, but you were absolutely right, this looks way better than mine could’ve ever been.”

You turned your head around becoming face to face with Osamu with such a happy smile on your face.

Oh Osamu realized. This is your comfort zone. It’s the only time he’s seen you after all of these weekends without a crease in your forehead or your eyebrows scrunched together. He couldn’t help but smile back.

“Right!”

You focused on the dish with Osamu hovering over you and you presented it to him as if you were in your own little restaurant.

“Here you go!”

Osamu graciously accepted the plate before sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Are you gonna eat, Y/N?”

“Yeah! I just want to see how you like it first!”

He nods before digging in to take the first bite. Osamu lifts his eyebrows with his eyes closed before nodding rapidly.

“Y/N this is delicious!”

You touched your face with your hand before looking down at the ground. “Thank you!”

“Mhm! Go get you a plate so we can eat together.”

You nodded. Before stepping around into the kitchen you look at Osamu. Never in your life have you seen someone in your life so happy to eat your cooking, not even your family. It made your heart warm.

“We always cook over here, you should come over to my place and cook with me!” You sat on the Miya’s kitchen counter dangling your legs off the ground.

“Please go ‘Samu. It’s been months. I’m tired of you two invading the kitchen every weekend. I miss my peace and quiet.”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “No free food for you then since you can’t cook for shit.”

“I-I didn't mean it like that I-“

“Don’t worry Atsumu, I’ll be sure to send Osamu home with something for you.” You sent him a small smile.

Atsumu faced his brother and pointed a finger over to you. “I really like her. You should definitely keep her around.”

Osamu’s cheeks turned a shade of pink. “Shut up.”

You laughed as the twins broke out into a string of insults.

After school was over, Osamu met you in front of the gates of your high school to walk you home on a Friday evening.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come over tomorrow and just do Saturdays like normal?”

“No I can’t. We have qualifiers for nationals coming up so we have a lot of extra practice. We just need to squeeze in whatever time we can together”

“Right. Are you guys really good-“ you groaned. “-of course you’re really good! Your school has gone to the nationals like three years in a row! Sorry that was stupid of me.” You pulled at your skirt nervously.

Osamu chuckled. “It’s okay!”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to look at him. “I know. Also I’d really like it if you’d come out to a practice match, Y/N.”

“Osamu, I’d really like to, but I can’t.”

“If it’s about all the people, I can assure you that it’s not as many as you think, I’d just really like to see your face from the sidelines. I understand if you say no. It’s okay.” With that Osamu gave you a quick smile and a gentle pat on your head before beginning to walk ahead.

“Y/N, who is this?” Your dad greeted the two of you at the front door.

Before you could open your mouth Osamu stepped in front of you and bowed. “Miya Osamu, sir. I’m a friend of Y/N’s. We met because we both really enjoy cooking.”

“Oh! You’re her friend that she goes to visit every weekend! Pleasure to meet you!”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Osamu came over so we can cook today, is that alright, dad?”

Your dad nodded before the three of you walked into the kitchen.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to go upstairs and change.” You placed your backpack on the kitchen table before exiting the room.

Your dad leaned onto the counter. “I’m really glad that you and her met. She seems really happy when she comes home and she’s always looking forward to going over every weekend. Plus she’s always bringing home your cooking for me and her mom so I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, sir. I really enjoy being around her.” Osamu dipped his head slightly.

“Dad you’re not freaking him out, are you?” You appeared in the doorway fiddling with your hands.

He chuckled before shaking his head. “Just bragging on you.”

“How embarrassing, sorry you had to listen to all of it, Osamu.” You nodded in his direction.

“Don’t worry about it. I enjoyed it.” Osamu offered a small smile.

“C’mon, Y/N! You’re really going to love this bakery! When I found out about it, I just had to bring you.” Today was another day of Osamu wanting to walk you home after school. Your heart felt warm as he interlaced his fingers with yours and began to walk towards the city.

“Osamu, I didn’t know we were going out today. I don’t have my wallet-”

“I’m treating you today! It’s a date!” He grinned at you.

“I like the sound of this!”

“The date part or the free after school snack part?”

“The snack!” Both.

“Damn.” Osamu let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m just kidding, you know I enjoy spending time with you!”

Osamu let go of your hand to hold the door to the cute little store open for you making your face

heat up as you look at the ground. Osamu took your hand in his once more.

“I know you do.”

He stood in front of you to order your favorites as you admired him from behind, smiling. Everyday with Miya Osamu warmed your heart.

“Osamuuuuu!” You whined into the phone. “Open your front door! It’s freezing out here!”

“The front door is too far away.” He retorted. “The couch is so cozy… and warm. I don’t want to.”

“Osamu, pleaseeee! I’m going to turn into an icicle.” You hear him groan on the other line.

“Y/N, why’re you acting like it's winter outside?”

“It’s December, Miya. Open the door.”

The line disconnected.

The front door’s lock clicked and the door opened to reveal a very tired Osamu. He yawned, running his hands through his hair before moving aside to let you in. You couldn’t help but yawn.

You punched his back as you followed him into the living room.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You made me yawn stupid! And I’m freezing since you made me wait outside for so long.”

“Let me make you some hot tea.”

“It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay.”

Osamu sat down on the couch. “I was watching movies before you got here, hence the wear pajamas text I sent you. Wanna watch my favorites with me?”

You grinned. “Of course!”

You sat down next to him as he began a new movie.

“Osamu can you share the blanket with me? I’m still pretty cold.”

“If that's okay with you then I don’t mind.” He lifted up the blanket. You comfortably slid over beside him.

You pulled the blanket up to your chin before holding yourself in your arms in an attempt to warm yourself up. Osamu shifted closer to you before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you towards his chest. Your body quickly relaxed into his side, into his warmth.

“I made you some bento boxes for you to take home tonight. They’re sitting in the fridge for you.”

“Thanks, Osamu. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

You gently slid your arm across his stomach to pull yourself closer to him. His other hand moved up to hold your arm gently. The two of you basked in a comfortable silence as the movie continued.

Atsumu walked down the stairs of his home calling for his brother. He halted in the living room to see the two of you were laying down on the couch, passed out with the TV still running. You were strewn across Osamu, your head buried in his neck and your arms draped across his shoulders. The gray-haired boy held you tightly to his chest. Quiet snores coming for both of you.

Annoyance spread across Atsumu’s face. He wanted Osamu to cook him something to eat. He walked behind his brother to smack him on the forehead. Osamu winced before Atsumu flicked him.

“‘Samu. I’m hungry.” He whined. Osamu’s eyes barely opened to scowl at his brother.

“Make instant ramen, I’m taking a nap.”

“Y/N comes over all the time now and you go to hers all the time, just do all of this cutesy shit later.”

“Same goes to you and your food idiot.”

“Who are you calling an idiot?”

“Are you being serious right-”

“‘Samu, be quiet. You’re being loud.” You mumble into his chest. He stroked your hair, muttering a quiet apology. Osamu shot his twin a glare before closing his eyes again.

“Be that way, asshole.”

“Osamuuuuu! Wake up.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked up to poke at the boy’s cheeks. You giggled. When Osamu was asleep, his bottom lip barely jutted out. It was adorable.

“What?” He mumbled. He grabbed your hand and held it in his to keep it flat against his face. He looked down at you sleepily, your noses nearly brushing. You swallowed a lump in your throat that you didn’t know was there.

“It’s getting late. I need to go home.”

“But I’m comfortable, lay back down.”

“But, Osamu-“

“Please?”

“Okay.” You stuttered. “Ten more minutes.”

“Ten more minutes.”

Osamu gave your hand a slight squeeze before his hand traveled down to play with your hair.

“Y/N.” He whispered.

“Mmm” you mumbled into his chest.

“I really liked it when you called me ‘Samu. It was really adorable.”

“‘Kay ‘Samu. I think I wanna stay like this for a little bit longer with you.”

“I think the team for the practice match is here.”

“Really? I have a good feeling about this one.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” Kita interjected into the twins' conversation.

Atsumu held his hands up. “Woah, woah. I would never!”

Kita’s eyes bore into Atsumu’s before briefly walking away. Atsumu gulped before facing his brother. He gave him and Suna and small thumbs up with a stupid face mouthing “we got this”.

Throughout the entirety of the match Atsumu was attempting to show off more than normal. Surprisingly to every member of the team, he didn’t mess up. At all.

“‘Samu, for the next play we should do the soul swap.”

“Stop giving things weird names.”

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

Osamu rolled his eyes as the team readied themselves on the court. The opposing team served the ball over to the net. Aran did a diving receive leading up to the twins to do the attack successfully, scoring a point for the match. The attack got the entire team in the zone and the twins competition with each other was flowing over the brim.

It wasn’t before long that Inarizaki had won the match.

After thanking the other team for the game Osamu walked up to his brother. “Why were you being more irritating than usual? Why're you trying to show off more than normal?”

“I just wanted to set you up to look better in front of her.” Atsumu nodded his head towards the stands. Osamu's eyes landed on you. He broke out into an excited smile. Quite frankly, it scared everyone of the team who saw it. Osamu was usually so deadpan with his expressions, it was alarming.

Without another word, Osamu began to jog towards you.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming to a match! This is our last practice match before nationals. We leave tom-.”

“‘Samu! Why didn’t you ever tell me you were so good! Every time you spiked the ball it looked so cool! I didn’t know you could do all of that!” You looked at the boy in astonishment. His face turned bright red.

“I texted Atsumu about it last minute because I wanted to surprise you before you leave. And you’re right, there weren't a lot of people.” You smiled.

“Sorry you had to see Atsumu flub his serves a lot today. He’s not as good as he thinks he is.”

You just laughed and waved it off. “Everyone makes mistakes, ‘Samu.”

“But especially ‘Tsumu, I mean you saw him.” He turned over his shoulder. “Oi, ‘Tsumu! Y/N said you suck!” You quickly shook your head over at Atsumu who looked like he could murder his brother.

“‘Samu!” You slapped his shoulder. His hands slid into yours with ease as the two of you laughed. By now every single member of the Inarizaki boy’s volleyball team was staring at the two the two of you interacting. Confusion and shock and disgust (Atsumu) were on everyone’s face as they started to clean the court.

Osamu quickly rushed over to help clean after mentioning to you to wait for him so you can come over and help him pack. He went to the locker room to take a fast shower and by the time he was out, you were surrounded by Aran, Kita, and Suna. Instead of seeing you reserved with a worried expression, you were laughing. More importantly, you got both Kita and Aran laughing at what you said. Atsumu appeared next to his twin.

“I can’t fucking believe it. Your girl actually got Kita to laugh. She’s a godsend.” Osamu nodded as he watched you from across the gym, his mouth slightly agape. Suna walked up to the twins. “I didn’t know you got a girlfriend, Osamu. She’s really sweet.”

“She’s really amazing, I-”

“Believe it or not they’re not actually dating. They just spend an obnoxious amount of time together in our house. Cuddling on the couch or cooking. Invading my homelife. The only good thing is that she makes ‘Samu less rude and doesn’t mind bringing me food or cooking for me. Dunno why ‘Samu won’t ask her out, it-”

“Watch it asshole. I have a plan-”

“Obviously not, she’s obviously in love with you, she probably isn’t even sure if you like her. You know she’s too shy to ask you anything.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why has she talked to me about it?”

“Stop fucking lying to me.”

“But I’m not-”

Osamu harshly punched his brother's side.

“I hate you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The twins looked up to see you, Kita and Aran walking over. They both plastered smiles over while Suna looked irritated.

“Ready to go?”

Osamu smiled walking up to you, grabbing your hand. He waves over his shoulder to everyone.

“See you guys tonight!”

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N-san!” Kita smiled at you. The twins looked dumbstruck.

“You too, Kita-san! Bye everyone!”

You and the twins began to walk back to their home.

“‘Samu, you didn’t have to walk me home, it’s out of the way of the high school.” You laughed. He swung your clasped hands as the two of you stepped in front of your front door.

“I know but I wanted to.”

“Well, I’ll see you when you get back. I’ll be watching the live streams so you better play well for me.” You let go of his hand to turn to your door but he grasped it again. He pulled you into his chest for a hug.

“I’m gonna miss you.”

You pressed further into him, hugging him back.

“Right back at you.” You leaned up to place a small kiss on his cheek. The two of you paused, staring at each other as if to acknowledge what you just did. Osamu’s eyes flickered down to your lips before slowly leaning down. His lips gently brushed against yours, placing a soft, chaste kiss on them.

“I’m definitely going to win nationals now.” Osamu pulled away with a gentle smile resting on his lips.

“I’ll see you next week, okay?” With that, Osamu kissed the top of your forehead and began walking down the street.

Your fingers grazed your own lips, wondering what just happened

Though you’ve been watching Inarizaki play, you’ve barely heard from either of the twins. Just a hey or sorry text for not responding once or twice a day. You knew that they were insanely busy, but didn’t try to overthink it too much. They’re supposed to come home this morning, but it was already dipping into the late afternoon, but you didn’t want to call or text since you knew they’d be exhausted. Especially after their loss against the team from Miyagi.

Your phone buzzed gently beside you

Miya Atsumu: Hey, I don’t know where ‘Samu is, but can you come over and cook for me, our parents are out of town again.

You rolled your eyes. You were already rushing to put on a sweater and lacing up your sneakers before hauling out the front door.

You raised your hand to knock on the Miya’s door to be greeted face to face with their volleyball captain.

“Kita-san? Did Atsumu ask you to help him cook too?”

He shook his head and Aran appeared over his shoulder. The two of them presented to you small bouquets of flowers. You lifted an eyebrow at them but the two men just smiled and stepped aside for you to walk in.

You walk forward to the living room to see the furniture moved out of the way with a small picnic blanket covering the wood floor. With candles and pillows. Best of all, you recognized all of the favorites Osamu has ever cooked for you on little plates, neatly organized.

Osamu stepped out into your view, behind him were other members of the team, soft smiles resting on their faces (except Suna).

“I would’ve definitely made this outside but it’s just a tad chilly, so I hope this suffices.”

Osamu carefully grabbed the flowers out of your hands and placed them on the ground before grasping your hands in his.

“Sorry for kissing you and just not saying much of anything. When we were in Tokyo, outside of playing, the team and I planned this out, that’s why I wasn’t answering.” His grip tightened gently, his thumbs now rubbing over the tops of your hands.

“I really like you. I’m so glad that we bumped into each other that day in the library. I enjoy you coming over here every weekend, and especially now since you come over more. I enjoy spending my time with you and I hope to do it for a long time. Will you be my girlfriend?”

You nodded before throwing your arms around his neck. He held you tightly before placing a small kiss on your cheek, flashing a thumbs up to everyone signaling it was time for them to head out.

He pulls away and places his finger under your chin mumbling “thank god for that cookbook.” Before going in for a kiss.

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