#i wall her through paying rent every month | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

m-yg93 · 11 months

Text

Solace

Pairing: KNJ x Reader

WC: 13.5k

Genre: Roommates2L

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: Brief blood mention from a cut, mention of minor character death (sickness), fingering, hand job, big dick joon, belly bulge, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, creampie, dirty talk, inconsistent POV

Banner by @sugarwithtea

Beta’d by @yoongiobsessed and Sara (twitter link)

Summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

Author’s Note: This should have been written months ago. I don’t have an excuse. Oh well, it’s here now!

Part of the Room For Rent collab

There needs to be a word that describes the feeling of being happy for someone while simultaneously going through betrayal.

Namjoon is happy for Yoongi, of course he is, but watching him from across their kitchen table is sending an uncomfortable wave through him. He didn’t expect his oldest and closest friend to run from him, leave him in the dust, just straight up abandon him.

“Oh my God, you’re being dramatic. I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving to Gangnam. It’s just across the river! You and your freakishly thick thighs can bike to my new place in 20 minutes.”

Okay so perhaps he’s being a little dramatic but what else was he supposed to think? He and Yoongi had shared this apartment for years. There had been countless sleepless nights fueled by too much ramen, the living room littered with energy drinks as they bumped heads and helped each other brainstorm ideas for new beats. These walls hold melodies and memories, and he’s just expected to share them with someone else now?

“Plus, I told you you’re welcome to move in with Jin and I. His dad’s some CEO and the apartment is ridiculously lavish. There’s a room with your name on the door if you want it. I’m serious, Jin has this thing with plaques and has a name for every room, it’s honestly worrying. I won’t even tell you what he decided to name the master bedroom.”

Namjoon purses his lips at the thought. That was the main reason behind turning Yoongi’s offer down. He likes Jin and genuinely loves that he brings so much light into Yoongi’s naturally dreary life. Seeing Yoongi’s lips fight against a smile only to burst into the cheesiest, gummy grin while audibly groaning about his boyfriend’s terrible jokes brings a warmth to Namjoon’s chest every time. Yoongi deserves to be happy and he knows Jin is the best person for the job. But he knows full well the couple will christen every room of that apartment and he wants no part of it.

“I know,” he agrees, “But with the proximity to Yongsan park? I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this place.” The open fields just outside the doors of their apartment are the first solace he reaches for when the instrumentals in his brain just keep fighting each other, transforming into the screeching noise of the streets under his window. The trees don’t talk back but letting out his frustrations under the canopy of leaves feels like it helps anyway. “I guess I’ll have to try to pick up some extra freelance contracts to make up for having to pay the rent alone. I hate having to produce meaningless pop but it brings in decent cash when I’m in a tight spot,” he laments.

“Dude, I’m not heartless. I didn’t just decide to move out and leave you stranded. I have a friend from high school. I don’t see her often but she’s a good time and she’s looking to move out of her parents’ place now that she’s done with her degree. It’ll be easier to find work in the city. I’ve mentioned her. Y/N? I go out to dinner with her every couple months to make sure we keep in touch. She’s pretty shy and she’s quiet, you’ll barely notice she’s here.”

There’s a wave of relief that comes with knowing he won’t have to pinch pennies but it quickly turns frigid at the realization that he’ll have to live with a stranger. What if she was a morning person? What if she was a smoker and made the whole apartment fill with the lingering acrid smell? What if she killed his plants?

“I can see your brain working overtime. Breathe, I wouldn’t offer the place to someone I know doesn’t fit your vibe,” Yoongi reassures. I guess there’s not much else to do but wait and see how compatible your living situations are.

Thankfully their own music equipment had been bought separately because they’ve been bickering all day when Yoongi tries to put something in a box from their shared spaces only to have Namjoon object.

“What are you going to do with a wok, Joon? YOU DON’T COOK!”

“Jin has a plethora of different ones in his kitchen and we both know it! Maybe your friend likes to cook, huh? Maybe she’ll want the wok to make meals.”

“Make you meals, you mean?” Okay so maybe he was hoping the new roommate situation came with food because losing both Yoongi and Jin’s cooking overnight was going to hit him hard. He’ll wither away into a string bean at this rate seeing as he’s not allowed near the knives nor the stove.

Yoongi must take pity in the pleading look in his eyes because he puts down the wok with a sigh and passes to the next cupboard. Namjoon is distracted by Jin’s entrance, always loud and boisterous.

“Hey! How is packing going? I just parked the moving van downstairs but I don’t know how long I’m allowed to be there.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shouts from across the apartment. “I’d be done already if Joon didn’t try to steal all my shit and force me to leave them here.” He’s zooming past him, bony shoulder purposefully digging into Joon’s bicep.

“I’m monitoring the fair share of roommate assets,” he huffs. “Jin’s apartment has more shit in it than he already needs. You’re leaving me alone with only memories that you once cared for me. The least you could do is not leave with half of what’s in this measly dwelling when your sugar daddy’s got you up in a penthouse.”

They both know the jabs are jokes. Jin has more money than anyone needs, but he’s also a hard worker and spent his youth learning how to take over the business from his father when the time comes. He’d swept Yoongi off his feet with expensive dinners and outrageous gifts when they were first dating, only knowing how to flaunt his money for attention before Yoongi set him straight and taught him that he’d have to put more thought into his courting if he expected him to stick around. Clearly, he did.

Reminiscing about his, nearly ex, roommate almost distracts him enough to miss Yoongi trying to sneak a thin square package into his last remaining box.

“You’re going to take that vinyl out of here over my dead body, Yoongi!” The apartment echoes the lament in surround sound.

They do eventually make it to the van parked downstairs after Yoongi finishes taping up his boxes with only a limited amount of protest from Namjoon.. The air is humid, clothes sticking to Namjoon’s skin as he chases after the wind from Yoongi’s open window like a dog on his first car ride. Jin’s apartment building is a stark opposite from their, his, own. Whereas the outside of his building is all grey concrete walls, Jin’s is all sleek glass of floor-to-ceiling windows causing the brightness of the sun to reflect off and into Namjoon’s eyes as he looks up to the top where his friend will now be living.

The air conditioning of the lobby hits full force, the trio letting out a pleasant hum which quickly turns into a deep groan when they see the elevator boasting an out of order sign. Two pairs of sharp eyes round on Jin, malice dripping from furrowed brows.

“I swear it was working when I left this morning. They must be using all the power to keep each unit’s AC going through the heat wave. The stairs are this way.” He points to a corner of the lobby, tight corridor leading to a single door.

“The stairs? You live in the penthouse, that’s FIFTEEN flights, babe.” Yoongi is quick to point out.

“Are you trusting enough to keep all your music equipment in the van for who knows how long this heat is going to last? I know you’re going to complain about all the moisture in the air messing with your delicate settings.” Namjoon knows he’s got him there. Yoongi would suffer through a natural disaster if it meant keeping his equipment safe and at peak performance.

“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs dejectedly, head thrown backwards. “But I won’t be any help bringing the gear up. You see these legs? They’ll snap like toothpicks if I try to bring them up. Guess Biceps and Shoulders need to do all the heavy lifting.” There’s an airy lilt to his voice when he figures he’s saved himself from the worst bit.

“Doubt they’ll stay that small seeing how many times you’ll be going up and down those stairs to bring up all the light boxes while we deal with the heavy stuff. You’ll have lungs of steel with all that cardio, buddy. I’m sure Jin will appreciate how long he can hold his dick in your throat without you needing to breathe after that.” Namjoon sends him a salacious wink.

Yoongi’s face, which had been a flushed shade of pink from the heat, drains immediately when he realizes the position he’s put himself in but Namjoon doesn’t let him change his mind. He just claps a hand on his shoulder and turns around to get to the van and pick up the first console they’ll need to bring up to Yoongi’s new designated studio space.

Namjoon regrets showing Friends to Jin after today. If he has to hear ‘PIVOT’ one more forsaken time he might choke that windshield wiper laugh right out his friend’s throat. His whole body is aching when he sets his ass down on Jin’s plush couch, finally tasting a bite of heaven after all those steps but it can’t be savored long.

“Get up.” Yoongi’s voice breaks through his needed rest. “The elevator mishap made us take way longer than planned and we’re already late to pick up Y/N.” If anyone sees him fighting back tears that’s none of their business.

The drive out to the suburbs of Seoul is peaceful, the population seems to have holed up inside and away from the sun’s rays. They pull up to a nice two-story home. Namjoon can’t see much into the property since it’s surrounded by tall brick walls, but it’s unnecessary as he can see the silhouette of a young woman waiting outside the gate, piles of boxes at her feet.

They all pour out of the truck, Yoongi darts out first to meet her halfway where she throws herself in his arms. There’s a lot of squealing and Namjoon isn’t sure from who it’s coming out of in the mess of limbs. They separate and approach where he and Jin had waited by the vehicle.

“I’m Y/N, you must be Jin!” There’s a hand out ready to be shaken but it’s presented in front of the wrong man.

“Actually, Jin is this one,” Yoongi corrects, taking your wrist and moving it to the correct person.

“Oh my God, that’s embarrassing. I just figured it was the big one. I’ve heard about your muscle kink enough once you figured out you were into men that I just-- You know what? I’m going to shut up now. Hi, sorry about that. Nice to meet you.” There’s a nervous giggle in between words that’s instantly endearing.

Jin doesn’t seem offended, laughing alongside her. “No worries, he’s plenty satisfied without the beefiness of his teenage crushes.” He wiggles his eyebrows comically which has her chuckling and Yoongi whining.

“This is Namjoon, your new roommate. Joon, this is Y/N.” It’s his turn to shake hands, your fingers so thin and delicate around his much bigger grasp. He takes the time to really take you in, looking down at you; wide grin and smooth skin that spans from your neck down into your… Nope, face!

“You have a nice face.” For a lyricist he sure did have a way with words.

“Thank you?” Your eyes trail to the side where Yoongi stands, eyes deadpan and mouth shut tight.

“He grows on you, I swear. Get in the car, we’ll grab your boxes.” Yoongi says as he passes in front of you with an icy stare towards Namjoon. Okay, so he could have made a better first impression.

You don’t have many boxes which makes sense. The apartment is furnished and Yoongi had left his bedroom set for you since he wouldn’t need it at Jin’s. He remembers leaving his parent’s house with barely anything. It had taken a while for Yoongi and him to make the apartment seem like people actually lived in it. They’d spent far too long eating cup noodles while sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.

Jin takes his place behind the wheel, Yoongi slipping in beside him in the passenger seat. The earlier ride in the backseat wasn’t so bad for Namjoon since he could sit crookedly to fit his long legs behind the couple’s seats in front of him but your presence beside him forces his knees to hit the back of Yoongi’s seat.

“Can you push your seat up a bit? Your little legs don’t need that much space,” Namjoon shoots ahead of him.

“And just for that comment your giant ass and long limbs can suck it up. Respect your elders, brat,” Yoongi snaps back. Maybe he deserved that one.

He sends you a sheepish look and an awkward smile as he spreads open his thighs lewdly. His knee hits yours despite you sticking your legs together demurely, hands politely sitting in your lap. The touch attracts your gaze and Namjoon can track your eyes as they drag up the bare skin of his quad, past the hem where the material of his shorts dig into his thighs, and settles just a little too long where both his legs meet. He can practically feel your stare burning a hole into his groin, a heat expanding through his body.

He doesn’t even realize when he lets out an uneasy cough and you’re quick to look away with a start when you hear it; clearly having been caught in your little perversion. The flush that builds on your cheeks is shameful enough that he doesn’t mention anything more, only locking away the memory of you blushing and embarrassed for later.

Namjoon is thankful that with four pairs of arms there won’t be a need to do multiple trips for your boxes. Jin sends you and Yoongi off with a box each but loads Namjoon’s arms with three; enough to block his view so he has to peek around them to see where he’s going. There might not be many boxes but the ones he’s been given are heavy enough to make his arms shake underneath their weight. He’s absolutely going to blame that on having had to haul all of Yoongi’s belongings during the day and definitely not on the fact he’s weak. He goes to the gym regularly!

“Thanks for helping! Just leave them by the door, I’ll take care of unloading everything,” you call from across the apartment. Yoongi must be giving you a tour of the place.

Namjoon kicks off his shoes and crashes head first into the couch, his big body halfway dropping off of it. All his muscles ache and he’s sticky with sweat. His lids close, reaching for some rest. His stomach rumbles, the memory of breakfast fading. There’s soft footsteps sneaking up on him. He’s trained himself enough to catch Yoongi coming. He’s broken enough things when his roommate suddenly appeared by his side and gave him a spook.

“Don’t think I’m an idiot, Joon. I could see the way you looked at her. I’m only going to say this once, don’t fuck my friend.” His voice is almost sinister as it whispers in his ear. Namjoon’s eyes quickly open wide. He wasn’t looking at you in any sort of way and he was about to defend himself, mouth open with a denial on his tongue. He doesn’t have the chance since you pop around the corner, seeing them both with their heads too close to each other, Yoongi’s glare facing Namjoon’s incredulous look.

“Everything good here?” you ask.

Yoongi’s expression shifts, gummy smile on full display but Namjoon still sees the daggers in his eyes. “Yep, I was just saying bye to Joon. Jin’s already back at the van and we need to get it back to the vendor. Text me if you need anything Y/N. And Joon? Remember what I said.” He and Jin take their leave, surely to start desecrating their new shared space.

“Okay? Is it just me or was he being weird?” You look back at Namjoon but there’s only a shrug of his shoulders as your reply. “Alright, well I’m going to start unpacking then.” You’re just about to turn tail when you can hear the growl coming from Namjoon again. “Ah, you must be hungry, you’ve been going around the city all day. Is there anything already in the kitchen?”

“No, we went through all of it when Yoongi and Jin decided to have a goodbye dinner this week. You get started on unpacking and I’ll run down to the store for some stuff. I think we’re both too tired to do much effort but I can grab ingredients for some decent ramen.” Namjoon slips his shoes back on and running out the door as soon as he finishes speaking.

Luckily, there’s a small family owned market just down the street from the apartment. Mrs. Park is going to be sad to hear that her ‘little dumpling’, as she called Yoongi, won’t be visiting her anymore. She’s mostly used to seeing Namjoon anyway. Yoongi may have been the one cooking but Joon was always the one sent off on errands for any ingredients that were missing midway through the meal preparation.

The bell chimes above him when he walks into the little shop. Mrs. Park doesn’t even look up from her newspaper, head staring firmly into her lap. There’s a low buzz emitting from the artificial lights mixing with the music that’s playing in the shop, something Namjoon doesn’t know, a beat that hasn’t been popular in half a century.

The aisles are familiar and he grabs the ingredients absentmindedly, throwing things in the handheld basket hooked onto the crook of his arm. Green onions from the produce section, a carton of eggs and a hunk of cheese from the dairy section, and spam from the canned goods area.

Mrs. Park finally lifts her eyes from whatever news story that had her attention and gives him a warm smile that reaches her eyes. He should give his grandma a call. A smooth wrinkled hand grabs his groceries one by one, slowly bringing them closer for inspection. Her frail finger punches into the keys of the register.

His eyes wander while his items disappear from the counter and into a bag beneath the surface. The sky has turned a slate grey from an overbearing cloud covering the sun, bringing the vibrance of outside down to a dull.

Against the window is a shelf filled with flowers. Namjoon has often seen people grabbing a bouquet as they wait for their total. He remembers a man with a tie midway undone, suit jacket flapping behind him as he rushed out frantically. A forgotten anniversary he suspected. Just last week, there was a small child tugging at his father’s sleeve, pointing at a particularly bright blossom and requesting to bring it home to his mother. The memory brings a small smile to his lips.

He doesn’t contemplate long before reaching for a lonely white rose in a near empty bucket. He remembers certain symbolism from the time he read The Language of Flowers. Purity, innocence, a new beginning, and reverence. He thinks he catches a mischievous glint in Mrs. Park’s eye as she hands him the bag of groceries in one hand while the rose remains in his other.

The universe allows him only long enough to step out of the shop before the skies open up with a loud clap and water erupts in a downpour. Shock overtakes him and he freezes on the spot as he lets the fat water droplets sink into the fabric of his clothes. The cold immediately seepsinto his skin and settles in his bones, eyes shut tight and mouth open.

The loud rumble of distant thunder urges him to start moving. The plastic of the bag is slippery in his grasp and there’s a stinging pain in his palm from where the rose’s thorns dig in. There’s an uncomfortable squeak from the leather of his sandals with every heavy step he takes. As he sprints the few blocks back to the apartment, the loud slap slap slap of his foot hitting the pavement.

The door of the apartment slams into the wall as Namjoon rushes to get inside, the doorknob undoubtedly leaving a mark from the force at which Namjoon has opened it to throw himself inside.

“Namjoon? Is everything okay?” you call from the living room. “I’m sorry for the mess, I’m trying to fit in my own books across your collection. I don’t want to mess up the system you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah, all good, just wasn’t paying attention,” he reassures.

Your head pops out from the hallway to take inventory of the situation yourself, not quite trusting the waver in his voice. “Oh god, it started raining? I was so in my bubble that I didn’t even notice. You’re soaked! Let me grab you a towel.” You’re off to the bathroom before he can even thank you, already back to exchange the flower still in his grasp for the towel you hand him.

“I hope it didn’t take a beating on my way back over here,” he says, worry tainting the edge of his voice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. Do you know if you have any vases?”

“I’m sure Yoongi’s left some in the kitchen. Jin had a habit of getting him a new bouquet every month. Don’t tell Yoongi I said this but he’d blush every time despite all the grumbling he did about it. Happened every month for two years, like clockwork,” he teases.

“That sounds about right. Yoongi will never admit it but I know how much praise and appreciation means to him. I’m glad Jin gives him that. I’ll go find it.” You’re turning tail and heading into the kitchen in search of the vase.

He pats himself dry enough so that he’s no longer dripping on the floor before he follows you in. You’re in front of an open cabinet, head tilted back to look at the top shelf of it. Your hand is stretched to its capacity, boosted by the tip of your toes, one knee nearly hiking onto the countertop to give yourself enough reach.

He truly only means to help when he sneaks in behind you to grab at the vase. He doesn’t expect to catch you off guard, sending you backwards and off balance with a squeak. His grasp abandons its path towards the top shelf and instead redirects to land on your hips, pinning you against his chest.

You’re taken by surprise at the strong hands grabbing onto your side, a hard wall of muscle at your back, heat radiating from his skin, his wet clothes dampening yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breath just a little too close to your ear.

There’s a hitch in your voice when you reply hastily, “Mhm! All good. I’ll let you get that actually. I’m going to change. My clothes are gross from today. You should too, you’re going to catch a chill if you stay in those wet clothes. Your shirt’s so soaked I can see right through it. Not that I was looking! I’ll just- right.”

You’re running off before he can articulate a thought, the door of your room slamming shut behind you. He’s nearly certain he can hear an embarrassed groan through the wall despite that. He does get the vase down and fills it with water, dropping the rose into it before he slips into his room as well.

The rain will be good for the heat in the long run but as it stands it just permeates the apartment with heavy humidity. He grabs a pair of comfortable shorts and a tank top to change into. He passes next to your room on his way to the bathroom. He takes the time to stop and knock at your door.

“Y/N? Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m going to jump in the shower really quick.”

“Go ahead! I’ll take one after dinner.”

His clumsy fingers struggle with the lock behind him, clothes falling onto the floor. The bluetooth speaker that has a permanent residence in the bathroom is turned on, a playlist going at random. He makes sure to adjust the temperature of the water, slightly colder than he usually would. It’s absolutely to combat the heat and definitely not the memory of your body pressed against his in the kitchen; soft under his hands and plump against where his crotch pushed in under the curve of your ass.

Oh god, focus on something else. Listen to the music. The beat is uplifting and he finds himself singing along to the lyrics. A popular song from a girl group member. He recalls Yoongi mentioning he’s worked on something similar.

He lets the tepid water run down his body, hands quick and rough where he scrubs the soap into his skin, not letting them stay in one spot too long to melt into the feeling. Yep, he definitely needs to have it colder. It’s near shivering levels of frigid when he ducks his head under the stream to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

He’s nearly forgotten about the shape of your body against him, mind preoccupied with the soprano of the singer in his ears. Pop pop, pop, you want it. His body responds as if with muscle memory from seeing this song trend with its choreo everywhere online. His hands take turns pointing at an open hand and back again, fists then popping as if miming fireworks going down a zig zag pattern.

The haunting thoughts of the kitchen eventually disperse enough for him to exit the stream of water and change into the clean, dry clothes. You’re already in the kitchen humming to yourself once he leaves the room followed by a puff of steam.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” he proposes.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Can you slice up the spam and drop the eggs into the water? There’s a pot already boiling.” Put eggs in water and cut up some meat. Sure, he can do that.

The eggs may have cracked a little when he quite literally dropped them into the pot but that’s fine. A little hard boiled never hurt anyone. He swears he’s extra careful when you hand him a knife and let him stand in front of the cutting board. Just going to very daintily hold down the spam and slowly bring the knife down-

“You’re holding it upside down. Sharp edge towards the bottom and make sure you curl your knuckles in so you don’t nick yourself.” Right, of course, he knew the knife was upside down. Just making sure you did, hah.

He manages to make some slightly uneven slices until about halfway through the block but eventually there’s just not enough space for his big sausage fingers to hold on and the knife just slips…right into his palm.

“Ah, shit!” He jumps back, letting the knife clatter to the floor. His uninjured hand keeps the pressure onto the wound as small river of red runs between his fingers. He’s taken by surprise and lets himself be manhandled to the sink before his wounded hand is pushed under the cold, running water.

“I should have figured why Yoongi was so ominously telling me where the first aid kit was in the kitchen. And why he asked how often I cooked at home.” There’s shuffling behind him and a small hand sneaking its way between his body and the sink.

“Take it out, I’ll pat it dry and put a bandage on.” He’s careful to keep his hand stable as your delicate fingers patch him up. A soft pressure with a gauze and a more instant one for the wrap that goes around his palm.

“My friend JK is going to think I took up boxing and ask me to go to the gym with him if he sees this.” He tries to laugh it off, bringing humor into his near amputation.

“I don’t think you need any incentive to go to the gym.” Your eyes are trailing up his arm, stopping at his bicep and following all the way to the middle of his chest. The flex he pushes is completely accidental and was absolutely not to show off the progress he’s been building.

“I take care of myself, I guess.”

“Right.” There’s a small laugh in your voice. “Go take care of yourself, away from the kitchen. I’ll handle the rest.”

He lets himself be shooed out of the hot space, out into the living room where he sees your earlier comment about a mess. There’s books all over the floor in little towers looking for a home on his already overly compacted bookshelf. He picks a few of his bigger tomes to rehouse to his room which allows space for yours to make themselves at home.

He doesn’t notice how long he’s been calculating which books need to be relocated until he hears the clatter of bowls hitting the coffee table behind him.

“I figured we could eat in here today, more casual and all. Thank you for helping me make sense of where to put my stuff. I didn’t want to impose.”

“This is your home too now, you deserve to have space for your things. Yoongi wasn’t much of a reader. Thank you for dinner. I’m afraid you’re going to be in charge of feeding me a lot. I can always just order in but Yoongi was always on my ass for spending money on takeout.” He has the humility to look ashamed at his incapacity to nurture himself.

“No worries, it was kind of implied when he told me to take his spot. I like cooking, so I don’t mind, really. Tell me more about yourself though, I only know what Yoongi’s told me which is pretty much only that you produce music like he does. You’ve got an eye for art from what I can see of the prints on the walls.”

“Ah, actually those are all mine,” he blushes and points to a camera that takes a place on one of the higher shelves. “I like biking around and I figured it was a shame to see all the pretty landscapes without getting to commemorate them properly so I got into photography. I’m not a professional or anything but I enjoy it. I’m actually going to Comic Con this weekend with a group of my friends. They’re cosplaying and they wanted someone around to take pictures of them in costume. JK's actually got a pretty great Spiderman thing going on and it works for him with all the, you know, muscles and spandex.” He’s gesturing a little wildly over his body, as if you’re familiar with Jungkook’s physique.

“I don’t but I can imagine.” Your eyes are following where his hands had gestured over him, gaze roaming over the muscles he’s boasting himself. “You don’t happen to have any spandex hiding in your closet yourself?”

“Nothing like him, riding shorts for when I take particularly long bike rides. I don’t tend to favor it, they really ride up.” His sentence ends in an uncomfortable chuckle and he avoids your view, completely missing how your eyes have started to glaze over.

The small talk fades after that, replaced with the sound of chopsticks hitting the edge of bowls and the occasional slurps. You hold your chopsticks loosely between bites, your phone in your spare hand just mindlessly scrolling.

There’s a familiar tune coming softly from your direction, a low hum of a melody that triggers Namjoon’s receptors. He can place it pretty quickly, pop pop pop uh uh.

His hands take on a mind of their own. He doesn’t stop chewing as his fists go through the movement. Open palm, point, switch, zigzag.

He wouldn’t have even not realized what he was doing if a little giggle hadn’t interrupted the flow of the song. He freezes, eyes widening. It’s a slow pan of his eyes to look into his peripheral, as if not moving his head would somehow render him invisible and able to melt away from the embarrassing situation he’s caught himself in.

You’re doing your best to hold it in, lips nearly completely sucked into your mouth, teeth forcing them closed. He appreciates the effort but he can admit the jig is up. He picks his chopsticks back up with a little cough, gathering his bearings.

“It’s a catchy song,” he defends.

“Oh absolutely, it gets stuck in your head so easily. Even when hearing it off key and through the rush of running water,” you tease.

He pretends to be offended by that. “I’m a producer! I’ll have you know I have great pitch.”

“Of course, someone should tell Nayeon that she’s in the wrong key then. How embarrassing for her to be performing it that way.”

You both dissolve into laughter after that. The silence that follows feels a lot lighter than it previously had been and he breathes a little easier.

“Leave your dishes in the sink, I’ll take care of it in exchange for the cooking labour. I rarely break things anymore. Even if Yoongi won’t let me forget about his favorite mug. I still insist that the shape wasn’t ergonomic and that’s why it slipped out of my hand. He was so mad he refused to drink any coffee that day and knowing Yoongi you know how that was more a punishment for me than it was for himself,” he shares the memory of how grumpy Yoongi had been that day. They must have restarted the same beat half a dozen times. Suffice to say it wasn’t a very productive day and Namjoon owed him a new mug of his choosing.

Your first night together was fruitful. You’ve managed to unpack and meld your belongings with his, have dinner - where he didn’t kill himself in the kitchen - and bond over some banter. You’ve practically ingrained yourself in his life already and Namjoon isn’t sure if that’s good or a little terrifying. He’s not the type to usually feel comfortable with a stranger so quickly. He’s glad Yoongi had you take his place, he doubts it would have been this pleasurable if he had had to place an ad online.

There’s a ghost of a smile stuck on his face when he closes the door to his bedroom. Being alone in his room brings forth the thoughts he’d pushed aside back to the forefront. His computer monitor lights up the space, calling him back. The mixing board on his desk blares a signal he can’t ignore. He has a project to finish and the deadline is knocking at his door incessantly. He sits in his chair with a sigh and slips his headphones over his ears, blocking out the loud patter of raindrops on his window.

He awakes with a start. His back is sore and his skin is damp with sweat. He’s too old to be falling asleep on his desk like this, he’s going to feel it in the morning. The room is pitch black around him. A quick jiggle of the mouse tells him the computer is dead and there’s a hint of panic at the thought of having lost his work. Rationale takes over to remind him that it automatically gets stored on the cloud at consistent intervals. They’ve learned their lesson too many times before implementing that.

There’s an odd irritation at the back of his mind and he realizes the thrum of the AC is missing. Ah, no power. The storm must have knocked it out. His muscles scream from the stretch and there’s more than a few uncomfortable cracks when he gets up and extends his arms above his head. He slips out of his clothes in hopes that more skin in contact with any air might help him cool down. Besides, he always sleeps in his boxers anyway. The air has dried up his throat and he can feel his body begging for water. He grabs the latest water bottle to litter his desk, tips it all the way upside down but not a drop comes.

He hopes he can traverse the apartment to the kitchen silently. Between his heavy footsteps and the stubborn squeaky floorboard outside his bedroom he’s worried about waking you. He sends a silent prayer into the universe that you’re a deep sleeper.

He does hit the floorboard, sending a creek into the night and he freezes for a second but no angry outbursts come from your room to scold him. He’s slowly taking a step in front of the other, carefully moving his weight from one foot to the next, the little smack of his sole hitting the wooden floor melding into the sounds of the rain still pouring outside.

The pressure from the faucet sends the water stream beating onto the metal of the sink and he hopes the curse he lets out fades into the night. He downs two whole glasses before he feels sated and prepares for the slow trek back to his room.

He’s just outside your door when the apartment flashes as lightning touches down in the distance. Namjoon stops moving as the roll of thunder comes quickly behind, nearly covering the strangled gasp from the other side of the door.

“Y/N? Are you okay in there?" The door to Yoongi’s room always had trouble latching since Namjoon drunkenly threw himself into the frame thinking he was heading into his own bed one night.

There’s a small crack where he can press his ear to. He holds his breath, straining to hear above the rattle of the heavy rain against the windows. For a second he believes he must’ve imagined it, or perhaps you’d shifted in your sleep.

He has one foot in the air, prepared to shuffle back to his own room when he hears it again. A choked sob hidden between the pitter patter of drops slamming against the glass.

He’s more insistent this time when he calls your name and pairs it with a soft knock against the wood of your door.

The noise seems to give you a spook because he swears you let out a high pitched ‘EEK’ in your surprise. There’s no additional verbal answer so he takes his chances on turning the knob and poking his head inside.

“Y/N? It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Namjoon,” he reassures.

He can’t see a thing, the room is pure darkness. The streetlights outside have gone down with the rest of the power grid so he can’t tell if you’re hurt or might need help.

“Joonie?” There’s a soft voice coming from where he knows the bed is, muffled and timid.

“Yeah, can I come in?” he asks.

“Yeah,” comes an answer, meek and nearly whispered.

He hadn’t come into this room since you unpacked so he’s careful to take small, careful steps towards the bed, nearly bent in half with his arms out to feel for any furniture you might have moved into the path. He taps the bed tentatively when he finally reaches it, feeling long limbs under his palm.

He shyly takes his hands off you and makes his way towards the headboard, knees hitting the edge of the mattress as guidance. He reaches out again, expecting to find you but he only feels more blanket covered lumps.

“Are you hiding under the blanket?”

No words come but the hard shape under his palm moves in a nodding motion. He sinks down, kneeling onto the floor a little harder than he expected. Difficult to judge distance in the darkness.

“Can I pull the comforter down? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The fabric moves under his touch until the feeling of goose down turns into silky hair. He moves his fingers down, grazing your ears until they reach your cheeks, damp and hot against his skin.

“Are you crying? What’s going on? Is moving away from home for the first time getting to you?” It definitely had for him at first. He’d go back to his parents’ house every night to have his mother’s cooking for dinner and only started spending the evenings at the apartment after his younger sister had mocked him about not being able to stay too far from his mother’s comfort.

You let out a shamed whine below him. “No…” He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll share more. “The thunder woke me up and then I tried to turn on the light but it wouldn’t work. And-”

Lightning interrupts you and as the room flashes in sudden light Namjoon sees your face for an instant. Your eyes are wide, laced with red from the tears but one thing he can tell for sure is that in that second- you’re absolutely terrified.

Your breath gets shaky and there’s a twitch in your hands where he can tell you struggle not to throw the blanket back over your head to escape.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re afraid of the storm, I get it.” His grip on you tightens when he feels you tremble as the thunder rolls behind.

“You can say it. It’s stupid to be scared of storms. I’m just a big weenie.”

“I’d never call you a weenie, Y/N. You know, my friend JK is afraid of microwaves. Runs out of the kitchen and hides across his apartment every time he needs to heat something up. He’s convinced they’re going to blow up and take him with them in the blast.”

You snort, which is followed by a loud slap of skin on skin that he can only assume is you covering your mouth in response to the noise that just escaped. He’s huffing out his own chuckle in response. Adorable.

“Okay, so what are you afraid of then Mr. Tough Guy?” You’re more combative now. He’ll take that over the fearful demeanor you had a minute ago.

“Me? Hmm, I don’t think there’s anything too unusual. I’m not super fond of spiders, I suppose?”

“Spiders? But Yoongi told me you’re obsessed with crabs. They’re basically water spiders. They walk similarly and they’ve even got more legs!” Oh, you’re heated now but you’ve hit him where it hurts.

“How dare you!” The offended gasp he lets out overtakes the drone of rain coming from outside. “Crabs are cute little friends. I have half a mind to walk out and leave you alone in this storm after that.” He fakes getting up but a small hand digs into the flesh of his bicep.

“Don’t! Please. I’m sorry, crabs are adorable, you’re right. I was just kidding. Don’t leave.” He can hear the fear engulfing your voice in your plea.

“No, no, it’s okay. I was just joking. I’ll stay as long as you need.” He didn’t mean to trigger your panic again, especially since he had just gotten you to calm down a bit.

“You might be here a while then, it doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.”

“No worries. Let me just get off my knees. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I spend all night bent like this.” He makes to switch to sitting on the floor but you stop him.

“Do you… uhm, want to lay on the bed? There’s more than enough room for two. I’m not like Rose, that bitch.”

“Are you sure? I can sit here, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You’d known each other barely 12 hours. He didn’t want to appear pushy in your vulnerable state. He’s enough of a gentleman to know to make space for the women in his life to ease themselves into his presence in a manner where they feel safe.

“Don’t worry. Yoongi told me enough about you for me to know you’re the least scary man on this planet. Only way you’d hurt me is if you fell on top of me, which I’ve been warned may happen more than I expect so be careful climbing in.” He feels you scooch over to the other side of the bed, leaving a wide open space for him to settle into.

There’s still some hesitation that weighs heavily in his limbs but when he sees how your body jumps when another bolt touches down and illuminates the room his resistance melts away. His movements are slow as he eases himself onto the mattress.

“Do you have enough space?” you ask.

If he’s being honest he’s certain half his body is teetering off the edge but he’s more concerned about overcrowding you. “I’m fine, don’t worry. You should try to sleep, you had a long day.”

You’re answering with a half hearted mumble and the room is overtaken with the battering of rain on the windows. Namjoon stays alert, hoping to feel your breathing even out to indicate that sleep has claimed you but it never comes.

“Are you still awake?” Your voice is barely a whisper and if he wasn’t specifically keeping an ear out, he would’ve missed it completely.

He turns onto his side, body now settled fully onto the bed with no risk of suddenly tumbling out with a wrong move. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Can we just talk for a bit? I think that’ll help me calm down.”

“Of course, as long as you don’t insult my little crustacean friends again.”

“Were you one of those kids that would do that shark chant? ‘Fish are friends, not food.’”

“Nah, Pixar and Bruce are wrong for that. Fish are food, crabs are friends.”

“You’ll have to give me a history lesson as to why kiddie Joonie came to that conclusion if Nemo wasn’t the inspiration.” There it is again, Joonie. Namjoon huffs out a little chuckle at hearing it, letting the nickname slip under it.

“Oh,” you gasp. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked before calling you that. Do you not like it? I’ll stick to your name. Or should I be using honorifics, oppa?”

Oh, he’ll have to unpack how his stomach flips with that last part but now isn’t the time for sudden self discoveries.

“No, no! Don’t worry, it’s cute. I just wasn’t expecting it. My friends usually stick to just Joon but you can get special roomie privileges.”

“I fear you’ll one day regret that. I’m going to be so annoying from now on.” He can hear how your words are blanketed in a mischievous teasing, and he believes you but won’t admit defeat that easily.

“You’ll have to give Tae a run for his money. If he pairs up with Jimin then they’re insufferable. Hobi is a saint for having them both under the same roof with him. You don’t know the guys yet but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

It’s easy to imagine you already melding into his little group of misfits. He thinks back to dinner when you’d teased him about listening to that ‘girly’ song, and he knows he’ll soon be babysitting four wiley dongsaengs instead of three. Sometimes five when Jungkook manages to set Seokjin off. He doesn’t realize the smile that sets itself on his lips and it’s too dark for you to comment on it.

The bed shifts and your voice is suddenly closer, indicating you’d mirrored his movements and were now facing him.

“You talk about them a lot, your friends. Yoongi does too. You must all be really close.”

“We are, like brothers honestly. I have a younger sister but meeting Yoongi was the first time I felt like I had a hyung. He’s not much for declarations of affection but I love that dude.”

“He knows. You guys are all he talks about besides his music. He loves you, too. I can tell.” Namjoon never doubted that but it’s always nice to hear.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” It should be an innocent question but the silence that follows feels heavy and loaded.

“I did. My little brother. He was five. He spiked a bad fever one night and had to be rushed to the hospital. My father packed him up in the middle of the night while I slept. My mother woke me up at 4 am in hysterics. We drove to the emergency room and I watched my parents fall to the floor from across the room as the doctor told them he didn’t make it. I couldn’t hear what they said from that far away but it was obvious. I’m haunted by the sounds of the storm that was raging outside as the windows shaked around me. Acute bacterial meningitis.”

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. It doesn’t bring him back, nothing will. I’m just left with distant memories of what his laugh sounded like, and this stupid fear of storms that just reminds me of the day my family broke apart.” Your words are being spit vehemently, your throat clearly closing up as it tries to choke back sobs.

Namjoon’s arms reach out to scoop you into his chest where you lose it in earnest. You hide into the crook of his neck as he can feel your resolve break. Tears hit his skin but he says nothing. There is nothing to say, he knows. You need something to hold onto as you let the emotions run their course and that’s something he can be for you.

It’s not too long before you catch your breath, great big gasps helping your body to settle back into rhythm.

“God, I’m so sorry. Having a breakdown because of some rain, trauma dumping, having a full breakdown. I must be making a great first impression as a new roommate.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re able to let it out. Bottling all that up would cause more damage.”

“Who knew I was shacking up with a therapist. It’s the same thing my counselor told me.” You’re back to teasing and Namjoon lets out the tension in his muscles that he didn’t realize he was holding. Your giggles fade off into a comfortable silence. The rain is still loud against the glass but the trembling that shook yo uhas subsided.

“‘Joonie? Can you hold me until I fall asleep?” Your voice is shy, the request bold for someone you barely know but he agrees without apprehension.

He expects you to burrow back into his chest as you’re already nestled in from your impromptu need for comfort but you surprise him by turning around and slotting yourself against him, back pushing into his front.

“Need to sleep on my left side. You don’t mind, do you?” After your revelation, he’d give you the moon if you asked, some spooning was an easy favor to fulfill.

He simply hums in agreement not entirely trusting himself not to put his foot in his mouth at that moment. He allows you to push back until you’re comfortable and slings his arm over your waist, letting his hand hang limp over your abdomen, careful not to push any unspoken boundaries.

You take it upon yourself to scoop his arm up and hold it close to you. Namjoon closes his fingers into a fist to avoid any accidental groping since his hand now rests on your chest, just above your breasts. He can feel the curve of them against his wrist, the mounds pressing into his forearm.

No! He needs to send his mind elsewhere. He tries to focus on the patter of the drops on the window. Pit pat. Would a roll of thunder fit into any of the songs he’s currently working on? What about the clap where the beat could drop? Anything to distract him from how warm you are beside him. The humidity of the storm only aggravates the heat that seeps through his skin, making it clammy and nearly wet. You, wet against him… NO! The heat is pooling at his crotch, the pressure rising when his blood is sent southward to fill a chub in his boxers. No, stop!

He’s trying desperately to inch his pelvis away from where your ass was resting against him. The universe is truly out for his demise because another round of lightning and thunder sends you jumping, forcefully seeking the hardness of his body against you. The grip on his arm turns vicious, your nails digging into his skin and your rear flies backwards in search of a seat and finds an unexpected obstacle.

Namjoon isn’t sure which sound rings louder. The gasp you let out at your discovery or his moan as his hips involuntarily thrust up against your ass. He doesn’t dare even breathe. What were you thinking? That your new roommate was a giant pervert? That he was taking advantage of the situation when all you asked for was some comfort in a time of need? Would you tell Yoongi? His hyung might be smaller than him but he has no doubt the older man could and would beat his ass into next week for this.

He seems to be the only one spiraling into a panic because instead of screaming and shoving him out of bed you only push back again. Your movements are tentative, slowly adding pressure and grinding your ass in circles against him as if trying to memorize the shape of him against your cheeks.

He slips his arm out of your grasp to bring his hand against your hip, pushing it down to pin you into the mattress and stop the maddening teasing.

“Y/N...” His voice comes out rough in between his teeth, a clear warning.

“Are you-?” You don’t need to finish your sentence with words, opting instead to push against his hold and roll your hips backwards again to feel the length behind you.

“I definitely am now since you can’t lie still. I’m trying to comfort you right now, so I am asking very politely to please have some mercy on me and go to sleep.”

For a second, Namjoon thinks he may have been too harsh.You’re quiet against him and he hopes he hasn’t triggered another round of distress with his tone.

The worries ebb when he feels your hand sneak behind to cup where his dick pushing against the fabric of his underwear. His eyes close when the pressure against the head sends little jolts of electricity flying through his body, a loud moan accompanying them.

“What if this is the comfort I need right now? Will you give it to me?” There’s a confidence in your voice now that had been missing when the sun went down. Namjoon is glad to hear it even if it beckons his doom.

He tries his best not to move, simply letting you tease along his length, your fingers wrapped around his cock through the thin fabric barrier. The drag is dry and nearly painful but he still twitches and wets a patch when your hand comes to squeeze at the head at every stroke.

You seem to take the lack of fighting back on his part as encouragement, and you push at the waistband to finally get under his boxers and meet the feverish skin hiding under them. He helps you reach your goal by shimmying the fabric down and under his balls, freeing his cock to let you handle it as you wish.

Your hand disappears for a second only to come back wet with spit and making the first tug of skin on skin both tortuous and heavenly. He can’t help but meet your fist with a thrust, precum dripping into your hand and easing the next strokes.

You’re showing your impatience when you grab his hand from your hip to aim it towards the waistband of your own underwear. You let him figure out the rest and go back to focus on jerking him off, a little harder this time as your hips roll against thin air.

He doesn’t keep you waiting too long, slipping his hand into your panties, realizing you’ve also opted out of sleeping with bottoms. His fingers plunge low and he’s surprised at how wet you are.

“All this just from rubbing against my dick a little bit?”

“No, I’ve been wet since you pulled me into your arms. Stupid thick biceps and big tits. Figured you’d notice it wasn’t just my eyes that were leaking.” Your words come staccato while your hips desperately try to chase his fingers.

He gives you what you seek and dips his middle finger into your heat. Your muscles contract around him, hot and so wet.

“Fuck, more,” you beg. You’re doing your best to clench around him but there’s not enough to bring relief.

“Impatient.” He wants this to last. He’s barely just gotten his hands on you after all the tension of the day finally snapping. He wants to savor it but you seem to have other plans.

“Namjoon, if you don’t start fingering me properly I’ll kick you out of this bed and do it myself.”

In any other situation he’d probably call that bluff, but he doesn’t want to risk you going through with it. He adds a second finger to your core and gets to work on a punishing rhythm. He uses the angle to his advantage and digs the heel of his palm against your clit to grind onto it with every thrust of his hand.

Your threats devolve into mewls. You’re trying to keep up your own pace against his dick but your grasp is loosening and losing rhythm. Hedoesn’t care. It allows him to focus on making you lose your mind, but you don’t seem to agree with the imbalance because you’re tugging him closer to you, tip bumping into the cotton of your panties. The need overtakes you and you’re ripping his fingers out of your pussy, letting it clench around nothing and mourning the loss. Your legs clamp shut to allow you to reach around and pull the fabric away from your entrance. You push back against his cock, trying to guide him through the darkness.

“In. Want you inside.” Your words aren’t quite begging but Namjoon can hear the plea clearlyin your voice.

“Fuck, Y/N. I should stretch you out more. I don’t think you should take it like this.” He knows he’s above average and he’s unsure that between the darkness and your horny haze you've realized quite what you’re up against in the short span of the mutual masturbation session that’s happened.

“I felt it. I know you’ve got a big dick. I don’t care. Fuck. Me.”

He hesitates to argue with you. He doesn’t want to hurt you but he can feel the warm wet heat enticing the head of his cock and it’s hard to ignore the call. He loses his battle and sinks himself into you. He brings his hand back to your hip and holds himself still as you shake through acclimating to his size.

“Oh god, fuck.” He can feel your pussy tightening around him, the pulses of your walls essentially jerking him off and it’s taking all his resistance not to start rocking his hips up to meet your ass.

“I-” He’s cut off as soon as he tries to start.

“You better not say ‘I told you so’ while you’re inside me or else you’ll never be again.” The possibility of this happening again shut him up pretty quickly.

He opts to try and ease you into the feeling, lets his hand trace along your skin, up to your torso. He peppers kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hand seeks out a breast under your shirt and gently takes it into his palm, massaging the flesh as his fingers tweak at the nipple.

He tries to imagine what it must look like pebbled between his thumb and index; the color of them in contrast to your skin. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to slip it between his teeth and test how hard he could nibble at it before you broke, but the current position makes it impossible and he doesn’t dare switch it now.

Your breathing becomes heavier at every pinch and twist. He can feel your chest heaving under his hand and you’re melting against him. The chokehold your pussy has on his cock also lets up a little, allowing you to rock back and forth seeking more friction.

“I’m ready.” Your voice calls him back. “You can move. Fuck me.” He starts slow and careful, long languid strokes out until only the head stays inside you, and back in with a smooth confident thrust; letting as much of his length fit as he can from this angle.

He lets his hand wander once he feels you matching his strokes, backing up to meet him at each push in. Your skin is damp under his palm and the sticky feeling would usually bother him, but he’s too enthralled by the little noises that you make with each movement.

Your hand chases after his, following where he cups at your breast, pinches at your nipple, and he notes the hitch in your breath when his large palm settles loosely at the base of your throat. He’ll have to file that one away for another day.

You eventually seem to grow frustrated with his teasing touches because you drag his hand back south and into your underwear. He spreads his fingers around where the two of you are joined. He can feel your arousal coat his cock and your pussy stretch around him, sucking him in at every stroke.

He brings his fingers up to finally give your neglected clit the attention it’s been craving. You can feel how it’s throbbing with desire. You don’t bother trying to suppress the moan that comes out in nearly a scream when Namjoon presses against your bundle of nerves with skillful pressure and maddening circles.

It’s still slow. Everything is infuriatingly slow but you can’t find your voice through the groans and gasps to ask for more, so you let him set his torturous pace and drown in the electricity coursing through your body.

You take up the mantle that he’d been forced to leave behind. You feel too good to ask to change positions but you mourn the lack of his other hand which is forced under him, unable to wreck the same havoc on your body as its twin. Your right hand travels to your torso, attempting to mimic his earlier teasing while your left holds onto his wrist between your legs to keep yourself grounded.

You melt into his touch, head lolling into the pillow. Namjoon takes advantage of your neck opening up. He finally gets to use his right arm to push his upper body enough to dip his head down where your shoulder meets your neck to attach his lips to your skin. The added feeling of his teeth biting down, paired with a hard suck and lick of his tongue sends you reeling. You push back harder, urging him to thrust in rougher, as deep as the position allows.

“So big, Joonie. Can feel you so deep.” You’re pushing his buttons and it works. You’re riling him up and he lets it happen. You sacrifice the feeling of his fingers on your clit to bring them up just above your pubic bone and push down hard making the head of his dick hit against the front of your walls. You know he can feel it push against his hand every time he hits home.

You know when he registered what’s happening because he’s pistoning into you with renewed vigor, each thrust stronger than the one before. The new pressure from his hand makes everything feel euphoric.

“Shit, Y/N. So fucking tight around me. You feel so good, sweetheart.” The praise falls from his lips without thought and the endearment slips through with ease but there’s no time to focus on it. You’re clenching around him, being brought to the edge.

Your hand replaces where his had been, fingers wild and frantic on your clit, pushing you towards your orgasm. It doesn’t take long to hit and your body goes rigid in his arms. Your muscles scream as they twitch and the wave radiates out from your core and washes over you to the tips of your limbs.

The shaking in your body subsides but the throes of pleasure still buzz under your skin from where Namjoon hasn’t slowed. He continues to push and pull his way into your body, keeping the tension alive.

“You sound so fucking hot when you cum. Feel so perfect around my cock.” No words come in reply to his, only mindless moans answer the praise. You want to tell him how good he feels inside you too, how you still need him so desperately.

“More!” You manage to gulp through the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “Want to feel you deeper.”

His hips stutter in response, your words hit him in the pit of his stomach. He wants to give you more, whatever you want but he can’t go any further from this angle.

“Gonna have to move us around for that, okay?” His voice is muffled from where his mouth is still dug into the crook of your neck, breath heavy near your ear.

You’re nodding without giving it much thought. Whatever he wants, he can do anything he wants. You’d agree to anything if it meant getting more of the addictive feeling coursing through your veins.

His cock slips out of you and you barely have the time to whine at the loss that a yelp escapes you instead as you’re hauled up and around to land firmly on his lap, underwear being ripped away in the switch, Namjoon now spread beneath you. Your hands fly forward to balance yourself, knees planted on either side of his hips.

“Holy hell, I was kidding earlier with the tits comment but…” You let your hands finish the implication as they grab at the flesh of his chest, nails digging into his skin. “Can you flex for a second?”

His muscles tense under your touch and you can’t help the groan that slips out in response. His chest is rock hard now and you feel your body rise with the strength imbued in it. You let your hands drift downwards, nails dragging behind. You wonder if the marks will still be there tomorrow for you to see the damage you're leaving in the light of day.

You can feel each bump on his abdomen where the muscles bulge out and dip back in. You’re surprised to feel the smooth velvet tip of his cock hit your hand so quickly. You’re barely halfway down his abs and the realization of how big Namjoon actually is sinks in.

The previous position wouldn’t have had him remotely close to fully sheathed inside you. The anticipation of really feeling his entire length has you grinding down and sliding along him, trapping him between his stomach and your sopping folds.

He bucks up to meet the pressure, hands holding firm on your waist, following the pace you’ve set. He lets you roll on him, his sensitive head catching on your clit and every loop which elicits moans from both of you.

He’s sure he could cum from this alone, but he’s aching to feel you sink down on him entirely. There’s a desperate plea on the tip of his tongue, an encouragement for you to lead him back inside but he keeps quiet. He wants you to make the decision and go at the pace you need. Despite the shift in situation, Namjoon still feels the vulnerability you’re under.

His hand drifts up, letting fire spread along your skin. The electricity in the air isn’t only from the storm anymore. He’s gentle as he cups your breast, content when he can feel your chest arching forward to chase after the pressure of his touch. Your nipple pebbles despite the hot and humid air.

“Perfect,” he murmurs under his breath. He’s sure it’s low enough to stay a private confession but the low moans mixed with your thighs tightening against his hips reveal otherwise.

The praise urges you on, reigniting your movements. Namjoon almost fears you’re moving away, off from your seat on top of him. His hands are quick to reach back for yours; a silent imploration to stay but they’re unnecessary. The pressure on his chest where you anchor yourself grounds him. There’s a shake where your balance falters so you can reach beneath you and grab at his cock, holding it straight towards your core.

The darkness hadn’t bothered Namjoon until this moment. He’ll rue this day for his entire life for stealing the vision of your expression as you slowly sink down on his entire length for the first time. The whimpers that escape, as you take each inch further, are only teases compared to the satisfied groan that comes once you’re fully settled back in his lap. The entire situation is torture. The heat of the stifling summer night is nothing compared to the scorching embrace of your walls around him. There’s aftershocks of your muscles spazzing around him that pair with more moans while you acclimate to the feeling of him inside you.

Namjoon’s mouth is dry and his brain is empty. There’s a strong instinct to move, a twitch in his arms to use his strength to lift you up enough to have you slam back down but he resists.

He can hear your breathing even out, big gulps of air diminishing to a more normal rhythm. You’re fidgeting, torso lowering to come parallel to his until your breath hits his throat. He doesn’t even realize your hand had snaked away until it lands in his hair and you pull on the strands to allow your lips to stroke at the cartilage of his ear, a warm tickle accompanying your words.

“You’re so big, Joonie. Feel so full.” He knows it’s the sign he was waiting for when you end the compliment with a strong squeeze that he can feel through his entire body. All the restraint he had exhibited snaps.

It all happens at once. He reaches for a fistful of your hair to keep you still as he clumsily seeks for your lips with his own. The kiss is aggressive and too full of teeth clanking together at first. It eventually melts into something more salacious. Your lips are hot and slippery but Namjoon is aiming for more.

You’re too distracted to notice that his stance has changed. He jostles you as he plants his feet into your mattress to give him the best angle to properly pound into you. The first hard thrust is paired with a well timed bite of your lip which has you opening your mouth with a shout of pleasure. He takes advantage of the position to delve his tongue into a battle with yours, turning the dirty kiss into an even wetter mess.

Neither of you can hear the storm over the slaps of skin, low groans, and high whines from inside the room. “You hear how wet this pussy is for me? Sound so fucking pretty, bet it looks even better. We’ll have to do this again, right? So I can see you leaking over my cock properly.”

If you’re answering him it’s unintelligible in the mumbles melted into the moans that continue to spill out of you. He’s taking it as an agreement from the tightening of your core around him.

His legs eventually lower behind you, pushing you to straighten back up and work to keep up the faltering rhythm. The heat and late hour seeps into your bones but the exhaustion that lies at the edge of your consciousness is no match for the fire in your veins that feeds the lust inside you. Your hands reach behind you and grab onto meaty thighs. God, you’ll need to talk about those in the morning because you don’t have the energy to trigger another round tonight. Your head falls, back arching towards the sky. It gives Namjoon the opportunity to roam your body, soft strokes and harsh grasps.

“Come on, Joonie. What good are those big biceps for if you can’t fuck me harder?” The taunt works like magic to reinvigorate him. Large hands come back to your waist, palms digging hard into your body above your hip bones. His thumbs aim towards your core, pushing into the softness above your pelvis. It’s not as obvious as the first position on your side but he can definitely feel the shift under your skin where the pressure of his thrusting cock pushes against his fingers.

“Shit, Y/N, never felt pussy this good. My perfect girl. Are you close? Can you cum for me, baby?”

“Y-yeah, so close- fuck. You feel so good.” It wasn’t a lie, you’ve teetered on the edge for a while but you just needed a little extra push. Namjoon’s hold on you is strong enough to allow you to sneak a hand to where the two of you are joined. There’s only a flash of pleasure before your fingers are slapped away.

“Nuh uh, my job. If you want to be touched a certain way just ask for it. You’re a big girl, use your words.”

If he kept talking to you like that maybe you wouldn’t need the extra help after all but that’s an experiment for another day. “Please, Joonie, want to cum. Touch me.”

He dares to slow the pace, still upkeep the long hard strokes that hit deep inside you. “Is that the best you can do? You’re about to cum all over my cock and I’m still just Joonie? You’re not being very clear, you know. I’ve got my hands on you, I’m already touching. Be more precise. What do you want, princess?”

He’ll be the death of you, you can already tell you’ve set yourself up. Your words are coming out in choked sobs, your climax on the brink. “Please!” you exclaim, “Namjoon, please play with my clit and make me cum all over your big cock.”

He didn’t expect you to take the bait so strongly, but you asked so politely, who would he be to deny your request.

“Good girl. I’ll give you anything you ask for if you do it like that. Look all innocent but you’re just a desperate little thing, aren’t you?” His words are paired with increased speed. He pistons into you with such force that you swear you’re floating above him. The world falls away when his thumb finally comes to rub tantalizing circles around your nub, the movement a little clumsy form how wet it is between your thighs.

It doesn’t take much to reach elation. White light explodes behind your eyes making you believe the power may have returned for a second. There’s electricity living in your nerves that travel down your limbs. There’s a rawness in your throat you assume was birthed from the scream that still echoes around the room.

You catch your breath on a pile of loose limbs draped over your new roommate’s huge frame. Your muscles are spasming from the outside in. You can tell that Namjoon definitely feel it from how tense his muscles feel under your fingers. You purposefully constrict around him and the answering grunt confirms your suspicions.

It takes a second to gather enough strength to sit back up while keeping him snuggly inside you. You wish you could look into his eyes as you roll your hips over him. You know it’s not as stimulating as the hard thrusts from earlier but the sweet sounds you hear from under you seem to have him perfectly content.

“Fuck, you never stop surprising me but you really need to get off because I can’t last anymore.” There’s a tension in his tone, one that you’d hear from someone holding onto a loosening grip that could result in falling to their doom.

You let the nail from your index dig into his skin and leave a burning sensation behind as your scratch down the valley of his pecs, from his clavicle to his abdominals. “Good. Then my plan is working. Your turn to cum for me.”

“Oh, I will. The second you get off me, it’s torture to keep it in, so please-” It’s his turn to beg but you’re not as ready to give in to his demand this time around. You only double your efforts, rolling hips and tight squeezes.

“Go on, then. You wanted me to ask for what I want? Cum. I’m safe and I want you to cum inside me, Namjoon.”

There’s black magic in the way you say his name, it’s hypnotizing. Or maybe it’s the imaginary visual of what you’d look like splayed out with his cum seeping out of you that does it.

He brings his fingers back to your sensitive clit and the pressure is almost too much. You nearly beg him to give you a break but he interrupts you before you can start. “One more time, with me. If you want me to fill up that sweet pussy, you’ll have to milk it out of me.”

You can’t tell whether it’s the pressure on your clit or the dirty words from his mouth, but the wave of pleasure comes back with a mighty force and crashes through you again. You can feel your core tightening around him in spasms which triggers his own release. You can feel his cock spurting inside you, an extra layer of warmth seeping into you. You can’t hold yourself anymore and flop onto Namjoon, both of your breaths heavy and labored.

His hand strokes comfort onto your back. You don’t even mind how sweaty you both are, sticking to each other. “We should get cleaned up,” he suggests.

You dig your face into the crook of his neck in protest. “No. Tomorrow. Don’t want to move. You still feel good, don’t want you to pull out.” You purposefully twitch to make your point. His cock may be softening but it’s still firmly plugging you up. You both know you’ll regret it in the morning but you couldn’t care right now.

The exhaustion you both feel settles into contentment as sleep pulls you in. You both fall asleep without even noticing that the storm has also fallen into slumber.

Okay, so maybe Namjoon was a little dramatic about being abandoned because it’s only a week later when Yoongi is back in his old apartment from a weekend brunch date with his friends.

You and Jin are bonding in the kitchen. Yoongi can hear his boyfriend’s windshield wiper laugh mixed with your giggles that he’s always compared to a hyena. He expected the atmosphere to be a little awkward when he came in, both of the new roommates a little shy and fond of individual activities.

But when he let himself in earlier he found both his friends sharing the couch in the living room, each with a book in hand,which wasn’t surprising, but your feet perched on Namjoon’s lap, that was a little surprising.

He had let that slide easily enough. His suspicion returns simply from how much smiling Namjoon has been doing. Smiles wouldn’t be odd for most but Yoongi has heard that man’s music lately and he’s the definition of a Sad Boi™.

The pieces fall into place when you bring in the plates and there’s lingering. From your fingers on Namjoon’s when you exchange the dish to his eyes on your ass when you turn away. Yoongi stares Namjoon down, deadpan. His friend’s eyes widen in panic once he realizes he’s been caught. Yoongi’s always been able to read him like a book.

“You motherfucker,” Yoongi spats at him just as you reenter the room.

“Now now, Yoongles. Do we need to call Dr. Lee to go through your mommy issues again? We’ve already established I’m not your mother.” You take a seat on Namjoon’s lap as if to make a point. “Besides, there’s only one person that gets to call me mommy now.” The look you and Namjoon share might be the final drop that makes him go dig for his old psych’s number that night.

#kim namjoon fic #namjoon fic #knj fic #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #bangtanwhq #micdropnet #rm fic #rm fanfic #rm x reader #rm x you #bts fic #bts fanfic #rm smut #bts smut

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joelmillerisapunk · 9 days

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Beach Daddy I. Unexpected Encounters

Rich daddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Wordcount: 5,849

Summary: You find yourself on a luxurious yacht, invited by your old roommate Sarah, only to discover that her new boyfriend is none other than your very recent ex. Feeling out of place and overwhelmed, you take solace in the kindness of Reggie, Joel's intern, who helps you navigate the ship and offers a sympathetic ear.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of cheating, reader has hair and wears a dress, you meet Joel, there's a few random oc's thrown in

Notes: Hi, I hope you enjoy 🥰 if you're feeling saucy after comments and reblogs and thoughts are always welcome! Ty @saradika-graphics for the dividers

As soon as the soles of your worn-out converse hit the wood of the dock, you know you're underdressed. Your old roommate, Sarah, has invited you to spend a few weeks on her father's boat. But as you approach the enormous white yacht docked at the end of the pier, you realize this is no ordinary boat. The yacht's sides are lined with three stories of windows, reflecting the ocean's crystal clear water.

From where you're standing, you can make out a double staircase leading to an upper deck with a circular swimming pool large enough to land a helicopter in. Men and women in matching black and white uniforms pace the decks, preparing the ship to leave the marina.

When Sarah invited you, you had no idea the vacation would be so extravagant. If you had known, you would have packed something nicer than your department store shorts and tank tops. Truthfully, you don't own anything that would make you feel undressed on a yacht that likely costs more than a private island.

"Wow," you say to yourself.

"What was that, miss? Is there something I can help you with?" The driver asks you.

"Oh, sorry, no, I’m fine. Thank you, though," you answer sheepishly.

"Don’t worry about your bags, miss. Someone from the ship will be down shortly to get them and take them to your room."

Sarah sent a Cadillac to the airport to bring you to the private dock her father owns. You appreciate the gesture more than she knows because even though you accepted her vacation invitation, you're on a very tight budget. Splurging for a taxi from the airport to the Florida coast would have left you choosing between buying textbooks or food when your next semester starts.

This vacation marks the beginning of a massive change in your life. After graduating with your Master’s Degree from NYU, you got accepted into Harvard Law School. You'll be moving out of New York City at the end of the summer and getting a new start.

You worked at a hole-in-the-wall bar to pay your tuition and barely scraped together rent each month from your tips. You lived in an apartment that you shared with your two roommates, Lin and Aubrey. You're not renewing your lease on that dilapidated and overpriced apartment, and the thought of finally getting to quit your job is a fantastic feeling.

After all of the excitement of opening your acceptance letter from Harvard, you notice a shift in the one person you thought would remain your constant through all of the change. That person is Todd, your boyfriend of two years. He dumped you with no explanation the night before graduation.

So when you receive a text from Sarah inviting you on a vacation, you accept without hesitation. You're still hurting from the breakup and wanting to be anywhere other than New York.

"Miss?" A woman in a white polo and black knee-length skirt asks you.

"Uh, yes."

"If you will follow me. Miss Miller is waiting for you."

"Of course," you say with a small smile. It's typical that Sarah would send someone to get you rather than meet you at the dock herself, but you ignore it. You're on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, and you're going to enjoy every minute of it.

As you reach the deck with the swimming pool, you hear a high-pitched version of your name being yelled and you instantly remember why Sarah and you are friends. She has a way of making you feel special.

Sarah is lounging on a deck chair in a glamorous white bikini with a blue chiffon kimono. As she stands to greet you, you're surprised she's wearing high heels. You thought women only did that on the runway–or maybe in certain kinds of movies....

"Sarah! It is so good to see you. You look amazing, by the way." You're not surprised to see that Sarah already has a pink fruity drink in her hand.

"Oh, thanks. Daddy bought me a new yacht wardrobe while we were in Paris. Isn't this bikini just to die for?" She asks.

"It really is." You smile with your response.

"You look cute too. You’re always dressed like you're in a Gap advertisement."

Your smile almost falters, but you catch it before Sarah notices. You had almost forgotten how Sarah can make you feel special one moment and two feet tall the next.

"The yacht is gorgeous. I had no idea what to expect; I’ve never been on a boat like this before." You admit while brushing off Sarah's previous comment.

"I figured this would be a big treat for you. It’s a shame most of my other friends have a fashion show in London. Anyway, I am glad you could make it."

"I'm glad I could make it too," you say, still trying to maintain your smile.

Sarah snaps her fingers at a young man cleaning the pool while wearing a uniform that indicates he is part of the yacht’s staff. He immediately stops what he's doing, brings over a second pink drink, and hands it to you.

"Thank you so much," you say to him with a sympathetic smile. You take a small sip and are sure you will be having many more of these; it's delicious. The pineapple juice perfectly complements the rum.

"Good, right? It’s a Caribbean rum punch." Sarah says, clearly watching the enjoyment on your face.

"It’s really good. I’ve made these for customers before, but I haven’t had the chance to try one."

"Oh, you still work at that little dive bar?" Sarah asks, but she is clearly uninterested and does not intend to wait for your answer. "You are going to love the yacht," she continues without skipping a beat. "Daddy bought it last year; it is much better than his old one. You and I will be on the second floor, right off this deck, with the pool. Daddy is on the third floor in the main suite. He has a whole deck to himself, but each of our rooms has its own balcony."

You had not had a room to yourself in six years. In your apartment, all three of you shared one bedroom because you couldn’t possibly afford anything bigger. The thought of a room and a balcony all to yourself feels almost too good to be true.

"That sounds amazing, Sarah. I can not begin to thank you enough for inviting me. You have no idea how badly I needed this. I just went through the worst break -"

Sarah cuts you off before you can finish.

"Daddy keeps to himself. He says he has work to do or something like that. So most of the time, we will have the ship to ourselves. It's going to be the biggest party. Daddy even hired a DJ as part of the staff after I begged him."

"Who is us?" You ask wondering how many people she has invited.

"You, me, my boyfriend, and a few other friends. Everyone else will be coming a bit later. They’re taking Megan's private jet, so they'll get in just before we set sail.”

Part of you is nervous to meet the rest of Sarah’s friends. People who have their own private jets are not your usual crowd. However, you feel a bit relieved that there will be other people to entertain Sarah so you can find some time for yourself to relax. Sarah is the type of person who can party for hours on end. She always has to go to one more party, one more bar, or one more club before calling it a night.

“Maybe don’t mention to the others that you could only afford to fly commercial. If you do, at least lie and say you flew first class.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend Sarah,” you say, purposely trying to change the subject. “How long have you been seeing him?” Sarah must have changed more than you realized, because in the past she never would have settled for one man. Sarah knows this and flaunts it. She has a line of guys wanting to date her and she likes it that way.

“We have been seeing each other for four months now. He is absolutely amazing. You are going to love him. Plus he's super hot!” She gushes.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” you say with a bit of a laugh.

“You will soon, he just went to our rooms to get his sunglasses. Oh, here he comes now,” Sarah says with a huge smile lighting up her face.

He walks out onto the deck, wraps an arm around Sarah’s waist, and pulls her in for a kiss. Then he turns to you as though you had never met.

“Hey, I’m Todd.”

“Todd?” you say, completely dumbfounded by the fact that your very recent ex-boyfriend is standing in front of you with his arm around Sarah.

“Yea, I’m Sarah's boyfriend. She told me one of her old roommates would be joining us.”

“Um, yea.” You respond awkwardly. At first, you don’t understand why Todd would act like he doesn’t know you, but then a lump forms in your throat. Sarah says they have been together for four months.

“Hey, you should go get changed, and we can all go up to dinner together. We're eating on the rooftop deck tonight.” Sarah says, completely missing the strangeness of your interaction with Todd. She snaps her fingers again at another member of the yacht staff. “Will you show her to her room?”

“Of course. If you will follow me,” the woman says and starts walking towards the double doors leading into the ship.

You glance back at Todd and Sarah and quickly wish you hadn’t. Todd is kissing her again, and then he winks at you as his hand starts sliding down her back. You turn away quickly before you have to see where his hand lands.

“You are in the first room to the right.”

“Thank you so much-” you pause.

“Molly.”

“Thank you so much, Molly. Also, I'm sorry about the snapping. I work as a bartender and always hate when people snap to get my attention.”

Molly smiles genuinely at you after your comment. “Thank you, but we are all used to Sarah and her ways. There is an intercom in your room. If you need anything, just press the button, and someone downstairs will respond.”

You nod and open the door to your room, but room is an understatement. The size and luxury of the room are unlike anything you have ever experienced. The main room houses a king-size bed covered in a white silk comforter. There is also a lounge area with two modern black leather sofas. And your suitcase is already waiting for you on an ottoman at the foot of the bed.

You sigh and throw yourself onto the bed face down in the comforter. It seems like a bad dream that Todd is here, pretending he doesn’t know you, let alone date you for two years.

You were comfortable, and your relationship was secure, or so you thought. It started with little things, like Todd bailing on plans you'd made and how he stopped inviting you to spend any time at his place.

Aubrey was always suspicious of Todd, but you never questioned him. Because you knew, deep down, he was cheating on you, but you went on pretending because it was easier than losing him. You didn’t have to pretend for very long because he dumped you the day before graduation.

You cried for hours on the living room couch as Lin and Aubrey comforted you and supplied you with all the ice cream you could eat. You picked yourself up the morning of graduation and packed away your pain. You would not let Todd, or anyone else, see you beaten; you thought maybe that would make you a good lawyer one day.

You walked across that stage and accepted your diploma with a giant smile on your face because you truly earned it and right after the ceremony, you let yourself fall into misery again.

And now he's dating Sarah.

Sarah had said that they’d started dating four months ago, which meant that Todd was definitely cheating on you. It was just hard to believe that he cheated on you with one of your friends.

Sure, Sarah and you fell in and out of touch as your lives drifted apart, but it still made the betrayal hurt more.

During college, you were very different people. Sarah attended NYU for the party life and never missed an opportunity to go out and have fun. You spent most of your time studying to ensure you didn’t lose your scholarship. Even though you had your differences, you got along for the most part, and while you were living together, you became close friends.

You allow yourself a few more moments of self-pity before pulling yourself off of the bed. You didn't let Todd see you beat at graduation, and you aren't going to let him see it now.

You make your way to your suitcase and roll it into the connecting ensuite. As you walk through the double doors of the ensuite, you are shocked again by the sheer size of the yacht. You take your time unpacking each item of clothing and hanging it in the closet. You pick out a black knee-length dress, which is the nicest thing you have brought, and change into it.

Just as you finish touching up your makeup, you hear the click of the door latch opening.

“Hey, are you ready? Everyone else is here, and we are all heading up to eat,” Sarah says while she bursts into the room without bothering to knock.

“Yeah. Perfect timing. I just finished.” You walk out of the ensuite and see her standing in a floor-length dress made of silvery fabric. She takes one quick look at you outfit and says nothing, obviously unimpressed by your simple choice. You follow her out into the hallway, where three women and four men in black tie attire talk among themselves.

Sarah makes quick introductions, but the only name you catch is that of the tall brunette woman, Megan, the one with the private jet. Your hands are already starting to sweat, and you're honestly grateful that most of the other guests ignore your presence as waiters bring plate after plate of food and set it in front of each of you.

“Megan, how was the flight here?” Sarah asks.

"Oh, it's the worst. My mom has to take the big jet to Japan for a business conference, so I'm stuck with the little jet. Hudson nearly hit his head on the ceiling because it's so small." Megan throws a seductive look at the tall man with blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't have the worst flight. She had to fly commercial," Sarah says, gesturing towards you.

"You poor thing. I've never flown commercial, but I hear it's horrible. Do you really have to sit next to strangers?"

"Yeah, you do, but not in first class." You say remembering that Sarah had told you to say you flew first class even though you didn't.

It's typical of Sarah to throw you under scrutiny when you had planned to avoid talking about how you got here or anything else to do with money, for that matter. Luckily, the one dig at you seems to be enough for Sarah because she gets distracted by Todd.

"You are the sexiest woman I have ever met," Todd says as he runs his hand up Sarah's arm.

"You two are the absolute cutest," the woman sitting on your right says.

"Oh, I know, right? It's so fun that we are equally numbered men to women," Megan says, throwing another look at Hudson, who seems completely clueless.

You eat your meal in silence and try your best not to watch Sarah and Todd. However, it's hard to ignore the fact that Todd has abandoned his meal and is instead licking Sarah's neck. She laughs, runs her fingers into his mess of brown curls, and pulls his face to hers.

You make it all the way to dessert before you can't take it anymore and quietly slip away from the table. Of course, no one sees you leave; if they did, no one cares.

As the door closes behind you, a few tears start streaming down your face. You have to get back to your room before anyone finds you crying. You quickly wipe the tears from your cheeks and do your best to keep any more from falling.

The day's events have finally hit you in full force. You're angry and hurt that Todd has been cheating on you the whole time, and now you have to spend your vacation watching him and Sarah together.

You're so distracted in your thoughts that you run straight into a rock-solid chest.

You had hoped you just ran into one of the yacht's staff members, but you quickly realize the man is not wearing the uniform. All you can see is a suit jacket. You pull back and continue to try to hold back your tears.

"I am so sorry; I should have been watching where I was going," you say while trying to plan your escape.

When you look up at who you ran into, you're met with the most beautiful brown eyes you've ever seen.

"Are you okay, Miss?”

—♡—

Joel is walking down the hallway on his way to the upper deck when he hears a loud burst of laughter. He sighs in frustration; this was supposed to be a quiet escape from work, yet his yacht is full of a bunch of twenty-year-olds.

He had invited Sarah, as a way to spend a bit of time together this summer. Then Sarah asked if she could bring her new boyfriend along, and he agreed without much thought.

Joel met Todd earlier in the week over breakfast, and he seemed like a good kid. He works in finance for his father’s financial firm in New York, so they immediately have so much to talk about.

He is very complimentary of Joel's recent purchase of Explore Air, the second airline that he now owns. It truly is a good purchase, and he has big plans for expansion.

Joel is impressed that Sarah has picked someone who is putting down roots, and he seems like a stable choice. Sarah has never introduced him to a boyfriend before, so he is taking their relationship seriously.

Having her boyfriend join them would be an easy way for him to get to know him better and also give Joel a little more time for himself, which is probably a little selfish. It’s not that he doesn’t love his daughter; he finds it difficult spending time with his daughter; they aren’t very close. He had only found out she existed fourteen years ago, and trying to connect with a ten-year-old with whom he has nothing in common has not been easy.

It doesn’t help that he has bought her everything she could possibly ask for–for the last fourteen years. In the beginning, he did it to make up for missing the first ten years of her life, but after that, it just became easier than dealing with her when she didn’t get what she wanted.

Sarah is now a spoiled and entitled twenty-four-year-old with no plans for her life other than partying and spending as much money as possible.

In classic Sarah fashion, his agreement to let her bring her boyfriend along turned into her filling each one of his guest rooms with her rich and arrogant friends. Sarah also hired a DJ against his wishes, but after a hysterical outburst where she accused him of not loving her, she got her way, just like always. So his quiet and relaxing vacation with his daughter quickly turned into him hosting a summer-long party.

Before he heads to his stateroom, he figures he better play the welcoming host and go up to greet Sarah and her friends. As Joel turns a corner, he bumps into someone. The woman has her head down, so all he can see is her hair.

“I am so sorry; I should have been watching where I was going,” the woman says.

When her eyes finally meet Joel’s, he is surprised it looks like she is fighting tears.

“Are you okay, miss?” Joel says in response. He feels dumb as soon as the words are out of his mouth. She, very obviously, is not okay.

“Yes. I’m just heading back to my room, uh, sir,” she says as she straightens up, obviously not wanting to be caught crying.

“Oh right,” Joel replies, suddenly realizing that she called him sir, so she must be one of the maids.

He starts picking through his memories, trying to remember when he’d hired her. Reggie must have been the one to interview her because he surely would have remembered a woman so captivating.

“Before you do that, would you head up to my stateroom and unpack my luggage? I'm afraid it's been delivered later than usual. Had some business I had to attend to before leaving port, and I didn't get here as early as I would have liked.”

“Oh - I am - Uh -” she starts staring at the floor.

Joel stands waiting for her response. He thinks it is cute how flustered she is; perhaps it's because he makes her nervous. That's pretty common with new hires, but oddly, she makes him feel a bit flustered, which is completely uncommon.

“Yes,” she stammers.

“Thank you so much -” he says with a smile, leaving a pause in hopes that she would tell him her name, but she quickly turns and heads in the opposite direction. He can't help but stare as she walks away. As she slips around a corner and out of sight, he sighs, knowing he needs to make an appearance upstairs.

Joel walks out onto the deck, where a large dining table is placed and decorated with an extravagant centerpiece. The stars reflect over the ocean and create a stunning backdrop for his daughter's dinner party. He is really impressed at how well the staff has done at transforming this space, most likely with very particular instructions from Sarah.

“Daddy!” Sarah screams as he makes his way out onto the deck. She screams a lot, but he notices most girls her age do. Thankfully it looks as though their dinner party is just wrapping up; waiters are clearing away everything from the table.

Sarah runs over and hugs him.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says kissing the top of her head. “Is everything goin' alright?”

“Everything has gone perfectly so far. The yacht is so awesome; I think my friends could die out of jealousy.”

Joel remains silent, not knowing how to respond to Sarah's need to be the envy of other people. He would leave figuring that out to her mother, Marnie. They hardly speak other than when she needs money from him, which is more often than he'd like.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller,” Todd says as he makes his way over and shakes Joel's hand.

“S'good to see you again, Todd.”

“Likewise. I’d like to discuss a real estate investment I'm working on for a client when you have the time. I would love to get your opinion.”

“Of course. We can talk about it tomorrow night over some drinks.”

“I look forward to it, Mr. Miller.”

Joel continues to greet Sarah's friends and make small talk for as long as he can manage. He makes his exit by lifting a glass of champagne in the air and toasting, “To an amazing summer.”

Sarah's friends echo his toast, followed by cheering and chatting amongst themselves. Joel slips out and heads over to a hidden elevator, which goes up one more floor where his room and private deck are located. He really hopes that the group makes their way to their rooms soon. He's exhausted and can not wait to slip into sleep.

He opens the double doors to his room and is slightly disappointed that the maid he met earlier was already gone. His suitcase was missing from where he left it, so she must have come and gone while he was greeting my guests.

He immediately makes his way to the bar cart and pours himself a glass of whiskey taking a long sip of his drink, he can't stop his mind from wandering back to the maid he ran into. It’d been a long time since someone had caught his attention as she did. She did seem much younger than him, though. He wasn’t sure that would be a problem.

He walks over to the screen mounted on the wall next to the door, and at the press of a button, the wall of windows at the far end of the room slid open, eliminating the barrier between his living room and private deck. That feature was one of the main reasons he purchased this particular yacht. He thought there would be nothing better than feeling the ocean breeze and hearing the waves even while hiding away in his stateroom.

He steps onto his deck and could see the dinner party continuing without him one deck below. The muffled sounds of conversation and laughing are the only sound drifting up to him.

Joel sips his drink and watches the white foamy waves follow the yacht as they move through the water. It's the only way he can tell they're moving as the sky darkens to a deep blue. He sits back, relaxing, and imagines the woman's eyes staring back at him.

—♡—

“Are you okay, miss?” the attractive man asks after you run directly into him.

“Yes. I’m just heading back to my room, uh, sir,” you respond.

“Oh, right,” he says, lost in thought. He pauses for a few seconds and then continues.

You stumble over your words, mortified that he clearly thinks you are a member of the staff rather than a guest on the yacht. However, you suppose you look nothing like the typical guests.

“Yes,” you finally say, deciding it is easier than trying to explain the mix-up. He thanks you and continues standing there, staring at you, making sure you are actually going to go unpack for him.

You quickly turn and head back down the long hallway. You must be headed in the right direction because the man does not tell you otherwise. Unfortunately, this is leading you in the opposite direction of your room.

You take a few turns, trying not to accidentally run into the man again and have to explain that you don’t work for him. You should have just told him from the start, but he startled you, and you got a bit distracted staring at his face.

He has a very nice face and a very nice body, and you can’t stop thinking about him. It isn’t too long before you are completely turned around; the ship is so outlandishly large.

Exhausted and embarrassed, you find a small alcove off of the main hallway, lean your back against the wall, and slide to the floor. You just need a minute to yourself to get control of your emotions, but a door opens next to you and cuts that time short.

You jump to your feet and smooth your hands over your dress.

“Hello, I don’t think we’ve met,” the man says. He is very clean-cut, with smooth black hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. You guess that he isn’t much older than you are.

“I’m a friend of Sarah’s,” you introduce yourself, not wanting to get mistaken for part of the staff again.

“Oh, wonderful. I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he says with a genuine smile. You feel at ease in his presence, happy to have finally found someone who isn’t already judging you.

“I am, but I may need some help. I ran into someone down the hall, who mistook me for one of the maids and asked me to unpack for him. I don’t want anyone to get into trouble if it doesn’t get done,” you say, slightly embarrassed. “Can you help me?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry that happened to you. Do you know who it was?”

“Uh, it was a man wearing a very nice suit - but that probably doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“Not exactly,” he says with a sympathetic grin.

“He was tall with dark brown hair that perfectly complements his brown eyes. He had a concrete jaw that was peppered with black and silver facial hair. His voice was deep, had a southern accent, and he smelled like sandalwood,” you say, picturing the man in your head.

After a few moments, you realize you’ve said way too much. If you could have jumped off the railing and into the ocean, you would have.

“That is Mr. Miller,” he says quickly, saving you from further embarrassment. “I am his intern, so I can make sure someone goes and takes care of his luggage.”

Did he say… Mr. Miller? As in, Sarah’s dad?

“Thank you so much,” you say. “You will have to forgive me. It’s been a long night, and I’ve been so rude and haven’t asked your name.”

“You can call me Reggie.”

“Well, thank you so much, Reggie. Can I ask you for one more favor?”

“Of course,” Reggie says with his signature smile.

“I got a little turned around after leaving the dinner party upstairs, and I’m not sure how to get back to my room.”

“It would be my pleasure to escort you back to your stateroom, Miss,” he says and offers you his arm.

“Thank you so much,” you say as you take his arm, absolutely delighted by the gesture.

Reggie is leading the way back to your room when he says, “Please don’t hold it against Mr. Miller for mistaking you for part of the staff. He has been under a lot of stress lately and passed the hiring off to me. Since you weren’t at the dinner party, it’s likely he just figured that you were a new hire. He really is a kind person and would have never intentionally offended you.”

“He didn’t offend me. I know I don’t fit with Sarah’s other friends, so it was an easy mistake to make. I could have straightened everything out, but I was a little distracted by some personal issues.”

“Do you need to vent?” Reggie asks innocently.

“It’s just that I went through a really difficult breakup, and I hoped this trip would help me get my mind off of him. It hasn’t worked out that way,” you say, trying to remain as vague as possible.

“I’m very sorry. Was it a long relationship?”

“Two years.”

“Ouch. Well, just give it a bit more time. With what Miss Miller has scheduled, I’m sure you will have plenty of distractions to keep your mind off of things.”

You laugh. “I’m sure you’re right. There is never a dull moment with Sarah around.”

Just as your conversation wraps up, you reach your door. You are so relieved to be back in your room that you could have hugged Reggie. You feel like you could talk to him about anything, and it helps you to feel as though there is at least one person on this ship who has not immediately judged you.

“Thank you so much for all of your help, Reggie. I don’t know what I would have done had I not run into you.”

“I’m here to help anytime. That goes for all of the staff on the yacht. If you need anything at all, just ask.”

You nod as Reggie walks away, and you slip into your room.I You head straight to the bathroom for that giant tub you discovered earlier. You have never been so in need of washing away the events of a day before.

You soak for almost an hour when the water starts getting cold, you reluctantly pull yourself out and wrap yourself in a fluffy bath towel.

You change into your pajamas, a pair of gray shorts, and a Harvard T-shirt. Your grandfather sent you the T-shirt as soon as you told him you’d been accepted; he was so proud.

You pull out your phone to send him a quick text telling him that you are okay. You should have sent it as soon as you arrived, but you forget in the chaos of seeing Todd with his arm around Sarah's waist.

You type out a quick message reading, "Hi Gramps. I made it safe. I will keep you updated. Love you." When you go to hit send, you realize you have no service. So not only would you not be able to contact your grandpa, but you can't update Lin and Aubrey about this horrible situation you are in. You sigh in defeat and toss your phone onto the bed.

Instead of talking with your friends, you use the intercom system in your room to call down for a cup of chamomile tea. You are shocked at how quickly there is a knock at your door. You take the tray and make your way out onto your private balcony.

The balcony is large enough to fit a lounge chair and a small breakfast table. You quickly make plans to put that to use in the morning. It would be amazing to sip your coffee and listen to the sound of the ocean.

You take a seat on the lounge chair and place your tray in front of you. A tiny teapot and matching cup are accompanied by a small plate of macaron cookies. You pour yourself a cup of tea and bite into one of the pink, dainty cookies.

You can't help thinking that this vacation would be perfect if you could spend the whole time in this room. Unfortunately, you would have to come out eventually and face Todd. You could have told Sarah the truth about Todd being your ex, but now that you are sailing, you have no escape.

It would have made the rest of the vacation unbearably awkward if you'd told Sarah. You have to keep this secret, at least until you are all back on land. A flash of shame hits you when you remember the other secret you would have to keep from Sarah.

The fact that you are undeniably attracted to her dad.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller smut

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lilystyles · 5 months

Text

gingerbread at midnight.

part one of the sweetest thing series by @lilystyles

the sweetest thing masterlist & my main masterlist xxx

authors note did somebody say christmas fic szn??? if there is two things people know about me it is that i love christmas and i love harry styles. so here u go!

brief description during a chilly evening at the bakery, harry learns how to make gingerbread.

warnings! fluffy christmas baking including niall :) (4.3k words)

grumpy!roommate!journalist!H x sunshine!baker!roommate!reader

* * * * *

It was a snowy December evening and Harry finished work early for a change. Being a busy journalist who worked for one of the biggest media companies in the world, he never finished before the sun went down. Even before he’d been promoted to his high position now, and he was just some young fresh-faced Uni graduate assistant who rarely saw the light of day. Waking up early and finishing late. He was always running off much less sleep than your average person, and even when he was at home he was busily typing away on his laptop. But despite his strenuous hours and stressful workload, he loved his job a lot, and openly admitted he was a workaholic.

This was why he needed a roommate. He worried for his sweet girl while he was away during the evenings.

At first, he couldn’t think of anything worse, he’d had roommates in Uni who literally made him want to pull his (gorgeous) hair out and swore to himself he’d never do anything like that again if he could avoid it. It wasn’t that his job didn’t pay well, in fact, he was very wealthy and he could’ve gotten a sitter for the days but it just didn’t seem practical to have a sitter every day for the rest of his life. And no, his sweet girl was not a partner to crawl into bed with during the evenings, or a child who needed his attention throughout the day.

His sweet girl was his spotted Dalmatian named Peaches, who got lonely during the long nights he’d stay at the office.

Y/n had been the perfect candidate for a roommate. Who he had met through a mutual friend Niall, they went to school together apparently and Niall worked with her now. He vouched that she was easy to live with. There had been a period of time when he had nowhere to go and Y/n let him live rent-free in her flat for a month until he could afford to get back on his feet. She was stupidly kind and generous, sometimes to a fault, but if you had the privilege of her friendship you were so lucky. When Niall explained to Harry what a good person she was Harry believed him. Niall had this great ability to see people’s true intentions, and when he looked at Y/n he saw a beacon of light coloured like spun gold.

Y/n worked for most of the week too, sometimes on weekends if they needed extra hands or she felt like going in, but her hours were flexible despite being a baker, which was unusual for her occupation. But she had a good group of workers who all loved their jobs even if it wasn’t exactly high-paying to work for her, which meant Y/n’s day-to-day life was pretty breezy. And during Harry’s hunt for roommates when Niall mentioned that this friend looking for an apartment with roommates happened to be a girl he was happy, because girls were usually clean and smelt good. Y/n very much smelt good and left a warm touch to the once cold large apartment. Quickly after she started living there, suddenly vases of flowers appeared everywhere, paintings were strung up on his grey walls, hand-knitted rugs found their way onto the couch, food was baking in his oven and Y/n’s contagious warmth filled every room. Harry had grown up with just his mum and sister and there was something he liked about having a feminine touch that made it feel homely. He liked how soft, caring, and gentle they were. Y/n was so sweet, whenever he had a bad day she made a tea and let him complain for however long he needed. And she and Peaches got on great, Y/n took her for long walks in the park near their flat and sometimes she even took Peaches into her work and the gorgeous pup would just sit in the front greeting customers.

The tires of Harry’s car rolled against the snow as he steadily drove through the busy middle of the city to the familiar route of Y/n’s bakery. She’d ran it for a couple of years now, having bought it fresh out of culinary school. It used to be a bookshop that was owned by a lady called Miss Green, now it was called ‘Sweets & Things’ and very successful with all the locals. Before they’d became roommates and he’d even known of her existence Harry remembers eating a particularly delicious danish pastry with blueberries in it, funny that a few years later his roommate made him fresh ones when he’d had a particularly rough day at work.

During the Christmas season the little bakery picked up a lot more. Y/n found herself catering for lots more events starting from October and she didn’t know why but people seemed to need more sweets around this time of year. Halloween needed lots of cookies and sweets, but something about Christmas drove her sales right up. Maybe it was what got them through the bleak winter weather. And since Harry knew she’d been a bit stressed by it all lately, not that she would ever complain that wasn’t her way because she loved her job and was grateful to live out her dreams, he thought it might be nice to drop her some dinner since she’d been neglecting proper meals during the work week.

He picked up some takeaway from this little mexican place near his office, Niall had raved about it a few times now, he got an array of food from the menu and asked what they thought was best. Now he had three big bags of spicy smelling goodness heating up his backseats. He knew that Niall and Y/n would be eternally grateful and Harry wouldn’t mind eating with their company tonight. He forgot not everyone ate takeaway at their desk in the pitch black like he did.

His car pulled up out the front of Sweets & Things and he saw the golden bright lights were still on in the front area of the bakery, but no one was behind the counter manning for costumers. Snow littered the grass and concrete out the front, all the benches people sat at were caked in a thick layer of white and Harry shivered at the sight of outside. His office heaters were broken so he was actually always sweating, no matter the season.

He parked his car lethargically and the sound of Fleetwood Mac cut off with the engine. He knew that the bakery stayed open until nine during the holiday season since Y/n had been working much later than normal and he’d asked about it, Harry checked his watch, and there was a little bit until they would shut down but it didn’t seem all that busy. And his friends deserved to eat after all.

He locked the car and walked along the path shivering and hugging the food to his body in attempt to warm himself up. He wiped his dress shoes against the welcome mat as he pushed the door with his broad shoulder, his dress shoes clicking on the tiles as he entered the bell above the door rang and he heard Y/n’s soft sweet laugh from behind the counter and footsteps. A warmth wrapped around his body and the smell of sweet baking and pastries filled his nose.

The shelves with glass casing showed to be practically empty of sweets. This made him smile. Y/n always felt particulary chirpy when people liked her new creations of the week.

He felt his face start to warm up now and he sighed to himself.

“Hello! Welcome to Sweet & Things, what can I get y—” Y/n’s voice began in her usual script to customers stopping when she saw him, “Oh, Harry! What are you doing here?!”

She rushed around the counter to come give him a cuddle in greeting. That was something about Y/n that took him a while to get used to, she was very physically affectionate. He opened his arms for her and held her happily.

She looked cute as ever. Dressed in an apron that was covered in all sorts of powder and a little pink blouse that hugged her figure, paired with her favourite well-loved Levi’s, her shoes were these dark pink boots that made little clicks on the tiles. She looked beautiful, despite the fact she was running off less sleep than usual, she’d been here since the early morning and was probably very tired by now. Her hair was up in a messy bun that she’d thrown back with a pen and her face was bare of much makeup today. She was just in some lip balm that he could smell was strawberry-scented.

She pulled back from his warm arms and smiled up at him as if she hadn’t seen him weeks when in reality he’d driven her to work that morning. They carpooled and in the evening she’d either walk or catch the bus but usually Niall offered her a lift home.

“I just thought I’d bring you and Niel dinner, it’s from that Flaming Green Jose’s place he was talking about.” He said showing the bags of food.

Y/n smiled this really big grin that Harry loved to make appear on her precious face.

Y/n knew Harry was a bit of a grumpy old bastard sometimes, he tended to complain and not like new ideas, but he really was the sweetest thing underneath his stern face and scary resting stare. He was a sweetheart underneath it all. Even though he was so intimidating and tall Y/n always thought he was quite delicate looking. He looked pretty even under the harsh light of the front room, he was in one of his usual business outfits he wore to the office that made him look especially good. Today’s suit was all black and he had a big beige-brown coat over the top to keep him warm in the cold and this deep dark crimson scarf that Y/n had bought him when she noticed he had no scarfs, he said how much he liked her purple one day it was so soft he said and she decided then he needed one too. His long curls of brown hair were dusted in snow and messier now that it was the end of the day. She was sure it was from running his hands through it, he did that a lot when he was concentrating or thinking.

She rushed forward hugged him again with a big squeeze and kissed his cheek in thanks, he smelt so addicting and her head was the perfect height to smell his clothes that smelt like he always did. Like tobacco, vanilla, and his citrusy and woodsy shampoo.

“Well aren’t you just a doll?” She said with a smile.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back at her looking down at her as a dimple formed in his normally stoic face. She pulled away from him hand still holding his bicep as she examined all the bags in his hands. Even though he dressed very formal always, he still had his touch on things, like his rings. Harry always wore dozens of amazing large rings, and nail polish too. Y/n had conviced him a few evenings ago to choose this nice lavender colour rather than his normal black. He said he would only if she would match him. So her nails were littered in that same colour and she was reminded of him whenever she looked at the chipping colour while she was kneading dough. And underneath those long shirts and pants were so many inked pieces of skin, that suited him more than you’d think.

Y/n loved when, usually on Sundays which were his day off, he was sat at home in just some pyjamas that showed all the ink and she could ask him the stories behind each while they did laundry. She liked him in suits of course, there was something very attractive about it, but she liked him all cosy and casual too. He barely ever dressed that way, only at home. She felt lucky to see him that way.

She snapped herself out of her daydreams about his gorgeous hands and that cross tattoo she loved when her tummy rumbled hungrily at the smell of the delicious dinner.

“Niall! Harry brought us dinner!” She called out and Niall stepped out of the kitchen. He looked similar to Y/n, dressed casual too, because she didn’t think uniforms suited her place. The shorter man was in a pair of his own baggy jeans and this brown knitted jumper and a pair of ratty old sneakers. His bleach blonde hair was in messy spikes and he had a pair of glasses on today instead of contacts.

“Haz, is that Flaming Green Jose’s?” Niall asked instantly without even greeting him properly as he walked over to sniff and grab at the bags.

Harry nodded lifting the bags in show, the green plastic was printed in the familiar taco on fire logo that proved it was in fact Flaming Green Jose’s.

Niall practically drooled and looked up at him eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.

“I could kiss you, mate!” He said, his Irish accent dancing off his tongue.

Harry grimanced at him and handed over the bags. “Please don’t. Just take the tacos.”

Y/n giggled by his side squeezing his arm in her usual way when he said something that made her laugh.

Niall and Harry quickly began to set up the containers of different Mexican dishes while Y/n grabbed some cutlery, cups, and cold water for them all to enjoy their late dinner. The bakery had a few tables for people to sit and enjoy snacks at, and only for one portion of the day did they serve hot drinks, Niall was also a trained barista, which was perfect because she thought coffee suited a lot of her sweets.

The three of them set up their food in one of the booths that was a cherry red leather colour. The snow was falling heavily outside now against the windows and it had started to quiet down out there. Not as many shoppers or people finishing work were wandering around outside as usual. The storm was keeping people, hopefully, rugged up and warm inside.

Y/n dreamily looked outside as she turned the big overhead lights off and switched on just the fairy lights she had strung up for Christmas spirit. They were a nice soft golden orange glow for them to eat.

The three friends enjoyed their dinner quietly as the radio hummed some old jazz Christmas songs, they were all huddled together really close and Y/n leaned into Harry sleepily which he didn’t mind at all. The bakery was warm but Y/n felt chilly now that she was sweating away in the kitchen. Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulder to help warm her as they lazily chewed down their food. Even though he’d stripped himself of his massive coat and scarf he was still rather warm.

Niall was right it was quite good food and a family-run business which was always nice to support. Y/n knew how it hard was to be a little business in the busy city of London.

The three chatted about nothing particularly worth noting, just talking about normal Harry, Y/n, and Niall things and enjoying the food. Harry was very hungry so he’d barely spoken a word just chewing lazily beside Y/n. When all the food was gone and they all felt sufficiently full Y/n kissed Harry’s cheek once more.

“Thanks again for dinner, H.” She said softly eyes drooping, now that’d she been fed she was getting a bit sleepy.

He smiled, a big one for Harry, he was almost showing teeth.

“I know how hard y’guys have been workin’, just wanted to help in some way.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. And it wasn’t too much of a big deal but the fact he’d thought of them when he’d gotten the night off was sweet, he was so busy and he chose to spend some free time helping friends. That hardly matched his scary persona.

This made Y/n’s heart swell and she spoke softly. “Thanks, Haz.”

“Yeah mate, you’re the best.” Chimed Niall wiping his face with a napkin. Niall had devoured his food contently.

Their little dinner together was interrupted by the door swinging open, the bell ringing, and a couple of two walked in.

Y/n stood up, moving from the warmth of Harry.

“Hi! How can I help you?” She said plastering a smile on her face, walking over and tying the back of her apron back on.

The couple ordered a few Christmas cookies decorated like pieces of art and some cream horns that Y/n had made that morning. Y/n handed them their bags took their change and waved goodbye.

“Have a good night!” She chirped to them.

They smiled and waved. “You too, Y/n!”

Y/n came back over and sat down again, looking over to Niall tucking her knees up to her chest. “Is it gingerbread time then, Ni?”

Niall nodded throwing his head back with a sigh.

Gingerbread could be quite tedious. Especially the way Y/n decorated them. She really made them all individual pieces of art just for people to eat them. Which was beautiful, but also very time consuming.

Harry looked over, “I thought gingerbread was quite easy, Y/n makes it so quickly.”

Niall scoffed. “That’s because Y/n’s a machine. But even she can’t do this many cookies alone.”

Harry looked over at the tired pair of bakers and down at his hands. He tried to think of the last time he’d made gingerbread. Must have been with his sister Gemma when they were kids visiting their grandparents. But he thought if he could get an interview with James Hadden (a man who notoriously never answered questions to the media) then he could bake some cookies. How hard could it be?

“Let me help then. Many hands make light work.”

Y/n blinked. “You hate Christmas,” she stated.

He looked over at her. “But I like your Christmas cookies.”

Y/n decided not to fight him on it. “Alright. Niall find him an apron I’ll start setting up.”

Y/n began getting out all the ingredients they’d be needing this way they could each make a batch to save time. She grabbed flour pouring enough into three bowls for each batch, some unsalted butter, brown sugar from the cupboard, some eggs from the fridge, baking soda, milk, and all the spices. As she looked at the array of ingredients laid out on the steel bench she noticed she was missing the most with most important ingredient; golden syrup.

She walked to the stock cupboard and saw the big bottle of golden syrup sitting on the tallest shelf. Adam, a really tall baker, had been working earlier he must’ve put it there. Y/n tried to reach on her tiptoes though it was no use, her fingernails only just grazed it.

When a hand came out from behind her gripping the big can it startled her and she turned to see Harry standing behind her.

“Oh, you scared me,” She giggled.

“Sorry, Love.”

She followed him back out to the kitchen. He placed the big can down on the bench and she took in his form. His long shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a bun now, and he’d taken off his suit jacket and tie, his black shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the buttons on his collar were undone. He had an apron on now too, one of Y/n’s collection, it was pink and frilly with flowers.

Y/n softly explained to Harry the process of making the batter and he was intently listening to her every word watching her through his lashes. Soon enough the dough was perfect and all three of them rolled out the dough the perfect width which meant Harry had to re-roll it. Once Y/n gave a thumbs up of approval they began using the cookie cutter shapes and cutting the cookies out.

Harry had the make hearts and stars, Niall made gingerbread men and women, and Y/n made circles and snowflakes.

Eventually, they put in their first batch, a little after 10. They kept re-rolling the dough and cutting as many as they could until the batches vanished. Harry was very good and gentle with his technique, and some were wonky but Y/n loved that he was helping and it took her years to perfect her cookies so he was doing very well for his first time. She selfishly wanted to keep his batch for them to go home and eat but she didn’t.

By 11 all the batches were cooked or still cooking. Niall was on oven duty and Y/n was teaching Harry how to decorate.

The ginger people were decorated all classic. White iced smiley faces and an outline around their body, little chocolate buttons for the outfits and a pinch of icing sugar to look like snow. Harry tried his best to do them and Y/n loved their imperfections it was like real people; all individual.

The others needed to be painted in colourful swirls of festive landscapes and honestly, they looked like individual paintings. Harry was amazed at her steady hand and ability to decorate such creative and individual designs for each cookie.

“Y’like tha’ bloody Andy Wharol of cookies, Y/n.” He said.

And she giggled her concentrated face cracking to a smile. She looked over at him. “It’s just practice.”

“No, it’s not.” Said Niall, from his station. “I’ve been practising for ages, your baking is just pure talent.”

By midnight the last batch had cooled down and they were all decorating together and Y/n was humming along to the Christmas playlist she had put on.

Niall twirled Y/n around and they sang along goofily. Niall and Y/n had been friends since culanary school which felt like years ago now. They were only teenagers then. All baby-faced and wide-eyed, now they were older and still just as immature when put together. When Y/n opened her bakery and she needed extra hands he was the first person she called.

Niall was her best friend, and Harry had easily become her other one. Even though she was so tired and it was late, and her feet ached. The boys made it better. Niall singing into a spatula and Harry refusing to dance or sing was what kept her going the final stretch. She stopped decorating to go over to Harry, she looped her arms through his waist forcing him to step away from the bench and she tried to make him sway with her.

His body stayed still and she moved closer to the front of him, in hopes of seeing his face.

“C’mon! Dance, Grinch!”

“I don’t even dance when it isn’t Christmas, Y/n.”

She huffed arms crossing, “Please?” she asked, fluttering her eyes best of her ability in hopes of convincing him.

Harry melted at the sight. She was so cute, even Harry couldn’t say no to her. He sighed like it was the most horrible task anyone could’ve asked him and she held out her hand with a smile. He grabbed it and she raised her hand for him to twirl under and he obliged spinning even though he was much taller than her. She leaned in close to him hands landing on his hips as his landed on her shoulders in an embrace while they swayed. She sang softly, and very off-key and Harry just shook his head.

She was like a ray of sunlight, and he was like the moon. She looked up at him, “Thanks for helping,” she said softly.

“Of course….you’ve done way more for me.” He said.

She just shook her head and was about to reply but Niall cut them off.

“I gotta’ get home to Max soon.” Max was Niall’s recent boyfriend.

“Sorry, let’s get back too it.” Y/n said pulling away from Harry.

By almost 1 AM they were finished with every cookie. It was perfect. They would probably all sell out tomorrow. Y/n grabbed two handfuls one for Niall and one for Harry. She wrapped them like she would for costumers. She tied two pink ribbons and handed one to Niall.

“Thank you for all your hard work, Ni, I’ll see you Monday?” He nodded smiling in his easy going way, and pecked her cheek.

“Bye, Pet, see you Monday.” They waved him off and they heard him leave when the bell chimed.

Y/n and Harry turned the lights off and grabbed there things. Y/n put on her layers of clothes. A big red coat, her lavender scarf, and her blue beanie that had a fuzzy ball on top. She grabbed her bags and keys and they locked up the shop.

At least tomorrow both her and Harry had the day off.

The walk to the car was brisk but short, the snow had stopped now and but it was still freezing. The pair stayed close by to one another, trying to keep warm as they walked quickly to the car.

Harry started the car as fast as he could and cranked the heat and while they waited for it warm up they finally tried the few pieces of gingerbread she’d saved for them.

“Y/n this is so fucking good.” He said looking over at her. His hair was back down and he’d put on all his layers too. She smiled.

“All you, H.”

He just shook his head. “You’re the best.”

She looked over blushing. “And you’re the sweetest.”

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elfven-blog · 9 months

Note

can i request a lil bully leon!!

he’s just so mean!! you’re spending your summer with him since your moms are bffs and he just loves annoying you whenever he sees u. he’s shoving you into walls, trapping you in his room, but you start to notice how worked up he gets whenever you whine and get all teary. next second he’s tearing your clothes off and pulling your hair, even calling you mean names as he gets himself between ur legs!!!

I hope you enjoy...and that he's mean enough!

Bully his way down

Summary: You're spending the summer on holiday with your parents' friends, and their bully of a son. Leon Kennedy x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ only, pussy eating, fingering, mean Leon, scandalous pictures (mention), masturbation, use of words 'whore' and 'slut'. Word count: 1.5K

When your mum suggested a holiday over the summer to spend some ‘family time’ together after you’d moved away, you didn’t expect for her best friend’s family to come with you. Especially when that included Leon. The Kennedy’s were nice enough, and you’d know Mrs Kennedy your entire life. Probably spent as much time around her house and you had your own. But God you hated her son. He was a bully, plain and simple.

The blonde’s favourite activity was to annoy you in any way possible from stealing your diary as kids, to hiding your clothes to locking you in his room after asking you to get something. And now you were stuck in a room with him for the next month because the cabin your parents rented only had 3 rooms. It was like a nightmare. He’d already done a few things and it was only day 5 like shoving you into a wall and held you there why you begged him to just let you go, he’d added cinnamon to your food when you weren’t looking, and he’d made you cry by locking you out the bedroom on the 2nd night.

It was like a curse had come over your life. Cursed by your own mother, to have to stay in a bedroom with an asshole who had stolen your clothes. The only good thing was that both sets of parents had gone out, and you had made the mistake of sleeping in after not realising that Leon had opted to also stay back. Now you were curled in the bed under the covers and trying to ignore the way your enemy was laughing down the hall.

Left alone with your thoughts had you seething at every interaction you had with Leon, but with his laugh in the background your mind started wondering. And suddenly a blush was covering every inch of your face. He wasn’t very good at hiding his reactions to the way tears filled your eyes or you whined with annoyance every time he did something. How he had to shift in his sweatpants or look away with darkened eyes before hurrying away to the bathroom, or your shared bedroom.

What Leon didn’t know is that you had been awake one of the nights he’d taken care of his big little problem. His moans invaded your mind, the wet sounds as his hand wrapped around his cock…the way one of his hands wrapped around your wrists as he held them up over you and against the wall. All those sounds and images flooded your mean, and slick began dripping between your thighs. You were on your side, hand dipping between your legs and facing away from the door, which meant you weren’t paying attention as Leon slipped through the door and turned the lock.

The feeling of the bed shifting and a hand wrapping around your throat is what brought you out of that syrupy head space. His breath was hot on the shell of your ear as he applied the tiniest amount of pressure to your neck “You are such a little whore” his tongue traces your ear, and it has you pressing up against him without thinking. You can almost feel the grin on his face as your own heats up, your fingers topping their circling motion. His eyebrows raises, his arm going under your shoulders to replace the hand there while that one travels down to press against your hand. “Nu uh, keep going slut, I wanna see”.

A whine leaves you and you rock against him, feeling the clothed outline of his cock right against your ass. The size of it has more slick gathering against your hand. With Leons hand against your own he uses it to guide you, his finger causing your own to continue circling your clit. With his hand guiding your own and his mouth moving down to press against your neck you were quickly thrown back into that syrupy head space.

“God you’re so fucking wet” his hand led yours away from your clit to tease at your clenching hole, before pressing slowly into you with both your finger and his. The stretch had your legs shaking but Leon tried to distract you by biting into your neck and leaving a bruise behind, he moves to mark another into your skin right next to it as he guides your fingers in and out of your pussy. “Such a pretty slut, you hear that? Hear how you’re getting off on this?”

He continues using his own hand to guide yours, his thumb pressing your own to the sensitive clit so you can rub slow circles while your middle fingers keep pushing into your drooling cunt until your soaking your thighs and the sheets below you. Head lolling back onto his chest as his own watches the way your fingers disappear into you. “So pretty”.

Leon removes the fingers that were playing with your cunt, a loud whine leaving you at the sudden feeling and you can almost feel the grin radiating from him “Just so needy, huh? Can’t help yourself can you? Just need someone to fuck you dumb” he moves you to lay on your back, before situating himself between your legs and removing his shirt. Your eyes follow it up not able to focus on a single area of the muscled torso as it was revealed to you. Mouth almost drooling at the sight, and more slick gathering.

Your attention stays on him as he lifts your legs apart, his eyes darkening as they zero in on the sight between them. A low groan falling past his lips as they droop open, his tongue darting out to wet his mouth. “Slutty cunt just needs to be taken care of” and he lowers himself to the bed with your legs over his shoulder. Your hands clenching at the sheets as you anticipate the feeling of that sharp-speaking tongue right where you needed.

“She’s just crying, gonna give her kisses, say I’m sorry for being sooo mean” his voice is clouded with teasing, and you feel your thighs shaking with want as your hips rut up to try and get him to give you what you want. But instead, you feel his hand move before it comes down on your thigh with a sting “Nu uh, stay still slut” another stinging slap to your other thigh this time before it’s followed with the feeling of his teeth as he leaves another mark in your skin.

The blonde stays like that for a while, his hot breath teasing over your wet pussy as he moved to leave more marks. Getting closer and closer until you could feel his mouth ghost over your lips, whining as your hands scrunched the sheets “You’re being such a good whore, letting me turn you into a living art piece” and finally his tongue laps at your pussy lips. You moan and your thighs tense as you try to stay still for him, Leon groans at the taste of you on his tongue.

He doesn’t wait anymore, face burying into your pussy as he swirls at your clit. The stimulation has you losing control and your hips buck up into his face, Leon doesn’t move his hands to keep your hips down, instead they focus on keep your thighs apart do you’re spread open for him. His tongue moves from toying at your click to lick into your pulsing hole, and your mouth falls open at the feeling with your head falling back onto the pillow.

The blonde laps at your cunt like a starving man, your hands moving to grip his hair and tugging him forward. This time Leon follows the hint and is happy to comply as his tongue fucks into that dripping hole while his nose bumps at your clit. His eyes focus on the look on the blissed look on your face, if he wasn’t buried in heaven he’d tease you about how you’re such a good whore, doing so well for him, just laying there and taking whatever, he wants to give you. Your thighs squeeze around his head as your eyes flutter and you’re becoming nothing more than a whiny squirming mess above him.

Leon grunts as you tug his hair almost painfully, his hands kneading at the soft plush of your thighs as his tongue laps at the warmth of your pussy. He pulls you closer to his mouth making it easier to worship your heat until you’re panting and arching from the bed. The sound of Leon’s tongue lapping at you fills the room as you gush around him. Eyes rolling back as your thighs tremble and shake, he continues to lap up the mess you’re making before you settle back onto the bed.

You try to collect your breath while he pries your legs from his shoulders and lifts up. When you’re able to look up at him you watch the way your slick coats his mouth and jaw, slowly dripping down. What you don’t expect is for him to have his phone pointed at you. Pictures of the way you look, and you start to close your legs before his other hand moves to pull them apart “now now slut, keep ‘em open…gonna need something to remind me of how lovely you can be.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x female reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x f!reader #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kenned x reader

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imagine-a-life-like-this · 1 year

Text

Step 4 : Date Other People (B.C)

Word Count : 4.9k

Warnings : swearing, food mention, being stood up, hurt, like a lot of hurt, like honestly so much hurt (i'm sorry), briefest mention of sex, again they're both idiots (happy ending i promise)

Being with Chan was easy. It was effortless. Like she was born to be by his side. Being in love can feel like that sometimes. Like you’re born to be with that person, to love that person. No matter what they do, no matter how far away, the love never fades. An unconditional love; that’s the kind of love she has for Chan.

So why was she sat across from someone else enjoying a romantic dinner? Listening to him drone on and on about a story she stopped listening to five minutes ago. Counting the seconds as they pass, wondering when the date would come to an end. She couldn’t even remember his name, knowing him from class but nothing more. She’s not even sure she’s seen him outside class before this, as if he only existed within those four walls. Like an NPC.

It was never going to go anywhere and she knew that from the moment he asked her out. He wasn’t the one she wanted to be sat across from. She knows who she wants to sit across from, knows who she wants to listen to talk about his day, but she can’t have him.

Bang Chan. Her best friend. Someone she never meant to fall in love with. Her feelings were never meant to grow passed platonic love. But it was impossible not to fall in love with Chan.

From day one she knew he was going to be special to her. Come sit with me. Waving her over with his dimpled smile, taking her under his wing like they’d known each other forever. She leaned on him and he let her, holding her up whenever she couldn’t do it herself. He was just so kind, so smart, so giving. Just so wonderfully Chan.

She should have known she was going to fall in love with him. Should have known he was never going to be just a friend. But she deluded herself into thinking that she could stay by his side and never want something more than friendship. Deluded herself into thinking she would never fall in love with someone so perfect.

“Did you want dessert?” The guy asked her, pulling her away from her thoughts. She noticed him looking through the dessert menu, glancing up at her every once in a while.

He was handsome, there was no denying that. Tall and muscular with a face that looked like it was carved by the gods. She could tell that he was kind by the way he’s treated her on the date, and even before. Girls were envious when he asked her out, and she could see why. He was a well desired man, and rightfully so.

But he wasn’t Chan.

“I’m actually really full.” She answered him politely, hoping he’d get the hint that she just wanted to go home. It was obvious that she wasn’t interested, and she knew that. She knew that everyone could see that he was having more fun than she was, and it had nothing to do with him as a person. Had her heart not already belonged to someone else, she could see herself liking him.

But he wasn’t Chan. No one would ever measure up.

“Really? You barely touched your dinner.” He chuckled, placing the menu on the table. She just awkwardly shrugged her shoulders, faking the nicest smile she could. He was a nice guy, a really nice guy, but she just couldn’t stop thinking about Chan. “I’ll pay the bill and drive you home.” He knew.

Chan wasn’t home when she walked through the door to their shared apartment, not that she expected him to be. He told her that he’s had more inspiration than usual, holing himself up in his rented studio just off campus for hours on end.

It never occurred to her that he was lying to her. That he was struggling to write anything that wasn’t related to her. All the songs he’s written in the passed month sounded the same. About a boy in love with his best friend, watching her fall in love with someone else. Longing for her to look at him just once, see the love he’s willing to give. Watching her slowly slip through his fingers, too scared to hold on, scared to hold her back.

He knew she would be getting home from yet another date. She would kick her shoes off, have a shower, wash off any remnants of the date she just had, change into shorts and a t-shirt she would steal from his closet, and wait for him. How he wishes she would just go to bed. Seeing her curled up on the couch, reading a book or watching a movie, wearing his t-shirt, had him dreaming of a universe where she was his. A universe where he could walk over to where she was sitting and wrap his arms around her, pressing kisses to her face as he softly tells her how much he loves her.

But she’s not his. Not the way that he’s hers. His heart, his soul, everything that he is belongs to her. “Go home hyung. Confess to her and make her your girlfriend already.” Changbin looked at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

“She went on another date today.” Changbin’s arms fell to his sides as he watched his friend crumble in front of him. How were his two friends so unaware of the other’s obvious feelings? Everyone around them could see how in love with each other they are, but both of them are blind.

“Is it a second date?” Changbin knew the answer already. Y/n had gained a reputation over the passed month. Known for her many first dates but never a second. Friends knew it was due to her feelings for Chan, but strangers, onlookers, anyone that didn’t know her, wondered if there was something wrong with her. If she was stuck up, felt like no one was good enough for her.

“No.” It was the obvious answer. An answer everyone knew. No one would be good enough for a second date. No one but Chan.

“Then you still have a chance.” Changbin clapped him on the shoulder as he spoke, giving his friend an encouraging smile. But Chan just shook his head.

“I’d rather keep our friendship the way it is.”

“I heard the new guy wants to ask you out.” Lisa giggled, bumping her shoulder against Y/n’s. Y/n looked towards the desk where Seokmin was handing another group of teenagers their bowling shoes. The girls he was helping started giggling when he smiled at them.

The bowling alley she worked at got busier once word got around about the cute new guy working the front desk. Wait times escalated more and more each day. Going from 10 minutes to over an hour, but no one minded waiting when Seokmin stood at the front counter.

They’ve been working together less than two weeks, speaking barely 10 words to each other within that time. She found it near impossible that he’d be thinking about asking her out, especially with the reputation she gained trying to get over Chan. He heard it, she knows that. Everyone heard it. It didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. Reputations come and go, and this one will disappear one day too.

“He’s cute, he’s smart, he’s nice, he’s funny. What more could you want in a guy?” Rose chimed in, throwing her arm across Y/n’s shoulders, but she quickly shrugged her off. Seokmin was perfect in theory, but he’s not Chan.

He’s just another guy that would be a failed distraction. Another guy she could fall for had she not fallen for her best friend. And she knows she’ll have to let go of the love she has for him, knows he’ll fall for a perfect girl, someone that will make him feel what he makes her feel. Maybe by then someone else would have come along, swept her off her feet before she even realized it.

It’s possible that it could be Seokmin. With his perfect smile and contagious laugh. But it’s not the right time. Not while Chan is still single. Not while her heart is hanging onto the slim chance that Chan could love her too.

“If you think he’s so great, why don’t you go for it?” Seokmin looked towards them, shooting them his infamous smile that had hundreds of other girls falling at his feet. But she just turned away, continuing to pretend she was busy behind the food counter despite not a single person ordering.

“Because he can’t stop talking about you.” Rose teased. “Maybe he’ll be the one to get that second date.”

“Oh please. Everyone knows the only guy that will ever get a second date with her is Chan.”

“What do you want, Jungkook?” Y/n asked. He leaned on the counter as he tried out yet another pick up line on her, something he started doing just to annoy her. “Either order something to eat or go back to work.”

“So harsh baby. I’ll just get my usual.”

“You’re lucky I like you or I would have gotten you fired weeks ago.” She said with a chuckle before shouting his order to the chef in the kitchen.

“You know that Hoseok is soft for him. He’d never fire Jungkook.” Lisa laughed. “Lucky bastard.” Jungkook shot the three a wink before asking if they could deliver the food to the bar for him when it’s ready.

“Oh before I forget. Y/n, I need you to pick up some extra shifts until I can hire some new staff. Seokmin needs some help at the counter.” Hoseok said as Y/n was grabbing her things to leave. “It’ll probably only be a week or two.”

“Yeah that’s no problem. I could use the extra cash anyway.”

“All those first dates putting you out?” He joked.

“Bold of you to assume I pay on the first date.” She winked at him before leaving, Jungkook waiting outside the front door for her.

“Either you need to grab your shit faster or get someone else to drive you home.” Jungkook teased. “I have a life outside of you, you know.” Despite his teasing words, he still opened the passenger side door for her just as he always did. Allowed her to pick the music and listened to her sing all the songs off key, just like he always did.

“Do you think I’ll ever get over Chan?” They were sat outside her apartment building. She could see the lights on in the apartment she shares with Chan, meaning not only was he home, he was awake. Jungkook glanced over to her, seeing the distant look in her eyes, and immediately knew that her feelings were drowning her.

Everyone talks about the beauty of love. The soft glances and lovesick smiles. Date nights that end with a goodnight kiss. Whispered promises of forever and collages of memories posted everywhere. Lingering touches that bring butterflies and calm at the same time. Kisses that leave you breathless and begging for more. Love is addicting.

But it’s not always beautiful. It’s pain. It’s suffocating. Like thinking you’re lost at sea only to see an island not too far, but too far out of reach. Almost close enough to touch, but then waves take you farther away and then it’s gone. Left for someone else to find.

It’s watching the one you love, fall in love with someone else. Feeling the ache become a dull pain that you learn to ignore. Wanting to scream your declaration of love at the top of your lungs, but nothing comes out.

“What if he loves you too?” She looks at Jungkook and he wipes away her tears. It’s a question she’s wondered for weeks, months. Kept awake at night, tossing and turning, knowing the answer was in the next room over. All the what ifs and maybes cross her mind.

Maybe his newest love song was written for her. Maybe he dreams of holding her too. Maybe he looks at her and sees forever. And it all boils down to one question. What if he loves you too?

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Hungry?” Chan asked as she shuffled into the kitchen the next morning. Her hair was stuck up in a million different directions thanks to the tossing and turning that kept her up all night. But he found it endearing, wanting nothing more than for her to wrap her arms around him as he smooths her hair, pressing his lips to the top of her head when he’s finished. But friends don’t do that.

“Starving.” She smiled at him and his entire world stopped for a second. He loved when she smiled at him, allowing him to believe it was a smile just for him. “Hoseok needs me to work some extra shifts for a week or two. So I’ll be home late.”

Chan had heard of the cute new guy at her work. How seemingly perfect he was. How busy it had gotten because of him. Overheard Lisa talking to her friends about how all the girls at the bowling alley, workers, and customer alike, were fawning over him. And he wonders if Y/n is one of them.

It plagued his mind, took over his writing. The very idea of her giggling while talking to him, tucking hair behind her ear as she smiles at him. He’s been waiting for her to come home, a lovesick smile on her face as she talks about the cute new guy at her job. Maybe that will give him the kick in the ass that he needs to leave his feelings behind.

“Call if you need me to pick you up.” He answered her, placing a plate of food in front of her. “Eat fast or you’ll be late.”

She stood behind the counter next to Seokmin. Her smile was bright and beautiful; the same smile she gives Chan every morning when he cooks her breakfast. The same smile he deluded himself into thinking was meant just for him, but he can see now that her smile was never meant for him.

Over the week working alongside Seokmin, she got to know him. Talk to him, laugh with him. He really was perfect in theory, someone that wouldn’t have a hard time stealing someone’s heart. As they helped customers together, he would make her laugh. Make it feel like they were just friends hanging out, the hours passing by so quickly.

She watched as girls fawned over him, batting their eyelashes, flipping their hair, begging for his attention. He would shoot them his infamous smile, hand them their shoes, and move on to the next group of giggling girls. It was entertaining.

Her smile faltered for just a second when her eyes met her best friend’s, before she regained her composure, smiling at him like she smiled at the others. She tried to ignore his arm wrapped around the girl beside him. Tried to ignore her lovesick smile as she looked at Chan, leaning into his touch.

She tried her best to treat them like every other customer, like her heart wasn’t breaking, like she wasn’t holding back her tears. “Hey, you okay? You look sick.” Seokmin asked as Chan walked away with his date.

It was bound to happen. But she had hoped she had more time. More time to find someone to distract her from her feelings for him. More time to fall for someone else. More time to prepare herself for the inevitable heartbreak of seeing him fall for someone that wasn’t her.

She wonders if all those late nights at the studio, were lies. If he was with her, holding her in his arms, kissing her, fucking her. Were all the love songs he’s shown her recently about this girl he never told her about? “I just need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Jungkook watched her from the bar as she made her way to the bathroom, a distant look in her eyes. And he knew why. He could see Chan from where he stood. Watching as he helped the girl put her shoes on. “Go help her, you idiot.” Taehyung pushed him out of the bar and towards the employee bathroom. “This is your chance.”

He shook his head because he knew he didn’t stand a chance against Chan. Even in a world where Chan was taken, she would never look at him. But he wasn’t going to let her cry alone in a shitty employee bathroom. He wasn’t going to watch as she tried to keep herself together as if she wasn’t hurting. He would sit in that bathroom with her, lend her his shoulder, and allow her to hurt.

“Y/n.” He said softly after knocking on the door. “I know you’re not peeing. Just let me in.” The door opened just a crack and he could see the tears she allowed to fall in the safety of the locked bathroom. He pushed his way in, locking the door behind him, before taking her into his arms.

“Why did he have to bring her here?” She whispered between her sobs. Jungkook wondered the same thing. And he began to think he had Chan all wrong. Maybe he didn’t return Y/n’s feelings after all.

“Grab your stuff. I’ll take you home now. Hoseok will understand.” He didn’t give her a chance to protest, holding her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. And as she looks up at him, her nose red, tears still welling up in her eyes, her lips jutted out in the cutest pout, he wonders how Chan couldn’t be in love with her.

“Can I stay with you?” How could he say no?

Chan drove the girl home, wishing her a goodnight as she slowly took her seatbelt off, asking if he’d like to go upstairs with her. An offer he politely declined. She nodded, taking the clear hint that he wasn’t interested in her.

It was obvious in the way he looked at the girl behind the counter at the bowling alley. In the way he watched as she left under the arm of another guy, a distance in his eyes for the rest of the night. He tried to seem interested, smiling at her, paying for everything. But he didn’t look at her. Not the way he looked at his best friend.

“You shouldn’t agree to go out with someone if you have feelings for someone else. It’s not fair to anyone involved.” She told him with a sad smile and got out of his car without waiting for a reply.

She was right. Chan knew that. But when she approached him with a hopeful look in her eyes, asking him to go bowling with her that night, he felt like it was an opportunity handed to him on a golden platter. An opportunity to see the guy that could possibly steal Y/n’s heart. An opportunity to find someone to help him move on.

But instead he watched as she left with Jungkook, holding onto him like he was her lifeline. Changbin had been telling him that maybe the reason she never agrees to a second date is because she’s waiting for the one she likes to ask her out, giving Chan false hope that maybe it was him. Maybe she had been waiting for him to ask her out this whole time.

Then he walked into his still empty apartment, a text from Y/n saying she was staying with Jungkook for the night, and his world crumbled around him. Maybe it was Jungkook she was waiting for this entire time. And how was he supposed to compete with him?

“You feeling better?” Seokmin asked when she got to work the following day. She gave him a small nod, apologizing for leaving him alone the night before. “Jungkook explained everything to me when he got in earlier.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah. How the two of you went out to eat before work and you ate something bad.” Jungkook, forever her life saver.

“Right. Still, I’ll make it up to you. Name your price.” Seokmin pretended to think for a minute, rubbing his chin as if he had a beard. She giggled to herself at his antics, thinking that he really was cute.

With her hope of being with Chan completely crushed, she allowed herself to focus on Seokmin instead. How handsome he truly was. Remembering all the times he’s made her laugh over the week of getting to really know him. Maybe he really was the one she needed the entire time. The one to help her move on from Chan. “You have tomorrow off, right?” He asked after some time, and she nodded is response. “Go on a date with me.”

“Okay.” She answered with no hesitation.

Chan was the one to answer the door when Seokmin came to pick her up. Seokmin greeted him with a wide smile, holding out his hand to introduce himself, but Chan just stared at him, realizing his nightmare was coming true.

He had convinced himself that she was dating Jungkook, but seeing Seokmin standing in his doorway, his world began to crumble all over again. The seemingly perfect new guy that everyone was fawning over stood in front of him, introducing himself as if he wasn’t the talk of the campus. As if Chan hadn’t spent hours pouring over all his social media hoping to find a flaw in him. Hoping to find a reason his best friend should never go out with him, but there wasn’t one.

“You didn’t have to come all the way up.” Y/n giggled as she shook her head.

“I’m a gentleman, Y/n.” She quickly slipped her shoes on, turning to Chan, and telling him she’d see him later, trying not to make it obvious that it still hurt to look at him. That it was that girl’s face she saw whenever she looked at him.

But all that Chan saw was the smile she gave Seokmin. A smile she no longer gives Chan. The same smile he’s written far too many songs about. And in this moment, he writes another one in his mind. About the smile that gave him comfort now causing him pain.

He took her on a picnic. Of all the first dates she’s been on in the passed few weeks, not a single person put in as much effort as he did. All the food was homemade, recipes he asked Jungkook for so he knew she’d like it.

He listened to her talk, looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Asked questions that really made her think, giving his own answers, having small debates over their differing opinions, but it was all in good fun, ending in a fit of laughter every single time.

There was no awkward silence, no uncomfortable moments between them. Like this is how it was meant to be; the two of them being like this. It was the most fun she had had on a date in a long time.

But Seokmin could see the distance in her eyes. He could tell that every smile wasn’t meant for him. She didn’t want to be here with him, and her reputation crossed his mind. They had her all wrong. She wasn’t stuck up, she was in love.

She tried her best to focus on Seokmin, trying not to let her mind drift to Chan and whatever he might be doing at the moment. She made the move to hold his hand while he walked her home, lacing their fingers together, and smiling at him as if he was the one she wanted to be with this whole time. “This was a lot of fun.” She told him once they were outside of her building.

“Would you want to go out again?” He knew the answer. He knew she was going to say no. Reject him like she rejected everyone else. Because the one she wanted to be with was waiting for her upstairs. It was easy for Seokmin to put the pieces together, recognizing Chan from the bowling alley. The night Y/n left early, after seeing him there with another girl. She wasn’t sick, she was heartbroken.

“I’d really like that, Seokmin.” She surprised him with her answer, agreeing to a second date. “Text me the details.” He nodded, letting go of her hand, and watching her disappear into her building.

A few days later, Y/n was sat on the couch, periodically looking at her phone as the minutes passed. Seokmin was supposed to pick her up ten minutes ago, but he was nowhere to be seen. She scrolled through their conversation, hoping that maybe she got the time wrong. Maybe she was actually supposed to meet him at the restaurant and she was the one that was late.

But there, clear as day, he told her he would pick her up at 6. And she finally came to terms with the fact that she was being stood up. She finally agreed to a second date, finally found someone that could take her mind off her feelings for Chan, and he stood her up, leaving her heart in the hands of her best friend once again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” She turned around, seeing Chan at the door with a bag from the convenience store in his hand. He slipped his shoes off and walked to where she was. She was sat on the couch, clearly dressed up for a fancy dinner, waiting for someone that wasn’t him.

“He stood me up.” She whispered. Chan couldn’t believe the words he was hearing, anger flowing through his veins. How could anyone do this to her? Seokmin had the girl Chan was in love with in his hands, and he let her go.

“Give me a minute.” Chan said, disappearing into his room before emerging minutes later dressed in a suit. She looked up at him confused as he stood in front of her, holding out his hand for her to take. “No point letting that dress go to waste.” He explained with a smile, and she slid her hand into his, allowing him to pull her off the couch. “Been a while since we went out to dinner together.”

“Yeah.” She agreed almost breathlessly. Chan hadn’t let go of her hand, lacing their fingers together instead as they walked to his car. He opened her door for her, placing his hand above her head to make sure she wouldn’t hurt herself. And she allowed herself to imagine this is what a date with Chan would be like. Allowed herself to pretend that this was a date, that Chan wanted to go out with her.

The air surrounding them felt different. They had gone out to dinner together many times during their years as friends, but none were as fancy as this. A candle was lit in the middle of the table, soft, romantic music was playing, and everyone around them were clearly couples. She felt like they stood out, like everyone could tell they were nothing more than just friends.

But when she excused herself to the bathroom after ordering, an older lady stood at the sink beside the one she was using, and she smiled at her. “You and your boyfriend remind me of when my husband and I were young and newly in love.” She said.

“Pardon?”

“He looks at you like you’re the only thing he wants to see for the rest of his life. It’s the same look my husband gave me on our wedding day. Hold on tightly to him. You’ll never find a love like that anywhere else.” She patted the back of her hand before exiting the bathroom, returning to her husband. Did Chan really look at her like that? Was she just blind this entire time? Were all these first dates just holding her back from being with the one she loved?

“You feeling okay? You were gone for a while.” And then she saw it. Behind the concern, she saw it. He looked at her with love. The same way she’s always looked at him. Love. Longing. Forever. She saw it all in his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m good.” She smiled, placing her hand on top of his. He turned his hand so he could hold hers, returning the smile she gave him. And it was like no words needed to be said. Everything was in their eyes. All the feelings they hid, the confessions left unspoken, were in their eyes.

After dinner, they decided to take a walk, enjoying the nice night. Chan placed his jacket on her shoulders before grabbing her hand, slowly swinging their arms back and forth as they walked. The silence was comfortable as everything seemingly fell into place.

“So, do I get a second date?”

back to masterlist

@beabeanice @lilydaisyyy @notastraykid @frobin4ever @habeyhan @taetertotsv @mylifesupsidedowm @is2cb97 @ren-junwrld @wormi @ghostedgameplays @haikyuuisposts @chai-papa @aestheticsluut @sahazzy @hanjistarss @lethallyprotected @why-am-i-sad @neohyxn @alyssajavenss

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ctitan98official · 3 months

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Sex worker Alcina x Y/N

18+ Minors DNI

Alright, so I had an idea after watching Pretty Woman (Although, it’s really nothing like the movie except for Alcina being a sex worker) This is dark and pretty angsty. It will get lighter as the story progresses, but I wanted you to be aware. This part is more like a set up to Y/N and Alcina meeting. I hope you like it! Let’s get into it!

Alcina leaned against the wall of the dimly lit alley, her voluptuous figure outlined by the flickering streetlights. She took a lazy drag from her cigarette and frowned. Time for work again…

From the time Alcina became an adult, it seemed that people always made harsh judgements about her. She’s aware of the rumors and reputation her name carries. She’s heard all of the same tired insults before.

She’s promiscuous.

She’s fickle.

She’s selfish.

… She searches for affection from strangers because she never got it as a child.

Well… She tends to agree with that last statement, at least.

Alcina descends from aristocracy. House Dimitrescu, to be precise. She actually held the title of Countess for a while back in Romania. Her parents expected her to follow in their footsteps and promote the family’s legacy, but she never wanted all of that.

Alcina couldn’t take sitting through stuffy dinners and entertaining guests like some kind of novelty act. She knew her parents were just going to set her up with some pompous heir and want her to start a family. To be the perfect, doting wife. However, once Alcina set out on her own, at the age of 19, she was determined to reinvent herself into the type of woman she wanted to be. Not what others expected.

Coming from a privileged background with overbearing, helicopter parents, she had to learn how to take care of herself quickly. Suddenly being thrust into the real world was a culture shock, but she adapted and did what she had to do.

She started out as a server at a small diner. Just something to pay the bills. However… She always dreamed of being a singer and she did the work to make connections. She went to clubs and bars, mingling with musicians and building friendships. Her charisma attracted others easily and it didn’t take long before she was invited join a few bands.

Things were great for a while. Gigs were plentiful and she even had to quit her job at the diner because she was so in demand. But… Eventually work started drying up. She was getting older and the fresh-faced young adult she used to be was now gone. Her voice was tired, shot. She couldn’t perform at the level she needed to anymore. She became desperate.

She took odd jobs anywhere she could. She even started dancing for a few nightclubs. People were entranced by the rhythmic movements of her hips and body. Much like with her singing, she became a highly sought after entertainer. It seemed she had pivoted and was once again back in command of her life. And… That’s when she met someone who would change her life for the better. Miranda…

One night after a show, Alcina was approached by an immaculately dressed blonde. The women hit it off and began talking happily. Miranda showered her in compliments and Alcina clung to her every word. She had finally gained someone’s approval. Someone who praised her. Someone who didn’t judge her. It felt… Good. Miranda proposed a partnership. She managed a lot of dancers in the area and wanted to take Alcina on as a client. Alcina said yes. She was addicted to the attention she received from Miranda. She wanted to impress her.

Miranda got Alcina booked for shows left and right, she bought her gorgeous outfits to wear on stage, and she even began paying the rent on Alcina’s apartment so she could focus on honing her craft. Alcina was happy. Fulfilled. She looked to Miranda like a mother figure and Miranda considered Alcina her daughter. The two had found family in each other and made a good team.

A few months into this arrangement, Miranda decided to… Branch off into new ventures with Alcina. Unfortunately, the clubs took a hefty share of all of Alcina’s profits and it pissed Miranda off to no end. She wanted the younger woman to be paid what she was worth. People wanted to objectify Alcina? Fine. But they were going to have to pay a hefty price first. So… She got an idea.

One night, when Alcina went back to her dressing room after a set, she saw that Miranda was already there… With company. Miranda offered a reassuring smile and introduced Alcina to the people in the room. It… Didn’t take long for Alcina to realize what Miranda wanted her to do with them. She took Miranda aside and questioned her, but the blonde placed a gentle hand on her arm and beamed. “This will be a great opportunity for you, my dear. Won’t you try? For me?” She asked.

Alcina couldn’t tell Miranda no. She trusted her. So, if Miranda thought this was a good idea, she was going to believe her. She nodded and immediately did what Miranda asked of her. She thought she would feel really uncomfortable afterward, but Miranda’s affection and praise washed all of it away. She would do anything for Miranda.

The blonde made sure Alcina was safe and she was very selective of the people she brought to meet her. Under no circumstances did she stray too far from Alcina as she worked and she always accompanied Alcina back home after she was done.

This arrangement went on for several months and Alcina began to primarily work the streets instead of dancing. She and Miranda made a good living for themselves. Miranda would scout out potential clients and Alcina would take care of the rest. Alcina was finally… Loved. Unconditionally.

But, all good things must come to an end, it seems.

Over the course of a few months, Alcina started noticing that Miranda looked… Tired. Gaunt… Sick. The sparkle in her gorgeous silver eyes dimmed. She barely ate and began to sleep a lot. Alcina urged Miranda to go see a doctor one day, but the blonde surprised her and sat her down, giving her a gentle smile. “Alcina, do you know how much I adore you, draga mea?” She asked and gently cupped her cheek.

Alcina nodded. “Of course, Miranda,” She said, confused by her question.

Miranda sighed and cleared her throat. “There’s… Something you need to know, my dear. You deserve the truth,” She said, looking down.

Alcina had a bad feeling. Something was wrong. “Okay…” She said quietly.

Miranda once again met Alcina’s gaze and gave her a heartbreaking smile. “Alcina. I’m… Dying, my dear,” Miranda revealed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Alcina felt ice shoot through her veins. What? This can’t be true. No. The only person she had in this world… No. Alcina broke down. She began crying and screaming. Miranda’s heart ached at Alcina’s reaction. She wrapped her arms around the younger woman and shushed her softly. She felt… Guilty. She didn’t want Alcina to have to fend for herself.

“There must be something we can do!” Alcina pleaded through her tears.

Miranda smiled softly, but shook her head. “No, my dear. I am so sorry. We must accept what’s to come,” She said.

The two held each other and wept. They would be separated and there was nothing they could do about it.

Alcina took care of Miranda around the clock, but her health deteriorated fast, and two months later… She died peacefully in Alcina’s arms. Held by the one person who loved her the most.

Alcina was devastated. What was she going to do now? She closed in on herself. She drank. She slept. She cried. How could she go on? It wasn’t fair. All she wanted to do was hide herself away, but… She had bills to pay. She needed to start working again. Only this time, she’d have to do it alone.

And now, almost a year to the day of Miranda’s passing, Alcina once again found herself looking for customers. She shook away the tears that threatened to fall and bitterly flicked her cigarette away.

But, little did she know that, once again, someone would come into her life and change it for the better.

Enter you.

Note: Phew, this one was actually kind of challenging to write. I had trouble at parts conveying my ideas and trying to fit specific details in. Also, I want to make sure that I say I will not tolerate hateful comments about sex workers. This is a safe space and you will be blocked if you are disrespectful. Thank you. I hope you enjoyed!

Masterlist

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #mother miranda #alcina dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #resident evil imagines #lady dimitrescu x y/n #angst #angst drabble

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chikkou · 2 months

Text

ok i was waiting until my laptop got here to finally tell all the bullshit thats happened in the last like. 5 months lol. cause its a lot to type

im gonna put it all under the cut so no one has to read if they dont want. its a LONG fucking story.

tl;dr:

ok so for basic background, for the last two years or so, i was living with a roommate in connecticut. the roommate was my (now former) best friend since middle school. in july of this year his behavior totally shifted, and he started picking fights with me out of nowhere, told our high school friends a bunch of straight up lies abt me to make me look like a horrible roommate & person, and just generally became a two-faced dickhead. in the end, it turned out to all be excuses to justify his decision to move out (unofficially, name was still on the lease) so that he could live with his boyfriends and not pay any bills. at the time i was really devastated by this bc i felt totally betrayed by this person i had been close to since i was 12/13, but frankly after everything else that happened i barely fucking think about it now LMAO. this is set dressing more than anything else

so anyway, i had been living alone since about august, that was the last time i saw him in person. i wasnt handling the situation well because i had spoken to my high school friend and found out the extent to which hed tried to paint me as a slovenly, horrible roommate, to the point of telling actual lies about really dumb stuff (which didnt work btw - my friends, god bless them, were more concerned about my mental health than anything and thought i was going down a depression spiral, which my former friend told them he was helping me through. they believed me right away once we finally did talk). all that is to say, i was going kind of crazy lol, and i decided to go back home in october just for a short while, to recharge my batteries and all.

i was gone for a couple of weeks, not very long. i felt MUCH better after being with my family & friends in person, as i felt pretty isolated from everyone (my hometown is in new york, i was only 2 hours away by train but scheduling times to visit was sort of a hassle, so i only did it once every couple months). my grandfather and mom dropped me off at my apartment in early november, we were very lighthearted and discussing my next steps, since my shithead friend had been behind on rent more than 5 times (i always paid my half on time) and i was facing eviction because of it. we get to my apartment, i go to open the door, and it wont open. not that its locked, it just straight up WONT open. my grandpa tried to ram the door with his shoulder, and nothing. hes a strong ass dude, and this door wouldnt budge for anything.

my mom managed to get the kitchen window open and climb in that way, and it took both her and my grandpa pulling/pushing at the same time to force the door open. i wont even dress this up: there was mold. fucking. everywhere. on the floor, on the walls, all over everything i owned. i have pictures (had to take them for insurance) and im not even going to show them because they are beyond fucking disgusting. everything i owned was soaked in water and mold, and i do literally mean EVERYTHING. it was very warm in there too, like the temperature of a swamp. i was in a haze after that. i just remember sobbing, like genuinely heartbroken sobbing, as i wandered around looking at everything that was ruined. my mom & grandpa had to go and get maintenance because i was just utterly useless, and they were equally horrified & said they'd never seen anything like it.

i managed to save some items that were irreplaceable (journals, notebooks, etc) and whatever clothes werent utterly soaked in mold. all of my cookware, my books, my laptop & desktop (i cried the hardest when i saw the desktop) - it was all ruined. we found out later that the water boiler in my apartment had a catastrophic failure while i was gone, which caused it to constantly send water back through the pipes, empty, and refill itself. my bedroom was directly above the boiler downstairs, so it got the most significant amount of damage. all told, i lost like 95% of the things i owned. it is possible that i could have saved more, but the amount of mold in that apartment made it a genuine safety hazard for me to even be in there, so i had very limited time to grab what i could. the cruelest irony of all that? my shithead ex-friend's room, which was on the other side of the hallway, was pretty much untouched. he lost absolutely nothing lol.

so immediately, i had to leave the state. i moved back to ny with my family. my mother - who had a stroke last year following a diagnosis of an exceedingly rare neurological disorder, AND had two separate brain surgeries to improve her quality of life - was in the process of getting evicted. the landlord didnt give a fuck about any of my moms situation, not her being disabled, not her being widowed, not her having 3 kids under the age of 18 to care for - he just wanted her out so he could increase the cost of rent on our house. at the same time as all this was going on, i got saddled with a $600 electric bill (likely caused by the water heater's malfunction), which neither insurance nor the apartment would pay, so it came out of my pocket. in addition, i found out in december that i was also getting laid off.

we had nowhere to go and couldnt afford to live anywhere in the tri-state area. we had no choice but to move somewhere much cheaper, and since my mom already had a friend living in a mid-atlantic state, we chose to move there. the eviction went through in january and we had less than 2 weeks to pack all our shit, find a place to live, and get the fuck out. needless to say, we were not successful lol.

we stayed in my grandparents 1 bedroom apartment for about a week, then all of us drove down together to stay with my moms friend in her 3 bedroom apartment (she has 5 kids, 3 of whom live in the apartment). my moms apartment, which was supposed to have been ready by january 31st, still had people actively living there. the property manager kept promising us it would be next week for the entire month of february, to the point that my mom got fed up and chose to rent a small house instead. the reality of being essentially homeless for that time was beyond horrifying, and having anywhere between 8-10 people in that house (my cousin also moved with us, but he stayed in a hotel for the first week) was more taxing than i can express.

but things have gotten a lot better since then. i also found a cute little house to rent just up the road from my moms, and its very cheap for its size. i still havent found a job yet, but thanks to what was essentially the liquidation of everything i owned, ill be ok for a couple months more. im slowly but surely repurchasing all the things i lost and trying to acclimate to the new environment. things are still not totally stable right now, but they are slowing down, and at this point thats all i can really ask for lol.

so yeah. if u were wondering why i suddenly stopped posting after literal years of posting every day, thats why LMAO

#dark lord saltine #ik this is a massive overshare but fuck it #lifes been fucking hard lol #i have legit been saying ''everything happens so much'' since this all kicked off lmao #its sort of the family motto at this point

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hikikolol · 10 months

Text

*cravity as pervs*

ot9

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

♡ park serim

i see this in a setting where you and serim met at the gym

you were having troubles doing weights alone without your best friend there to spot for you, she decided to cancel her gym subscription because she was moving in another part of town and the gym you both went to became too far

serim walked over and told you that he would help you

going behind you, he stared surprised at the view of your ass

serim's the type to feel guilty to be a bit of a perv but he couldn't help it, the sight was delicious

just so happened, a few days later, he was the assistant instructor for your yoga class at the same gym

oh serim had a field day, he stood at the back of the class. where you were

his perfect view

thank fucking god he had cycling tights under his shorts, it helped him hide his hard on a little better but it felt too painful for him

oh what's that? you need help arching your back? he's on it

if only you guys were alone, he'd make your back arch alright

he slowly leaned his body onto your ass as he helped you arch your back and man did that make you wet

♡ ma allen

allen's your best friend

he has always went to your place to wind down but today was different, he decided to invite you to his place today after a movie

giving you a perfect cup of hot choco, you went to cuddle up on him to watch another senseless series

what is that you feel?

oh he has a boner...from you sitting on his lap

looking behind, you see his eyes shut tightly but oh man was he riled up

i see allen as the type to feel really guilty to think about such erotic thoughts about you but he just can't help it when you look like that

the thought of corrupting you runs through his mind 24/7

it's a secret but he leaves his hoodies w you just to take it back unwashed so he can jerk off to your scent

his hands always lingered whenever you hug. specially way lower than your back

seeing you in leggings or skinny jeans riles him on too much

♡ koo jungmo

it's been at least a few months since you've started learning how to play an electric guitar, you were getting to an expert level on it

you have thought of cancelling your lessons but your teacher, jungmo, insisted that there were still things to learn

jungmo on the other hand just can't bear not seeing you all focused in front of him so even if you wanted to cancel on his lessons, he insisted and offered to come over for free instead

i mean, you did find a friend in him

he was always hyperfocused on how you'd lean down to look at the chords and strings of your instrument, leaning down gives him the perfect view of your chest

thank god he has his own guitar to hide his hard on every time he came

his favorite position is when he's behind you, staring right down at your tits whilst he teaches you where your fingers should be placed

his hands lingers a little too long on your thigh whenever he points out something you did wrong

the way he'd use his eyes to fluster you up is... god

when he gets home, he bolts to his bedroom just to think about you, you, and you. your tits, your ass.. fuck that feels good, so good for me

♡ seo woobin

woobin lives right next door to your apartment

the sweet neighbor who never fails to give you food whenever he cooks too much for himself, rather it isn't always an accident, he just wants an excuse to see your face

paying for such cheap rent in the bustling city warrants your walls to be paper thin

woobin knows this, but you don't

the moans you create at night flows through the walls and heightens woobin's libido almost every night when you pleasure yourself

does he feel bad for eavesdropping? yeah, he feels a sense of guilt

but your oh so good moans keeps him alive at the nights when he feels the loneliest

how he wishes it's his name coming out of your mouth

his hands linger a little longer whenever he gives you the casserole of a dish he made

giving you such a sweet smile every time you would walk past him but oh you were so wrong when this man is full of sweetness

honestly, he just wants to bend you in so many different ways until you could only scream out his name

♡ ham wonjin

working with wonjin at a local cafe was the most fun you've had in a job

he'd be very attentive whenever you would need help with anything

your work uniform though, consists of a loose beige colored shorts, paired with a white buttoned up shirt, all tied up with a slightly darker beige apron. it was a themed cafe, you were working with handheld animals whilst making the drinks

the shorts of your uniform was a great fit on you and wonjin would 100% agree

the amount of times he has thought about fucking you in the backroom...

your sweet smile that flusters him up in an instant

boners behind his apron every time you would lean down to pick something up

the way you would lean on the counter on your breaks, the perfect view for your ass to be out oh how easy would it be to fuck you right then and there, grinding on your ass

your shorts riding up whenever you would sit cross-legged on the backroom's floor eating your lunch

he'd be giving you the most dangerous stares unbeknownst to you

♡ kang minhee

your brother's sweet and kind best friend

or so you thought

minhee has been visiting your house for more than he visited his own

spending time with your brother is minhee's favorite hobby, mostly because he knows he'll get glimpses of you when he's there

you never kept your door fully closed, the noise of the house brings you comfort to know that you aren't alone

minhee knows this and fully takes advantage of it

when everyone is asleep, except for you

he'd sneak out of your brother's room just to take a peek into your room

laying on your stomach, ass perfectly in view for minhee whilst you watch on your laptop

you never liked wearing shorts when you're about to sleep so minhee has always had a field day at this time of night

wearing only underwear and an old tight crop top, this was such a great view for him and he'd thank god for giving this to him on a dailt basis

the amount of times he had to stop himself from going in your room to fuck you was immense

staring at you for straight 15 minutes, he had to get out of there and continue on to the bathroom for a quick session

♡ song hyeongjun

never did you think that your oh so innocent classmate could think of such carnal desire on your body and soul

hyeongjun just wants you

he wants you to ride him

he wants you to take all his pride away, strip him bare and let you use him

he wants everything you have to offer and he'd never shy away on any command you give him, just say. one. word. and he'll be on his knees ready to pleasure you

people were intimidated by you, you have a resting bitch face and no one would dare come close

except for the sweet angel that graces you with his everyday good morning smile and wave

you thought nothing of it, you do it back, but you just go back to your comfort resting face after

but hyeongjun lives for it, one smile and he's done

thinking of ways you'd have him under your hold

his hair bunched up in your hands as he oh so deliciously eat you out

your moans as he does his best to behave under you

oh lord what have you done

♡ kim taeyoung

you have always been on taeyoung's best interests

i mean, you've been his crush for the longest time

but recently, his mind wanders way too far

what would you look like when your body is sprawled all over his bed? breathing hard when he hits that certain spot

how would it feel inside of you? your mouth?

would you let him use you whenever he wants? would you have a high sex drive?

thoughts pondered on taeyoung's mind as he glances at your way, sitting beside him during a lecture

your skirt riding a little higher than you'd like but never noticed through the shaking of your legs

oh how nice would it be to just push that skirt a little higher to put his hand in-

"you good?" taeyoung's eyes shot up, giving you a nod saying that he was dazing off

how long could he still last without touching you intimately, he's losing his mind

maybe he should invite you over to watch some movies, maybe move from there, yeah

♡ ahn seongmin

the sweet sweet junior from your course

he gives you sweets every morning, saying it would energize you from the boring lectures

the sweet junior who chases you after class just to bid you a safe trip home and a good night ahead

the sweet junior who would sneak little notes in your bag without you noticing

the sweet junior who, behind those sweet sweet eyes, lies lustful ones

eyes that dreams of your twisted face of pleasure when he gets the chance to finally have you

the chance when you, completely mark him as your own

he wants that, he's dying for it

he wants you to let him feel all the pleasure in the world and he knows you can. with just one touch, he'll be gone

he wants the feeling to be edged by you, he wants to know how it feels to be led

the feeling where his world is gonna crumble down and all he needs is to scream out your name as he releases all his pent up juices when you finally let him

oh fuck he accidentaly whimpered whilst he gave you the deliciously wrapped candy

#cravity smut #serim smut #allen smut #jungmo smut #woobin smut #wonjin smut #minhee smut #hyeongjun smut #taeyoung smut #seongmin smut #cravity hard hours #hikikolol-vityy

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sentientcave · 4 months

Text

And They Were Roommates

Part 2!

Sooner than I thought I'd get it done, but I ended up with more time today than I thought. It's moving day! This one goes out to the two people who read this so far (ilu), and also the dream of affordable rent and friendly, walkable neighbourhoods.

Part 1 Here

Fem!SoapxFemReader

~2.6k

Alcohol mention, SFW

MDNI - 18+ Blog even if this is you know, pretty tame at the moment

Your apartment is on the third floor of a walk-up, with a little balcony off the living room, and a decently sized kitchen. The rooms aren’t too small either, and your landlord has never cared about you putting holes in the walls or painting, only that you’re quiet and you have not once been late paying the rent. She lives on the first floor, and you have a sort of pleasant, neighbourly relationship with her. It’s easy enough to like a landlord that doesn’t raise your rent arbitrarily or drag their feet on repairs, but Leslie’s also a handsome, handy butch, and her wife, Amelia, is a wispy artist, and you’ve always been on the cusp of wanting to be properly friendly. You let her know before you head off to work that you have a new roommate moving in today, and that there would be a bit of noise in the afternoon.

“Oh, you found someone? Good. You want them on the lease?” she asks.

“I don’t think she wants to be. She’s just giving me cash so I can pay it. Is that alright?”

Leslie nods. “Sure is, honey. Thanks for letting me know. Oh, and I want to do a check on the radiators before the cold weather hits— Shouldn’t need into your apartment, but the pipes’ll be clanging something awful. It’s supposed to be cold and rainy Monday, so I’ll turn on the heat, and you can text me if your rads don’t warm up.”

“Alright. Thanks Leslie.”

She laughed. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re just saving me paperwork and a trip up the stairs. I’ll be standing by this afternoon if you need the door taken off the hinges to get any furniture through.”

You head off to work, humming to yourself. There’s time to stop for a take out coffee too, something you’d been denying yourself for the last few weeks to conserve money, and the barista gives you an extra shot of espresso, just because she missed seeing you.

God, you would have hated moving away. This neighbourhood has been good to you, and starting over somewhere else would have been hard. You recognize most of the faces around you, and often get a smile or a nod when you pass by, or even a good morning from a few. It feels like being part of a community. You unlock the door to the shop, and you don’t bother locking it behind you while you quickly get things set up.

The bell above the door jingles just as you’re about to go and flip the sign. “You know, you should really keep that locked when you’re not open,” John says. He’s an irregular regular, the sort of customer you see every few days for a couple weeks and then not at all for months at a time. You like him— He’s always polite, and he always takes your recommendations seriously, and comes back to tell you what he thinks. He’s older, but in a non-distinct way where he could be anywhere from 30 to 45. The muttonchops kind of make it hard to tell.

“A customer coming in a minute or two ahead of time is not terribly concerning to me, John. And the shop is open, I just haven’t flipped the sign yet.” You do so, and dust your hands together, like you’ve just accomplished some great feat.

“What if I wasn’t a customer?”

“What, like a robber? I’d give them the money from the till and then ring up the cops so they can stand around and be useless a while.”

His stern expression cracks into a smile, the crows feet around his eyes deepening. “Alright, fair enough.”

“You’re here early. Usually don’t see you until lunch hour. Got a busy day ahead?” You absently straighten a pile of books on the table by the door before you return to your perch behind the counter to sip your coffee.

“Yeah. Helping one of my sergeants move this afternoon. Someplace in the neighbourhood, but you’ll be closed long before we finish.”

You hadn’t realized he was military, but now it seems obvious. He’s got that straight-backed, keen-eyed look to him that could belong to few other professions. “Oh, are you Jamie’s captain?” you ask, connecting the dots. It's too close to be a coincidence.

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re her new flatmate?”

“Yeah! Ha, I guess you’ll get to see how I live. Always weird when a customer crosses the threshold of familiarity.”

“Didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“We don’t— Not yet, anyway. I’ve had an ad out for over a month, she’s the first person who’s responded that I think I could actually live with. You would not believe the number of guys who responded thinking that a picture of their dick counted as a reference.”

“Did Jamie give you references?”

“Yes, her old landlord, her LT and her Captain— Guess that’s you. But I met Ghost last night, and I didn’t really think I needed to call the other numbers after meeting Jamie.” You shrug. “Although looking back on it, I guess getting a vibe check from a giant in a balaclava is maybe not the most legitimate reference I could have received.”

“You ever think you might be too trusting?” John asked, leaning against the counter. He didn’t have a tendency to use his size to intimidate, but he was looming over you now, giving you a stern glare that you’re sure his newer recruits have nightmares about. You’re not intimidated though. You’re too familiar with him by now to be worried. He’s just got this protective, almost fatherly streak to him, and a bit of paranoia that makes more sense now that you know it’s coming from his military background.

“Have you ever thought that you might not be trusting enough?” you ask sweetly. “Not to sound trite, but I’ve found that when you approach things with an open mind and heart, things work out. But maybe I’ve just been lucky.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been eaten alive,” John grumbles, moving away from the counter, shaking his head.

You just shake your head too, picking up your phone so you can text Jamie.

I met your captain!! Well I already knew him but I didn’t know he was your captain

The response comes in almost instantly

UR BOOKSTORE GRIL<

GIRL<

NO FOCKIN WAY<

???

caps got a crush on ye. dirty old man >:( <

Dinny wry kitty ill fight im 4 u<

You hear John’s phone ding. He glances at the screen and laughs, and then looks over at you. “Jamie just told me to square up.”

“Wouldn’t be fair. I bet she fights dirty,” you tell him. “Is that why you call her Soap?”

He laughs again, his broad shoulders shaking. “No, but it might as well be.”

John buys a couple of old westerns and heads out soon after, leaving you to putter around the shop. You get a few customers through, though not many. Fridays are never very busy. Saturday and Sunday are always the busiest days of the week, and the days that the little book shop is open the longest. From what you've gathered, Bruce, the owner, makes most of the money to keep the place going by renting out studio space upstairs. The second floor is a wide open room, and the third floor a maze of little studios. There's a bulletin board behind your counter with all the workshops and events listed. Bruce lives at the other end of the first floor, and you rarely see him. The bookstore was something for his wife, who had gotten bored and moved on to pottery, and then glass blowing, and was currently occupying a studio upstairs and writing a novel. Sometimes she asked you to read chapters of it, and you had to come up with polite ways to tell her that she needed to put a lot more work in that wouldn’t get your ass fired.

Jamie texts you updates on the move, mostly complaints about how she didn’t think she’d need so many boxes, she didn’t think she had that much stuff, as well as a picture of her reclining on a couch while Gaz and Ghost lift it into the air, with the caption RIDES HERE that you receive just as you’re locking up the store.

They gonna carry you the whole way here?

no :( LT said im 2 heavy <

rude fucker <

You should reconsider your no killing in your spare time policy Just this once

ur rite. <

only after ahm dun mvoing tho<

hes useful 2 me yet<

You giggle and stow your phone back in your pocket, picking up your pace so you'd have time to do a quick, last minute clean of the apartment and shut Red Herring in your room so he doesn’t make a run for freedom while the doors are open.

He never listens when you tell him he doesn’t have what it takes to make it out there alone.

You happen to glance out the window when a pickup truck pulls up in front of the building. John and Gaz climb out. It’s a smaller model, and the couch from the picture is strapped sideways across the short-box bed with a pile of boxes stacked neatly underneath. A blue sports car pulls up behind it, and Ghost unfolds himself from the passenger side while Jamie throws her door open and hops out of the driver’s side. You head downstairs to meet them at the front door.

As soon as she sees you, Soap runs over and throws her arms around your waist, picking you up bodily and swinging you around, like she’s a soldier returning from the war and you the long suffering wife awaiting her return back home. You shriek with laughter and hold on tight, worried that she’ll drop you. Not that it’s all that far from the ground. Maybe it’s just kind of nice to be manhandled by a big strong woman.

“Missed ye,” she says in your ear.

“Jamie, we just saw each other yesterday,” you remind her, still laughing. “We just met yesterday.”

“Pff. No matter.” She gives you one more spin before setting you down. “Awlright, let’s put these big strong lads to work, aye? If ye ask nice Gaz’ll prob’ly take off his shirt.”

“I think he should keep it on, actually,” you say dryly.

“Yer right, kitty, don’t want to get distracted while there’s a job to be done. I’ll take my shirt off for ye later, since yer insistin'.” She loops an arm over your shoulders and presses a quick peck to the side of your head before letting go and dashing back over to the vehicles, giving you no chance to say that you most certainly had not been insisting.

No one lets you help, beyond opening doors and helping them navigate corners, but you suspect that you really only would have slowed up the process. They make carrying the couch up the stairs look easy, and the whole job is done in under an hour, despite the three flights of stairs. Soap moves her car to the lot, taking the space Leslie indicates, and you walk up together, Leslie telling her the laundry hours and letting her know that she was welcome to paint her room any colour she liked.

“Hey, John,” Leslie says peering in the open door with a grin. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

John turns a curious shade of pink. “Ah, well. Things have been busy. No time for workshops.”

“Well, you’re welcome back any time. Bring your friends, even.” She claps Soap on the shoulder as she turns to head back downstairs. It strikes you that she only came up to say hello to John, who had done his best to avoid her the whole time they’d been moving boxes. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. You’d best be good for our girl.”

“Ahm always good,” Soap protests. “Ask anyone.”

Leslie glances over at Gaz, Ghost and Price, who shake their heads in unison.

“Awlright, ask anyone except these bastards. They dinnae appreciate me. Even when I was going to order them takeaway and git ‘em a few pints.” She pouts, leaning against the doorway dramatically clutching her chest. “Ahm misunderstood in my own time.”

Leslie chuckles. “Well, she’s a handful. Good luck with that one, honey,” she tells you as she trots back downstairs.

You shuffle Soap into the apartment and close the door so you can release Red Herring from the confines of your bedroom, where he’s been yowling his displeasure for the past hour. She flops over the back of the couch, landing upside down with a sigh, and pulls out her phone, head tipped over the edge of the seat. “What do ye lads want? A Chinese? Or somethin’ else?”

“We also don’t have to stick around.” Gaz looks around at the others. John is looking at your bookshelf with interest, and Ghost is crouched in the hallway, greeting Red Herring. Gaz gives you a sheepish smile. “Or, uh. Maybe we do.”

Soap hauls herself into a more upright position, both hands still holding her phone. Her core strength must be unreal. You briefly wonder if she has actual, honest-to-god abs. “You want ‘em gone, kitty? Hens only?”

It strikes you that whatever this group has going on, it’s more than a little codependent. Better to get used to them now. “It’s alright. I’ll hang out in my room if I run out of social battery. Used to do that when Fern’s friends got to be too much.”

Soap tosses her phone down and flips her legs over the side of the couch and then to the floor. “Oh no, kitty. Dinna start off bein’ accomodatin’ when ye’d rather not be. I can tell ‘em to fuck off. Weal. I can tell Gaz and the captain to fuck off. I have ta drive LT home. No cabbie in his right mind will take the poor fella.”

“Not even the one’s not in their right minds,” Ghost says mournfully. Somehow, he’s coaxed Red up onto his shoulder, and is wearing the fat orange cat like a fur stole. You can hear the cat purring from several feet away. “For some reason, I make people nervous.”

“Couldn’t be the eye black and the fuckin’ skull motif, LT,” Soap says.

“Couldn’t be the size of you either,” Gaz adds.

“Sweetest pup I know,” John agrees. “People just don’t trust these days. Sign of society collapsin’.” He winks at you.

“What’s the word, kitty?” Soap drapes herself over your shoulders and nuzzles against your hair. Her nose runs along the curve of your neck, and it doesn’t seem to bother her even a little that the other three are watching with fascination. They're trying to be subtle about it, and failing miserably. John has a book in his hands, holding it upside down. Gaz is pretending to study a picture on the wall. Ghost is… Well, Ghost isn’t pretending to be subtle. “Want ‘em to go?” Her voice sounds a little breathy against your ear, and you’re not at all sure what to do with the electricity that shoots through your whole body. “Have us some girl time?”

“They did just help you move,” you say slowly. It’s taking a moment for you to collect your thoughts enough to speak. “Would be rude to send them away without a meal, right? Plus Red just got settled into his new nap spot.” You gesture at Ghost, who’s carefully walking over to the chair to sit, holding his shoulders very still so as not to disturb the cat, his eyes still turned your way.

You're not totally sure what Soap thinks is girl time, but you think it might be several shades more intimate than you're used to.

“Aw, yer too good ta my lads, kitty.” Soap kisses the spot right in front of your ear and lets you go. Without her solid body holding you up, you briefly consider melting into a puddle all over the floor, but manage, somehow, through sheer force of will, to keep your knees from buckling.

Leslie was right. You definitely have your hands full.

#cod mw #call of duty #Fem!SoapxReader #fem!soap #soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #And They Were Roommates #Cave Writing #I had to reel myself in from doing a whole bunch of world building for no reason but still couldn't resist some #I just love to set a table #so to speak #I think there will be girl time next part tho #You can't tell me that the rest of the 141 would be normal about Jamie though I would not believe it for a second #She wouldn't be normal about them either

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unholyhelbig · 9 months

Note

PART TWO OF SPIDER!PERSON SOULMATES

[a/n: Thank you all for the response to the first part of this! Here is part two, and depending on demand I may do a third part. Let me know!]

Title: Magnetic

Ship: Kate Bishop x gn!reader

Disclaimer: I did not proofread, if there are mistakes, I'm sorry!

Trigger warnings: mild injuries, horrible parenting, labs [?]

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

Read Part One | Join my Taglist!

Summary: Reader is a spider!person from earth-2099 and Kate Bishop is curious about why she's so drawn to them.

There was a trivial feeling to packing a duffel bag that you pilfered from the nearest thrift store. It was resting between a tapestry of crudely drawn frogs and an old vacuum cleaner that was still caked with dirt. It was small and the upholstery was falling apart, but it was enough for the little clothes that you allowed yourself.

If you had a few more weeks here, maybe you would have bought the frog tapestry and hung it up. The walls of your apartment were just as empty as they were two months ago when you painfully slid across the gravel rooftop of the very building you rented in.

You’d dislocated your shoulder and leaned up against the door to push it back into place, trying to swallow back the metallic taste in your mouth. The landlady opened the door and eyed you, her cigarette lit and angry in the dark. Old pink curlers were in her hair, and she blew a puff of smoke into your face.

They’d just had a room open up, and you used what little cash you had to pay the first half of rent for the month. That night you slept curled up on the wooden floor with your sweatshirt under your head. It was the most peaceful sleep that you’d had in months.

Kate and Peter lived across the hall in an equally shitty apartment that was somehow done up nicely and with a certain type of style that every Peter Parker you had met in the past couldn’t pull off. It was just your luck- to find Kate Bishop so soon after you had crash landed.

It infuriated you that there were so many rules along with the lack of rules that dimension hopping possessed.

Don’t interact with other versions of you- which, wasn’t a problem. There was only one you and it was difficult to keep track of that much.

It’s better not to mess with fate. Really- keep to yourself and don’t’ do anything superherolike because you carried a signature, and that was easily trackable. The last thing you wanted to be was trackable.

Don’t fall in love with a different version of your person. This is the one that you broke all the time, without fail.

It’s why you were shoving everything you owned into a bag and lifting up the floorboard in the back corner of your closet to retrieve the pocket watch. It used to be a pocket watch, anyway. Your father had enhanced it and tinkered until a portal tore into the universe and he stepped into it, hoping that it would work.

It did. From there he changed that pocket watch to something wearable, something that you could alter on your wrist. When you stole the original watch, you used to it jump to Earth 267, only for a moment, to disable the tracker before you hopped three more earths and found someplace to sleep, and cry, and think.

You squeezed the cold metal, breathing in. There wasn’t time to linger. You shoved the golden watch into your pocket, slung the duffel bag over your shoulder, and opened the door to the hallway. The green overhead lights tinted everything in a dingy blue, the carpet in the corridor smelled of mildew. You’d left the brass key and an apology note on the empty kitchen counter, which wasn’t your style, but also a hell of a lot nicer than the other tenants that occupied the space.

A small breath escaped you as you stared at Kate and Peter’s door. Part of you expected one of them to burst through it, but everything was silent, save for the methodic drip from the water pipe in the stairwell.

Two weeks ago, Kate had stolen you from the elevator the second the rickety doors screeched open. You were carrying a well-done steak that was left to congeal with mashed potatoes and gravy after a patron took a single bite. You’d wrapped it in tin foil, your body aching.

You were ready to crash on the single bed pushed against the back wall of your apartment, entirely content on scarfing down cold food and reading another chapter of a pulp horror book you’d thrifted along with a lamp without a shade.

“Y/n, you have to help me.” Fear and questioning must have flashed across your face, because Kate squeezed your arm and a warmth flooded your stomach. “There’s this massive spider in the shower, and Old Woman Harbor told me to shove it.”

“It can’t be that big.”

She deadpanned “It has its own zip code. Please, I’m begging you.”

“Where’s Peter?”

You asked the question even as you resigned to your fate and let her grasp your hand, tugging you towards her apartment. It was decorated much nicer than yours, seeing as it had furniture, and smelled thickly of cinnamon. There was a comfort that radiated from the space- it was lived in, it was personalized.

“Pete? Please, he’s more afraid of spiders than I am.” Kate turned to you, watched as your eyes flitted around the room, taking in the art, and the books, and the records. “Rescue me, fair warrior, for I am at the mercy of an eight-legged creature from darkness.”

You had scooped the spider onto a piece of paper, using a mug that was holding discarded pens and keys that led to nowhere. It was a big spider and you tried to ignore the way it blinked at you as you slid open the window and gently set it on the damp fire-escape.

The door that you stared at now didn’t open to that familiar comfort, or that deep cinnamon scent. You pulled your hood over your head and pushed into the stairwell. Instead of going down, towards the street, you went up to the place where it all started.

The pocket watch that weighed down your clothes packed a punch. There was an electromagnetic pull, everything would raise into the air and then come crashing down. Better some gravel than the shitty furniture you had acquired.

A light drizzle cool your cheeks, the lights from buildings around you were blinking on and off with activity. There wasn’t a moment in this city where it wasn’t raining. You couldn’t tell if it was the earth, or the season. Either way, you looked up for a few, long moments, letting the drops soak your collar.

Lightening flashed, shading the limestone of the building, your breath as it pushed through the air. There had been dozens of universes, each one different than the last. But the tugging, the importance of this one, lingered against your skin. No rain could wash it away. No amount of swallowing your pride could make any of this feel right.

You clenched your eyes shut and fought back emotions that clung to you. This was better for everyone. It was better to leave- because the one moment that you had let yourself be you was enough for your father to pick up on a signal. He’d rip through the city if you stayed. Rip through Gary, and Peter, and Benny, and Kate.

“You were just going to leave, then?”

Kate.

She was silhouetted by the dim light of the stairway, but only for a moment. The door fell closed behind her and suddenly, the two of you were alone on the rooftop. Even in the darkness of the night, you could see the anger written across her face. It wasn’t quite disgust. Not yet.

Her words rumbled over the rain. “You’re a coward.”

“I’m not going to fight with you. Not again.”

You set the duffel bag down and turned to her, took a few steps away from the edge of the building. There was a good distance between you. Water had matted her hair down and dripped from the point of her nose and slope of her chin. There was hurt in her eyes.

“You’ve never fought with me.”

“I’ve seen how this plays out.”

“With all the other Kate’s!” she raised her voice, gesturing angrily. “Dozens of them, from what I figure. You appear in their lives, and then leave and how do you think that makes them feel? How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’d rather you be in pain than dead. Do you not understand? I’m fated to be with you, but you’re also fated to perish in every single universe where we cross paths. I’ve mapped them, I’ve… I’ve lived them and I may be a coward but better a coward than the cause of your demise.”

You had closed the gap between you. She was taller by a few inches; the furrow of her brow was prominent. Your bones itched to pull her close, to ignore the rain, and the cold, and feeling of defeat in favor of her body against yours, if only for a moment.

She whispered. “Eventually, you’re going to run out of worlds. Don’t you think it’s worth it to fight for the one you’re in right now? To fight for me?”

Pain ripped through you and you gave in to the cold of the rain that soaked into your clothes. You had resigned yourself not to cry in front of Kate Bishop. But water was dripping down your face and you could hardly muffle the sob that pushed through your throat.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do,” Your voice cracked, “was fight for you, Katie.”

The archer had softened, her head lilting to the side for only a moment before her angry exterior dissolved and her hands were on both of your cheeks, applying gentle pressure. Her eyes were red, strands of black hair adhered to her forehead.

She finally said, “Tell me. Tell me what happened.”

You ended up in her living room in front of one of the original fireplaces. The brick supported the building, and that was the only reason they hadn’t been repurposed into something cheaper. Old Woman Harbor didn’t’ pay for central heating, or air, but the brick hearths made up for it. You had lit your own once, reading by the warm glow.

Kate had supplied you with sweatpants and a T-shirt that smelled like lemon, like rosemary with a hint of detergent. She’d draped a blanket over your shoulders and handed you a cup of mint tea despite your protests. You both sat cross-legged, parallel to one another, knees barely touching.

Your duffel bag was by the door, dripping water onto the floor. You’d slid the watch from your sweatshirt and into the pocket of the pants you were provided with. Your nose was still red, cheeks pink from the steam of mug you held under your chin.

“I thought I answered all of your questions.”

“Don’t get defensive.” Kate pulled her knees to her chest, rested her chin against them. “I need you to tell me why your father is after you, why he’s so hellbent on making sure you don’t exist anymore.”

You took a scalding gulp of tea, mint filling your lungs. It burned, made your eyes pinch with water, but it was a better pain than remembering something you had tried so hard to forget. Your instinct was to run away from this Kate. But she was so, so much like yours- the one you had lost and yearned for.

She watched you quietly, taking in your movements and your procrastination. There was no pushing, not anything past the initial question. The warmth from the fire was beginning to settle into your bones.

“My father is a geneticist. He spent his entire life trying to splice the DNA of different things with humans, and his partner, Lyla- she specialized in interdimensional travel. They were funded by Alchemex, given free reign of the labs and unlimited funding.” You swallowed the artificial sweetener taste on your tongue. “Everyone thought they were capable of wonderful things.”

Kate’s voice was barely a whisper. “What changed?”

“My father became obsessed with creating the perfect creation. He started taking DNA from bats and splicing it with monkeys. Wolves and hamsters, fish and lizards- you name it and he tried to achieve it. He was getting to the point where he wanted to splice human DNA with something more. Lyla was the only one who could reign him in, not even my own mother could get through to him.

“Christmas Eve, Lyla was staying late at the lab, and her technology faltered. It was an interdimensional travel device that was stronger than a pocket watch they toyed around with in college. Either way, something went wrong, wires got crossed and suddenly, Lyla was gone.”

“Into a different dimension?”

Your eyes were damp, clouded with emotion. You shook your head and when you curled into the cup in front of you, a tear escaped, landing on the soft fabric of the blanket. You were quick to wipe it away, to steel yourself.

“My father can still talk to her. I don’t know how, I was never the science kid, you know? Music was my thing. I was a prodigy, even. Miguel, my brother, he was the one that followed in my father’s footsteps. The one who gained his respect.”

You hugged the blanket closer to you, shuddered into it. Kate flinched as if she wanted to move and comfort you, say something to ease your worries. But you both stayed where you were.

“A year after Lyla, I came home from college for the holidays. It was Christmas Eve, and though my mom begged my father to stay home for the day, he went into the office. I was sent to Alchemex to get him.” You laughed wetly, using the back of your hand to wipe away moisture “Which was stupid. He didn’t like me. He barely tolerated me.”

This time Kate did reach out, her fingers were like an electric current as they touched your knee. You flinched, then settled into the familiarity of her grip. You placed your hand on top of hers, constricted your fingers around hers. It was holding you in place.

“The man that I saw that night was not my father. I knew that we had our issues, our lack of connection, but there was this cold, detached look in his eyes. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink.” You whispered the next part, not finding the words. “One minute he was there, the lab was there, I was there and the next everything was black, there was this horrible pain in my temple.”

“He knocked you out?” Kate asked.

“Yeah, he did. A hell of a lot of force too. When I woke up, I couldn’t collect my thoughts, not all the way. The only thing that I could think about was my mother and how she had worked so hard on dinner and how it was getting cold. Which is so, so stupid, right? Worrying about the quality of mashed potatoes when my own father had me strapped to a lab table.”

You frowned, trying to remember. This part of your story was ebbed in pain. You were in and out of lucidity. There were lights that fuzzed at the edges and a surgical mask over your fathers face. He didn’t talk, but you pleaded. As much as you could, but knew it was worthless.

“He was ready to take his experiments to the next step. He wanted to try to morph DNA with a human and I was… I was there. I was convenient for him.”

Kate’s voice was soft, weak. “Jesus Christ,”

“When he wasn’t in his lab, he was traveling, searching the world for animals and insects that would aide him when he did finally perfect his craft. One of the spiders he brought back from his travels was the Evarcha Culcivora. The vampire spider.”

She blinked at you, clenching her jaw “The what?”

You laughed, some joy returning to your words. “Yeah, cute little thing, actually. It’s a jumping spider, and got it’s name because of it’s taste for blood. It doesn’t bite humans, though. Just mosquitos.”

“And that’s what he chose to…?”

“Mm, and it worked too. The pain was blinding, nearly unbearable. It felt like a million hornets had been shaken up in a glass and then pumped into my veins. Through all of it, I had broken free of the table, had enough strength to get away from him. I did the cowardly thing and I ran.”

“Coward? Y/n, he altered the DNA of his own child. There is a difference between being a coward and being alive.”

“I felt like a coward, and I suppose the habit stuck.” You shook your head, trying to clear the jumbled memory of pain and fear. “I… I couldn’t get my thoughts together. I blindly grabbed at his inventions. The only thing I could remember was you. The you in Nueva York. There was a ring on my finger, and when I looked at it, I knew where to go.”

Kate swallowed hard, closed her eyes for a long moment. When they opened, they were stormy, saturated in despair, and longing. You couldn’t read the other emotion, her thumb moving over your knuckles.

“It’s the biggest mistake of my life. Leading him there.”

“He killed her.”

“Shot her twice in the stomach.” Your throat tightened. The collar of the sweatshirt Kate leant you was damp with tears. “Whatever sanity he had left was gone the moment he pulled that trigger. So, I pulled the one on the pocket watch. I let it take me wherever it wanted to.”

The silence lingered between you both, wood cracking as fire ate its way to the core. You took another gulp of your tea, it was cold now, coating the back of your throat with a fresh flavor. Kate had pulled her hand back into her own lab, stared at them for a long moment.

��Running is the only thing I’m good at.” You broke the silence. “I carry this… signature. Each time I use the watch, or do anything that’s remotely spider-like it pings on my father’s radar. He’s torn whole universes apart looking for me. Looking for one of his only successful fusions.”

“So, the other night, when you swooped in and helped Peter and I?”

“He knows. So, logically, it would make sense for me to go back up to the rooftop and get to the next universe.”

“And illogically?” Kate asked, raising both of her eyebrows. “What’s that option?”

“Kate,” You warned “There is no other option. I’m not strong enough to fight him. What he did to me, it gave me increased speed, and agility, and strength. Fuck, it even gave me fangs. But he’s too powerful.”

She groaned dramatically “Do you always have to do everything by yourself? Y/n, you’re not alone here. You have me, and Peter.”

“While I appreciate that, Katie, I don’t think it’ll be enough.”

“Okay!” She sighed, lowering her voice “Okay. Then I’ll call Clint and he’ll call the rest of the Avengers.”

You frowned and took a long gulp of your lukewarm tea. The mint made your throat tingle, your fingers twitching around the mug. The Avengers. You’d met all of them individually, in between universes where they fought their own battles- aliens from different worlds, and creatures that rise from ash.

“Clint,” You whispered, eyes finding Kate’s soft grey ones “What is he to you here?”

“My… my mentor. I wouldn’t say we’re best friends, but I mean, I think I’m wearing him down.”

You laughed; the sound filled the room like a crackling fire. Kate gave you a proud smile that reminded you of a parent watching their kid walk for the first time or accept an award on stage. It was endearing and made your heart hum with longing.

“Good, good. I’m glad.” Again, you looked down at the muted brown liquid in your cup. “Katie, while that is incredibly noble of you, I have a feeling that the Avengers have bigger threats then my world hopping.”

“You won’t know unless you ask. And don’t give me that bullshit about getting turned down in different universes because this is my universe and if you haven’t noticed, I’m extremely charming and persistent.”

“I’ve noticed,”

Kate swallowed hard and took her hand from your knee. You fought a complaint about the lack of warmth, of comfort, but her palm was quickly against your cheek. She smelled like rain, damp and silent. Kate’s thumb moved soothingly, tracing the contours of your face.

“I know what it’s like to want to run, y/n.” her voice was a choked whisper “But just this once, please, stay. We can figure this out.”

“Kate,”

“Seeing you up on the roof, with that pocket watch, knowing that you could vanish into another universe in the matter of seconds and I’d never… I’d never see you again, it scared me. I don’t scare easily.”

You sighed, closing your eyes, clenching them so hard that you could see stars. When you opened them, she stared right back, so resolute and solid and touching your face. You had tried so hard to keep away from every single Kate Bishop you came across, for her safety. You hadn’t felt her hand since a ring weighed it down.

Every part of you wanted to give in and let her hold you, let her comfort you and make everything okay. Her words made you believe they might be.

“Forty-eight hours.” Kate begged “Give me 48 hours to fix this, and take you out on a proper date.”

There was apprehension in your voice, and in your stare. Kate would move earths for you, that was clear by her expression, her contemplation. “Okay, Katie. 48 hours.”

Taglist 💜: @lovelyy-moonlight

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x you #Kate Bishop x y/n #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #Marvel #Marvel Comics #marvel cinematic universe #kate Bishop fluff #request #soulmate au #spiderverse #earth 2099

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mariacallous · 1 year

Text

This story is part of a joint investigation between Lighthouse Reports and WIRED. To read other stories from the series, click here.

It was October 2021, and Imane, a 44-year-old mother of three, was still in pain from the abdominal surgery she had undergone a few weeks earlier. She certainly did not want to be where she was: sitting in a small cubicle in a building near the center of Rotterdam, while two investigators interrogated her. But she had to prove her innocence or risk losing the money she used to pay rent and buy food.

Imane emigrated to the Netherlands from Morocco with her parents when she was a child. She started receiving benefits as an adult, due to health issues, after divorcing her husband. Since then, she has struggled to get by using welfare payments and sporadic cleaning jobs. Imane says she would do anything to leave the welfare system, but chronic back pain and dizziness make it hard to find and keep work.

In 2019, after her health problems forced her to leave a cleaning job, Imane drew the attention of Rotterdam’s fraud investigators for the first time. She was questioned and lost her benefits for a month. “I could only pay rent,” she says. She recalls the stress of borrowing food from neighbors and asking her 16-year-old son, who was still in school, to take on a job to help pay other bills.

Now, two years later, she was under suspicion again. In the days before that meeting at the Rotterdam social services department, Imane had meticulously prepared documents: her rental contract, copies of her Dutch and Moroccan passports, and months of bank statements. With no printer at home, she had visited the library to print them.

In the cramped office she watched as the investigators thumbed through the stack of paperwork. One of them, a man, spoke loudly, she says, and she felt ashamed as his accusations echoed outside the thin cubicle walls. They told her she had brought the wrong bank statements and pressured her to log in to her account in front of them. After she refused, they suspended her benefits until she sent the correct statements two days later. She was relieved, but also afraid. “The atmosphere at the meetings with the municipality is terrible,” she says. The ordeal, she adds, has taken its toll. “It took me two years to recover from this. I was destroyed mentally.”

Imane, who asked that her real name not be used for fear of repercussions from city officials, isn’t alone. Every year, thousands of people across Rotterdam are investigated by welfare fraud officers, who search for individuals abusing the system. Since 2017, the city has been using a machine learning algorithm, trained on 12,707 previous investigations, to help it determine whether individuals are likely to commit welfare fraud.

The machine learning algorithm generates a risk score for each of Rotterdam’s roughly 30,000 welfare recipients, and city officials consider these results when deciding whom to investigate. Imane’s background and personal history meant the system ranked her as “high risk.” But the process by which she was flagged is part of a project beset by ethical issues and technical challenges. In 2021, the city paused its use of the risk-scoring model after external government-backed auditors found that it wasn’t possible for citizens to tell if they had been flagged by the algorithm and some of the data it used risked producing biased outputs.

In response to an investigation by Lighthouse Reports and WIRED, Rotterdam handed over extensive details about its system. These include its machine learning model, training data, and user operation manuals. The disclosures provide an unprecedented view into the inner workings of a system that has been used to classify and rank tens of thousands of people.

With this data, we were able to reconstruct Rotterdam’s welfare algorithm and see how it scores people. Doing so revealed that certain characteristics—being a parent, a woman, young, not fluent in Dutch, or struggling to find work—increase someone’s risk score. The algorithm classes single mothers like Imane as especially high risk. Experts who reviewed our findings expressed serious concerns that the system may have discriminated against people.

Annemarie de Rotte, director of Rotterdam’s income department, says that people flagged by the algorithm as high risk were always assessed by human consultants, who ultimately decided whether to remove benefits. “We understand that a reexamination can cause anxiety,” de Rotte says, using the city’s preferred term for welfare investigations. She says the city does not intend to treat anyone badly and that it tries to conduct examinations while treating people with respect.

The pattern of local and national governments turning to machine learning algorithms is being repeated around the world. The systems are marketed to public officials on their potential to cut costs and boost efficiency. Yet the development, deployment, and operation of such systems is often shrouded in secrecy. Many systems do not work as intended, and they can encode troubling biases. The people who are judged by them are often left in the dark even as they suffer devastating consequences.

From Australia to the United States, welfare fraud algorithms sold on claims that they make governments more efficient have made people’s lives worse. In the Netherlands, Rotterdam’s algorithmic troubles have run in parallel with a nationwide machine learning scandal. More than 20,000 families were wrongly accused of childcare benefit fraud after a machine learning system was used to try to spot wrongdoing. Forced evictions, broken homes, and financial ruin followed, and the entire Dutch government resigned in response in January 2021.

Imane lives in the Afrikaanderwijk neighborhood of Rotterdam, a predominantly working-class area with a large immigrant population. Each week, she meets with a group of mostly single mothers, many of whom have a Moroccan background, to talk, share food, and offer each other support. Many in the group receive benefits payments from Rotterdam’s welfare system, and several of them have been investigated. One woman, who like many others in this story asked not to be named, claims she was warned her benefits may be cut because her son sold a video game on Marktplaats, the Dutch equivalent of eBay. Another, who is pursuing a career as a social worker, says she has been investigated three times in the past year.

The women are on the front lines of a global shift in the way governments interact with their citizens. In Rotterdam alone, thousands of people are being scored by algorithms they don’t know anything about and do not understand. Amira (not her real name), a businesswoman and mother who helps organize the support group in Rotterdam, says the local government doesn’t do enough to help people escape the welfare system. It’s why she set up the groups: to help vulnerable women. Amira was a victim of the Netherlands’ child benefits scandal and says she feels there is “no justice” for people caught up in the system. “They are really afraid of what the government can do to them,” she says.

From the outside, Rotterdam’s welfare algorithm appears complex. The system, which was originally developed by consulting firm Accenture before the city took over development in 2018, is trained on data collected by Rotterdam’s welfare department. It assigns people risk scores based on 315 factors. Some are objective facts, such as age or gender identity. Others, such as a person’s appearance or how outgoing they are, are subjective and based on the judgment of social workers.

In Hoek van Holland, a town to the west of Rotterdam that is administratively part of the city, Pepita Ceelie is trying to understand how the algorithm ranked her as high risk. Ceelie is 61 years old, heavily tattooed, and has a bright pink buzz cut. She likes to speak English and gets to the point quickly. For the past 10 years, she has lived with chronic illness and exhaustion, and she uses a mobility scooter whenever she leaves the house.

Ceelie has been investigated twice by Rotterdam’s welfare fraud team, first in 2015 and again in 2021. Both times investigators found no wrongdoing. In the most recent case, she was selected for investigation by the city’s risk-scoring algorithm. Ceelie says she had to explain to investigators why her brother sent her €150 ($180) for her sixtieth birthday, and that it took more than five months for them to close the case.

Sitting in her blocky, 1950s house, which is decorated with photographs of her garden, Ceelie taps away at a laptop. She’s entering her details into a reconstruction of Rotterdam’s welfare risk-scoring system created as part of this investigation. The user interface, built on top of the city’s algorithm and data, demonstrates how Ceelie’s risk score was calculated—and suggests which factors could have led to her being investigated for fraud.

All 315 factors of the risk-scoring system are initially set to describe an imaginary person with “average” values in the data set. When Ceelie personalizes the system with her own details, her score begins to change. She starts at a default score of 0.3483—the closer to 1 a person’s score is, the more they are considered a high fraud risk. When she tells the system that she doesn’t have a plan in place to find work, the score rises (0.4174). It drops when she enters that she has lived in her home for 20 years (0.3891). Living outside of central Rotterdam pushes it back above 0.4.

Switching her gender from male to female pushes her score to 0.5123. “This is crazy,” Ceelie says. Even though her adult son does not live with her, his existence, to the algorithm, makes her more likely to commit welfare fraud. “What does he have to do with this?” she says. Ceelie’s divorce raises her risk score again, and she ends with a score of 0.643: high risk, according to Rotterdam’s system.

“They don’t know me, I’m not a number,” Ceelie says. “I’m a human being.” After two welfare fraud investigations, Ceelie has become angry with the system. “They’ve only opposed me, pulled me down to suicidal thoughts,” she says. Throughout her investigations, she has heard other people’s stories, turning to a Facebook support group set up for people having problems with the Netherlands’ welfare system. Ceelie says people have lost benefits for minor infractions, like not reporting grocery payments or money received from their parents.

“There are a lot of things that are not very clear for people when they get welfare,” says Jacqueline Nieuwstraten, a lawyer who has handled dozens of appeals against Rotterdam’s welfare penalties. She says the system has been quick to punish people and that investigators fail to properly consider individual circumstances.

The Netherlands takes a tough stance on welfare fraud, encouraged by populist right-wing politicians. And of all the country’s regions, Rotterdam cracks down on welfare fraud the hardest. Of the approximately 30,000 people who receive benefits from the city each year, around a thousand are investigated after being flagged by the city's algorithm. In total, Rotterdam investigates up to 6,000 people annually to check if their payments are correct. In 2019, Rotterdam issued 2,400 benefits penalties, which can include fines and cutting people’s benefits completely. In 2022 almost a quarter of the appeals that reached the country’s highest court came from Rotterdam.

From the algorithm’s deployment in 2017 until its use was halted in 2021, it flagged up to a third of the people the city investigated each year, while others were selected by humans based on a theme—such as single men living in a certain neighborhood.

Rotterdam has moved to make its overall welfare system easier for people to navigate since 2020. (For example, the number of benefits penalties dropped to 749 in 2021.) De Rotte, the director of the city’s income department, says these changes include adding a “human dimension” to its welfare processes. The city has also relaxed rules around how much money claimants can receive from friends and family, and it now allows adults to live together without any impact on their benefits. As a result, Nieuwstraten says, the number of complaints she has received about welfare investigations has decreased in recent years.

The city’s decision to pause its use of the welfare algorithm in 2021 came after an investigation by the Rotterdam Court of Audit on the development and use of algorithms in the city. The government auditor found there was “insufficient coordination” between the developers of the algorithms and city workers who use them, which could lead to ethical considerations being neglected. The report also criticized the city for not evaluating whether the algorithms were better than the human systems they replaced. Singling out the welfare fraud algorithm, the report found there was a likelihood of biased outcomes based on the types of data used to determine people’s risk scores.

Since then, the city has been working to develop a new version—though minutes from council meetings show there are doubts that it can successfully build a system that is transparent and legal. De Rotte says that since the Court of Audit report, the city has worked to add “more safeguards” to the development of algorithms in general, including introducing an algorithm register to show what algorithms it uses. “A new model must not have any appearance of bias, must be as transparent as possible, and must be easy to explain to the outside world,” de Rotte says. Welfare recipients are currently being selected for investigation at random, de Rotte adds.

While the city works to rebuild its algorithm, those caught up in the welfare system have been battling to discover how it works—and whether they were selected for investigation by a flawed system.

Among them is Oran, a 35-year old who’s lived in Rotterdam all his life. In February 2018 he received a letter saying he was being investigated for welfare fraud. Oran, who asked that his real name not be used for privacy reasons, has a number of health issues that make it difficult to find work. In 2018, he was receiving a monthly loan from a family member. Rotterdam’s local government asked him to document the loan and agree that it be paid back. Although Oran did this, investigators pursued fraud charges against him, and the city said he should have €6,000 withheld from future benefits payments, a sum combining the amount he had been loaned plus additional fines.

From 2018 to 2021, Oran fought against the local authority in court. He says being accused of committing fraud took a huge toll. During the investigation, he says, he couldn't focus on anything else and didn’t think he had a future. “It got really difficult. I thought a lot about suicide,” he says. During the investigation, he was not well enough to find paid or volunteer work, and his relationship with his family became strained.

Two court appeals later, in June 2021, Oran cleared his name, and the city refunded the €6,000 it had deducted from his benefits payments. “It feels like justice,” he says. Despite the lengthy process, he did not find out why he was selected for scrutiny, what his risk scores were, or what data contributed to the creation of his scores. So he requested it all. Five months later, in April 2021, he received his risk scores for 2018 and 2019.

While his files revealed he was not selected for investigation by the algorithm but rather part of a selection of single men, his risk score was among the top 15 percent of benefits recipients. His zip code, history of depression, and assessments by social workers contributed to his high score. “That’s not reality, that’s not me, that’s not my life, it’s just a bunch of numbers,” Oran says.

As the use of algorithmic systems grows, it could become harder for people to understand why decisions have been made and to appeal against them. Tamilla Abdul-Aliyeva, a senior policy advisor at Amnesty International in the Netherlands, says people should be told if they are being investigated based on algorithmic analysis, what data was used to train the algorithm, and what selection criteria were used. “Transparency is key for protecting human rights and also very important in the democratic society,” says Abdul-Aliyeva. De Rotte says Rotterdam plans to give people more information about “why and how they were selected” and that more details of the new model will be announced “before the summer.”

For those already caught in Rotterdam’s welfare dragnet, there is little solace. Many of them, including Oran and Ceelie, say they don’t want the city to use an algorithm to judge vulnerable people. Ceelie says it feels like she has been “stamped” with a number and that she is considering taking Rotterdam’s government to court over its use of the algorithm. Developing and using the algorithm won’t make people feel like they are being treated with care, she says. “Algorithms aren’t human. Call me up, with a human being, not a number, and talk to me. Don’t do this.”

If you or someone you know needs help, call 1-800-273-8255 for free, 24-hour support from the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You can also text HOME to 741-741 for the Crisis Text Line. Outside the US, visit the International Association for Suicide Prevention for crisis centers around the world.

Additional reporting by Eva Constantaras, Justin-Casimir Braun, and Soizic Penicaud. Reporting was supported by the Pulitzer Center’s AI Accountability Network and the Eyebeam Center for the Future of Journalism.

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noodyl-blasstal · 2 years

Note

If you’re taking prompts from that list, how about 24 for taakitz?

Thank you so much Anon, this one was fun!

“Stop bringing me tea, or I’ll fall in love with you and that’s a threat.” From this prompt list (still accepting, although cannot promise a speedy turnabout!)

___________________

Finding a flatmate to replace Lup was never going to be an easy task. Taako had known once they finally started dating that it wouldn’t be long until she moved in with Barry. The relief of no longer having to deal with their increasingly more ridiculous pining wasn’t quite eclipsed by the anxiety of upcoming change, but it was a close run thing.

By the end of the first month Lup had spent nearly every night at Barry’s place. Taako was grateful, really grateful, (they had a whole lot of missed time to make up for and he didn’t want to be sharing a wall with them while they did,) but he couldn’t afford this place alone. Lup offered to just keep paying rent, but it wasn’t fair to let her when she was barely there and her stuff had mostly all migrated.

The logical option was a friend-of-a-friend. Magnus knew someone called Carey from his gym who was looking for a place. It wasn’t the same as living with Lup, but it was nice. They chatted, he took pity on her and added actual flavour to her meal prep, and then out of nowhere she decided to confess her years-long crush to Killian. A month later she gave her notice.

Next up was Avi. Lup and Barry knew him from work. He’d barely stepped foot in the flat before he got up the courage to tell Johann he didn’t want to be just friends. Taako told him how pleased he was through gritted teeth.

Sloane came to him through Merle. He’d assured Taako that although she had a massive crush on someone it’d never work out because they were a police officer and Sloane wasn’t likely to actually date a “fed”. Taako had received the wedding invitation four months after she moved out.

After a very reasonable temper tantrum, a brief discussion about cleansing the flat’s energy because clearly Lup had left some “weird romance vibes”, and banning any of his friends from suggesting another replacement. Taako got Lup to help him write an ad, chucked it up online, and he chose Sazed… like an idiot.

The next ad was a lot more specific.

Flatmate wanted who isn’t going to set one foot in the place, get up the confidence to tell their crush they love them, and then leave within the month. If you could also not try to attempted-murder me that would be great. P.S. It’s a two bed, part furnished, £420 a month (blaze it).

Kravitz was the only person to apply.

Hi Taako. I’m new to town and don’t know anyone here, so haven’t got any crushes to confess. I’ve also never murdered anyone before, so hopefully that helps reassure you. Your place is in a great area and I'd love to move in. I don’t smoke or have any pets, and I’m happy to pay a full month up front plus deposit.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Kravitz.

He followed up nearly immediately with a second email.

I just realised that a murderer would probably also say that they hadn’t murdered anyone. I can send references about not being a murderer if needed. Thank you,

Kravitz.

When he moved in, he said Taako’s changeable shifts were “good actually” because he could practice his instruments while Taako was at work “without worrying about disturbing him”. Of course it didn’t bother him if Taako came home late, he “knew Taako’s job was important”. Considerate bastard. Kravitz had also suggested the shared roommate calendar, Taako could put his shifts in so Kravitz knew when he would be out and not worry if he wasn’t home. Taako wasn’t entirely sure why he would be worrying, but Kravitz hadn’t confessed his undying love to anyone yet, so Taako could deal with a calendar. It was actually helpful because Kravitz put his shit in too. At least Taako knew when he’d have the house to himself.

The first time Kravitz made tea must have been an accident, Taako was sure of it, he happened to walk into the flat as Kravitz was making a cup and Krav offered him one too. Taako was tired, it had been A Day, they’d been slammed and he’d barely had a moment to grab food or slug down water between orders. So yes, actually, a cup of tea sounded delightful. Kravitz was still in his fancy boy get up from his orchestra bullshit, and Taako couldn’t confirm or deny if a hot boy serving him tea in a beautifully cut suit was exactly what he needed to feel better.

It didn’t stop there though, suddenly, every night they were both in Krav had a cup of tea waiting for him when he got home. It was nice, was the thing, because it wasn’t just the tea. It was tea and a conversation. Kravitz would lean on the counter in one of his nice soft jumpers with his sleeves rolled up and his ridiculous cello-case-carrying forearms out and just pay attention to Taako. He would ask questions about Taako’s day like he actually cared. Worse, he’d remember stuff Taako had talked about before and follow up on it. Then he’d tell Taako stuff about his day and trick Taako into caring about it and asking him questions too. It was unreasonable behaviour, is what it was.

Taako couldn’t let this keep happening. It had gone from nights he was on shift to just every fucking night. Krav would come knock on his door, or, more recently, pause whatever show they were binge watching together, and ask if he wanted a brew. Wanted a brew. Taako should be bullying him for doing weird slang, not finding it charming. He should be talking up the benefits of that sweet sweet bean-juice, not getting Merle’s advice on different mint plants so he could make Kravitz a new blend for Candlenights. He definitely shouldn’t be looking forward to tea time and having weird swoopy stomach feelings when he thought about it.

He tried to say no once. He did. But Kravitz looked like a puppy he’d kicked, and something terrible twisted in his guts, so he immediately lied and said actually he’d meant to say yes ha-ha-isn’t-it-funny-when-you-misspeak. Seeing Krav’s sad face split into a grin had lit something inside him that he’d desperately been trying and failing to put out since. He’d tried skipping nights, and he’d tried remembering how great coffee was, he’d tried making the tea himself because maybe Krav’s weird spell only worked when Krav boiled it, but nothing changed. In fact, it got worse. He missed Kravitz on the nights he skipped. He’d text Krav while he was out with Merle and Magnus because he actually wanted to know how Kravitz’s day went, and what they’d played at orchestra, and if he’d nailed the bit he’d been struggling with... Maybe it wasn’t the tea? No. That was stupid. It was definitely the tea.

Taako had been glancing at the clock for a good 40 minutes, any time now there’d be a knock on his door. He didn’t want to be in his room, he wanted to be out there with Kravitz watching Antiques Roadtrip and thinking up overly complex hauntings for all of the objects the presenters bought; but he couldn’t be because Kravitz had broken him with fucking tea. If he made him a cup tonight that was it, he was going to be an absolute gonner. Taako had talked to Lup about it and she’d confirmed what he’d been worried about. Taako had a crush on Kravitz, he’d had a crush on Kravitz for a while, and if Kravtiz made him another cup of tea he wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it. But right now, he knew what was happening, he was alert, and aware, and ready. Kravitz couldn’t trick him, he was too smart for that. He could fix this.

The best option was probably just to go get a pint of water, make a completely casual comment about how warm it was - despite the fact they lived in a flat which was consistently freezing and they both knew it - and then scuttle away. Perfect plan. No cup of tea, and no falling in love with anyone. Taako strode down the hall and into the kitchen to grab his drink, intending to stop by the lounge on the way back.

“Oh, Taako! I was just about to come and see if you wanted any tea.” Krav looked genuinely pleased to see him. What a dick.

Kravitz filled the kettle and looked expectantly at him.

“I’m…er… I’m really hot?” Taako didn’t entirely mean it as a question, but it definitely wasn’t a statement.

“Taako, you do realise you’re wearing a turtleneck, a jumper, and a blanket cape right now? Are you sure you don’t want to take a layer off? Are you sick?” Kravitz had the absolute indecency to look worried about him, like Taako was the one being unreasonable right now.

“I’m not sick!” Taako said, more of an edge than intended in his voice.

“Okay, is something else wrong? Do you want some water instead?” Kravitz still looked concerned, and apparently now the tea thing was leaking into other beverages because the thought of Kravitz getting him a glass of water to look after him was actually really nice, which was definitely fully and completely insane. He had to stop this.

“Kravitz, Krav, Kraverino, Kravanchini, my guy, you have to stop making me tea.” There. He’d done it.

Kravitz looked at him questioningly, then grabbed the lid from the side of the sink, placed it on the kettle, and set it on the stove. “Why?” He asked, simply.

“Because I’m gonna fall in love with you.” Taako snapped. Kravitz did not look as concerned as he was supposed to look right now. Fine, Taako could spell it out. “That’s a threat. I’ll do it!” There, at least now he’d fucking stop, and Taako could go back to being all spiky edges and iron insides, no more of this having feelings lark. He didn’t want to feel all goopy inside; he didn’t want his stomach to do flips when he saw Krav’s stupid handsome face; and he didn’t want to enjoy it when their hands brushed as Kravitz handed over his mug. Taako was good out here and he didn’t need anyone fucking it up, least of all his dork of a flatmate with his shared calendars and his non-caffinated beverages. The threat of having a whole Taako as his problem should do the job nicely. Nobody wanted Taako full time - that’s why everyone kept falling in love to get away from him… or trying to murder him.

Kravitz looked him dead in the eye, grinned, fucking grinned and clicked the hob to life under the kettle. “I’ll make the buttermint you like.”

Taako was going to fall in love with Kravitz so hard he wouldn’t know what hit him. That’d show him.

#It's definitely the tea's fault #Sometimes you just have to fall in love with someone really hard out of spite #TAZ Balance #TAZ fic #Taakitz #Noodyl Writes

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raccoonhearteyes · 2 years

Text

September 25th, 2018

In August, Clarke painted the best piece she’s ever done. She remembers painting it, but doesn’t remember the model, and it’s driving her insane. Everytime she looks at it she is filled with pride, but her stomach also swoops and she can’t figure out why. It has been over a month, and she’s still not sure what she’s missing. How can she not remember the muse for her best piece?

After a month of stewing on the piece, torn between keeping it forever and bringing it to the FBI to track down the girl, she settles for something in between. She wraps it safely with five layers of palette wrap and brings it to the gallery where she works.

After sending a picture to her boss, Indra, she agreed there may be a spot in the gallery for Clarke to hang it and make a sale.

Interest started off slow, and Clarke worried that it wasn’t as good as she thought it was. But then Indra suggested they offer an exclusive one month auction for it. A list was placed next to the piece along with a starting bid that alone would cover Clarke’s expenses for a month. She was ecstatic. But as the month crept by, Clarke has painstakingly watched the buyer interest list grow.

It sold on September 20th. For $10,000 dollars. That pays nearly six months of Clarke's rent. One painting. Six months rent. This painting is single handedly taking care of her for the foreseeable future. And she doesn’t even know who this painting is. No matter how desperately her mind tries to search for a face, a name, the session, she draws a blank. But it is so much money that the troubling nature of a forgotten model is overshadowed.

She briefly considers getting it all in singles and buying a kiddie pool so she can swim around in it, but instead decides to commemorate it differently. She asks Indra if she could keep the auction list. Of course she can’t keep the piece itself-- that defeats the purpose of selling it-- but she thinks framing the auction list is a close second. There are 37 bids on it. 37 people walked into the gallery, saw her piece on the wall, and thought it was worth buying.

She flips through the list, seeing how much each bid increased by, who these potential clients could be. She sees the name Lindsey Waldorf written in big swooping cursive as the second bid. And then again as the eighth. The same swooping handwriting LW is written again as the eighteenth and the twenty-fourth bid. Clarke was pretty sure she spoke to almost everyone who came in and looked at that piece. Why can’t she remember that name? Why can’t she put a face to it? She was in the gallery four times to look at it. Surely Clarke couldn’t have missed her every time. Could she? It’s a name she tries to remember. If she bid for the painting four times, she must have liked it enough that maybe she’d buy a different piece of hers. Prove that this isn’t just a fluke of a sale, that this is a career, and she can do it.

----------

Clarke’s friends decide they have to celebrate her big sale. They insist on going to a club, getting absolutely wasted, and making Clarke pay for all the drinks. She did just make ten thousand dollars so Clarke is hard pressed to say no to blowing off a little steam.

It’s almost midnight when she sees her. She’s nursing a drink at the bar, but Clarke keeps catching her eyes. Her eyes. Her eyes. Her eyes. They’re taunting, absolutely mesmerizing in the way that a forest hides a plethora of treasures. They are taunting Clarke, dancing in the light of strobe light, twinkling with laughter watching her dance with Raven and Octavia.

Even though Clarke is dancing with Raven and Octavia, her eyes stay trained on the stranger at the bar.

“Clarke!” “Earth to Clarke!” Her friends yell at her.

“Huh?” Clarke responds dumbly.

“You have been eye fucking that girl for nearly an hour. Go talk to her.”

Clarke musters up the courage to go over, buying a round of shots first. Emboldened with a shot for each of them, Clarke slides onto the stool next to the girl and pushes a shot over to her.

“What are we celebrating?”

“My first big sale of a painting.”

“You’re an artist?”

“I dabble.”

“To your artistic success, then,” the girl says, raising her shot to clink with Clarke’s before downing it with a hiss and a shake of her head.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your friends?” The girl nods over to where Octavia and Raven are now drunkenly grinding on each other on the dancefloor.

“Who, them? Let’s just say they’re encouraging me to make new friends tonight.”

“Get it, Clarke!” Raven yells from the dance floor, and Clarke buries her face in her hands in embarrassment.

“Ah,” the girl chuckles into her glass.

“Could I convince you to spend a song with me?”

She smiles, and Clarke’s heart flutters in her chest. Clarke leads her to the dancefloor and spins to face her. The dance floor is a blur of bodies and sweat. The music thunders the base so loudly, Clarke can feel it in her chest, and she watches the girl’s hips move so fluidly she’s not entirely convinced the music isn’t made by her movements and not the other way around.

She said her name was Val. It doesn’t seem to fit her in Clarke’s opinion, but she’s too caught up in the sway of hips and the tight T-shirt to really argue. The girl pulls her closer, trying to talk over loud speakers. It’s too deafeningly loud to make anything she says out. Instead, Clarke just focuses on the feeling of a soft hand coming up to her face, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Clarke pulls her in by the loops of her belt, matching the girl’s rhythm. Clarke feels the sensual power of hips as they glide with the beat. The girl is completely driven by the music, and Clarke gives herself over to it too.

The song switches, and Clarke is dreading letting her go, but instead of ducking out after a dance, the girl pulls Clarke's hand up and around her neck. They catch each other's eyes while Clarke bites her lip and smiles. The girl presses their heads together and it grows intense again. They’re both breathing hard, practically sharing the same breath with how close they’re pressed together, but Clarke doesn't want to be anywhere other than in this intoxicating stranger’s arms. This stranger who feels like she knows everything about Clarke's body while moving together. Clarke has a vague inkling that her friends might be waiting for her to come back. Fuck it. She’s content right here, right now, focused on this girl.

It gets a little intense, Clarke can feel the moment building but wants to stretch it out. Wants to stretch this anticipation even longer. That’s always been the best part of a first kiss. So when Val dips her chin to kiss her, she spins. Presses her back against Val’s chest, feels her groan as her ass settles against her hips. It all feels new and exciting but strangely comforting. Familiar. Hands on hips guide her, trace her thighs and belly, move to grab her own hands and link their fiingers together as they sway. It feels... intimate. More than it should. But Clarke welcomes it. Then Val noses her hair aside, maybe drops a kiss to her neck and nuzzles closer. Then whispers in her ear, "Do you want to get out of here?"

“God, yes.” Clarke’s almost ashamed at how needy her voice comes out, how quickly she signals to her friends that she’s leaving. But she looks into forest green eyes that are so dark they’re almost black and realizes, maybe she’s not the only one as affected by their connection.

“I only live a few blocks away,” Clarke admits, making it very clear where she wants this night to go.

The walk back to Clarke’s apartment is full of heated looks. They don’t stop touching the entire way, whether it’s entwined fingers, an arm slung around shoulders, or tucked into a back pocket. By the time Clarke opens her front door, she’s aching with need. She barely has time to enter the apartment before she finds herself pressed against her own front door. One of them lets out a low groan. Clarke’s not entirely sure it wasn’t her, but things escalate from there. Her jacket is tossed to the floor along with Val’s t-shirt.

Clarke feels a tongue glide against her bottom lip and opens to meet it against full pouty lips, when she’s suddenly kissing at air.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that.”

“I was very into it. No need to apologize,” Clarke responds, suddenly cold without her jacket and the weight and warmth of another person against her.

“I just…We’re both pretty drunk. I want to make sure you want this.” She looks nervous, and Clarke steps forward to reassure, “I am more shots than I can count in, but I can assure you, this is exactly what I want.”

Clarke cups a strong jawline and leans back in to kiss. It’s chaste and sweet, “But if it makes you feel better, we can have some water, sober up a little bit, and then return to this.”

She nods, and Clarke brings her into her tiny kitchen to get them each a glass of water.

“So, you mentioned you made a big sale?”

“My first official painting sale,” Clarke responds in triumph.

“What was it of?”

“Want to see a picture?” Clarke pulls out her phone to get a photo of it. Clarke watches the girl’s eyes roam over the screen, asking if she can hold the phone to zoom in on different areas. She looks enthralled and Clarke’s chest puffs with pride. She smiles at the small birthmark painted on the right hip, and Clarke’s starts to talk about how she likes to add small details like that to make it more personal. While the piece doesn’t give away who the model is by face, the imperfect splotch is a fingerprint in and of itself.

Val takes a deep breath before returning Clarke’s phone, “It’s beautiful. Was it hard to let go of the painting?”

“I know that’s the whole point-- selling your art to avoid the whole starving artist thing, but still. It’s hard. Letting go of the painting. I miss it every day.”

“She must have been someone special.”

“It’s interesting, actually. Every portrait I’ve done, my best work, is always someone real. Friends. Family. A stranger who sat for me. I remember all of them. But I cannot for the life of me remember who she was.”

“Maybe you dreamed of her.”

“Maybe. I’ve never been one who remembers my dreams though. You remind me of the painting, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I think so. You just have the same energy as that painting. I’d look at it and I'd get this warm, soft feeling. I don’t remember who she was, but I remember that feeling. Maybe I should have included her face…”

A deep blush rises on sharp cheekbones, and Clarke smiles then continues, “She was also naked and insanely hot, as evidenced by this,” she says gesturing to the erotic pose of the model, “and if I’ve proven my sobriety to you at this point, I’d really like to get to the point where you remind me of the painting for that reason too.”

There were no more words. No need for such things. Not when Clarke was pulled so easily into this girl's orbit. Not when she had a long neck on display and she could be distracted by the way this girl moaned and writhed when it was kissed. Not when she slid shorts down to find a familiar shape on her right hip. Not when she had a pretty girl between her own legs drawing patterns with her tongue. Not when she felt the bed dip late at night and a quiet re-collection of clothing. That was how Clarke ignored the gnawing feeling of forgetting her muse, and that was a better way to spend her time.

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

Clarke wakes up in tangled sheets and a pounding headache. Her muscles are sore in strange places and she swears if that bird doesn’t shut up, she’s going to shoot it. Nothing should be that chipper in the morning.

Clarke manages to squint open a single eye and grope the top of the bedside table for her phone. She has 63 unread messages from Octavia and Raven.

Raven: Did you get some?

Octavia: You told us you were leaving with, and I quote “a goddess”

Raven: Was she a good lay?

Raven: Was she hot?

Raven: Was she everything you wanted?

Raven: Did you fuck her in the bathroom?

Raven: I am soooooooo drunk. I don’t even remember what she looked like.

Raven: Send nudes.

Raven: Of her. We’ve both seen your stuff.

Octavia: Ray, they’re probably still busy 😏

What are they talking about? Clarke’s pretty sure she would remember going home with a goddess. Although… her sheets are pretty twisted… she is naked… and there’s a glass of water and some ibuprofen on her nightstand that she certainly didn’t have the wherewithal to set out last night. Did she go home with someone?

She types out a response.

Clarke: I honestly don’t remember anything about last night.

Someone looking for a quick fuck, who sneaks out before the other person wakes up doesn’t leave water and ibuprofen out for them. Confused, Clarke shrugs on a shirt from the floor and surveys the apartment. No one in her bathroom. No forgotten clothing. She checks a mirror. No hickeys. Then why does she have a delicious soreness in her thighs? Why is her left forearm a bit achey? There are two water glasses sitting on her kitchen counter. What happened last night?

#clexa #lexa #clarke griffin #the invisible life of addie larue #clexa au

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thewebcomicsreview · 1 year

Text

The Wizard of Revere

Whenever it rained, the shitty apartment would flood either with water that had somehow made it through all four floors above them to come out of the ceiling, or from the street water coming in from under the door, besetting and bewetting Luka Leiko’s couch from every angle. It was an event of near religious significance to the community of roaches that lived between his cushions, worshiping cockroach rain gods with their little insect brains. Luka’s own little insect brain was telling him to give up, but he ignored it and swore that one day he’d be able to afford a proper apartment that only flooded from one side.

Not that the odds of that were looking good any time soon. He lay on his wet roach kingdom of a couch and tried running the budget again. They’d gotten a cool three thousand dollars from killing Jacuzzi Gemini, and rent for the month took a third of it. Then sniper rifle ammo, MBTA Charlie Cards for both of them, groceries, electric, internet, spell reagents, cab fare to kill gangsters who didn’t live near train stations…how were you meant to save anything in this goddamn economy?

A thin beep beep beep from Kaila’s bedroom, the first of her seven alarms chirped from behind the paper-thin wall. It was time for Luka to go to work. He took a few minutes to straighten his tie, comb his hair, and sprinkle some bread crumbs on the couch as an offering to the roach gods before heading out down to the office.

Mama Sophia’s Washfront was not a popular laundromat. It was old, the machines didn’t work, you were required to pay with physical quarters in the year of our lord 2094, and Mama Sophia was actually an angry overweight middle-aged Irish-Italian man named Josuke Johnhole who actively chased out anyone who actually tried to wash their clothes there. Officially, it was a laundromat for nudists, and unofficially it was a front business for the least cool assassins in Boston. The walls were covered in hardcore pornography Josuke had filmed in himself, and behind the front desk were pictures of hardcore pornography Josuke had starred in. It was a smiling face on the left side of the desk, a hairy anus on the right, and an irritable aging mob boss in the center. Josuke was a flabby white dude with a gray and thinning pompadour the only landmark of his glory days as a cybergreaser back in the fifties where people said things like “cybergreaser” and could afford cool cars to cybergrease.

“You’re late”

“I am precisely, on time”, said Luka, who had indeed entered the building right as the clock struck 8am.

“Where’s your sister”

“She’s late.”

“What time she getting in?”

“Her alarm was going off when I left”, said Luka, honestly. “She would’ve been getting up then” he added, dishonestly.

Josuke snorted, and pulled out a stack of papers. It was a list of drug money transactions, partially obfuscated by a simple code a small child could solve, and partially obfuscated by being written by sales reps who never bothered to include all the information Luka needed and assumed he’d just magically determine their intent. It was a miserable pile of paperwork, and Luka’s ability to go through it without killing himself of boredom was arguable a more valuable skill than his sniping. He sat down behind the desk and booted up a spreadsheet on the ancient laundromat computer to start the data entry part of his job.

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO VIEW THIS SPREADSHEET IN THE METAVERSE?” Asked the computer. Luka tapped no to that, and the subsequent prompts to view in the Cyberverse, the Holoverse, and the Arcane Realm, before opening the spreadsheet just normal. He wished he could default to that, but then he wished for a lot of things.

Three hours later, Kaila Leiko’s seventh alarm went off, ruining a very exciting and very sexy dream about making out with and/or slaying vampires on the sun, which is the last place you’d expect them. She rolled off the bed and onto the floor with a thud, very nearly cutting her own arm off on the Samsung Cyberkatana 3 she’d left on the floor. The LED lights on the blade glowed at her disapprovingly, and she flipped it off and zoned out for twenty minutes before her neck started to hurt and she got up to face the bastard day again. She showered, brushed her hair to cover her human ears, and combed the fur on her cybernetic cat ones, before throwing on a pair of jeans and a white T shirt with a picture of Josuke’s hairy anus on the center she’d gotten as a sarcastic employee of the month award. Pink light-up sneakers and matching pink denim jacket to complete the look. Excellent. Being quirky-cute was an important part of the job, something Luka never understood. He always insisted on the black suit black tie traditional hitman uniform, though he wasn’t even committed enough to that to shave his head. Pathetic. She strapped the cyberkatana to her side and her wooden staff to her back, and set up to finally go to Dunkin for coffee.

At around 3pm, Kaila and her iced latte finally showed up to the laundromat, where she had missed literally nothing. Not that that made Josuke any happier. “You’re late!”, he said.

“Luka was covering for me, Josuke. He’ll stay late to make it up”.

Luka said nothing, but there was the slight drop in the rhythm of the keyboard, which quickly returned to its normal 4/4 cadence.

“Bullshit, woman”, said Josuke. “You was out sucking dicks last night.”

“Nah, I was just cheering on your mom at the dick-sucking contest.”

“My mom’s a Christian, Kaila!”

“Jesus, you’d think she’d have done better, then.”

Josuke rolled his eyes. “Fuck. Get in the meeting room, we’re having a meeting.”

“This late in the day? It’s almost time to go home.”

Josuke ignored her, and headed back in the meeting room. Luka saved his work and followed him in, as did Kaila. The meeting room was somehow even scuzzier that the front office, though it did have classier porn on the walls. There was only one chair, which was Josuke’s, but there were plenty of broken washing machines to sit on. Kaila availed herself to one that wasn’t getting dripped on from the leaky ceiling, while Luka, who had been sitting all day, elected to stand with his arms crossed trying to look cool.

Josuke got right to business. “I need you to kill a guy, name’s Jacuzzi Jamboree.”

“Didn’t we kill him last week?”, asked Kaila.

“That was Jacuzzi Gemini.”, said Luka.

“No, the clown guy.”

“Jam Jam Juggalo?”

“Oh.”

“Jacuzzi Jamboree’s a member of the Eastie Alliance”, continued Josuke, “Bit bigger of a guy than you’re used to, runs the meth lane from Orient Heights all the way out to Wonderland.”

“That’s all the way over the river,” said Luka. “What did he do to get him on our sights?”

“That’s on a needin’ to know basis”, said Josuke. “But suffish to say, he’s an ornery motherfucker. He’s killed at least three men and turned six more into frogs just getting that tower set up.”

Kaila jumped up off the washing machine. “Woah woah, he’s a wizard?”

“You’re a wizard”, shrugged Josuke.

“I’m a mage, I don’t have a tower”

“I don’t get none of you kids with your voodoo games. Back in my day all you had to do to be a wizard was be good at cyberpinball.”

“Regardless of the terminology at play”, said Luka, “We’ve mostly dealt with low level thugs and runners. A full-on wizard, one with a dedicated tower no less, is a serious escalation of our responsibilities and expectations.”

“What’s that mean, you can’t do it?”

“An army couldn’t do it”, said Kaila. “Armies have tried.”

“This is a special request from the man upstairs”.

That gave Luka pause, but not Kaila. “What if he can summon? Who knows what he’s pacted with? We’re supposed to clean up stragglers, not the fucking Wicked Witch of Revere. At the very least he’s going to have wards up, and even if I could dispel them, which is a big if-.”

“The job pays ten million”

Kaila stopped talking for several minutes, and neither of the men broke the silence.

“Dollars?”, she eventually said.

“Yeah”.

“Why us?”, said Kaila. “For ten million dollars you could-“

“We’ll do it”, said Luka.

Kaila spun towards her brother, hissing in anger.

“But we need to be paid in advance, so we can hire some muscle.” He said.

“Half up front”, said Josuke. “And don’t think about bailing with it, or the wizard will be the least of your issues.” He was serious about that. They called the true boss The Man Upstairs, as if he were God, which was close enough to true.

“What’s the time horizon?”, said Luka.

“He needs to be dead by the last day of summer. That’s very spesh wording, commit it to memory”.

“Okay.”

“No, not okay!”, said Kaila. But it was too late. Josuke had already pushed the button on his watch, and the money was in their account. No refunds, no take-backs. They would either kill the Wizard of Revere, or explain their failure to an angry god.

_____

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#My writing #The Wizard of Revere #This is my attempt at making Prequel #By which I mean it'll update once every 18 months

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hellfireslut · 2 years

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Okay hear me out,

The OC and eddie are enemies since like 5th grade. One day she finds a part time job that helps pay rent and that part time job is in a band. She already has an electric guitar at home so she decided to be the guitarist, but the only problem is….. she doesn’t know how to play the electric guitar. She took the job thinking “oh how hard can it be?” Well it was alot harder than she expected. They had a gig in less than a month and she was freaking out because she is supposed to go practice with them but she comes up with excuses every time. She then remembers that the only person she knows that plays the electric guitar was eddie munson. She hated just the idea of interacting with the guy. She had no other choice but to ask him to help her, at first he turns down the offer, but after alot of convincing from mike and dustin he finally agrees. They go back to his trailer and he gave her his guitar instead and said that hers was no good. She sat in between his legs and his hands “wrapped” aroundher to reach his guitar that was in his lap. there was alot of tension and while she is playing his hot breath is on her neck. Then they start talking and he eventually starts pressing kisses on her neck of course she freaked out and asked what was he doing and they started fighting and they finally confess their love to each other all these past years and they make out endo of story.

Electric Enemies - part 1

paring : eddie munson x fem!oc

word count : 2.7k

summary : as requested above

a/n : i’m sorry i haven’t been posting, i’ve been working on this story for daysss | reblogs are greatly appreciated, as well as replies!

September 5th, 1986, Gas station

Valarie had been late on rent for the past 3 months, constantly finding ways to scurry up a sum of money before the end of the month. Her landlord had complained to her many times, trying to evict her as well. She had been fired from her last job at Family Video, where she worked with her best friends Robin and Steve. Valarie had been taking small jobs around town, trying to stick with one for more than a month, ultimately failing. While out at the gas station yesterday, she saw a poster for a band in of a new member. She ran toward the poster, looking for a phone number, her eyes wandering along the photo. At the bottom of sheet 4 tabs hung, with a phone number attached to them. Valarie snatched the perforated piece of paper from the poster. She walked out of the store on to the street, looking for a payphone. She picked up the phone from the hook, inserting a quarter, and punching in the digits from the piece of paper. Ringing came from the phone as she waited for someone on the receiving end to pick up, her head resting on the glass wall of the booth. On the final ring, a voice spoke roughly through her ears, the man behind the phone cleared his through before saying,

“Hey, what’s up?”

Valarie’s head shot up, clearing her through as well before responding back.

“Oh, hi, I was calling about the band looking for a new member, I found an advertisement at the gas station on Jefferson.”

“That’s great, we’ve been looking for a new member for months, ‘you play guitar?”

Damn it. Her first instinct was to place the phone back on to the hook and pretend she hadn’t called, but she desperately needed the money. All of her past jobs hadn’t paid enough for her to keep up with her rent. Her last job at Family Video ended abruptly, due to her and her best friends goofing off during every shift. This new opportunity could be a stable occupation for her to finally pay her rent on time. Valarie already owned a guitar, that had been collecting dust in her closet for the past 3 years. She had purchased it in hopes of teaching herself how to play it as a way to pass time. After 2 weeks it remained in her closet, until today.

“Uh, yeah, since I was young.” she lied. Her voice shook in embarrassment as the man on the phone spoke.

“Great! Our old guitarist quit last week, so we’ve been looking for someone to fill in. When are you free to meet up with the rest of the band?”

Just hang up the phone Val, and find somewhere else to pick up a job. Her hand slowly moved toward the hook, wanting to hang up before he spoke again.

“Hey, you still there?”

Her voice softly shook, placing the phone back up to her ear.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m free tomorrow, if that’s alright?”

“Sounds great! We practice at that old bar down on Southwest street, how does Wednesday sound?”

“That’s fine with me, see you then.”

Before the man on the phone could respond, Valarie slammed the phone on the hook, letting out a ghastly sigh. Her head dropped to the concrete sidewalk below her. She reached for a cigarette and her lighter in her jean jackets pocket. She placed the cancer stick between her lips, lighting the open end. She took a large drag, inhaling sharply. Plumes of smoke shot from her nostrils as she began crossing the street. Her boots dragged across the pavement lazily, rain beginning to drip onto the leather. She looked up as dark clouds began to cast above her, her pace picking up to evacuate the storm that was brewing.

September 5th, 1986, Valarie’s apartment

Valarie tangled with her keychain in her pocket, finally turning her house key in the lock, pushing open her front door. She threw her bag on the couch, immediately darting for her bedroom. She flopped onto her bed, her groans muffled by the pillow underneath. Valarie flipped on to her back sitting up on the edge of her bed. Her head turned to her closet door that was half creaked, a black void illuminating from inside. She walked over to the doors, pushing them apart. She reached up to pull the chain of the light. On the floor of the closet laid her suitcase, along with bags full of her clothes and shoes. On the top shelf sat her guitar. The ruby color reflected off the lightbulb, into her eyes. Her feet pushed up on to her tippy toes, grasping for the neck of the guitar. She stared at it in her hand, look at all the dust that had collected on the body of the guitar. Her hand glided across the strings, a dissonant sound being produced. It needs to be tuned. She sat on her bed, the guitar resting in her lap. Her hand twisted around the tuning keys, trying to produce a pleasant sound while strumming. Valarie leaned her head back in frustration, realizing that this was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated. She didn’t know the first thing about playing guitar, not even the proper way to hold one.

“Fuck it, I give up.” she said, throwing the axe down. She got up and began pacing around the room. Tapping of rain drops began to fall on to her carpet. She looked up to find a large crack with water seeping through it. Jesus Christ.

September 7th, 1986, Valarie’s apartment

Valarie sat on her bed, plucking at the strings of her guitar, trying to make out a tune. She had been ignoring phone calls all day, trying to ignore the fact that it was Wednesday. She had agreed to meet with the rest of the band members today, them expecting her to have some experience with guitar. The ringing became louder and obsessive as the day continued, causing her to take it off the hook, keeping it on a busy signal.

“Focus, just focus.” she strummed the first 2 chords, her hand releasing on the second one. Her hand sprung back in pain as the string snapped on her finger. She threw the pick across the room, standing up from her bed. She placed the guitar behind her, slamming her head into her pillow. A loud and agitated groan left her throat, tears following behind. The ceiling began dripping profusely, the thumping sound syncing with her heartbeat. Valarie looked up to the ceiling to see the crack had doubled in size. She went into the bathroom, grabbing the white bucket from the shower. When she went back into her room, a dark stain had damped her carpet. She placed the bucket underneath the crack, the water now dripping louder.

“God, I gotta get that fixed.” she said walking towards the phone. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she dialed her landlord’s number. She softly wept, waiting for him to pick up.

“Hey Val, what’s up?”

“Hey Sean, I’ve got a big crack in my bedroom ceiling, do you think you could fix it?”

“How big is the crack?”

Valarie sighed, looking up at the ceiling, her hand on her forehead.

“It’s pretty big, I think it’s from the storm a few days ago.”

Sean sighed on the opposite end of the phone, writing could be heard on Valarie’s end.

“I can take a look at it later, is 5 good?”

“Yeah sure, thanks-.”

Without a goodbye, Sean hung up before Valarie could finish. She scoffed, placing the phone back on the hook. The phone rang immediately after. She couldn’t ignore it this time. She picked up the phone nervously.

“Hey, is Valarie there? She was supposed to meet us for rehearsal today.” An unfamiliar voice spoke through the speaker.

Valarie fake coughed into the phone exaggeratedly. She sniffed through her nose a couple of time before responding.

“Yeah, I’m here, sorry. I couldn’t come in today, I don’t feel the best.”

“Oh, what’s wrong?”

Valarie looked around, trying to come up with a excuse for her absence. A bird flew past her window, giving her a idea.

“Bird flu!” she accidentally shouted “I’ve got bird flu, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to rehearse with you guys.”

“Bird flu? Isn’t that extremely rare?”

Her eyes shot up, trying to make up a lie quickly before they became suspicious.

“Yes! Extremely! That’s why I don’t want to come in and spread it to you guys.”

“Well that’s very thoughtful, but we’ve got to rehearse soon, we have a gig in a few weeks and we’ve got to learn these songs.”

Shit. A gig? She rolled her eyes back.

“Well, I’ll try my best to come in soon. Thank you for checking up on me, bye!”

“Bye Val-.”

She slammed the phone back on the hook, sliding down the wall, her knees up to her chest. She placed her head in her palms, starting to cry.

A knock on the front door woke Valarie from her nap, a coarse whine falling from her throat.

“Come in!” she yelled from her bed. She sat up on her bed, her legs crossed.

Sean walked through the front door, headed for Valarie’s bedroom. When he entered her room, his face shifted, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Valarie, you look terrible.”

“Yeah I know, I feel asleep with my makeup on, just fix my damn ceiling.”

“Keep talkin’ to me like that and I’ll leave it.”

Valarie looked up at him, deadpanning him. He rolled his eyes, putting down a toolbox.

“So, how’ve you been, I haven’t seen you since you broke your toilet.”

“I didn’t break it, I clogged it, and I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine, and neither does this crack Val, this is going to cost a pretty penny.”

Valarie scoffed at his comment, standing beside him.

“Nice joke idiot, it’s not even that bad.”

Sean turned his head to her, then back to the ceiling.

“Yeah it’s not the crack, it’s starting to mold. It’ll cost more to get the mold removed than to repair the crack.”

Valarie turned to him, her face slightly shocked.

“Sean, you know I don’t have that kind of money to get that done, I could barely pay to unclog the toilet.”

“Then call me when you can, I can’t do it for free just because we’re friends.”

“You totally can do that, you just choose not to.”

Sean leaned towards Valarie, gaining some height on her as he tilted his head down. His mouth formed into a smirk. Valarie’s eyes squinted, confused at his motions.

“There’s many different ways you could pay me, not just in money.” His hand lifted her jaw.

Valarie smacked his hand from her face, pushing him backwards.

“Like I’ve said before, not gonna happen.”

Sean softly chuckled, picking up his toolbox.

“Well until you get some actual money, neither is that roof getting fixed.” He pushed beside her, walking out the front door. He slammed it shut, causing her eyes to squeeze shut.

“God, he’s such an asshole.”

Valarie huffed, walking to the kitchen. She sat on top of the countertop thinking to herself. I need to learn how to the play damn guitar, so I can finally get some cash. I can’t teach myself though, Jesus, who else knows how to play guitar.

Only one name crossed her mind, causing a shiver to travel down her spine. No, absolutely not, don’t even think that Valarie. There’s no way you’re going to ask Eddie Munson to teach you how to play guitar. He’s probably still fighting for his life in highschool. God but he’s the only person I know who could actually help me, if he still doesn’t hold a grudge from 5th grade.

Valarie ran to her bedroom, looking under her bed from her stack of yearbooks. She grabbed one from 1984, the year she graduated, and one of the many Eddie failed. She flipped to the back page of signatures and goodbyes. Names and phone numbers of former classmates filled with colorful markers crossed her eyes. Her hand scanned the paper, looking for Eddie’s phone number. The illiterate and sloppy handwriting stood out to her as his.

Thanks for a horrible highschool experience, Eddie

“Well at least he was kind enough to sign it.”

Underneath his phone number was listed faintly, almost as if he had wrote it then erased it afterward. Valarie picked up the book, holding it to her chest as she dashed into the kitchen. She sat on top of the counter, picking up the phone off the wall. She read the numbers from her lap, squinting to see. She pressed the numbers into the keys.

She dialed the numbers, her hand began to shake as the ringing began. A scruffy voice sang from the speaker, causing her to place the phone back on the hook.

“God, you dumbass!”

She redialed the numbers, listening for the ringing once again. The same scruffy, and familiar voice spoke.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Eddie, right?”

“Jesus Christ, you’ve gotta be kidding me, I never thought I’d have to hear your voice again.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, I know your voice, Val.”

Valarie began twirling the cord of the phone anxiously, her breathing became heavy in the speaking.

“Eddie, I promise I’d only call you if it was an emergency, and this sorta is.”

Eddie scoffed through the phone, by his tone though she should she it, she knew he was rolling his eyes.

“Eddie, say something, you can’t still be mad at me.”

“You’re the one who hated me, always complaining about everything about me. I’m sorry I didn’t meet little miss perfect’s standards.”

“Eddie, that was in middle school! Get over it, we’re adults now!”

“It wasn’t just middle school, you and your art friends made fun of me until senior year.”

“Which senior year, your first, second, or third?”

Valarie instantly regretted the snarky remark after she said it, letting out a deep sigh.

“What’s the emergency, Boyd.”

Valarie took in a deep breath. Complaining to Eddie Munson about her financial situation was not something she ever thought she’d do.

“I took a job in a band as a lead guitarist, but I have no idea how to play guitar, and I was hoping you could possibly teach me?” she rambled swiftly, hope he couldn’t hear the desperation in her voice.

Eddie laughed abruptly, the sound causing Valarie’s face to turn red. He finally spoke after laughing for a while, catching his breath.

“So you’re telling me, you want me to teach you the one thing you used to make fun of me for, telling me I’d never get anywhere being a burnout guitarist.”

“I only said those things because I was 16! We were both kids, kids say dumb things. I don’t think that way about you anymore Eddie, I promise you.”

Eddie laughed once more, this time she could tell he was getting a kick out of her pain.

“I don’t care what you think about me now sweetheart, it’s not going to happen. How’d you even get my number anyway?”

Valarie paused before responding back.

“… My yearbook.”

“God you are desperate, goodnight, Val.”

“Eddie wait-.”

Her voice was cut off with the slam of Eddie’s phone, hanging up on her mid sentence. Her voice cracked out a hoarsely moan, her face falling into her hands. She began crying deeply, as the old emotions she had for him rose again. They had never fully dissipated from her heart, but recovered once she heard his voice again.

“God, I still love him.”

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