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johnnys-breastmilk · 1 year

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jump in the line | wally clark x male!reader

a/n — i know i said this was coming ‘soon’ but it was longer than anticipated- reader is AMAB but i don’t believe pronouns are used to address them

words — 5.4k

summary — With summer break in motion, the school feels empty and painfully boring. Luckily, there is a jock in the gym with a good distraction from the boredom.

warnings — smut, 18+ as usual, fingering, top!Wally Clark, bottom!reader, anal sex, ghosts wrapping before tapping

~~~

Wally had two problems—the rain and his loneliness. The rain kept everyone indoors as they didn’t want to come back inside, soaked and inconvenienced by the limited appealing clothing around the school. So a day was made out of it to give everyone a new challenge: find something fun to do inside. The limit was the sky, if you counted that as being the fiberglass tiles on the ceiling. His loneliness came from what he decided to do: shoot hoops in the gymnasium. The other spirits bided their time with more sedentary activities like watching the summer production crew work to cobble together a half-decent school musical for the fall or revisit the library to read the one new book added to the ancient collection, but Wally just couldn’t keep himself still and isolated himself to shoot baskets.

Today was your first rainy day at Split River High in your new life as a ghost. Only a mere seventeen days in and you already felt perfectly capable of being a ghost for the rest of your death because of one fun sentiment—being bored at high school, something that came naturally in a place like this. Charlie claimed that it was better than feeling regretful or upset about it since those feelings only reinforced the fact that you were bound to your roots forever. There was no way to put the school in the past or leave home, no risks to take or life to fail at pursuing. He talked you through the whole spiel, and you had no choice but to listen or fight against the laws of the afterlife. One seemed impossible.

After sitting through everything he had gathered from his time as a ghost, you told him your story. You died in the agricultural room, checking up on the baby chicks during a free period between classes when the wire powering their heat lamp caught fire. The door became blocked by the flames and the windows in the room only opened so far enough to get the chicks out, but they were far too slim of an opening to fit yourself through. It worked well to air out the smoke, but the heat is what caused you to collapse. You never saw your body in the aftermath, only hearing talk of how gruesome it looked as a few cops assessed the scene.

With the Ag-Room shut down until further notice, you were left to wander the hallways without any direction. Though, one sound rang in your ear—the sound of a basketball and squeaking shoes. Now Wally had three problems when he heard the door to the gymnasium open.

As you entered, you looked around at a place you hadn’t seen since before you died. The bleachers stayed inanimate and lacked the community’s spirit for that final game of the season, not being used by anything alive to warrant them looking less depressingly empty. It looked like the same gym you had taken classes in for the past nearly four years, but the jock made it feel new and different. He was a hidden detail among the same people, chalkboards, and desks you spent your entire school life staring at. You approached him, watching the gymnasium become a chamber for his skill to bounce off of. Every time the basketball struck the floor he added just a little more to his established skill set.

“Hey,” you spoke. He caught the ball as it bounced off of the backboard and towards him. The echo in the spacious room sounded the same, but his voice was in your ear.

“Hey, I was practicing my free-throw, but I’ll make room for another person,” he offered. He turned to face you, “And you’re the Fire-Kid, right?”

“Guilty,” you admitted. “I didn’t know I had a nick-name already.”

“It’s unofficial, we can totally change it. There’s a few I thought about—hottie, maybe? Actually, never—never mind. That made more sense when I was thinking it over.” He took a deep breath and extended his hand that wasn’t holding the ball. “Wally.”

“I know,” you said, taking him up on the handshake and giving him your name. His combination of impossibly short athletic shorts, a tank top with the same material as a sweatshirt, and Nike’s paired with socks reaching far up along his shins was almost a dead giveaway that he was from another time, but the name didn’t help much either as you knew it from the stadium outside. Wally pulled his hand back and moved the ball around in his hands like it was an extension of himself—he knew exactly how to hold and manipulate it for his own desire.

“You like animals, huh? Well, I know a little game called ‘horse,’ unless you’re too chicken,” he smirked.

You two approached one of the nets hanging at one end of the gym, “It’s not like I’m doing anything, just remind me of the rules?”

“Okay, so basically, one person shoots from wherever they want, and the other person has to replicate it. If the first person misses the shot, then the second guy can shoot wherever they want. Then, it flips until one person wins.”

“How do you win?”

“Shit, right. If you miss a shot, whether you're the first or second person, you get a letter, usually it goes until it spells out ‘horse.’”

“Okay, I think I get it,” you affirmed.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I’ll teach you as we go.”

It all made sense, given that your last gym class was only months ago at the end of the semester and you had played it then. There was one, and only one, thing that burned in your mind: “What about the loser? Is a letter the only penalty?”

“Let’s make it a little fun,” Wally proposed. You nodded. “Okay, so, every letter earned means the other dude gets to ask a question. It’ll help me come up with a better nick-name, so, the more embarrassing stories you share, the better. I’ll go first.”

“That’s unfair, I’m new to this and pretty much everything else.”

“You’re just mad that I won’t miss,” Wally dribbled the ball as he went some ways away from the net, a distance that you knew you couldn’t match.

“Wally,” you hissed. He kept backing away from the net. “Wally, that’s too far!”

“Nah, I’m just kidding.” He ran up closer to the net and made a shot. As expected by his almost professional and clean form, it sank past the net and smacked against the floor. He retrieved it and passed the ball to you, “Your turn.”

Taking the ball from him, you stood in the same spot he was at—at about the two-point line, judging by the markings on the floor—and hit the ball a few times against the floor to refresh yourself with its feel. The bumps on the ball felt the same as when you had a basketball unit and had acquainted your fingertips with the same rough edge for a whole week. Wasting no more time, you took a leap of faith into the air. Expectedly, the ball hit the rim of the net and bounced off toward Wally. That’s just how your luck had been recently, so you weren’t phased by almost making it in. He caught the ball as it ricocheted toward him.

He clapped at your failure, “And that’s H. Four more to go and I win.”

“Five more to go, and I win.”

“Okay, I like your optimism. But question-time! What did you do… after school?“ It sounded weird for him to talk about it in the past, since only seventeen days ago you would have been talking about future plans.

“The usual: sleep, a lot, and bury myself in homework,” you said as if you would be able to do either again. Could ghosts even sleep? Or was it all feigned for a twinge of normalcy? You would have to ask Wally if you managed to score anything against him.

He still had the ball in his hands, tossing it to you. “Cool, cool. What subject was your favorite?”

“Hey, one question only,” you reminded him.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? Sorry, I meant—you know. Since I doubt we can go to the ag-room, and because I didn’t mean—yeah.” He looked nervous at his slip-up. It felt like he was overcompensating to hide something else, something with a little more weight than simply a poor choice of words.

“It’s fine,” you assured. Passing the ball to each hand as the conversation went on, your mind wandered until it came up with the most obvious choice. “Let me guess, gym?”

“Nah, history. But I liked all of them,” Wally crossed his arms now that the ball was no longer in his possession.

“Really? You weren’t laser-focused on football?”

He patted your shoulder, “Save that for when you make it in.”

As it would turn out, you did not make a single attempted shot for the next two turns and had to suffer through two more of Wally’s questions. The first time you missed, he asked: “What’s your favorite food?”

“That’s tough. I think I’m gonna say all of the above. Anything that isn’t cafeteria food sounds great right about now. What about you? Got any I-could-live-off-this-forever go-to?”

“Hotdogs, for sure.”

“Why?” This was the first time he didn’t protest a follow-up question and gave you a completely serious answer.

“Uh, well, me and my parents used to go up to my uncle’s apartment near the Camp Randall Stadium. The building was so tall that you didn’t even need seats to watch the game, so we would all sit up on the roof and look down into the stadium whenever the Badgers were playing. They usually had a grill set up so we didn’t have to walk down so many stairs, and that’s where it started.”

“What? Your love for football?”

Wally’s tone leveled out. He wasn’t telling a story anymore, he was recalling a memory, “No, it wasn’t about the field or the game, it was about the people around me. I didn’t really like watching the game, but it was something for us to do as a family. Plus the hotdogs were pretty great.”

After that, Wally seemed to be distracted by something but still managed to make another shot. You, however, couldn’t say the same. It pitifully bounced off the backboard and towards the stacked bleachers.

He snarkily asked while heading to retrieve the ball, “What do you think your chances are of winning?”

This time, you were the one to cross your arms, “That’s what you’re going to waste your question on?”

“I still have two more,” he stated. On his way towards you, he ran a hand through his hair, “We could always play pig, if you’re ready to see the hog.”

“Go for it, unleash the beast,” you encouraged and then, feigned, “I’m so scared.”

“You would’ve lost that one already, so maybe it’s good that we didn’t.”

After accruing three letters in a row without ending Wally’s streak, you finally made a shot from his determined distance. He gained a letter to his name, and you got a ticket to pick at his brain.

“Yeah, finally!” He cheered, coming up behind you and lightly smacking your ass. He sounded sincere, “Good job.”

“I got a good one!”

“Shoot.”

“What do you miss most from your house? If you had to pick anything for them to bring here so that you could use it, what would it be?”

“My homemade fleshlight and maybe my porno mags,” he vacillated. “I got all the quality material right here, though.”

“I’m serious!” You reacted before you could even process his comment. Even if he really thought of you like that, it would have had to be a joke.

“Fine, uh. My medals for all of this stupid shit.” He waved his one arm around to the various sports banners with the graduating classes' athletes front and center, along with several other banners and pennants hanging around that showcased the victories of the Devils and Bandits. Besides his name on the stadium, Wally’s name had been embroidered in a deep blue pennant hanging on the wall he stood facing away from. “It would make it feel like it was worth it a little more, you know?”

You sighed and looked at him with a certain understanding that some of the other students didn’t get. He could see it, and you could see him listening intently as you spoke as if he truly cared, “I do. I have a few F-F-A related things at home that I wish I could see now. My medals, my jacket for being in the after-school club, pictures of me and my friends, all of it. I wish it was here.”

“You can always borrow mine. Think of it as the honorary symbol for being stuck here with me and all of the others.” At that moment, an image popped into Wally’s mind that he could have captured in crystal-clear quality with a Polaroid. If only he had brought that to school on his last day. It was of you, with his jacket on and nothing else, grinding up against his leg—maybe rocking back and forth on the toe of his Nike’s or better yet, on his thigh. He would take that picture without hesitation and make it your first official memory at Split River. Now, his fourth problem had arrived in his blue shorts.

“Thanks.” You saw his eyes flick up from the ground to you. The effect of his gratitude lasted mere seconds as the ball came your way and vie sensations of winning reminded you as to who the jock was: your competitor. By some stroke of luck—or maybe a twinge of skill had finally come over you—you were able to make the ball into the basket twice and upstage the jock for a few moments. You got to ask your questions, but he was too busy congratulating you.

“Holy shit,” he marveled. “I know they said you went out hot, but damn! I didn’t think you had that fire in you!”

“Good to know I’m more than detritus.” You tried not to brag or even smile at the fact, just accept that you had him beat with a tied competition.

“Sorry, bad joke?”

“No, I just realized that we both have two letters left.”

“It won’t be that way for long.” Plopping himself onto the floor, he sat with the ball in his lap and his legs crossed to keep it from rolling away. “Quiz me!”

Mirroring him, you sat in the same style with your knees almost touching, “Okay, ever date anyone in high school—uh, here?”

“Nope, but it did allow me and my right hand to get to know each other pretty well. We even introduced lotion later on into the relationship.”

You let out a quick laugh, “Classy, Wally.”

“There was one chick, actually.” He didn’t look away when he said it, locking his soft brown eyes on yours.

You looked back at him, engaged, “Who?”

“That’s your fourth question.”

“Why didn’t you say it when I asked?”

He started to trace patterns over his thighs, breaking the contact your eyes held while he talked about the mysterious girl, “We never really dated or even touched each-other—it was right before the game that we even kissed.”

“Oh.” Oh, it was all you could say.

“I tried to move on from her, and it kind of worked. It took a while, but you’re here.” Wally looked back up again, lifting his whole head to do so.

You stood, “I think it’s my turn.”

“Right, sorry. Too T-M-I?” He tossed the ball up to you. You shook your head and walked over to take your shot.

Standing a decent distance away from the net, you tried to make it attainable for you to make a shot, and a little difficult for the athlete to replicate it. Since your skill was unmatched by his, it didn’t seem like there was a good place that would be hard for him to make it in.

Wally followed and pressed himself into you from behind, and went so far as to make himself level with your ear, “Don’t miss.”

He backed away from you to offer a fighting chance against him, and you took your final shot of the game. The ball veered off to the right with your throw, and he ran to intercept the shot before it hit the ground. He sweeps it up from the floor and jumps in the air to pass it under his leg and make a shot around the basket. It swished effortlessly into the net, and Wally let the victory get to his head.

“And in the match point. . . Clark makes the score!” He jumped around the court with sanguine behavior, everything else—mostly, his necklace—following with him up and down. The ball bounced off to some corner of the room since he didn’t bother to fetch it. “That tie had me worried.”

You approached him once he started to calm down, “Question?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna give it to me?”

“I can, if you want,” he smirked.

“I do.”

“Uh, well.” He placed his hands on his hips, raising one almost immediately after to toy with and twist his necklace, “What’s something you’ve never tried before?”

“I never tried you.” What does he taste like? What does he smell like? “Or sex as a ghost.” What does he feel like? “Or any kind of sex in general.”

“Me neither.” Those two short words filled the small space between your lips. There was still a longing inside of Wally that competition couldn’t beat, as even now, he felt almost no difference towards it. He pulled you in for a kiss, and suddenly, it was gone. He had the confidence—the will—to lead you up to the heightened set of wooden bleachers. Wally guided you by hand, the texture still being rough and imperfect from his blazing glory night, and insisted that you close your eyes.

“I’ve been up here a million times, there’s no need for the show,” you protested.

He sat you down on a random line of benches and continued his antics, ignoring your complaints since he didn’t have anything smart to say back. The wooden planks creating the jagged pattern to form the bleachers were hard and unforgiving with little leeway for a task as delicately chaotic as fucking. Wally somehow made the imperfections surrounding your work, by keeping you spread across one bench while laying on your back. His necklace dangled so close to you that it almost turned to sandalwood oil from the heat. He smelled similarly of the same scent, rich in a tangled aromatic scent of sweat and sweet sandalwood.

All of the new things he got to try were a silver lining along the dark clouds outside. His hands roamed unclaimed places on your body, cupping things that deserved to be fondled and handling things with extra care that didn’t excite your body as much as you expected. Chills from his work never came, and you remained the same cold soul as before. The same could be said for his lip prints, marking your own pair, then moving to the side of your cheek and down your jaw with a softness only seen in the blurry images of a fantasy. Wally kissed like he was kissing for someone else, and not for himself, giving more than he took. He didn’t take skin between his teeth for a hickey but left it impacted with a feeling soaring straight up from his heart. It’s not like a hickey would have lasted long as a ghost, anyways.

“You’re cold,” he said as he leaned down to kiss your neck again.

Wally finished kissing your body seconds later and sat up at the foot-end of where you laid. You tried to spread your legs, letting one dangle off to the next row and bringing the other one closer to give him room between you, but he kept himself situated. He fished for something in the pocket of his insanely small athletic shorts, finding it hard to search through bunched-up fabric that exposed most of his thighs.

You waited for instructions, and as if he could immediately tell, Wally spoke. “Just. . . lay back and finger yourself.”

“Is mind-reading part of the ghost-experience?” You teased.

“Just do it.”

“Okay,” you listen, pulling down the bottoms you died in and the underwear that went with it. Wally tried not to steal a glance as he occupied himself, but couldn’t help it. His jaw goes slack for a moment as he sees you—natural and perfect. He assumed that he would have to put himself on the same playing field, and suspended his search for a little bit to stand up. He shimmied down the deep blue and vibrant white of the school colors to just reveal a combination of pasty skin and dark hair surrounding his cock. He reached down to continue his search. Finally, he pulled a condom from his pocket. “I’m going to try putting this on, if it fits.”

“Where did you even get those?” You hadn’t started preparing yourself for the dead jock, letting his interesting train of thought make you invested in his issues.

“Nurse’s office.” He holds out the packaging for you to look over—it’s a neon purple with different shapes in yellow, reminiscent of the eighties and perfect for the man before you. The size on the wrapper read that it was a bland XL on the cover in white. ”Can you believe they didn’t start handing these out until the nineties?”

Wally stuck the corner between his teeth and pulled, causing the wrapper to tear in two and the condom landed in his hand. He pinched the stuck-out tip of the latex in the center of the disk and pinched the rubber ring. The head of his cock passed the loop successfully but failed to actually get it down his length. In an attempt to make it slide down his cock, he tugged on the rubber band around the opening.

“That’s not how you—here.” You sat upright and your hands fly down to help him. Taking him into your hand, you hold him near the base and wrap your thumb and index finger around a part of his head over the condom’s band. Keeping your fingers around his girth, you slid them down, jerked them back up, and repeated the motion until a thin layer of latex covered most of his dick, reaching just shy of his base. “You keep rolling it down like that until it gets to the bottom. It should be tight with a little bit of give so you can slip it off after.”

Wally wraps his hand around the new layer of latex and marvels at the feeling. “Thanks for the sex-ed lesson, coach.”

“Didn’t they ever teach you that?” You asked, reflecting back on how even now, the school never really prioritized giving kids safe sex lessons. Most of the lessons were about getting any diseases, and what to do when you know you have it. It was all focused on the if’s and never the when’s.

“Nah, it was basically ‘don’t have sex or die.’ Glad I got to do the second one first and the first one now,” he smiled.

His explanation left you puzzled. Safe sex was such a priority during life but became meaningless after death. “Why even bother wearing a condom?”

“I don’t know. Why do we still eat?” He leaned in closer to you, hesitant to loudly state the actions taking place, “Why are we about to. . .”

Normalcy, that must have been what he was trying to get at. “Fair point.”

“I guess I should return the favor?” His hand finds your shoulder at a higher level than preferred and pushed it back until you are entirely laid into the unforgiving benches. They don’t quite capture your width, your shoulders peeking over the edges with legs spread out and dangling over either side, but Wally doesn’t let it stop him from motioning closer to you. Thigh cupped, he lifts a single leg to access your hole easier.

The width of his hand not holding your thigh is felt running along your crack, something that had him hooked as he searched for an opening. His longest finger found it in seconds, and quickly, he lowered the hand wrapped around your thigh to claw at your cheek, tearing it to the side for a deeper presence. Wally sunk a three-pointer’s worth of his finger into your hole, his middle finger up to his knuckle as the rest of his hand held him back. His finger beckoned a moan by raking it up and towards your prostate, then by pulling it in and out and twisting his whole arm to feel the game-night roughened texture of his finger carry on a longing from the night he died. Wally followed the string of motions a few more times until your reactions faded.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, looking for a satisfied answer.

“First time trying it, should. . .” You exhale, “. . . should it feel like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, just do it again.”

Wally pushed his lengthy digit back in, raising it to the sensitive area, and pressing the pad of his finger to it. He kept it there for a few moments before pulling his hand away, taking his finger with it, and motioning back in less than a second later. His thumb brushes over the valley between your cheeks periodically, and you can’t help but shudder at his touch.

“Are you. . . ready?” The pause his question took made him come off as unsure, and the look he gave you—a quick glance from your eyes back to your ass, where he continued his maneuvers—reinforced it. He thought that he may have done too much, or not done enough, or even found himself on a mediocre middle ground, painfully stuck between the end zones of backing out and finishing the job. To his surprise, he managed to run the one-hundred and twenty yards, because you said yes.

Almost immediately, two hands wrapped around your ankles, and raised your legs with them, exposing your ass without the need for his help. Eventually, they found themselves dangling over his shoulders instead of either side of the bench, and he occupied the space that they restricted him from.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the protective latex coating around his tip greeted you with the feeling of a smooth, somewhat slick surface. Further up, he caught a glimpse of your hesitant demeanor. You couldn’t lie to yourself, or try to hide and play pretend. In the years when he could age, he was given some stunning accolades in categories other than sports. On the surface, a winning smile and eyes that cast a special spotlight on anyone lucky enough to find themselves under him, and down below, a horse cock. Tamed for the moment, but waiting for the paddock to open.

“Just try, uh, try to take it all.” He winced at his own words and let a sarcastic “sorry” slip from his lips.

A sudden pain rapidly stemmed from his entry—one from the depths of your subconscious knowing that the feeling is new and likely dangerously addictive, and the other coming from the actual source as his size stretches you out much more than a finger’s width. His skin is rough on yours when he settled in, but there was one thing that surprised you as he bottoms out with little left to give. With his hips pressed against yours, you took a sharp breath in.

“You good?” He asked, drawing his touch back. Wally fights to place a hand on you, keeping them hovered over your figure for a sense of distanced reassurance.

“You’re cold,” you spat out.

“I’m used to hearing the opposite.”

“And you’re big.” It came out sounding like a single word.

Wally looked relieved, using the opportunity to get into the rhythm of making jokes, “Yeah, I’m used to hearing that.”

You try to laugh through some of the pain. “No you’re not.”

“I’m not,” he admitted with a stupid smile on his face. His voice was hoarse once his hands started to creep over you.

His hands held on to your figure, those words of his distracting you from the pain of his first movement. Just as his charm had worked its way back into the atmosphere surrounding you, his desire to fuck had also found its way in. And that’s exactly what he did. His stance stayed relatively the same—Nike blazers stuck in place and used them to pivot forward, thrusting himself more into you than he already was. His hips melded to supple ass-fat. As he slipped into a tempo with swaying hips, he heard the smacking that came from the quick collision of your ass and him. It sounded like the percussion beat supporting the ensemble of moans falling from his mouth.

Wally’s motions caused you to rock back and forth along the bench, shifting on the smooth plank. His routine shortens to quick plap, plap, plaps against you, unlike the longer blows he had given you moments prior. His breathing stepped up into larger huffs and draws of breath that pierced the air.

There was one thing you noticed about Wally while the room was only filled with those noises. He acts like he’s almost at a loss for words—unusually quiet when the notions of sex finally kick in, feelings and all. Wally’s communication during it centered around noises and acts over his verbal personality. He grunts and barely speaks, crying words and praises with abandon midway through. He took a hand from your love handles to run it through his hair, and then it fell on your leg. His hand was warm—almost slick—from the heat building around the both of you.

Your gaze floated from his hand falling on the leg going over his shoulder to his face; he looked like he was breaking a sweat. He noticed you looking at him directly, and his soft eyes looked animalistic as he doubled over you. He brought your legs closer to your chest, curling you in on yourself. He got so close that you could feel his breath ruminating against your skin.

“Am I—” he breathes, “—still cold?”

His breath isn’t and his skin almost looked like it was glowing, like he could be alive. You shake your head in response, the bundles and knots of pleasure in your stomach making it hard for a few words to come out.

With his new leverage, he fucked you harder, pressing as deep as he could go. His face contorted and stretched without the worry of wrinkles when he became overcome with pleasure.

Wally came, pressing himself into you one final time as his release sprayed all over the inside of his condom. Drops of release splatter over your torso in brief, irregular spurts. They seem to disappear seconds later, leaving no trace of anything that had happened. When Wally pulled himself out of you, you could feel the friction and intimacy quickly vanish. His dick still looked hard, but there was no aftermath. No trace of anything that had happened. His condom wasn’t filled or stretched out at the tip with a pool of come; it was as if he never fucked you. But you still retained the memory and the experience.

Even your own fatigue from being on the receiving end of his pounding lasted mere minutes. Still, you leaned your head back and turned to peer around the gym, taking a breather. The balls hanging around in nooks and corners of the room returned to the carts that they had never left, and everything was back in its original place on the unaltered, metaphysical level. The other spirits could never know, and they would never know, thanks to the universe's ways.

Wally took note of you looking around the gym, “You know, I think that next time, we should be a lot messier. Wouldn’t be our problem to clean, would it?”

#school spirits #wally clark x you #wally clark #wally clark x reader #wally clark x male reader #milo manheim #milo manheim x male reader #can milo manheim get some recognition puh lease #school spirits x reader #school spirits x male reader #gay #fanfic #x male reader #x reader

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muffinsin · 9 days

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after reading all your hc's I have never seen a date one maybe you did idk if not could you make some head canons on it. I just want to know what these women like to do and how they spend dates with S/O weather or summer.

Maybe some smut one and fluffy one ???

Idk I just really want to go on a date with them !!!!!!!

As always have a good day!

Y’all- I’m hella surprised I haven’t done date HCs yet despite writing of so many dates! XD Thanks, hon! Have a great day too🙌 Let’s get into it

Keeping this fluffy for now because the Valentine’s Day post I did was rather similar in the date + smut aspect

Masterlists (NEW- Masterlist 6)

Bela

She didn’t think she’d ever find the time for dating, really

At at first, she didn’t

At first, despite being your partner, she had little time for dates and quality time together

And she didn’t even notice, until you brought it up for her

This is something she never fails to praise you for

Really, the day you spoke up about this and she heard, and felt, the pain in your words, she swore to change this habit

And change it she did!

Bela makes sure to schedule blocks of spare time between her work to ensure she can take you out on dates, check up on you, or simply be with you for a little while

She looks forward to it each day

In turn, this is a way for you to ensure she takes breaks and eats

Often, the two of you retreat to a quiet part of the castle

Sometimes this is her room, sometimes her office even, sometimes the hall of ablution

When the weather grants it, Bela loves to take you outside for a date in the gardens

While scowling at the mud, the ground, the grass and bugs ironic, huh? she agrees to picnic dates with you

She sits relatively still, hissing and snarling at every little bug, every ant, even her own flies, as they get too close to her

Still, she appreciates the time she gets to spend with you. So what are a few bugs and dirt here and there?

She’ll drag her fingertip lightly across some flowers as she talks

In time, she picks up on how to braid them into a crown, something she’d never admit Daniela taught her

As such, the two of you often paint the following scene:

You, sat or sprawled out on the blanket, smiling as you talk and tell her of your day

Bela, your ethereal, almost goddess-like lover, her blonde hair nearly shining in the sun as she watches you and takes in every word you speak

She likes to ask questions, just to have you talk a little while longer

In return, it makes your heart ache happily when you are proven with each question that she pays attention to your words

By the end of your rants, she usually has a flower crown set up on your head

On rainy days, she likes to get set up in the bedroom with you

With candles lit and about that cause her room to smell just wonderful. The fireplace lit, granting it a nice atmosphere and warm, comfortable air

Often, this means reading together

At other times, usually when the rain causes the temperature to drop a little, she likes to curl up in your arms like an overgrown cat and spread out on top of you or your lap

You giggle each time it happens, secretly enjoying how cuddly the rain outside the warmth and safety of the castle seems to make your girlfriend

Often, she likes to spend indoor dates in her room by tending to hobbies together, or taking time to read together

She wants to actively do something together on dates, she wants to make you feel special

And she never fails at this

Cassandra

Dating?

Her?

Truthfully, she used to dream of the concept. The love. The happiness. The dreaminess

Yet, life has disappointed her

Too much betrayal, too much pain, too much emotion, too little emotion

Eventually, she decides dating is not for her

Even as her heart burns with envy as she watches her younger sister’s grin when she talks of her dates

How come Daniela gets this, and not her?

How come she can only bring herself to care for mindless sex rather than real connection?

Then, she meets you

And all changes

She is reluctant to open up to dating, at first

While being the bold one in most situations, she is not the one making the first step this time

Instead, she finds herself feeling incredibly surprised when you ask her out the first time

She’s nervous, a rare occurrence for her

And yet, she realises she loves the experience!

She becomes more confident eventually, begins to understand the concept of dating, even

She wants to start taking you out, too

At first, she goes with the usual approach, the type of dates she knows from Daniela’s tales

Library dates, that turn to Cassandra nearly falling asleep each time

Picnic dates, that turn to some prey or noise in the distance pulling her attention

Eventually she figures out- this isn’t any good

She tries a new approach, then. She invites you along as she visits the duke for weapons, and keeps you by her side as she wanders off into the forest to try some of them out

She talks, and laughs, and notices you do the same

The two of you still end up having a somewhat picnic date, with you sitting while she is pacing and rambling, a large smile on her face, her attention only on you even as the keen huntress catches every little noise in the distance

From then on, dates often are the following;

Picnics in the forest as the weather allows it, otherwise in her large bed. Usually she will ramble of something, or drink her blood-wine and stare wide eyed as she takes in whatever story you are telling her of

Others might consist of something a little more unhinged, some would say

Often, she invites you along to watch and help her torture naughty prisoners. She thinks it’s romantic

Should you ever agree, she will be over the moons. She never presses it, though

At other times, she invites you to train with her, wielding several weapons and swinging them at one another; you, wrapped in several layers of protection, her, giggling madly if you ever manage to do as much as graze her with a blade

And lastly, she does enjoy herself dates in the opera hall occasionally, when the castle is quiet and all have gone to bed, and she gets to bask in your presence

Sometimes, she will absently hum a tune, her mind accustomed to singing in this place from the time she was taught by her mother

At other times, she likes to bask in the silence and warmth of the room and simply sit or lay on the stage with you

She enjoys spending time with you, and likes to invite you to spontaneous dates to do just that

Daniela

She loves dating! And romance, and love, and spending time together

Out of her family, she’s been on the most dates. Even added up too, probably

She’s been in and out of relationships before you nearly constantly, chasing what seemed so very far out of reach for her

Then, you came along

And with you, true love

She loves to take you out on dates, and gets equally giddy when you ask her out on one

Her favorites are ones in the library or the forest, should the temperatures allow it

She likes to read her favorite books together, perhaps even read one paragraph each, or recite one line of a character each in a play she enjoys

Often, she “kidnaps” you and snatches you away from whatever you’re doing to take you out on a date instead

She rarely cares about what you were doing, whether you were in the middle of a conversation, working, or out on a walk, she rarely pays attention to it

But how could you be upset with her for long, when her smile is so very wide and her happy, big eyes and loud, buzzing flies remind you of an excited puppy?

Usually, she also brings snacks to your library dates

Little treats stolen from the kitchen or the rooms of some unfortunate maid or family member

And lastly, she likes to bring a flower with her

A gift, for you

Of course, library dates are not the only ones on her list of ideas

In fact, Daniela loves making use of the nearby opera hall as well

Being a talented singer, dancer and piano player, she loves to indulge in all three activities with you

At times, she might sing or hum a long as the two of you sit and play piano

At other times, she loves to play dress up, to steal Alcina’s large and expensive dresses, to snatch the few that Bela owns

Often, she asks you to dress up with her

When doing so, her mind often wanders to fairytales and fantasy far-away lands

Only your praise of how beautiful she looks can bring her back to the present, together with a wide, happy smile

And lastly, of course, she loves to have sleepovers, some which she also considers dates

She likes to show off her room and soft, spacious bed

She’ll practically cover you in her stuffed animals as she introduces all of them to you, one after another

As the day goes on and night approaches, she gets more and more cuddlier

In the evening already you feel her on your lap, curled up and buzzing happily as she talks or listens to your voice

Of course, at night, she only ever tucks herself closer to you

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #resident evil village

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wannaeatramyeon · 9 months

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hi!

could you maybe do some headcanons or a fic of taehoon with an s/o who is always outside? like they're always longboarding, biking, walking, or just chilling outside.

if you choose to do a fic, maybe center it around them being like, "well you wouldn't be so damn pale if you went outside more" whenever taehoon complains about being pale lol

thank you, have a good day!

Aww the fic idea made me feel bad for that menace. I think he's just naturally pale so would burn either way. Apologies for the long delay anon!

Seong Taehoon x Outdoorsy!Reader hc

Taehoon follows you like an anxious cat whenever you go on your outdoor adventures. Not that he is lacking any skills. In fact, it is almost certain that he'll excel at whatever physical activity you put him through, but he's almost exclusively an indoor kitty with his two (2) sole interests of Taekwondo and arcade games.

Wait, make that three because he is very interested in you.

Anyway, you know for sure that Taehoon loves you because he joins you, at all. Standing there usually in a cap for shade, slathered in sunscreen. Hey, he has pale skin that burns easily, ok. Any skin damage is on YOU.

But still, he's there like a cringey lovesick fool because a) he does genuinely want to share your activities with you and b) he is worried that you may break your ankle or something and then be left for dead.

Just to be very clear, Taehoon does not tan. He BURNS. Bless his pretty skin because you love it when you see him blush, and you also love poking fun at how weak his skin is.

Heh, here is absolutely nothing that he can do about his skin, of course. He takes your teasing goodnaturedly, grumbling a little until you piss him off enough and you earn yourself a hard forehead flick.

And yes, Taehoon is very limber. Still, he's not going to say no to you applying sunscreen on him, his chest, his back, running your hands everywhere. He will always return the favour with extra gropes too.

There's just something about you exposing your neck and full back to him that always makes him catch his breath. He thinks about doing something cheesy like writing a little message or drawing something with the lotion before kicking himself for being a loser.

(The outdoor adventures often include just minimal clothing. It's hot and sweaty out there, mmkay.)

Good luck though trying to drag Taehoon out when the weather turns cold or windy or rainy. He would much much rather stay indoors with you and that idiot will try all the tricks in the books to get you to stay put.

However, you will win in the end (you always win with him) and he will follow you reluctantly to whatever you want to do.

#taehoon seong #taehoon x reader #seong taehun #taehun x reader #seong taehoon #seong taehun x reader #seong taehoon x reader #taehoon seong x reader #how to fight x reader #how to fight #how to fight manhwa #viral hit manhwa #viral hit webtoon #viral hit x reader #viral hit #wannaeatramyeon

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plastic-rainbows · 8 months

Text

Indoor Rainy Day Activities ☔

Bake something warm & yummy 🧁

Play an imagination game 🐉

Sing along to Disney music 🎶

Cuddle with your stuffies 🧸

Dress up in fun costumes 👑

Solve a simplistic puzzle 🧩

Text your friends/caregiver 💖

Play some cute video games 🎮

Read a book with pictures 📚

Watch your favorite movie 🍿

Make a unique art project 🎨

Get cozy & take a little nap 💤

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pastelitey · 1 month

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Solidaritek: Rain Check

Rainy days are perfect for staying inside and catching up on some much needed housework, at least in Jimmy’s book. So despite the gloomy weather, things are looking sunny side-up for them—that is, until Tango winds up sick, and is officially down and out for the count. But Jimmy can still clean, run errands and take care of his sick boyfriend all at the same time, right? Right? word count: 3753 paring: Jimmy/Tango tags: Sickfic, Domestic Fluff, Rainy Days, Sleepy Cuddles [ao3 link]

Jimmy, ever the optimist, has lots of plans for the weekend. The gloomy forecast has done nothing to damper his mood, seeing as most of his plans actively involve staying indoors. Despite having officially moved in with Tango nearly two months ago, the apartment is still a mess with all of their things that have yet to be organized. And it doesn’t help that they’ve seriously neglected chores because of their respectively busy schedules, so there is some much needed housekeeping Jimmy is decidedly finally cracking down on.

Suffice it to say, Jimmy’s got a lot on his plate for this weekend, and he’s not going to let anything stop him from getting some work done.

That is until Tango gets sick out of nowhere and the equivalent of twenty toolboxes’ worth of wrenches are thrown into Jimmy’s plans.

Jimmy swears that he’s never seen anyone get as sick so spontaneously as Tango manages to. Sure, he’s used to the occasional allergy spell or stomach bug knocking him or a friend out for a day or two, but when Tango gets sick—even if it’s the mildest little cough—it always ends up spiraling into him having to be on bedrest for a week. Maybe the guy’s just got an awful immune system, but Jimmy’s not sure that even Tango knows why he gets sick so easily.

With the shift in seasons approaching as March slowly droned by, they were both preparing for Tango to come down with something eventually. Knowing Jimmy’s luck, he should have expected that it would happen just as he was planning on actually being productive.

Saturday morning goes a little like this: waking up to both his alarm going off and the sound of rain falling outside the window. He shuts it off as quickly as possible in lieu of not waking Tango, who is currently swaddled under pretty much every single blanket that they own. Jimmy wipes the sleep from his eyes as he warily watches the blob on the other side of the bed, and though the blankets do shift a little, it appears as if Jimmy was successful in not waking his sleeping boyfriend.

He slips out of bed and stretches out his aching joints before shuffling over to the window to peek through the blinds. The fluffy clouds hide the rising sun from view and the rain patters gently and rhythmically on the concrete a few floors below, kicking up a mist that shrouds the view. It’s pretty peaceful watching the rain from the window, but he’s acutely aware of how he very much would like to not get caught outside in this weather if he can help it.

After he’s shucked off his pajamas in favor of some more appropriate clothes for the day, he finally sets about getting some stuff done. Even if Tango’s unable to help, Jimmy’s still determined to be productive around the apartment as best he can.

He begins by taking out the trash by Tango’s bedside and replacing the liner, making sure to work as quietly as possible. He replaces the trash liner in the kitchen as well and leaves the bags by the front door for later disposal. The kitchen itself definitely needs some TLC, so before he can start on breakfast he works on tidying up. He wipes down the countertops and puts all the left out boxes and jars back in their respective homes, and even does a little bit of organizing in the cupboards and fridge while he’s at it. Jimmy cringes when he sees all the dishes he’s let pile up in the sink and wonders how they haven’t started smelling yet. So he loads the dishwasher next and puts away what clean dishes have been left out, and by the time he’s done with that it’s only been thirty minutes since his alarm went off, which feels like a success, if you ask him.

After cleaning off the table and sweeping the tile Jimmy decides it’s sufficiently clean enough for him to shift his focus to the matter of breakfast without feeling guilty. After surveying the meager contents of the fridge—all the while mentally adding grocery shopping to his ever-growing to-do list—he begins scrounging together the ingredients for omelets. As much as Tango loves pancakes, Jimmy just made some for him last night, and he can only have so many of the fluffy cakes before it starts getting repetitive.

As he’s letting the stovetop warm up while mixing together all the ingredients, the bedroom door creaks open—which quickly adds oil the door hinges to his list. Craning his neck, he gets a good look at Tango, swaddled up in blankets and looking for all the world like a bear reluctant to come out of hibernation, as the man waddles into the kitchen. He’d never say it aloud as it would surely only agitate him further, but Jimmy does find it kinda cute when Tango’s nose and cheeks are red like they are now.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jimmy asks, ensuring to keep his tone down. He pours the first round of eggs into the skillet, one eye on the stovetop and the other on his sleep-hazy boyfriend.

Tango shakes his head, agitating his sleep-mussed hair even further. “Nah,” he says groggily, his words rough around the edges thanks to the sickness. Jimmy gives him a little sympathetic smile before turning back to the task at hand.

Wandering up behind him, Tango wraps his arms around Jimmy’s midsection and leans up against him. Jimmy huffs affectionately as Tango nuzzles into him, slowing his movements reflexively. “Have you taken your temperature this morning?” he asks while he carefully folds the omelet in the skillet.

“Don’ wanna,” comes Tango’s muffled reply. Jimmy rolls his eyes, leaning awkwardly in Tango’s grip to grab a plate to put the omelet on.

“Might wanna get on that.” He presents Tango with the omelet, who eyes it hungrily. The arms slip away from Jimmy’s sides to support the plate and Tango toddles off to the island, the length of the blanket suspended around his shoulders flapping the whole way. Once Tango is successfully situated at the newly cleaned island, Jimmy begins to work on his own omelet.

“Will you pass me the hot sauce?” Tango asks after Jimmy’s poured his eggs into the skillet, making grabby motions towards the countertop that the condiments are situated on.

Jimmy narrows his gaze incredulously at Tango. “The spice isn’t good for your throat, Tango.”

Tango grumbles in response, making puppy-dog eyes at Jimmy. “But I want to actually taste it, Jim!”

“Not today, sorry.” He steps over to the island and slides the salt and pepper shakers closer to Tango with a grin. Tango makes a big show of sighing loftily before accepting the salt and pepper shakers, much to his own chagrin.

While the majority of his to-do list for the day involves tidying up, the very first item on the agenda is to take care of Tango, because who doesn’t appreciate being looked after while they’re sick?

When Jimmy’s omelet is done he slides it across the island to the other stool and then makes a beeline for the bathroom, where he rummages around in the drawers for the thermometer. He emerges triumphant and sets the thermometer down in front of the perturbed Tango, before planting an affectionate kiss on top of the man’s head.

“We need to work on keeping your fever down,” Jimmy says as he sits beside Tango, equipping his utensils to dig into his own breakfast. “Which means a lot more fluids and a lot less blankets.”

Tango huffs out a little whine as he removes the protective covering of the thermometer. “But it’s so cold…”

Before Tango can protest, Jimmy reaches over and plants his palm over Tango’s forehead. Tango makes a noise of discordance, but does not try to evade Jimmy’s touch. He’s not as warm as he was yesterday when the sickness began to ramp up, but the unnatural warmth is still definitely there.

“Still warm.” He pats the thermometer a couple times encouragingly, meeting Tango’s unimpressed look with a zany smile.

When breakfast is had and Tango’s temperature has finally been taken—lower from yesterday, but still higher than Jimmy would prefer—Jimmy is able to get back to tidying up the apartment. The dishes are minimal from breakfast, and Tango even volunteers to put the silverware away. He instructs Tango to drink some water before he runs the trash down the hall to the chute, and when he returns Tango has situated himself on the couch.

“We should watch a movie,” Tango says, remote in hand as he scrubs through the available channels.

“You can turn one on.” Jimmy cringes as he steps across the threshold into the living room, just now noticing how dirty the coffee table is and how he can’t seem to escape doing the dishes this morning. He uses one arm to scoop up the left-out cups and the other to pull one of Tango’s blankets off of him, much to the man’s protest.

It’s a juggle of sorting through their yet-to-be organized boxes of things and checking up on Tango—who is more than content to lay on the couch watching his favorite 80s movies, repeating his favorite lines that he has memorized by heart, all the while poking little jabs at Jimmy when he can. It’s endearing in a way that Jimmy doesn’t shy away from.

By the time Jimmy feels like he’s done enough to be able to vacuum, Tango has paused his movie so he doesn’t miss anything important; the irony of ‘missing something’ in a movie he’s seen countless times does not go unmissed by Jimmy.

As he works his way around the living room, attempting to be both quick and thorough at the same time, he makes sure to voice his apologies to Tango. “Sorry,” he says when he vacuums right behind the couch, leaning over it and using one arm to move Tango’s wrist upwards so that he can kiss his palm. “Sorry,” he says right before pecking Tango on the forehead as he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table. “Sorry,” he says when he finally turns the vacuum off, stepping over and leaning down to press a kiss against the corner of Tango’s mouth.

But before he can, Tango makes a noise of protest and gently pushes him on his chest. “I’m going to get you sick,” he half-laughs out, but the smile on his face gives him away.

“Hm,” Jimmy says contemplatively, unable to deny himself the pleasure of mirroring Tango’s own smile, “Don’t really care.” He settles for a kiss against Tango’s cheek instead, which thankfully comes with less protest from his boyfriend.

“Well you’re gonna care when you end up on the other side of this couch sick with me.” Tango looks up at Jimmy with this indescribable sparkle in his eyes, one that makes Jimmy feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

Jimmy stands up tall and pretends to flex, getting a kick out of the way Tango rolls his eyes. “I’ve got a strong immune system!” He says, even as Tango’s wacking him in the side with one of the throw pillows, the both of them giggling the whole way.

Ten or so minutes later Tango’s phone rings, alerting them that his prescription is ready. So Jimmy’s plans for the day are once more offset as he realizes he is going to have to go out in the rain after all, which still hasn’t let up from this morning.

Shucking on his rain coat and the pair of sneakers he’s least attached to, Jimmy decides to brave the downpour. The raindrops are heavy and cold, so he zips up his coat as tight as possible. The pharmacy is at the corner store just a few blocks down, so there’s no use driving. Considering his luck, he’s not surprised that he has to wait at every single crosswalk, but he’s still dry-ish when he finally makes it into the corner store.

He quickly gets sidetracked, though, when he passes down the canned foods aisle and gets an idea.

“Gem!” he greets when his friend’s face appears on his phone screen, only the top portion of her face visible from this angle. “Quick, what’s the best type of soup for someone who’s ill?”

“Hello to you, too, Jimmy,” says Gem with a little tired laugh. “Are you ill? You don’t look ill.” She squints into the camera lens, which only makes her look sillier given the way her phone screen reflects in the lenses of her glasses.

Jimmy lets out a small laugh, squatting down to survey all his options. “No, not me, Tango.”

Gem backs away from her phone screen, wincing. “Yeesh. Good luck with that.”

“I’m working on it. Now, soup?”

“Ah, yes!” Almost immediately her expression sours. “Wait, why are you asking me this? Pearl is the soup expert!” Before Jimmy can stop her, Gem tilts her head over what looks to be the top of her couch, and shouts, “Pearl! Can you come here?”

Seconds later Pearl appears in frame, the screen now divided between the both of them. “What’s up, Jimmy?” Pearl says in greeting as she spots him on the other side of the facetime call.

“He needs soup advice,” Gem explains to her roommate, all the while adjusting the positioning of the glasses on her face.

The gasp that erupts from Pearl is nothing short of overjoyed. “You need soup advice? I got soup advice! So much soup advice!”

What was supposed to be a quick facetime turns into a soup hunt extravaganza as the three of them work out which soup has the best flavor to medicinal value ratio, while still keeping in mind cost and size of the soup can. They end up settling for a creamy chicken noodle soup, which is probably what Jimmy would have gone with from the get-go, but he doesn’t mind using the excuse to talk to his friends on a gloomy day when bad weather and long-neglected chores keeps them apart.

Gem and Pearl accompany him to the pharmacy counter and wait with him while he gets Tango’s meds, and they say their goodbyes when Jimmy’s suiting up to brave the rain once more. Luckily the weather has let up a little bit to the point of a drizzle, but that doesn’t stop the cars on the street from whizzing by and attempting to drench him with dirty street water.

When he finally makes it back to the apartment with the prescriptions and soup in hand, the movie has ended and Tango is snoring softly on the couch. He stirs as Jimmy moves around the apartment, so when Jimmy walks over with the prescription in hand the man is awake enough to register that the pills are for him.

“Here you go!” Jimmy says, waving the prescription bag in front of him. Tango takes it from him and begins rummaging through it as Jimmy stands at the ready with a glass of ice water. “Drink up! Or, would swallow up work better in this context?”

Tango barks out a startled laugh before clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. Jimmy feels his face warm as he realizes the dirty connotations in his own words, but it seems like Tango’s getting a kick out of it, at the very least.

“Please never say that again,” Tango laughs out, sitting up so he can take the glass of water from Jimmy. He plops down beside Tango on the couch and uses the opportunity to remove his sneakers while Tango takes his meds.

“I got some soup while I was out,” Jimmy says after a moment. “I was thinking, I could draw you a bath and warm up some soup for lunch while you’re at it.” He gently nudges his shoulder against Tango’s, craving any semblance of closeness to him despite his illness.

Leaning into Jimmy, Tango buries his head in the crook of Jimmy’s neck. He gives a small dreamy sigh that Jimmy’s pretty certain is overdramatized as he slips his hand into Jimmy’s. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You deserve all this and more, Jimmy thinks. If I could snap my fingers and make you better I would, but for now I will settle for fighting your fever and making you tea.

He gets the bath going and sets out clean clothes for Tango in the meantime, and performs a quick tidy of their closet, which really only involves throwing the clothes from on the floor into the hamper. There is a half-filled basket of clean clothes from the other day that Tango has yet to fold, so he gets that done speedily and then begins heating up the soup for lunch. They’ve got a loaf of bread that is on the edge of its expiration date that he butters and adds some garlic salt to to compliment their soup, which is about when Tango finishes with his bath and emerges from the bathroom. His hair is damp and sticks to his face, but he looks a little more lively than before.

Tango hums along to the music Jimmy turned on for background noise while he cooked, and he begins gathering bowls and utensils for their lunch. Jimmy can’t help but watch from the sidelines as Tango pads around the kitchen gracefully, even as he turns away every so often to cough or sneeze into his elbow. But the sickness never really deters Jimmy, who has, in truth, always been captivated by Tango.

Wordlessly the two of them work in tandem to prepare their lunch, a well oiled machine that they’ve perfected after so many afternoons and nights spent in one another’s company. It’s at moments like these that Jimmy questions why he was ever worried about asking Tango to move in with him, when the truth of the matter is that they go perfectly together.

When their meal is ready, Tango compliments Jimmy’s choice of soup and they sit down to enjoy it. Jimmy tells Tango all about his adventure to the corner store and how Pearl and Gem assisted in his soup quest, and Tango eagerly listens the whole way. Jimmy’s noticed that when Tango is very focused on him or something he’s saying, he makes a certain facial expression, one that Jimmy just so happens to find very cute. Unfortunately for him, he’s not allowed to kiss Tango until he’s perfectly healthy to prevent Jimmy from getting sick as well, so he settles for simply relishing in the way Tango looks at him.

Halfway through their meal when conversation has lulled, Tango gently kicks Jimmy’s ankle underneath the table to get his attention and grins mischievously at him. “So I was thinking…” He begins, looking positively pleased with himself.

Jimmy raises his eyebrows playfully as he lifts a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Mm. Dangerous.”

“Shut up!” Tango squawks, kicking Jimmy’s ankle more forcefully this time. Jimmy laughs, both at himself and Tango’s overdramatic reactions, which in turn gets Tango giggling too. He gains his composure after a few seconds and continues, “Okay, hear me out. You take a break from cleaning and running errands and just generally being amazing and watch a movie with me.” He grins at Jimmy with that insanely bright smile of his, the one that makes Jimmy want to just melt into him.

But the temptation of relaxing alongside his boyfriend brings with it an immense amount of guilt at not getting around to everything he wanted to today—there’s still groceries to be bought and door hinges to be oiled and plants to be watered and probably countless other things he hasn’t noticed that need his attention.

He worries at his bottom lip, setting down his utensils to be able to focus more. “I dunno, Tango. It feels like there’s still so much to be done.”

Tango rolls his eyes and leans back into his chair. “Oh, come on. You deserve some rest too!” He makes a big show of looking around the apartment and waving his arms around. “And, plus, you’ve already done so much! What’s the harm in a little movie-watch-ification?”

He does make a good point, Jimmy realizes: he’s gotten a lot done already, and it’s only noon. It couldn’t hurt to unwind for an hour or two, right?

Really, it was a losing battle for Jimmy from the very beginning, because A) Tango’s ideas are nine out of ten times good ones, and B) Jimmy’s always had a hard time saying no to Tango, especially when he smiles so radiantly at him.

So, with a big show of huffing and shaking his head, Jimmy effectively throws in the towel. “Fine,” he says, which immediately makes Tango’s eyes light up, “but only one movie!”

“Can I pick the movie?” Tango asks, standing up from his seat while collecting his dirty dishes. When Jimmy nods, Tango whoops as he makes a beeline for the sink, already going off about all the classics that Jimmy has embarrassingly never seen before their relationship.

Tango is in charge of setting up the movie as Jimmy washes up—for what is now the fourth time he’s washed the dishes this morning—so when he makes it to the living room with two water glasses in hand, the movie is ready and Tango is eager waiting for him with arms outstretched. Jimmy lowers himself onto the couch beside Tango and they slot into place as Tango starts up the movie. He manages to sneak in a quick kiss against Tango’s cheek as the opening credits begin to roll and then he’s finally able to settle, lulled by the sense of safety and security that comes with being close to Tango. Even though he feels like there’s still much to be done, he reminds himself that he’s done enough for now and should be allowed to enjoy some time with his sick boyfriend during their time off.

And even if Jimmy himself winds up sick at the end of it all from not being careful around Tango illness, he won’t regret having been there for his boyfriend when he needed him; Tango will be there to take care of him in return, Jimmy is sure.

They’re perfect for each other, in that way.

#trafficshipping #solidaritek #team rancher #rancher duo #fanfic #fic #my writing #mine #really proud of this one! hope you like <3

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ballerinainskzville · 1 year

Text

Summertime Sadness - Hyunjin one shot

Summary: Hyunjin had a crush on you since freshman year. The reason he started dancing was to get closer to you. You, a jazz dancer. Hyunjin is a contemporary dancer. For the end of the year performances, he wants to ask you to be his dancing partner.

Word count: 2,9k

TW: cheesy

The moment Hyunjin had seen you walking amongst the bookshelves, he couldn’t get you out of his head. You looked like an Impressionism painting in real life, gracing their company. His breath had strutted, all he could see was your search for a specific book. Until he was able to gather up the confidence to talk to you, you had disappeared again.

For the eternity of the first semester, Hyunjin kept recalling the scene of you in the library. He wasn’t a fan of going to parties, rather sticking to calm, indoor activities. His roommate, Jisung, called them introverted activities. Over time, Hyunjin found himself sketching you whenever he wandered off. By the end of the first semester, you graced most of his artwork. From simple sketches to acrylic paintings, he had drawn them all. His favorite was the iconic elevator kiss of Romeo and Juliette of the 1997 movie. Romeo and Juliette are replaced with the faces of you two. You were his nameless muse.

On a rainy day of the second semester, he had returned soaked and wet into his dormitory. The weather had surprised him on his way back from classes, soaking in everything on the way. With an annoyed sigh, he closed the door of the dormitory. And that’s when he saw you. Sitting by the small dining table in the kitchen. He blinked. He rubbed his eyes. He was dreaming for sure.

You were sipping from your tea, on your phone. You were real. You were in his dorm. You were here.

“Oh, hello! You must be Jisung’s roommate?”, you smiled at him as you noticed Hyunjin standing in the hallway. All the hopes that had bloomed up in his chest shattered within a second. Jisung brought you over. Were you two dating? Was Jisung planning on having you-

Clearing his throat, Hyunjin searched for the words desperately in the back of his mind. “Y-yes! I’m his roommate”, he nodded. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw how flustered he was. “Does the roommate have a name?”

“Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin”, he replied with slowly tinting cheeks. You noticed that and found it adorable.

“What a beautiful name. It suits you”, you commented as you watched him over. “I’m Y/N”, you told him and Jisung appeared again.

“Bro, what puddle did you fall in?”, Jisung commented as he walked past Hyunjin. Laptop in hand. “Uh?”, Hyunjin had forgotten that his clothes were sticking to his skin when he saw you. This is how you’d seen him. How he’d introduced himself to you. “You two are?”, he asked with hesitation, the question directed more toward Jisung. He couldn’t find the courage to look at you.

“We’re working on a song for our class. The studios are all booked out so we’ll mix here. Would you mind?”, Jisung explained and Hyunjin quickly shook his head. He was relieved. You weren’t dating his roommate. You were working on songs for classes. But what if something blossomed out of this class project? “I’ll leave you two alone to work on the song if you excuse me”, Hyunjin dipped his head a bit before he made his way to his room.

Y/N, the girl of his dreams for the past months was in his dormitory. As desperate as he was to get closer to you, the fear of messing up the next step was holding him back.

By the end of sophomore year, Hyunjin’s mind was still consumed by you. He had tried going on dates. To move on from you but he always ended up searching for you in the faces of the people that he met. Despite knowing you, he couldn’t bring himself to confess his feelings to you. The fear of rejection was a stone weighing him down. No one lived up to you, in his world.

Shortly after Jisung and your project were wrapped up, he had overheard Jisung’s conversation that you’d be joining the dance club on campus. Charmed by the idea of dancing, and getting you to watch dance, Hyunjin signed up for the dance club too. After the audition, Hyunjin was placed into the modern contemporary dance group. You were in the jazz class. Again, the world seemed to keep you away from him. He couldn’t get himself to ask for changing the groups as with time he found himself falling in love with contemporary art. Other than his paintings, nothing had made him feel as free and expressive as letting his body speak the words he was so afraid to voice.

Dancing became a part of him and whenever he had a free minute, he’d find himself in the dance studio to practice.

As the jazz group had their practice right before his contemporary group, he got to see you and your group doing their final steps while he was warming up.

You were mesmerizing, even more than before.

The songs and your movements were one. A union, based on confidence and fierce passion. Your facial expressions drove his mind into places, you knew that you captivated the eyes of the people watching you. The most improper lyrics suddenly seemed like a show of female empowerment for him when you danced to it. Even if he knew that you preferred not to dance such vulgar lyrics. You didn’t let it show.

Today, both of your groups were called in at the same time. The dance club would have a performance at the end of your sophomore semester and the club responsible, who was choreographing most of the songs, announced that both groups would dance together. As a duo.

Hyunjin’s heart fluttered at the news and he glanced over at you. You stand a couple of feet away from him, attentively listening.

This could be Hyunjin’s chance to get closer to you. The thought alone to dance with you in his arms washed a wave of hope, desire, and fear over him. If he couldn’t voice out his feelings for you, maybe his body could.

“Choose your partners till Friday, that’s when we’ll start with the choreography!”

Everyone started to scatter around, trying to grab their favorite partner. Gathering up his little courage, Hyunjin turned around to approach you. However, you were already gone. Again. “Hey, have you seen Y/N?”, Hyunjin asked another girl in your group. “Oh yes, she just left together with Felix”, the girl replied. Seemed like you already had a partner. He pressed his lips into a thin line in bitter frustration. How much longer could he let the fear consume him? How much longer could he let you live in his head?

Hyunjin knew Felix. Everyone loved Felix. He was a sunshine amongst people, very kind towards anyone around him. They did a group project once and Felix didn’t hesitate to shoulder most of the work when Hyunjin was struggling to keep up due to the ongoing exams he had to take.

Saying goodbye to the group after grabbing his bag, Hyunjin quickly left the studio, back to his dormitory. The remaining classes for the day were not important to him anymore. All he wanted was to deal with the defeat and frustration that dwelled inside of him. He needed to let it out. And the best way for him to do this was either the canvas or the dance floor. As dancing would rub further salt into the wound, painting welcomed him with open arms like an old friend.

Hyunjin painted and painted, from dark sketches representing the chaos in his mind to pictures of older couples, representing eternal love. And yet again, you were his muse. You were on his mind. The couple in the pictures looked like you two. Older. Wiser. Calmer. In love.

As he stared into the last painting he had drawn, the dimness of his room taking him into the darkness, he put the brush away. It didn’t work out in the way he hoped it would help to ease his emotions. He found himself, yet again, in daydreams that were consumed by you. Groan escaping his lips, he threw a jacket on and grabbed his bag, ready to return to the studio. Let the wound burn, he was ready to bleed out if it could help him move on from you.

When he arrived at the studio, around 10 pm, he noticed that the light was on. Usually, he’d be the only one to practice so late. A few steps closer, he saw you dancing in from the mirrored door. Hyunjin halted in his tracks. As light as a feather, you moved across the floor. It was a piece that Hyunjin had choreographed himself! Fast beating heart and clouded mind, Hyunjin opened the door. You stopped dancing, startled by his presence. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you!”, he apologized, hand waving frantically. You looked up at him, sitting on the floor with a soft smile. “It’s okay, I just didn’t hear you coming in. Hyunjin, right?”, you asked him with a warm smile. He felt his knees tremble a little and nodded. You let the silence linger for a few more seconds before you spoke up again: “Jisung’s roommate! That’s where I know you are from. I thought you looked familiar when I saw you perform”

Mustering his courage, he walked a little closer to you. Seeing you in your dance practice clothes, hair messy from dancing, let the fire coil in the pit of his stomach. Which is a mundane reaction but he shouldn’t feel about you this way. “And you even choreographed it, right? The same piece I just danced right now?”, you looked up at him with expecting eyes, waiting for a sentence that was longer than a shy response from him.

“Yes, I choreographed it myself. You looked really good dancing to it, by the way”, he smiled softly at you. Your smile widened upon his hearing his compliment. Hyunjin was a phenomenal contemporary dancer giving that he was dancing for more than a year. Whenever his group did a small performance or you got to watch them outside the practice room, your attention diverted to him. Fixed on him, you imagined dancing together with him. Spending time with him.

He was a heavenly soul, you had told your roommate after last year's performances. How could you know if you never spend time with him, she had asked you in return. You just knew. That there were more layers to offer than his handsome looks and insane dancing skills. There was a part of him but it didn’t define him. You’d love to figure it out, you had been dying to get closer to him. But on each occasion that had come up, he had run away from you. You weren’t used to chasing a guy, they would naturally come up to you. With Hyunjin, you were hesitant. You couldn’t read what was going on in his mind. If he wanted to blow off the steam of his system or court you in the good old-school way. All you knew is that he was single. Which had left so many girls on campus wondering why he was neither seen with a girl on a date nor if he had trouble coming up. Either way, it wasn’t anyone’s business but Hyunjin’s. But people loved rubbing their noses into someone else’s business.

“Thank you! I’m still struggling with the opening. How do you make it look so effortlessly?” You looked up at him as he was towering over you. “I’m sure you’re making it look better than you give yourself credit. But if you show me, maybe I can help with what you’re not satisfied with?”, he suggested.

You had been performing on stage for the majority of your life. Danced in front of thousands of people. But the thought of dancing just for Hyunjin to see made your heart flutter. You wanted to impress him, that was for sure. A nod and you stood up, putting the song on again.

Seconds later, you began to dance to Summertime Sadness, choreographed by Hyunjin. Also attentively watched by Hyunjin. His Pokerface was masking any expression as he watched you move and you focused on yourself in the mirror, trying to execute the moves correctly. Once you were done, you were laying on the floor, your lungs ringing for air. The art of contemporary dancing was to make it look effortless but it executing it was the exact opposite.

Hyunjin uncrossed his arms and walked closer to you. “It’s your core strength. When you fall into the Emboité, you need your core strength to balance yourself out. That way your arms are more relaxed and will fall smoother. Let me show you?”. He looked at you with anticipation. You lost yourself in the way he had just pronounced the French word. You stood up quickly, facing the mirror again. He stood next to you, falling into position. And executed the perfect Emboité that you tried to copy. Which looked better now too. “Want to try it again with music?”, as you nodded, he walked over to the player and let the song start again. Upon the begging, he was standing close to you, observing. As you moved into the Emboité your supporting foot wobbled, missing the balance. Before your face met the floor, Hyunjin’s arms caught you. “Uh, sorry”, you mumbled in embarrassment. Feeling the embarrassment evident on your cheeks too. Hyunjin’s hands were firmly placed on your hips and he didn’t let go when you straightened yourself again. The music was still playing in the back and he was staring at you through the mirror from behind. Your eyes locked on each other and without muttering a word, both of you began to dance.

You weren’t experienced in contemporary as Jazz and Hip Hop had been your preferred dancing styles. But dancing with Hyunjin as a duo to one of your favorite songs elevated you to new heights you’d never reached before. You saw the way his body move, trying to be seen and heard as he graced the floor. How could someone move so effortlessly get speak such loud volumes with no sound? You moved in each other's arms and rolled on the floor, he lifted you and caught you again. Like a promise, he’d do the same in real life, outside the dancing studio, too. When you were done, his arm was wrapped around your waist and your face was mere centimeters away from you.

Both of you panting, you couldn’t hide the smile on your face. You’ve never enjoyed a duet as much as you did with Hyunjin. “Hyunjin? Dance with me”, you whispered, tracing the back of his perfectly sculpted hand. “You want to do the same song again?”, he tilted his head before taking a step back, retrieving his arm from you. Cold instantly hit you from the once prickling skin where his arm had touched you. You stopped him in his tracks, holding his hand with both of yours. “No! I mean. I want you to be my dance partner. For the show”, you explained. Your usual confidence seemed to be replaced with shyness. Hyunjin’s gaze was melting and undressing you at the same time and as much as it flattered you, it made you nervous too. “I thought Felix-“, he began.

“Felix isn’t participating in the show. He’ll be in Australia for his exchange semester by then. Plus I still wouldn’t have asked him if he was here. Our dancing techniques are too different. I want you”.

I want you.

These three words coming from you, directing to him, were a confession that Hyunjin had dreamed and desired for longer than he’d want to admit. If you asked him, he still would confess to you the truth. There wasn’t a possible a thing he could hide from you. His breath hitched as his heart began to beat faster. “Really?” he needed the reassurance that he wasn’t dreaming. That he hasn’t fallen asleep while painting you again. That this was real.

“Really… and only if you don’t mind, we could spend some time outside of dance practice too? I heard you like going to art museums”, you smiled warmly at him.

Hyunjin’s heart was about to give out. Not only you asked him to be your dance partner but also out on a date?

“I honestly would love to”

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