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ronearoundblindly · 3 months

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WAIT jimmy + a kiss in public

Strange New World, a tale for Valentine's Day 2024

Jimmy Dobyne x professor!reader from Common Education

Summary: After years of this secret, on-and-off relationship with Jimmy (a student only a few years younger than you), he's determined to make it official before his graduation.

Warnings for a man who knows what he wants ⚠️woah boi⚠️, referenced smutty times, and Jimmy maybe turning me into a fan of the South g'damn. MINORS DNI. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 2k

You hate the habit and the smell, but at least James Dobyne’s smoking makes him predictable.

He’s a sculpted, contrasting vision in his crisp suit, something majestic about the billowing plumes pushed so deftly from his mouth. It warms you even though the breeze envelops your shoulders and flutters the black satin of your gown.

The Dean’s List party—a formal celebration for the upcoming graduates—is always a big deal for students and faculty, and it just so happens to be the only campus event where you both have had reason to attend.

Just not together.

None of these people really know about you. Jimmy is not a major in your field, and he hasn’t been in a class of yours for over three years now, but you’re still hesitant to ‘come out’ as a couple. This party doesn’t even involve plus-ones. It’s more taboo to be seen as a pair here than anywhere else.

Instead, you’ve found him outside with his vice.

He sees you immediately, taking a long drag of his cigarette, blatantly undressing you with his eyes, not unlike how he left hot kisses up your skin while he zipped you up two hours ago.

You grin and swing the skirt of your dress playfully. “Wha’ch’doing?”

The searing tip dies out while Jimmy cracks his own smile.

“Tryna cover the taste of ya,” he husks, wiping the corner of his mouth.

You strain to hold your amusement though your thoughts are transported to when he helped you with the small clasp on your strappy heels and slid his hand all the way up your leg. He snapped the gusset of your panties for fun before moving them aside.

You have to clear your throat. “And the whole dinner you just ate couldn’t do that?”

“No,” he adds slyly. He’s natural and happy as he leans in, reaching for a hug and a kiss, but you panic.

“Jimmy, not here.”

“Why not? We came here from the same apartment.” He has the wherewithal to lower his voice, exhaling another puff of smoke. “I sleep at your’s most nights. That whole crowd is celebrating a bunch of kids graduating out of this system, so if not here, and if not now, when?”

You can’t resist pointing out his own word. “Kids…”

He straightens, stance defensive and eyes detached, the picture of a film noir character.

“If you had your way, you’d only acknowledge I exist once I’m good and gone, Teach—” he flicks ash off the cig “—tucked back away in Tennessee.”

“That’s not true,” you deflate at the mention of him leaving.

You want to hold him, you really do, but your whole body screams in awareness of the few others loitering outside the event for a minute of fresh air.

“Well, that’s what it feels like.” He stomps out the butt of his cigarette. “They do this every year, don’t they? Fair to say they expect us to mingle.

“Then let’s mingle. And you—“ Jimmy reaches out again, sure to tough your bare neck this time “—are gonna call me your boyfriend.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He uses the same finger to brush away one of your dangling earrings. “Introduce me as your boyfriend to someone here, right now.”

“People don’t need to know we’ve been…intimate,” you gulp back.

“Intimacies often end up in marriage. People’d know about that, wouldn’t they? Eventually.”

“Jimmy…”

You don’t know whether to run away or drop your panties at the dark look he pins you with, but that is the exact problem.

You’re worried about how the man who fucked you in the dress on your kitchen counter earlier—the one who called you greedy for desperately begging to come a second time before leaving the apartment—is going to behave in public to your colleagues. You’ve had to be so careful for years, and you fear the very real possibility that Jimmy will break. He might not care about his reputation, but you do; you have to care.

Quietly, you ask, “and what if I can’t do it?”

He looks around, clearly disappointed.

“Woman,” he huffs, standing within an inch but making no contact with any part of you, “I’m sayin’ if you can’t choose us, then we never existed.”

He has every right. You’ve been at war with your heart all these years, and it’s high time you declare a victor.

Jimmy Dobyne is twenty-eight years old, and he’s more than proven he adores you. It’s only at your insistence this has been secret for so long.

You give in.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” he beams, giddy and boyish, and you hope beyond hope that he’ll keep it together.

He offers his arm. You take it, thrilled at the substance of the thick sleeve. The moment does feel fancy and official.

As you pass beneath the archway inside though, you round on him.

“But under no circumstances are you to call me ‘Teach,’ got it?” Because that’s all you need to really blow up your life.

Jimmy holds your hand fast to the crook of his arm, bowing his head ever-so slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes but accept, stepping into the noisy, enormous ballroom, together, his hand still sheltering yours.

“Don’t worry. I’mma pick the stuffiest looking guy,” Jimmy muses, “someone so aloof ‘e won’t care a lick what you’re even saying.”

That’s when you see him—your ex.

The man who wrecked the flow of your life and trampled on your self-esteem is talking to a pretty, young colleague, and Jimmy is steering you right for them.

“Not him,” you hiss, savagely gripping Jimmy’s arm.

“Why not?”

“I’m telling you. Please, don’t—”

“Too late. I’ve made eye contact.”

Tyler is rarely at these function, and if it weren’t a university-wide event, he likely wouldn’t be here now. That was the beauty of polar-opposite departments; it served you well until the one only moment you needed it to serve you.

“Long time, no see.”

Bespectacled with salty streaks in his dark hair and a haughty expression that radiates superiority, you are not surprised Tyler fit the criteria for men-who-don’t-listen. You force a smile anyway.

“Tyler…it’s been a while.” Do not faint. Do not punch him. Do not tip that bastard’s scotch right into his face. “Jimmy,” you motion. “This is Tyler Brinwood.”

“Doctor Tyler Brinwood,” he corrects, “and this is Giselle Whitley, my department co-chair.”

Of course. Of fucking course.

For a man so consistently belittling of your education, god forbid you forget about his.

“Oh, yes, Missus Whitley—“ whose husband is a well-known banker and about two decades older “—I’ve heard great things. You’ve been a wiz at securing funding.”

“Thank you. It’s a lot harder than it looks,” she says with a wink.

Jimmy makes it clear he doesn’t recognize either name, and he wouldn’t because you’ve never talked about it, ever.

You snap back to the point of this horror show.

“Tyler, Giselle, this is James Dobyne.” A sharp breath in flares your nostrils. “My boyfriend.”

Your ex chuckles in the most humorless way.

“Interesting. Certainly giving the term ‘boy’ a run for its money, eh, Dusty?” He takes a sip of his scotch and looks to Giselle and then you for validation.

“What did you just call her?” Jimmy asks flatly, a hard edge to his tone that implies volumes of distaste.

“It’s about the smell of old books, that’s all.” Tyler can’t believe no one else finds this amusing.

Jimmy is more shocked by this stuffy, tactless man than when he walked up. “Why would you call a lady ‘dusty’?”

Giselle makes a face. “I’m afraid I agree with Mister Dobyne.”

You hope it chafes Tyler that his own friend already remembers Jimmy’s name.

“Well…” Tyler licks his lips and waves his free hand dismissively. “Old friends have…inside jokes.”

You’re not laughing. You’re actually about ready to crawl into a hole and seal it with a boulder.

“Giving that term ‘old’ a run for its money, huh, Brentwood,” Jimmy rumbles in the most sincerely cruel voice you’ve ever heard from him.

If you could carry just one photograph with you for the rest of your life, it would be a shot of Tyler’s face right there.

“It’s Brinwood.”

Giselle discreetly covers her grin with a large swig of her white wine. The men continue to stare each other down.

“So Jaime—“ asshole, you think “—are you a history major?”

Jimmy lets that slide. “Business.”

“Ah yes, the most common curriculum at this prestigious institution. Plan to do anything with your degree?”

Boisterous, pompous mother-fucker, you internally rage. You have the urge to spin around and leave without another word.

“Actually,” Jimmy starts with excitement, curling his arm around your waist as if sensing your will to run, “I took over my family’s general store when I was fourteen—nineteen, if you looked at the official paperwork—and I plan to expand the parking lot into a permanent farmer’s market.” He waits for Tyler, but there’s no immediate response. “I’m sorry, did you follow that? What do you study again?”

“I teach mathematics.”

“No shame in that,” Jimmy adds easily. “Love numbers. Been keeping the books since I was in elementary school.”

“Pure mathematics,” Tyler specifies, bitterness souring his already puckered look.

Jimmy sucks at his teeth in mock admiration.

“Wow. You plannin’ to…do anything with that?”

The silence that follows is palpable.

Giselle snorts while you try to corale a runaway, bug-eyed expression. If you had a drink in your hand, you would have choked.

When Tyler continues to frown, Jimmy looks at you and smiles sweetly, no hint of judgment for your ex’s behavior to be found.

“Ready, beautiful?” He rubs the satin at your side, and Jimmy cannot possibly understand how comforted you are by his presence.

Then he turns back, his point made, the ultimatum complete.

“If you’ll excuse us, it was nice to meet you, doctor, ma’am, but we’ve got a lot of mingling to do before the night’s over.”

He kisses your temple, a gesture somehow more intimate than if he’d bent you backwards and made out with you. It implies you’ve already done that. He’s announcing this isn’t new. Jimmy’s showing that he is neither a boy, nor a recent addition to your life, and that Tyler is, in fact, an old-old friend no longer inside your sphere.

Tyler’s niceties are barely audible, but Giselle wiggles her fingers with a cute “tohdaloo.”

Jimmy guides you through a throng of faceless people. You realize it doesn’t matter who sees you because none of them matter to this: to you and Jimmy. This is the pair of you, a couple, a girlfriend and a boyfriend and no one else.

Your boyfriend keeps you glued to his side until you stop at the bar. He releases your hip so you can face him, his crooked finger holding your chin high.

There’s a loving sympathy in his soft blue eyes.

“Thank you,” Jimmy whispers and gently kisses your lips, hardly enough to transfer your lipstick. Regardless, he checks the supple line with a sweep of his thumb. “Sorry I picked that guy though.”

Jimmy’s shrug of apology is plenty.

He might never understand, but that little interaction has soothed more fears than you could ever voice about how real what you have with Jimmy is.

Jimmy comes from a simple life. It’s straight-forward and without fuss. You do the chore; the chore is done. Rarely do social complications come up. Rarely would emotions derail the success of that work. New York is different, and it’s felt so wrong to expose a man brought up so simply, so wholesomely, to that complex and unfair game of egos.

He deserves a simple love, but you do not live in a simple world.

And yet, you already love him.

Jake Jensen and a kiss where it doesn't hurt ⬅️ ➡️ Ransom Drysdale and a kiss out of spite

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts

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