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vipwinnie · 7 months

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New boy

Mattheo Riddle x reader

Summary:a new boy arrives at hogwarts, he hits on you and mattheo is jealous

You waited with your arms crossed sitting on a bench in the hall. It all started last week when Dumbledore summoned him to his office. This day Dumbledore announces the arrival of a new student. He therefore offers you to be his tutor during his integration. A proposal that you will accept. So this is how you find yourself here waiting for this new student. You were still in thought when the doors opened to reveal an unfamiliar face. He had neatly styled brown hair and piercing blue eyes, He was of average height, with an athletic build. He confidently enters the entrance hall, immediately attracting the attention of some students. He was followed closely by Professor Snape. Professor Snape beckons you to come closer. “Do you know why you are here,” he asked me in a serious tone. You nod. "This is Justin. Help him integrate and get his bearings at school." And he leaves you alone with the boy. “Hi, my name is Y/N,” you introduce yourself, wanting to make yourself friendly. But there only you in return was silence. Deciding to end this awkward moment, you continue “well I’ll show you around the school then” forcing a slight smile on you. "Hi beauty, my name is Justin, and I can't help but notice how lucky I was to come across a girl as beautiful as you" he replied with a little satisfied smile. “Um, thanks, I guess. But you know, bold compliments aren't really my cup of tea. " Ah really ? I thought you'd be flattered by the attention from a guy like me.

“Excuse me, but I'm not really interested in guys who are arrogant. I like people who are authentic and respectful.” “Haha, you look cute when you try to resist me. But let me tell you something, I’m the type of guy who always gets what he wants.” “Look, you can keep your arrogant attitude to yourself.” “I see you don’t appreciate my charm. But believe me, once you have tasted my company, you will never be able to do without me.” “Sorry, Justin, but I'm not interested in someone who thinks the world revolves around them. I prefer someone who knows how to listen and respect others.” “You know, you're missing out on something amazing by refusing to give me a chance. “I think you’re wrong, Justin. A person's worth is not measured by their arrogance, but by their kindness and respect towards others. I'm sorry, but I can't continue this conversation. So if you want to get a guided tour of this school, you'll have to keep quiet. “As you wish, but know that you are missing out on an incredible opportunity. “

Despite Justin's attitude, you remain professional and dedicated to his task as a tutor. You showed him the different classrooms, explained the school rules to him patiently and helped him navigate the complexity of the timetable.

That same evening you hurry back to the dormitories, impatient to find your boyfriend Matteho, and to finally be able to rest. When you enter your room, mattheo was already waiting for you, arms crossed lying on your bed. You then move me towards your bed, then lie down on it. And Mattheo came to surround her with his arms, his body pressing against yours. And his head resting in the crook of your neck.

" How was your day my love ? he asked you. “do you remember when I told you that there was going to be a new one and that I was going to have to be his tutor ? Well he arrived today” you said with a sigh. “Wait what? he said, referring to his head as a coup d’état. “You are the tutor of a new boy,” he said, finding it hard to believe. "Well, he arrived today and he needs help adjusting to our school." I guess they thought I was best suited to help him. do you continue He was now looking straight at you, wearing a frustrated and upset face. “But why you specifically? Don't you have enough things to do already? “Honey, calm down. It's just an added responsibility, nothing more. You know that I like to help others and I can't refuse when someone asks me for help. “I know you're kind and caring, but it makes me a little jealous to think you're going to spend time with this new boy. What will happen during these tutoring sessions?"“Don’t worry, it’s just tutoring. We'll just work on his homework and help him catch up. There’s nothing romantic about it.” you would never dare tell the fact that Justin had hit on you, you would not dare imagine the damage Matteo would do if he found out about it. So you lied to him, hoping that Justin had now given up on the idea of hitting on you. “I know it's not romantic, but I can't help but feel a little threatened. I care about you and I’m afraid you’ll get closer to him.” he said, then sighing in turn. “My love, you have no reason to be jealous. You are the most important person in my life and no one can change that. I'm just here to help this boy fit in and succeed in school. Nothing more." you said, placing a soft kiss on his lips. To which he responded with a long, languorous kiss and his hands resting on your ass.

The next morning you head to the hall where you were supposed to meet just to accompany him to his potions class. Justin was already waiting for you, leaning against a wall, a big arrogant smile on his lips.

“Hey! How do we meet up? “ he said to you “You are really beautiful, I can’t help but be attracted to you.” “Thank you, that’s nice of you. But once again I'll tell you again: I'm not interested, I'm already in a relationship. “Oh, I don’t mind. Your boyfriend will never know. We could have a good time together.” “No, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested. I am happy in my current relationship and I don’t want to cheat on my boyfriend.” “Come on, don’t be so uptight. We could have fun, no one will know.” “I'm really sorry, but I'm not going to change my mind. It’s important for me to respect my relationship and myself.” “You don’t understand, I’m really interested in you. I’ll wait for you after class and convince you to go out with me.” “Look, I don’t want to be forced to do something I don’t want to. It’s inappropriate and disrespectful of you to continue to insist.” “You're ruining everything by being so closed-minded. You don’t know what you’re missing by refusing to go out with me.” “I'm sorry, but I'm not interested and I won't change my mind. I ask you to respect my decision and leave me alone.” “Ugh, you don’t deserve someone like me anyway. Good luck with your boring boyfriend.” “I prefer someone who respects my boundaries and treats me with respect. Good day." you finish before quickly turning on your heels to leave very quickly and very far from Justin.

But unfortunately, what you didn't know is that curious little heads couldn't help but listen to this discussion.

You were in the bookstore revising one of your tests when a Pansy came running and panting into the bookstore.

She came up to you and said: “For pity’s sake I don’t know what’s going on with Justin but your dear boyfriend is beating the shit out of him downstairs in the hall. “

It doesn't take much for you to run towards the hall.

Arriving downstairs the tension was palpable in the air as Mattheo stood in front of Justin, his fists clenched. Graham had dared to flirt with Mattheo's girlfriend, and it had reached the point of no return.

Mattheo, filled with seething fury, could no longer hold back. He lunged at Justin with determined force. The blows began to rain down, each blow carrying the anger and frustration that Mattheo felt.

Justin tried to fight back, but Mattheo was determined to defend his girlfriend's honor. He skillfully dodged Justin's blows and responded with devastating precision.

The crowd had gathered around them, watching the fight with fascination mixed with concern. He was driven by an indomitable energy, drawing on his rage to give the best of himself.

As the minutes passed, it was evident that Mattheo was gaining the advantage. His blows were more powerful, more precise, while Justin showed signs of exhaustion. It was clear that Mattheo was determined to win this battle. Finally, Mattheo delivers one last powerful blow that sends Justin reeling. He collapsed to the ground, out of breath and defeated. Mattheo stood above him, victorious, but not satisfied. He had defended his girlfriend's honor, but the violence of the situation left him with a bitter taste. “Oh my God, Mattheo, what happened? “ you say stressed “It’s not my fault he just had to stop flirting, I couldn’t contain myself when I heard that. Draco and Blaise heard him flirting with you yesterday. So I had to say two words to him, and things escalated,” he said. “Oh my love, I can't believe you fought because of me. “ you continued “Don't worry, I have a few scratches, but nothing serious. I just couldn’t stand to see someone flirting with what's mine.” “I’m touched that you fought and I know you want to defend me but there was no obligation to beat him in front of everyone.” “He didn’t want to understand that you were taken, so I made sure that now everyone knew,” he said with a mischievous smile. Ohhh you didn't know what you were going to do with him, you thought ironically. You then placed a sweet kiss on his mouth as a reward.

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goldengalore · 1 year

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Neglected

A househusband!Harry fic.

Summary: Harry has been feeling neglected and unappreciated by Y/N, and she doesn’t realize it.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: angst, smut (sub!harry, soft dom!reader)

A/N: I woke up at 4am one morning with the urge to write this. Also listened to Tolerate It by Taylor Swift for more inspo!

***

In all the years that Harry has been married to Y/N, he has never felt neglected by her. Sure, there have been instances where her schedule became too hectic for them to spend much time together, but even then, her love and appreciation for him could be felt through her actions.

Lately though, that hasn’t been the case.

Work has been stressing her out, he can discern that much. And while she has never been one to let work stress affect her personal relationships, this past week has brought out a different side to her. A side that makes him feel small and invisible.

When she comes home, it’s like she wants nothing to do with him. She heads straight upstairs, telling him she’ll be down for dinner later. During dinner, she’ll ask their daughter, Savannah, about her day but won’t ask him. After dinner, she’ll go back upstairs without acknowledging whether the food was good or not, even when he cooks her favourite dishes. He’ll wash up in the kitchen and go up to their bedroom to find her already asleep on her side of the bed—or pretending to be asleep, it seems at times. If he tries to cuddle up to her, she’ll shrug him off and shift further towards the edge of the bed with her back to him.

He’s beginning to wonder if he unwittingly did something to upset her. Or maybe it’s all in his head. Maybe he should just suck it up. Surely, this won’t last forever and she’ll be back to her normal self soon enough…

It’s Friday now. He hopes that with the weekend on the horizon, Y/N will be in a much better mood when she gets home.

“Hi, lovie,” he greets her when she walks in through the door. “How was your day?”

She releases a heavy sigh as she slips off her heels. “Shitty, but at least it’s over, right?”

“Sorry to hear that.” He attempts to give her a hug, but it doesn’t last longer than a second before she pulls away with a tight smile.

She heads to the kitchen, dropping her bag and keys by the stairs along the way. He follows her like a lost puppy. Grabbing herself a glass of water, she collapses onto one of the dining chairs and chugs it down.

At least she didn’t go straight upstairs today, he thinks to himself, grasping for a silver lining.

She rolls her neck from side to side and rubs the back of her shoulder, wincing a bit. Harry moves to stand behind her. Shifting her hair over to one side, he starts massaging her neck and shoulders. He holds his breath, expecting her to brush him off, but instead, she reclines in her seat while he carefully presses his thumbs into the nape of her neck.

“Work has been such a pain lately,” she admits.

“I know. Could tell you’ve been stressed out.”

“It’s this new boss. She’s impossible to work with. She puts unreasonable deadlines on everything, expecting us to finish these huge, complicated tasks within days. Then, when people like me try to speak up about it, she’ll publicly shame us in front of the whole office and pile on even more work so that— Ow! Okay, H, you’re pressing too hard.” She reaches behind her to push his hands away.

“Oops. Sorry, love.” Fuck. She was finally opening up to him about why she’s been acting so cold, finally giving him more than just one-word responses or vague explanations, and he ruined it.

“It’s fine. I’m going to go take a shower.” She stands up.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing her hand.

She turns to him with a look of mild annoyance.

“Um, wh—why don’t I run you a hot bath?”

“Sure. Not too hot though, okay? I’d like to not burn my skin off.”

He chuckles at the comment, pretending that it didn’t sting a little. “Yeah, of course.”

He runs the bath and checks the temperature of the water multiple times while Y/N undresses in their bedroom. He’s about to check for a fourth time when she enters the bathroom in her white robe, which she hangs up on the wall hook. She settles into the tub and closes her eyes. Meanwhile, Harry watches from the doorway, wishing he could get in there with her and be close to her.

“Do you want me to stay?” he offers tentatively. “We can talk more about the stuff you’ve been dealing with at work.”

“Ugh, no, I don’t even want to think about work.”

“Oh. Well, we can chat about something else to get your mind off—”

“I’m not really in the mood to talk.” She opens her eyes briefly to look at him. “I’ll be down for dinner later, okay?”

Translation: Don’t bother me until dinner.

With a hollowness in his chest, he shuts the bathroom door and returns downstairs to the kitchen.

***

“Daaaaad?” Savannah calls to her father from the dining table, where she has decided to do her homework tonight.

“Yeeeees?”

“Can you help me with my homework?”

“Be right there.” He turns down the heat on the stove before walking over to his daughter, leaning over her to take a look at what she’s working on. Math. His worst enemy.

“I don’t understand this question,” she says, pointing to a lengthy word problem on the page with several multiple choice options.

He reads and rereads it a few times before attempting to solve it in his head. It seems easy enough… Until he realizes that the answer he came up with isn’t even one of the options. He asks Savannah how her teacher taught her to approach questions like this, and her explanation only confuses him even more. Math was tough when he was in school, but the way they teach it nowadays boggles his mind.

“I’ll go see if your mum can help.”

He heads upstairs to check if Y/N is done with her bath and finds her sitting at the foot of their bed in her robe, brushing her hair. The sun is setting outside. Its warm, amber glow spills through the curtains and falls across one side of Y/N’s face, casting a shadow on the other. She looks ethereal in this light, like a goddess, and he feels unworthy of her presence.

“Babe? Savannah needs help with her maths homework,” he tells her.

“Can’t you handle it?”

“I mean, I’m trying, but we both know how useless I am at maths,” he answers with a smirk, but she doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Harry, it’s grade school math, not rocket science.”

His face drops. “Well, yeah, but I— Never mind. I’ll figure it out.” He turns to leave but pauses in the doorway, turning back around to face her. “Y/N, are you… Are you upset with me? Have I done something wrong?”

He instantly regrets asking. Y/N closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“No, H, I just need some time alone,” she states slowly. “Like, is that too much to ask? I can’t even have a second alone without you getting clingy and thinking I’m mad at you? It’s exhausting.”

His heart cracks for what feels like the millionth time that night. Clingy. His wife thinks he’s clingy. It’s not the first time he has been called that word. But it is the first time he has been called that word by her. And God, does it hurt like a dagger slicing through his chest.

“Sorry,” he mumbles before leaving.

He tries his best to help Savannah with the question, ultimately resorting to Google where he finds the solution posted on some forum a few years ago.

“Daddy, are you okay?” asks Savannah once her homework has been sorted.

He raises a brow at the odd, adult-like concern in his daughter’s voice. “Yes. Why?”

“You look sad.”

He forces a smile. “I’m not sad. There’s nothing wrong with being sad, of course. But I’m fine.”

She squints her big eyes at him suspiciously, drawing a genuine laugh out of him.

Kissing the top of her head, he says, “I’m going to finish making dinner, but let me know if you need anything else.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

That little token of appreciation means so much to him, he gives her another kiss on the head.

“You’re very welcome.”

***

Harry feels numb at dinner. His appetite is nonexistent. The food that he himself cooked with love and care tastes bland and flavourless to him. He has long zoned out on the conversation between Y/N and Savannah, which is completely unlike him, as someone who prides himself on being a good listener.

“H, you okay? You’ve barely touched your food,” comments Y/N. It shocks him that she even noticed.

“Daddy’s sad,” Savannah blurts out.

Y/N frowns, studying him from across the table. “Sad about what?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He stares down at his plate and changes the subject. “Does anyone else feel like the pasta sauce is missing something? I followed the recipe to a tee and still messed it up somehow.” He shakes his head, frustrated with his inability to get anything right today.

“No, it’s perfect,” says Y/N. “As always.”

She’s praising him. So why does he feel like crying?

“Where are you going?” she asks as he pushes his chair back and rises to his feet.

“I have a headache. Going to lie down for a bit. Just leave the dishes in the sink. I’ll take care of it later.” He places his unfinished plate on the kitchen counter and leaves.

Tears are flooding his eyes before he has even reached the top of the stairs. By the time he gets to the bedroom, they’re spilling onto his cheeks. He doesn’t bother wiping them away. Instead, he just climbs under the covers on his side of the bed and lets his pillow soak them up.

It’s hard to tell how much time has passed before he hears Savannah’s voice down the hall, telling her mother goodnight, and then moments later, the light creak of the bedroom door opening, followed by Y/N’s footsteps approaching the bed. The mattress dips behind him.

“H?” she says softly.

“Hmm?”

“You still awake?”

He clears his throat and tries to keep a steady voice as he replies, “Yeah. You need anything?”

“No, just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Just a headache.”

“Do you need anything from me? Painkillers? A cup of tea?”

How about kisses? Or cuddles? Or any kind of attention that doesn’t involve you glaring at me like I’m a waste of space? he answers in his head, but out loud he says, “I’m fine. Thank you, love.”

“You know, you keep saying you’re fine and I don’t know if I believe you.”

He doesn’t respond.

She places a hand on his arm over the covers. “Look at me.”

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he emphasizes stubbornly.

“Can you please look at me?”

He sighs. A part of him is tempted to snap at her and tell her to leave him alone, to hurt her the way she hurt him, but he doesn’t have it in him to do that. In fact, the last thing he wants right now is to be left alone. What he really wants is to be held by her, to be told that he is loved and appreciated and wanted.

When she gently tugs on his arm to make him turn around, he doesn’t resist. Her eyes scan his face, taking in the tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, honey.” She brings a hand to his cheek. He’s been so deprived of her touch that he leans into it immediately. “Did I do this?” she asks with guilt-ridden eyes which suggest she already knows the answer to that.

“I feel like I can’t do anything right by you lately,” he says. “I just want to spend some time with you when you get home, but you never talk to me and you shoo me away any time I try to come near you. I don’t know what I did, but lately, I feel more like an annoying pest that you have to tolerate than your husband. And maybe that makes me clingy or whatever—”

“That does not make you clingy,” she interjects, shaking her head adamantly. “I’m sorry I called you that, and I’m sorry I made you feel this way. I’ve just been under so much pressure at work. That’s no excuse for how I’ve been treating you, but I need you to know that it has nothing to do with you, okay? You haven’t done a single thing wrong.”

He sniffles. “Really?”

“Yes, baby. The only reason I’ve been pushing you away is because I come home with all this pent-up frustration and I don’t want to take it out on you by accident… But it looks like I’ve been doing that anyway.” She wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and kisses him tenderly. “I’m sorry, honey.”

She gets under the covers with him and guides his head to her chest, tangling her fingers into his hair. He nuzzles his face close to her breasts. She apologizes again and reassures him that he’s the best husband she could have ever asked for, that she still looks forward to coming home to him at the end of each day, that she loves him more than words can ever explain.

Her delicate touches mixed with her comforting voice telling him everything he needed to hear soothes his aching heart. They cuddle in silence for a while, their legs intertwined with each other. Y/N shifts around a bit while keeping him close to her. When her thigh brushes up against his crotch, she freezes.

“Are you hard right now?”

“Fuck, um… yeah?” he mumbles into her chest nervously, his face growing hot.

She giggles. “Well, let’s take care of it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, you deserve it.”

She sits up on the bed beside him, while he lays on his back, gazing up at her, melting when she gives him a warm smile. Her hand disappears under the covers, making its slow descent into the waistband of his shorts. He gasps when she gropes him through his briefs.

“I don’t think I’ll last very long,” he admits.

“That’s okay. Been a while since we’ve done this, huh?”

He nods, gulping as her fingers trace his bulge. Although he sometimes touches himself when he’s home alone during the day or in the shower, it’s never the same as when she does it. The orgasms lack the intensity he craves.

“My poor baby,” she coos, using her other hand to scratch the top of his head. “I haven’t been taking proper care of you. We’re going to fix that this weekend.”

She suddenly removes her hand from his shorts and takes off her shirt, revealing her braless torso. The sight of her gorgeous, round breasts makes his mouth water before she even invites him to suck on them. Moving his head into her lap, he wraps his lips around one nipple and swirls his tongue around the taut flesh.

Her hand ventures back into his shorts, this time slipping into his underwear. Instead of wrapping her whole hand around him, she uses only two fingers and her thumb, running them along his length in slow, gentle strokes that make his body shudder with pleasure.

“I’m so lucky to have you, you know that? Nothing you do for me goes unnoticed, I promise you,” she says.

The reassurance brings tears to his eyes again but happy ones this time. She wraps the rest of her hand around his cock, picking up the pace and pressure of her strokes. He thrusts his hips into her hand desperately as his orgasm builds. She tells him he can come whenever he’s ready, but he tries to delay it for as long as possible until he can’t any longer. Then he lets himself go, his moans and grunts muffled by her breast.

“There you go. Good boy.” She coaxes the last few drops of come out of him.

He rests his head in her lap afterwards, dazed and breathless, hoping that she’ll let him lay there a little while longer. Luckily, that’s exactly what she does, only moving to rest her back against the headboard to make herself comfortable while keeping his head in her lap, her fingers in his hair. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

***

Thank you for reading! For more househusband!Harry and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

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katnisspeetaprim · 4 months

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Broad Day Light

Min Yoongi/Reader

Im so sorry if this is bad. i haven't had time to properly edit this. I've been sick again recently, but I wanted to get at least something out for you guys!

Warnings: Injury, crowds, anxiety, established relationship, idol!au

Word Count: 1203 M.list

Walking down a busy street in the middle of the day shouldn’t have been an anxiety inducing task, but here you are. That’s all it’s felt like these days.

You and Yoongi went public a few years ago and paparazzi and sasaeng’s had mostly started to leave you alone after a few months, just the odd personal space invader here and there, but you learnt to live with the new found attention.

Fast forwards to 2023 and Yoongi’s solo tour was well under way. With a world tour came massive media attention, and with media attention, came paparazzi.

You weren’t famous, so having people run up to you with cameras was a surreal experience.

You tried your best to shield your face, but it was to no avail as the group of photographers bolted towards you from across the road.

‘Y/N! Over here!’

‘Are you going to any of the shows!?’

The group of men had effectively blocked your path, not allowing you to leave.

‘Please let me through. I have somewhere to be...’ You mumbled and wrapped your arms round yourself as you kept your head down and away from the cameras. You started forcing your way forwards.

‘Y/N! Yoongi and Halsey have been acting close! Did something happen between them!? Is that why you aren’t on tour with him?’ You know you shouldn’t dignify these people with a response, but the gall of implying that Yoongi would cheat on you with someone that had become a good friend to the both of you... It was enough to make you rage.

‘Of course not! They are good friends, now let me through- Ah!’ As you forcefully pushed your way through the crowd, you didn’t realise how close you were to the curb. Your ankle rolled, causing you to topple over into the road.

Your hands, arms and knees were all scratched up, along with a twisted ankle. At least no cars were coming so you wouldn’t get run over. Though that seemed like a more preferable situation than the one you were currently in.

‘AH!’ You shakily sat up and grabbed your ankle, causing you to hiss out in pain.

‘Please just leave me alone!’ You screamed out and swiped out at the paparazzi circling round you.

‘Hey that’s assault! She just tried to hit me!’ One of the men shouted out, trying to garner sympathy with his fellow low lives.

You were all but breaking down into a full blown panic attack, when all of a sudden you felt a wave of hope flow through you when you heard the shouts of police officers approaching the scene.

‘Hey! What’s going on here? Out of the way!’ They pushed through the crowd and one knelt next to you, whilst the other two pushed back the group, ultimately threatening arrests if they didn’t dispurse.

‘Miss? Are you ok? Are you hurt?’

‘My ankle- I think it’s twisted!’ You whimpered, trying to hold back your tears.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the hospital.’

Hours later and you were finally able to go home. With a lot of help from your best friend, you were now sat in your living room, feeling sorry for yourself with your poor ankle all wrapped up.

The scraped that littered your limbs weren’t too bad, just a little sore. Stories had hit the web pretty much immediately, along with plenty of videos of the incident, filmed by multiple people.

With any luck, Yoongi would be too busy to even think about going online...

-Incoming video call from Yoongles-

Ah well. There goes that idea.

After a slight hesitation, you pushed the green answer button.

Yoongi suddenly appeared on screen. He’d clearly changed out of his concert gear and was now clad in comfy sweat pants and a jumper.

And he looked pissed.

‘Hey Yoongi...’ You trailed off, trying to sound normal.

‘Seriously? You going to pretend nothing happened?’ He stared at you in disbelief.

‘You should have called me when it happened!’ He continued on, raising his voice ever slightly.

You looked away from the screen, feeling guilty that you tried to keep it from him. Of course he would see the articles, so it was pointless to even try.

‘I’m sorry...’

Yoongi took in your defeated appearance and groaned internally for adding more upset to your already stressful day.

‘No, I’m sorry for shouting. When I saw what happened, I just got so angry.’ He paused for a moment before shaking his head. ‘You got hurt because of me...’

‘Yoongi no!’ You sat up straighter, trying to reassure him. ‘This isn’t your fault. At all!’

He nodded slowly, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe you.

‘I’m going to send you the number for one of our bodyguards. If you need to go somewhere, get him to drive you.

Yoongi suddenly moved the phone in his hands. He was clearly texting you.

You couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend.

‘Yoongi! I’m sure they have better things to do than look after me!’ His message however, had already pinged on your phone.

‘You got attacked in broad daylight Y/N. Seems pretty serious to me.’ Yoongi deadpanned as he stared you right in the eyes.

The smile fell from your face. You couldn’t argue with the fact that you would feel a lot safer with someone escorting you...

‘I won’t be going anywhere for a while. My ankle is all screwed up.’ You joked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

You didn’t get to see Yoongi often these days, given how in demand he was. The last thing you wanted to do with your precious time together was be miserable.

Yoongi smirked mischievously.

‘Maybe you’ll stay out of trouble then.’ You drew back in mock offense.

‘Excuse me!?’ Where has the compassion gone to?’

‘I’m sure you’ll survive.’ He said, trying to hold back his smirk.

You couldn’t hold back and began to laugh for the first time that day.

‘I wish I could be there for you’ Yoongi suddenly spoke over your laughter. You immediately went quiet, knowing that Yoongi was still upset by the days events.

‘It’s ok. This is enough, for now.’ You smiled gently and gestured towards the phone screen separating the two of you.

‘Remind me again why you couldn’t come with me?’ Yoongi groaned and slumped back in his chair.

‘You know why. I couldn’t get off work.’ You giggled as you also snuggled down into your chair.

He frowned before once again beginning to type on his phone.

‘What’s wrong?’ You enquired curiously.

‘I’m not there, but Tae will be close by tomorrow. I’m sending him to check on you.’

‘Oh my god!’ You exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I can’t convince you I’m fine can I?’

‘Definitely not.’

You and Yoongi spent a long time on call together that night, making the most of every moment.

It was only after ending the call for the night, did you notice Taehyung had sent you a message.

Hey noona! Hope you are ready for a home spa day tomorrow!

P.S, Please tell Yoongi-hyung I made you happy... He’ll kill me if I fail!

#bts #bts x reader #imagine #one shot #scenario #reaction #fluff #angst #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #idol!au

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melzula · 2 months

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North and South

part one

pairing: zuko x princess!reader

notes: i’m so excited to finally be at the last comic storyline of the series. i do admit there are a lot of noticeable changes from the comic, but i still hope you guys enjoy. also i did make a series playlist if you guys want to give it a listen, it’s included on the masterlist!

summary: while doing her best to rebuild the tribe, the Chief struggles to determine what is really best for her people. however, she hopes that the return of her friends will allow her to see things in a clearer view

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

After a long day of teaching, you find yourself locked away in your office looking over proposals for the Reconstruction Project. Your head aches from the hours you’ve spent assessing paperwork and writing notes of your own about Hakoda’s new proposal. Things seem to be going well for the most part, your tribe is growing stronger with every passing day, but there’s still much to be done.

It’s been three months since you last visited the Fire Nation and helped Zuko find the missing children, and since returning home all of your attention has been focused on the needs of your people. You’re doing all you can to be the leader your father would want you to be and your tribe needs you to be, but the reconstruction process has made this a much more difficult task.

A gentle knock on your office door breaks you from your thoughts and brings you back to the present, refocusing your attention on the papers sprawled out before you. “Come in.”

“Chief y/n,” Hakoda greets you cordially before gently shutting the door behind him. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, of course not, I was just reviewing the proposal you and Malina submitted.”

“And?” He asks with a hopeful glint in his eye. You simply sigh, carefully rubbing your temple in thought before grabbing the papers from your desk and handing them back to him.

“I don’t think I can approve the construction of these plans,” you admit guiltily. “I know there’s an oil deposit here that could be beneficial to the growth of our tribe if used correctly, but can you assure me that will be the case once it’s built? Can you assure me it won’t have any negative impact on our wildlife or our people or our way of life? Can you assure me that it won’t cause tension between us and our sister tribe?”

“I… I can’t promise you any of that,” Hakoda admits with a sigh. “But isn’t taking chances part of making change? This oil could help build machines and make our way of life easier.”

“I’ve heard how some of the Notherners speak of us. I gave Maliq an earful the last time I caught him talking down to my men, and I don’t believe his intentions with this project consider the South’s best interests. Our people don’t deserve just fancy machinery and modern technology, they deserve dignity and respect. At this moment in time I’m not comfortable moving forward with the oil rigs. My answer is no.”

“I understand,” your advisor relents with a disappointed sigh. “I’ll inform Malina and Maliq of your response, and I’ll work hard to make sure we can show you that this project will be worthwhile.”

“Thank you, Hakoda. Now, onto less serious matters,” you note with a faint smile. “Based on the letter I received Katara and Sokka should be arriving tomorrow, and in two days I’ll be hosting a celebration in honor of their return. I can count on you to be there?”

“Of course, but… you won’t mention anything of Malina will you?” He asks hesitantly. “I should be the one to tell them.”

“I don’t like keeping secrets from friends, but I also know that this is a family matter, so you have my word,” you assure him. He thanks you and bids you goodnight before departing from your office, and once again you are all alone.

“What am I going to do?” You sigh, eyes straining as you try looking over the plans again. Change has been necessary to keep your tribe growing and your people strong, but you worry that perhaps there’s been too much change. The only thing that’s really stayed the same is the palace, but even now it feels out of place amongst all the modern buildings and structures. The Southern Water Tribe feels too Northern, and you worry your people are beginning to lose their identity.

Nothing makes sense anymore, but you hope that with the arrival of your friends will come a clearer view on the future ahead.

You can only hope for the best.

~~~

The South is bustling with activity as you usher in your students for the day’s lesson. Your class is reasonably small, made up of only about ten attendees and only two of them being originally from the South. Those two were the most resistant to your lessons, but you did your best to be as understanding of their hesitancy as possible. You too understood the trauma and fear that came with being forced to hide your bending once the war broke out in the South, and some people were still getting used to the fact that there was no longer any danger to run from.

“Good morning my little koala otters,” you greet cheerfully. “I hope you all are well rested and ready for today’s lesson.”

“Excuse me,” a voice calls, bringing your attention to the doorway, “do you have room for another student?”

You nearly collapse from the excitement that fills you at the sight of your two friends standing in the doorway with Master Pakku in tow ready to take over classes for you. You almost trip over your own feet as you rush towards the siblings and throw your arms around them in the tightest hug imaginable.

“Sokka, Katara! I’m so happy to see you guys,” you exclaim with a tearful smile before pulling away. “I can’t believe you’re back already.”

“It’s great to see you again, y/n,” Katara agrees, a content look on her face, “and it’s good to be home, even though it does look… different.”

“I know, it is a bit much,” you admit with an uncomfortable laugh, “but the people seem to like it, and your father thinks a modern look is just what our tribe needs.“

“Is our dad a great advisor or what?” Sokka asks Katara, a prideful smile on his face.

“He certainly has been a great help. Thanks to him and the construction crew from the North I’ve been able to focus on my bending school and more of the social affairs around the South. Having more time to connect with my people helps me be the best Chief I can and make sure I’m making the right choices for them.”

“Speaking of the construction crew,” Katara interrupts with a sour look on her face. “I caught them trying to attack little kids who were playing near a construction site.”

“It was just a misunderstanding, Katara,” Sokka reasons with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides, you kicked their butts anyway!”

“That’s terrible,” you express with a worried frown. “I’ll have to have a word with Malina about her crew; they won’t be welcomed here any longer if they keep this sort of behavior up. I won’t have outsiders tormenting my people.”

“This Malina… do you trust her?”

“Why do you ask?” You say, trying to feign obliviousness. You certainly don’t want to get in the middle of anything, but it’s hard having to lie to someone who’s been there for you through thick and thin.

“Well, we’re supposed to have dinner tonight with my dad, and her and her brother Maliq will be joining us. But I’m not really sure if I trust her,” Katara admits sullenly. “Something doesn’t feel right about them.”

“You just have to give her a chance. Anyone who can come up with cool designs like that can’t be all that bad,” her brother argues much to her annoyance.

“You only like her because she’s feeding you,” she grumbles indignantly.

“Look, I think you should speak to your father. He spends more time with her than I do, and he’ll be able to explain things much better than I probably could. The only thing I can tell you both is to keep your schedules open because tomorrow night I’ll be hosting a celebration in your honor!”

“What? You don’t have to do that!” Katara exclaims in surprise.

“Of course I do. You’re Southern heroes, you saved the world by helping the Avatar and you saved our tribe when you helped me defeat Koa,” you explain adamantly. “We’re having the party, and as Chief I demand your presence.”

“You’ve let the power go to your head, haven’t you?” Sokka accuses jokingly. “Don’t worry, y/n, we’ll be there.”

“Good,” you smile, pleased at getting your way. “We’re all going to have a wonderful time and everything is going to work itself out. These things just take time.”

“I guess you’re right,” Katara murmurs, but you can still detect the uncertainty in her features.

“Listen, why don’t you both come by tomorrow after my lessons are over? I can give you a grand tour of the new and improved Southern Water Tribe!” You suggest eagerly. “Your opinions matter too, and I want as much input as possible about how to improve our home for everyone.”

“That sounds nice,” she admits with a meek smile. “Maybe that’s what we need, a chance to settle into life back home.”

“Perfect! I’m excited to show you our procgress!”

While Katara appreciates your enthusiasm, she still doesn’t feel right about Malina or the changes made in the South. It doesn’t really feel like home anymore; it’s so different from how life once was. For your sake she’ll try to give it a chance, but as of now it seems it’ll take a lot more than her father’s reassurance to convince her that these changes are for the best.

But she hopes that maybe you’re right, maybe these things just take time, and maybe once time has passed it’ll feel like normal again.

She can only hope.

~~~

“After we finished rebuilding the outer tribes, we began our work on the royal plaza. It’s now become the main center for commerce, diplomacy, and unity. The local businesses that have opened here have been massively successful, and the square is constantly bustling with activity.”

Katara feels overwhelmed by the whirlwind of information you throw at her as you guide her and Sokka through the brand new royal village. You’re right about it always being busy- people rush by your trio to start their work for the day or bargain for the latest deals at the merchant stands. They look happy, content, and out of place. The people don’t match the towering buildings around them, and they surely don’t look like the same people she’d left behind a few years ago.

“And everyone is happy with the changes?” She asks curiously.

“Well, some were resistant to the change, so I tried to be as accommodating as possible. Those who didn’t want new homes were allowed to keep their original huts, and I didn’t force the outer tribes to merge with the royal village. I gave them the autonomy to govern their own affairs so long as it doesn’t interfere with the overall success of the tribe, but they’re still required to report to me at least once a month about their progress and request aid if needed.”

“So it’s kind of like the Earth Kingdom in a way?” Sokka points out indeterminately. “You‘ve established cities while still keeping the palace as the center point of the tribe.”

“I guess that’s true,” you note thoughtfully at his observation. “Father said I’d gain the knowledge needed to lead by traveling the world, so I’m using the knowledge I’ve gained for the benefit of my people.”

“I hate to burst your burble, Princess, but I don’t think everything’s as perfect as you say it is,” the boy says with a frown. Faltering, you slow yourself to a stop and turn to face the siblings. Their features are riddled with apprehension, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

“What do you mean, Sokka? Is there something you don’t like about the changes? Is there something I should be doing better?” You ask, fretful over the idea of not living up to the expectations placed upon you as leader.

“No, no, I think you’re doing a great job, honest. It’s just… well, some people aren’t happy about the Northerners being here.”

“Last night Malina was attacked at dinner, and we were forced to chase after these kids that stole Maliq’s briefcase,” Katara begins to explain, lowering her voice to ensure no one can overhear your conversation. “We followed them to the abandoned Fire Nation shipwreck and discovered a series of tunnels underneath.”

“There was an entire group of Southerners down there led by Gilak, a warrior who fought alongside our fathers against the Fire Nation,” Sokka continues, and you can only hang on to every word. You feel ashamed to know that this has been going on without your knowledge, and it’s almost as if you’ve failed in a sense. You’re Chief, it’s your job to know of things like this, and yet you’re having to find out about it through your friends. “They’re not happy about our sister tribe’s presence here in the South.”

“I understand some of the Northerners can be a bit blunt and unpleasant at times, but I didn’t think it was this bad,” you admit with a disappointed frown. “What did they tell you?”

“He said he understood that at first it was necessary for you to bring in people from the North to help restore bending to our tribe because it would make us stronger,” Sokka explains as he recalls the awkward encounter. “But now he thinks my dad is going overboard with all the people he’s brought in to help us rebuild.”

“He says we’re becoming a cheap imitation of the North,” Katara murmurs thoughtfully, and by the look on her face it seems as if she agrees with the sentiment.

“What else did Galik say?”

“They want to eradicate the presence of foreigners and are prepared to go to war to do so,” Sokka says sullenly, not exactly enjoying having to break this news to you. “He says we have to get rid of the Northerners before they take advantage of you.”

“Of me?” You retort in bewilderment. You definitely didn’t expect that to come out Sokka’s mouth. Katara then places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Galik and his followers believe that your relationship with Zuko- an outsider- has made you too trusting of foreigners. He thinks the Northerners are taking advantage of this trust to worm their way into the affairs of the South.”

“He compared our father to Koa,” Sokka spits irately, still fuming at the memory. “He thinks he’s abusing his position as advisor to go behind your back and make all these changes.”

“That’s not true at all!” You exclaim in disbelief. “Spirits, this has all gotten so out of hand. What am I to do?”

“Hey, don’t worry, we’re going to figure it out. Our dad is already investigating the matter as we speak,” your friend assures you, doing his best to alleviate your worry. “You’re doing great, Chief.”

You give him a meek smile at his encouragement, but his words do little to quell your anxieties. The last thing you want is a civil war to break out between your tribes, but at this point it’s starting to feel inevitable. You just hope Hakoda can put a stop to this before it gets too out of hand.

“Y/n, could I speak to you alone?” Katara asks suddenly much to the surprise of her brother.

“Of course. We’ll have to finish our tour another time, Sokka,” you tell the water tribe boy with an apologetic smile. Turning to his sister, you gesture for her to follow. “There’s something I want to show you.”

You weave your way through the village and back towards the palace square. The towering buildings slowly fade away the further you go, and the air here is more peaceful and serene with the absence of all the merchants and people. After a while you finally reach your stop, allowing Katara a moment to take in the building before her.

“What is this place?” She asks in awe, admiring the pristine marble work of the pillars lining the structure.

“Let’s go inside,” you suggest with a careful smile before ushering her toward. Immediately she’s greeted with a vast expanse of artifacts, artwork, literature, and more. Each section has its own label and scroll of information detailing the importance of the different exhibits, and Katara figures it would probably take hours to look through everything.

“This is incredible. Did you do all of this?”

“This was one of the first buildings I commissioned as Chief,” you recount with a proud smile. “The South lost so much because of the war, and I didn’t want anyone to forget all that we’d been through and all we’d done to survive. This museum holds every piece of history of the Southern Water Tribe, and I hope it can be used to educate others about our strength and resilience.”

“I want the South to grow, Katara. I want us to connect with others, to live in harmony with the other Nations. I want people from all over the world to visit the South and learn about our culture. Is it really so naive of me to have such hope?”

“No, I guess not,” Katara admits guiltily. “Y/n, the reason I wanted to speak to you alone was because I- well, because Malina and my father are together, and I’m not sure how to feel. She’s nothing like my mother, and I don’t think she’s good enough for my dad.”

“I know what it’s like to lose a parent,” you note faintly, absently brushing your fingers against your tiger shark tooth necklace. “I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if my mother began to see someone else. But if it were to happen, I’d know that I’d just have to trust my mother’s judgement. Just like you have to trust your father’s.”

“It’s easier said than done,” Katara says with a huff. You merely give her a comforting smile and pull her figure into a hug.

“Just give it a chance. She doesn’t have to replace your mother, she never will, but it doesn’t hurt to get to know her. I think tonight’s festival would be the perfect opportunity, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re right,” she says with sigh, appreciating your comfort and wisdom. She’s glad to have you, and she knows you feel the same.

You part from your hug and give her a reassuring smile. “I have to head back to the palace now for a meeting with your father and the Northern siblings, but please feel free to stay in here as long as you’d like.”

She watches you depart from the room before turning her attention to the portrait before her. The image depicts a family from before the war, the mother and daughter brushing the animal pelts while the father and son cook freshly caught fish over the fire. They look happy, and Katara begins to feel her chest ache.

~~~

It’s a peaceful day in the Fire Nation as Zuko sits in the gardens and enjoys a cup of tea with his Uncle. It’s certainly been a stressful past few years, so he’s learned to enjoy calm and quiet moments like these where he can finally stop to catch his breath.

A servant approaches the table and bows in respect before offering the Fire Lord a scroll. “This just arrived from the South, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, taking the scroll before dismissing the servant.

“A letter from the Princess?” Iroh asks with a curious smile, and based on the longing look that plays upon Zuko’s features as he reads the letter, the general confirms his guess to be correct.

“My love, I hope things in the Fire Nation are running smoothly. As you know, Hakoda has invited you for a conference that is to occur in just a few days. However, I’m hosting a celebration tomorrow for Katara and Sokka’s return home, and I would love for you to arrive early and attend! I hope to see you soon, Zuko. Yours truly, y/n.”

Smiling faintly, Zuko tucks the scroll away before looking to his Uncle. “Would you be able to look after things for a few extra days while I’m gone? It appears I’ll be taking my leave to the South earlier than expected.”

“Of course, nephew,” Iroh smiles cordially. “I would like nothing more than to allow you the chance to relax and enjoy some time with your beloved. Please do give the Princess my best.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” the Fire Lord says before excusing himself from the table and heading inside to prepare for his departure.

After months of waiting, Zuko is finally going to be reunited with the one he loves most.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @lora21 @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch @docackerman @rinalsword

#fire lilies #north and south #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #katara #sokka #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 25 days

Text

Life in the City 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: Heloooooo.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, you’re shown to your new office by the end of the day. You put your meagre box of belongings on the desk and unpack a piece at a time. Isn’t an exhaustive task so you take your time.

You put your watermelon post-its by the base of the monitor’s pedestal and your cell phone screen lights up. It’s been buried in your bag for much of the day but you took it out to reconnect to your work accounts. Melanie’s name fills the top of the screen. You still haven’t responded to her since the weekend.

You swipe up your phone and cross the office. You answer as you shut the door, eking out a tiny hello as you turn back and bite your thumb. You pace aimlessly as your stomach knots. You don‘t think you’re mad at her, just embarrassed about how it all turned out. She knows how many times your excitement was burnt to disappointment, you hoped she wouldn’t have added to your pile ashes.

“Hey, girl, you busy? I’ve been calling you all week.”

It’s Tuesday, you think to yourself.

“I’m sorry, I just have a lot going on at work--”

“That’s great,” she interrupts, “did you see my texts? I really am sorry about the other night. You know, I was stressed. Clark was out of town for his job and I hadn’t seen him all week. Really, I didn’t forget about you, I just thought we were meeting Saturday, not Friday.”

Your mouth slants as you weigh her excuse. You don’t know if you believe her but it could be true. How long have you been friends? Doesn’t she deserve the benefit of the doubt?

“Everyone gets busy,” you say with a brittle laugh, “I totally get it. Next time I’ll be clearer, that’s all. Make sure there’s no misunderstanding.”

“Of course,” her voice is trills and is overly affected, “I just wanted to check in since Clark said you were so upset.”

“He did?” You frown as you stop by the desk and take your stapler out of the box.

“Uh, yeah, he did. So, in the future, if your upset, you can just let me know, hon,” her tone drips like syrup, “we’re friends, aren’t we? I mean, it’s a big city and we gotta stick together.”

“Erm, sure, I’m sorry, I didn’t think... I wasn’t upset. I didn’t say anything, you know, I was just tired.”

“Whatever, hon, it’s behind us now, isn’t it? You forgive me?” She pauses, waiting.

“Y-yeah?” You answer.

“Aw, that’s so wonderful,” she chimes, “anyway, you sound busy. You must be working so I’ll let you go. Ciao.”

She hangs up and you hold the phone to your ear for a moment after the line dies. That was weird. Like she wasn’t really talking to you, but more putting on a show for someone. Strange.

You drop your arm and a knock comes at the door. You wince and put your phone screen down. You face the door and fold your hands.

“Uh, who is it?” You call out.

The door opens and a throat clears, “just me,” Thor says as he enters, “wanted to be sure you got some of the leftovers.”

He has a container in his hands. You try to blow off the tension and force a smile. You drop your arms straight and drag a finger up and down the seam of your pants.

“Thanks, that’s too sweet,” you chirp.

“Ah, I made sure to get you some cinnamon cookies,” he nears and offers the container.

“Oh, my, I shouldn’t,” you accept the box.

“You shouldn’t?” He wonders, “you’re not on some diet, are you? You hardly need one.”

You laugh nervously, “oh, no,” you back up and spin to put the container on the desk. You go back and reach into the box, “I just... I have a rotten sweet tooth, you know? Sugar keeps me up.”

“Mmm, well, you should indulge. Enjoy. Nothing wrong with allowing yourself the small things,” he goads, “so,” he claps his hands, the sound making you jump, “your office. How do you like it?”

He looks around theatrically as he pivots. You take out your small blue mug with the teddy bear on it and follow his gaze, “it’s nice. Big.”

“Yes, I suppose you don’t take up much space,” he remarks, “if you need any supplies, you can just let me know.”

“Oh, um, I shouldn’t. I... I could just contact finance--”

“Come to me,” he insists, “accounting takes too long.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“Are you excited?” He asks as he turns to you.

“Sure,” you answer.

“Mm,” he hums, “you’re sweet, but I don’t want you to stress. If there’s anything overwhelming me, don’t be afraid to let me know.”

“I know, thank you, Mr. Odinson.”

“Thor,” he corrects you with a wink, “you don’t know want to know Mr. Odinson.” He grins and you look at him blankly, “my father. He’s an old grump.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you put the cup down and rub your palms together, “it’s been a long day.”

“It has indeed,” he checks his watch, “you’re almost done... I should let you finish.” He flicks his finger towards your desk, “tomorrow, the heavy lifting begins.”

“Yeah,” you murmur.

“Don’t forget your treats,” he points to the container, “you’ve earned it.”

“Right, thanks again,” your smile trembles as fatigue nips at the corner of your eyes.

“See you tomorrow morning,” he avows before he spins and goes to the door.

You return your attention to the box as you sense him hovering at the threshold. You think he’s looking at you but you’re too nervous to check. Finally, the door closes and you exhale and close your eyes. You can’t believe how much today has taken out of you and the days to come promise much of the same.

🏙️

You yawn as you come out of your building, eyelids heavy and itchy as you rub them with your knuckles. You hitch up your bag as you turn down the sidewalk and cross to the stop on the other side of the street. You barely slept through the anxiety and anticipation. The unknown stresses you out more than anything and you really have no idea what you’re walking into.

You let your head lean back as you give another silent roar of fatigue. You roll your shoulders and urge yourself to wake up. You got to get with it. You can’t show up at the office half-asleep.

The whir of an engine approaches and you look towards the direction of the bus route. Its too quiet to be a bus. Instead, there’s a vaguely familiar car that slows instead of passing. You squint and cross your arms defensively. You have to keep reminding yourself this is the city.

The window rolls down as you bounce on your feet awkwardly, “hey,” your name rises in the deep timbre.

You bend and find Clark smiling at you. Of course! That’s why you recognised his car.

“Heyyyy,” you say, “what are you doing... here?”

“Working on a story, actually. Was in the area and... what timing, huh?” He pushes his shoulder up as he keeps one hand on the steering wheel, “you on your way to work?”

“Yup,” you answer brightly, swallowing another yawn, “bus should be here soon.”

“The bus? Get in, I’ll give you a ride.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to... that’s too far.”

“Where do you work?”

“Tempest,” you answer.

“Tempest? That’s right by the paper. I’ll take you, no problem.”

“Really?” Your brows arch dramatically, “that’s so nice of you.”

“Of course,” he pats the passenger seat and the door unlocks with a loud click.

“I owe you one." You open the door and get in, tempted to melt into the seat. It’s so much better than the stiff ones on the bus. Ugh, your head is tenuous at best. It could start pounding at any minute.

“How are you?” Clark asks as you buckle in.

“Alright,” you repress yet another yawn, “how are you? How’s Melly?”

“Melly?” He chuckles, “she’s fine, I think. I'm... fine too.”

“Oh...” you twiddle your fingers in your lap as he slowly leans on the gas and pulls away from the curb, “just fine?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve just been... talking a lot. You know, relationship stuff,” he drives with one hand, combing his other through his hair.

“Ah, right,” you nod, “hopefully it’s okay.”

“Huh,” he scoffs and puts his other hand on the wheel, “you’re a good friend.”

“I... guess,” you shrug. “I... I just think Melanie really likes you.”

“Oh, I know she does,” he laughs, “doesn’t keep her from being... how she is. I like her too but we both know she can be very demanding.”

“She can be,” you agree, “but I think that’s just her personality. Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.”

“Why would you want that?” he asks.

“Er...”

“I just mean, you’re you. Everyone’s different right and you’re just so sweet,” he says, “this world has enough Melanies.”

“Maybe,” you turn your head and cover your mouth as you yawn at the window.

“I’m dying for a coffee,” Clark says, his tone shifting smoothly with the topic, “how about you? Green tea?”

You look at him. He remembers your order? You rub your cheek and drop your hand to your lap.

“I’m okay, but thank you--”

“Really, it’s no big deal,” he flips the blinker on, “I need an espresso so, how about it? Iced, hot?”

You bite the inside of your lip. You really could use a boost. You don’t often get the chance. Your bus ride is too long to factor in a cafe run.

“Could I get a matcha latte, iced? I have some change,” you open your bag and shove your hand inside.

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves you off.

“Really, you’re giving me a ride. The least I can do--”

“The least you can do is let me buy your drink,” he insists, “because I kinda have a big favour to ask you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, uh, it’s for Melanie. You must know her birthday is coming up.”

“Yeah, I know--”

“I really wanna work through things with her and I figured if I threw her a party, maybe it’s better than all this talking,” he joins the queue for the drive thru, “and you’ve known Melanie a lot longer than me so you’re like an expert. Do you think you could help me out?”

“A birthday party? Well, I... could try. Mel’s always been the one into parties and planning and all that.”

“I’m not good at it either but you know what she likes. I could use help at least with colours or whatever,” he suggest, “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to. I’m not going to blackmail you with a car ride and a latte.”

You laugh rockily, “well, I could try. It wouldn’t be so bad and I should do something special. We’re both finally living in the same city. Maybe this would help with us too.”

“Us? You and... Mel?”

You give him a look then look through the windshield. You fidget as he rolls up to the speaker and orders. You wait until he’s done.

“Things were awkward the other day when I crashed your date night,” you say, “I’m sure you caught on.”

“Yeah, yeah, she wasn’t very gracious,” his tone lowers sharply.

“It’s okay. She didn’t mean anything. I’m not upset--”

“Did she apologise?” He asks abruptly.

“Uh, yeah, of course, but she doesn’t have to--”

“I think you deserve the apology,” he interrupts again. “You know, you don’t deserve to be walked all over like that. Hell, if I had friend like you, I think I’d treat you a lot better.”

“I’m not upset,” you assure him, his mood making you uneasy. It’s flattering he would be so upset on your behalf but you’d rather just put it all behind you, “she said sorry, it’s all good.” You wiggle your foot as you think, “alright, I can help with the party.”

“Ah, yes, you’re a life saver,” he pulls up to the window and pays. He gets the drinks and hands you the matcha before he slips his in the cup holder, “great, I’ll get your number and we can throw around ideas when you have a chance.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, I could...” the cup soaks your hands in condensation, chilling you, “I’ll do my best. I have a new assignment at work so I’ll be a bit tied up.”

“No problem, whenever you can. Hope you don’t mind if I send you a couple of pictures I saw,” he says, “tryna come up with a vision, you know?”

“That’s cool,” you pause to sip the matcha, nearly sighing at the refreshing flow that coats your stomach, “thank you so much for the tea.”

“Any time,” he says as he pulls out into the street, “anything you need at all.”

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lemonlover1110 · 1 year

Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 3] Reunion

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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You’re shaken up when you get off the elevator and you’re not sure what to do. You have to contact his mother, but you’re sure that he’s speaking to her right this second. A million thoughts run through your head, but first you have to speak with your new boss about the fact that your son is joining you for the day; or at least until you get in contact with the nanny that can pick him up from here.

You aren’t quite sure where to go from here though. So many people are walking around and they all seem so busy, and you don’t want to bother them. You’re not sure what’s come over you right this second because bothering people has never been one of your worries. Your breath is caught up in your chest, and you wish you could be invisible. Even from the young boy that holds your hand and looks around.

You feel out of place. You’re out of place. You hear your name, and your eyes wander to find the feminine voice that said it. And when you finally see her, this wave of relief washes over you, although it doesn’t last too long.

“Shoko?” You look at the woman that puts her hand on your arm, seeing that you’re shaken up. She stares at you for a moment before her eyes go down and she sees a carbon copy of Satoru– Only that this one can’t be older than five. She can’t wrap her head around this.

“Come to my office.” She says, and you slowly nod in response before you follow behind her. When you’re in the office, your eyes fall on the giant windows that display a great view of the city. Ren's eyes do the same, and he walks over to the windows, putting his tiny hands on them. When she shuts the door she says, “So are you the woman that Mrs. Gojo hired?”

Your brain seems to have slowed down, and it takes a moment before you respond, “I am.”

But that’s not what Shoko wants to talk about. She had seen your name when Mrs. Gojo shared your information. She wants to know about the little boy that dirties her window with his handprints. She walks to her chair to take a seat, “Satoru never told me he had a kid. Or are you the nanny as well?”

“That’s not Satoru’s kid.” You lie, and she can read right through you– Even if she couldn’t, the child is a copy of Satoru’s. It’s very clearly a lie. “I’m not here to talk about that though… I’m here to– Um…”

“To get started. I’ve been waiting for you. You are late, but considering the obvious circumstances, I’ll let it slide. Plus, you’re an old friend.” Shoko responds. She points at Ren before asking, “Will he be joining us daily? Because I can’t make too many exceptions.”

“No, just today. Mrs. Gojo hired a nanny but she didn’t show up.” You answer, and Shoko’s eyebrows raise.

“So he’s not Satoru’s kid but Mrs. Gojo is his grandmother?” Shoko asks and you hesitantly nod. “Okay…”

“I don’t want– Well, we don’t want Satoru to find out about…” You tilt your head in Ren’s direction. You know he’s listening to everything, even if he doesn’t seem to be. Many questions run through Shoko’s head, but she thinks it’s better if she doesn’t ask. She’s curious, yet it’s none of her business.

“Okay… You know he’s here, right? He sent me a message not too long ago and whatnot, and he’ll be coming here to at least greet me. If you want to keep it a secret you’ll have to–” Shoko begins and with every word you feel your stomach churn. Your heart feels as if it’s about to beat out of your chest and you have to cut her off.

“I got it, thank you.” You attempt to smile, and your nerves are reflected. You’ll send the nanny the address, and tell her to hurry up before you get Mrs. Gojo more involved than she already is. “Will you please show me to my desk? And of course, inform me of my tasks. Mrs. Gojo blindly threw me in here.”

“Right. Yup. Of course.” She stands up. She’s about to guide you out of the office and to your desk, but she has something to say. “Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

“I deserved to know about his marriage. We had been together for a long time. But he cut me off as if it was nothing.” You respond. “There was no way for me to contact him anyway.”

“Yeah… Sorry. Let’s get you to your desk.”

Ren hides under your desk, playing with your phone as you wait for the nanny to show up to the place. She apologized over a hundred times, a family emergency had come up, but now she’s on her way. And now you pray that she’ll get Ren off your hands before Satoru comes to this floor. You have too much on your plate.

“Mommy, someone is calling.” Ren announces, passing you the phone. You take it from him, and when you see that it’s the nanny calling, you’re relieved. It almost causes a smile to come to your lips. You put the phone to your ear, and when she tells you that she’s in the lobby, you nearly jump up from your seat.

“C’mon, Ren. You’re going back home.” You tell him, and he gets out of the desk and grabs your hand. He’s a little too excited to go back home, after all, he doesn’t do much here. Back at home though, he has so many toys and a big TV where he can watch his cartoons.

“Are you coming with me, mommy?” He asks. He knows that you have to work and you spend so much time working, but he’s still hopeful that you’ll nod in response. Instead you smile at him before shaking your head,

“I’ll see you later, baby.” You ruffle his hair. “This weekend we’ll do something fun.”

He slowly nods his head, a bit disappointed by the answer, but it’s to be expected. You knock on the Shoko’s office door, and you wait for her to allow you to come in. When you hear her voice, you open the door and quickly announce, “I’m dropping Ren off in the lobby with the nanny. I’ll be right back.”

She nods in response and you close the door again. You walk to the elevator with Ren, and you get in, fully expecting to hide him again just because you feel as if the universe hates you, and you might bump into Satoru again. But you’re lucky.

You make it to the lobby without the universe playing any tricks on you, and you quickly spot the nanny. You drop Ren off with her, reminding her of the apartment code as you give her Ren’s bag. You kiss the top of your son’s forehead and tell him, “Be good, okay, baby?”

“Yes, mommy.” He nods. You smile at him, happy that you don’t have to worry about Satoru seeing him. The nanny walks away with your son, and once they exit the building, you begin to walk back to the elevators. While you wait for the elevator doors to open, your heart stops for a moment again.

You begin to walk to the other elevator, hoping to avoid another awkward interaction, but you hear Mrs. Gojo call your name. She’s a wretched woman, that’s all you can think about. Your hands ball up into fists and you take a deep breath before turning around to face her.

“Mrs. Gojo.” You acknowledge her, trying your best to smile at her. You look directly at her, ignoring Satoru and his wife who are right alongside her. You feel Satoru’s wife stare at you while Satoru’s eyes wander around, not wanting to look directly at you.

“I was waiting for you this morning, what happened?” She asks. Before you can answer, she speaks again, “Oh, where are my manners? This is Sayo, my daughter-in-law. And you remember Satoru, right? You two grew up together.”

“Yeah… How could I forget.” You respond. Sayo extends her hand for you to shake, and you do so. Satoru’s hands go into his pockets and he looks anywhere but at you. “Really lovely meeting you.”

“You too.” She smiles. When she lets go, you unintentionally wipe your hand on your pants.

“What happened this morning?” Mrs. Gojo goes back to her original question. You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think of how to answer.

“You know the cat?” You ask and she furrows her eyebrows. She’s confused until you say, “Your cat threw up and I couldn’t leave it alone for the–”

“Oh! Oh… Why didn’t you call me?” She replies.

“I did. I left a message as well.” You respond. You awkwardly stand around for what feels like an eternity before you clear your throat. You’re about to speak but Satoru speaks before you.

“You never told me you got a cat, mom. Do you have any pictures?” Satoru asks.

“No.” She answers. “And don’t expect to see it. The cat isn’t staying with me for now.”

“Why?” Satoru asks, and his mom rolls her eyes. That’s enough of an answer for him. “How about you? Do you have pictures?”

“I do.” You respond.

“Can I see?”

“No.” You reply. You then smile at Mrs. Gojo and tell her, “Ms. Ieiri is waiting for me, if you’d excuse me.”

“Oh, we still have to greet her. Mind if we accompany you?” Sayo asks and you shake your head, trying your best to remain polite with everyone. You knew this would happen eventually the moment you began to work for Mrs. Gojo, you just didn’t expect it so soon.

“I’m heading out, I’ll see you three later.” Mrs. Gojo says, waving. You head to the elevator and they walk behind you. Your palms get sweaty and you feel as if you can’t breathe while you’re entrapped in such a small space with them.

“So… You’re my mother-in-law’s assistant but you also work with Ieiri?” Sayo speaks, and you bite down on your lip.

“Yup, money problems.” You answer.

“Weren’t you planning on becoming a doctor?” Satoru speaks up just as the elevator doors open. You don’t answer his question, walking out of the elevator. You walk straight to Shoko’s office, and they follow behind. Just as you’re about to knock, Shoko opens the door. Her eyes immediately land on Satoru and his wife.

“Special delivery for you.” You tell Shoko. She puts on a smile, greeting Satoru and Sayo as you walk to your desk. When you take a seat, you can’t focus on learning what you have to do. Today was simply the worst day to start the new job.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your new assistant?” Satoru asks Shoko as she takes her seat. The woman shrugs.

“Does it matter?” Shoko replies.

“Well… I guess it doesn’t.” He ends up shaking his head.

“Who is she exactly?” Sayo questions.

“She’s an old friend. She’s an old servant’s daughter and we grew up together.” Satoru responds. Sayo slowly nods in response as she takes a seat across from Shoko. That makes sense, but she doesn’t understand why you feel so hostile toward him. Maybe she’s reading things wrong though, it was just a brief exchange.

“You know? I want to get to know all of Satoru’s friends better. How about we invite you two out… and Suguru! You know Suguru, right?” Sayo suggests, Satoru’s eyebrows furrowing.

“Know him? I nearly killed him once.” Shoko scoffs.

“You two as in…?” Satoru asks, praying that the second person is someone completely random.

“The assistant.” She answers, and Satoru bites his tongue. He can’t argue about it unless he reveals that he has a past with you, and he doesn’t want that. Shoko purses her lips together before saying,

“I’m in. It’ll be nice to go out with old friends.”

A smile appears on Sayo’s lips and she stands up, “I’ll go invite the assistant.”

“Love, slow down a bit. She’s busy.” Satoru’s hand goes to Sayo’s shoulder. Sayo ends up rolling her eyes before she brushes off Satoru’s hand.,

“I’ll only take up a second of her time.”

🏷 @yeagerfushiguro @luckimoon @uhremmi @conniesbbymama @mykyoon @prettyiolanthe @mc-reborn @the-loneliest-girl @cloudsinthecosmos @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @blinkingsuns @oi-loverboy @neireav @lilith412426 @misshale21 @rivaiken @q-the-rockaholic @merlinssassybeard @ikilledsparky2 @mimizsworld @lily3847 @Teslumieres @floralsightings @Mocha-plxnet @idreamitski @creolequeen11210 @jooaannnnaaa @enthusiastiics @lovinkiri @abdce12345 @bkgnotsuma @kariito-art @beelzmunchkin @satosuguswife @kurome-ga-kill @hoonberrie @mittypops @suhaaaefre @AZE107 @ackerstein @sweetshawty @saiewithakatana @psychopotatomeme @innocxntdexth @4-morant @shan-nein @marymosaa @Ditzyberry @purpleguk @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @bomjug @idkbutokaylol @rosieee491 @ieathairs

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kkydult · 4 months

Text

— Leave it to me

coworker!myung jaehyun x fem!reader - fluff - 1.47k

a/n. the ending might be a bit rough i wrote it well at first then forgot to save so i kinda just tried to make it work. anyways i hope y’all enjoy this don’t hesitate to tell me you don’t i want feedback !!

“Get these done by this afternoon y/n, I need them in my office before 2.” the thud of the stack of documents landing on your desk brought your attention up to your boss’s eyes, with a swift eye smile he had left your front giving you the responsibility to figure out what exactly you were to do with the unfamiliar pile.

It made sense, of course you had to work on your own and figure shit out yourself but a little guidance would help get the work done faster because now you were just stuck at your desk examining the files for the possible task. And by now it was too late to go to his office and inquire so you just played a guessing game with yourself.

“You seem… lost” you turned over to the voice coming from the other side of the room, you had left your desk for the photocopy room but you still felt unsure, standing close enough to the machine for it to seem like you were doing something but actually doing nothing. Jaehyun was there by the door with two cups in his hands, an apologetic smile on his face somehow relieving you of all the built up stress, of all the people in the office he was the one you felt at ease with, even when you felt lost like this.

Without you having to explain the situation he handed you one of the cups in his hands placing the other down as he looked quickly through the documents you were assigned, you scanned his face to get any signs of understanding on his side.

“Here.” you looked over to where he was gesturing, finally understanding the task as you read across the line so conveniently written in the smallest font, “I’m starting to think he’s plotting against you y/n” he laughed as you started sorting out the work you were assigned, you turn over to him smiling in agreement almost shocked he could see it too.

“I’ve been saying this! I don’t even know why I’ve barely done anything to get him mad” you added complaining freely to him, his eyes locked on you paired with a soft sympathetic smile, he always had that look when you started to blabber it made you feel heard like you could tell he was listening and acknowledging your thoughts at the same time.

“Don’t even worry about it I’ll make sure he never succeeds, I’m your guy” he reassured you and that was enough for you, just the words because you knew he meant them. “You’re my guy?” you asked playfully, it was routine you teased each other constantly and that was part of the office fun with Jaehyun, who else would make you wear a santa hat to work on an average day in June if not him?

“Yeah I’m all yours y/n” he smiled sheepishly leaning in closer, he was only a few inches closer but it felt like one wrong move and your lips would touch but you couldn’t move like some part of you wanted one wrong move but in a matter of seconds he was inches away and your heart was still thundering in your chest as you turned back to your work. You tried to find words to fill the silence that settled in but it just brought you back to his lips.

“I still got a lot to get back to, I’ll head out first” he finally spoke clearing his throat before the words followed, you nodded glancing at him right as he walked out.

The rest of the day you just acted as if nothing had happened, you figured it was the best way to proceed since nothing had happened but it was harder than you expected, almost like something switched in that one moment, all of a sudden every feeling you felt towards him came back to one thing that most people would describe as love, at least that’s how your coworkers saw it.

“Wait you guys aren’t dating?” Jaehyun’s desk neighbor, Hyein asked visibly shocked by the statement, you shook your head confused as to why that was even a thought,

“Everyone says you’re dating. I’m pretty sure Jaehyun even confirmed it… then again he could have been joking again” she explained as she leaned on your desk trying to figure out the situation while you were still stuck on the fact that you’ve been basically dating Jaehyun in the eyes of all your colleagues,

“Why would you think we were dating?” she looked at you with obvious concern her brows furrowed as she pursed her lips, your eyes widened at her reaction expecting anything but that,

“I can’t believe I have to explain this but you guys are so undeniably meant for each other, you literally don’t laugh at other people’s jokes and luckily for you he literally only jokes for you, like seriously he literally is a stone statue before you arrive at the office like so cold”

“Myung Jaehyun? Cold? That’s not possible” you laughed completely amused with the things you were learning, you weren’t sure how much actually meant anything but it felt nice to hear, she nodded at you as she continued explaining every detail of your relationship with Jaehyun as if it was a romcom that she had binged over fifty times.

“I guess platonic love is a thing too now but yeah I don’t think that’s y’all”

The more you thought about it the more you felt it and nothing about it felt merely friendly, you wanted to love him and show him love, you wanted to know it was real and not just your imagination, that he felt these things too, that he wanted to kiss you too.

Days went by and the words kept hitting at your throat begging to come out for him to listen as he always did, and tell you everything you felt was mirrored but you couldn’t just let it out. Now it was night out with the office and you managed to bring him along with you to the building rooftop with a few drinks for just the two of you under the moonlit sky.

“I can’t actually hold my alcohol” you giggled sipping out of the bottle in your hand,

“Don’t worry, I can” he hummed watching carefully as you looked over the barricade down to the street below you pulling you back almost immediately, bringing you back to the worn out chairs that were in the middle of the space on the roof,

“You know people think we’re dating” you slurred as the effects started getting to your brain, you stared at him waiting for a response watching him hold back a smile before looking back at you shrugging,

“You don’t mind ?” you asked tucking your hair behind your ear your eyes still fixed on him, you could feel your body heat up at every move he made, a part of you knew he wasn’t going to do anything but it was overshadowed by all of the others begging for him to do anything.

“Not really since it’s you” you titled your head at him trying to decipher if that meant it’s you and you’re cool and my friend so it’s whatever or it’s you and i love you so i don’t mind, he smiled noticing your obvious pensive state.

“Do you mind?” he asked curiously lifting up his eyebrow at you making you sigh a soft chuckle, you shook your head biting your bottom lip as you looked up at him the soft smile on his lips sending butterflies to your belly,

“No but why aren’t we?”

“Dating?” he asked a soft smirk on his lips as his brows lifted in shock, you nodded at him making him take the time to actually think about it,

“I guess I hadn’t asked yet” you smiled at the sound of those words and the way he looked at you spoke so much more, he had so much to say but he wanted you to know more than anything else, for you to feel what he felt,

“I don’t want to waste anymore time on talking, I want to show you the way i feel, if you’ll let me” you watched as he leaned closer to your face, his gaze bouncing between your lips and your eyes just waiting for you to give him the green light and once you did he kissed you so longingly his hand cupping your cheek perfectly as he pulled you in closer both your noses presses against each other’s cheeks, pulling back reluctantly resting his head on yours, your heavy breath against his lips only drawing him closer to you desperate to taste you once again,

“Y/n? So do I call you babe now?”

#via writes ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #kpop bg #kpop fanfic #kpop #5th gen kpop #kpop fluff #boynextdoor #boynextdoor jaehyun #jaehyun boynextdoor #bnd jaehyun #myung jaehyun #myung jaehyun x reader #bnd x reader #bnd fluff #bnd imagines #boynextdoor x reader #kpopccc

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etherealphosphor · 6 months

Text

Wilting Rose Petals

⟡ Contains: Dottore x Gn!Reader, Sfw, Angst, Dottore has Hanahaki Disease, Mentions of coughing up blood, Mentions of painkillers, Good ending

BIG TW: Dottore is su!c!dal, please refrain from reading this if the content triggers you.

Being the Second of the Fatui Harbingers, Dottore had naturally been a cold and reserved man for most of his working life. Even before joining the Harbingers, he was more or less the same, only interested in his research. To him, conversation was a bore, and small talk was practically torture. Getting his business done while interacting with the least amount of people possible was an ideal day at work for him. In the past, the only people he really talked to were his segments.

However, oddly enough, his entire demeanor shifted when you—his part-time assistant—was around. He would go out of his way to talk to you, completely ignoring his responsibilities for however long he could manage to keep you. Dottore’s affection for you was painfully obvious to everyone who worked in the headquarters, as his mood greatly increased when you walked through the door.

His attitude altered so much when he was in your presence, to the point that if one needed to ask Dottore for a favor, they would wait until after you swung by his office. That was quite a wide-spread tactic in the Fatui Headquarters, and for good reason. Dottore would genuinely consider doing a favor for someone due to the cheery mood you put him in, as long as it was easy enough. However, if they interrupted his time with you, they'd be met with only unreasonableness and an incredibly short fuse.

To Dottore, you were the one thing he treasured in life. In recent years, his research lost its appeal and became awfully boring to him. Day after day, year after year, it was all the same. And for what? Why did any of it matter? What was he even living for anymore? Thoughts like those were normal for him. However, you kept him sane. You were like a helping hand in his time of need. You were the one thing that kept him alive each day.

Dottore’s heart and body yearned for you in ways he couldn’t describe. You were the singular light in his dark and lonely life. Even so, he didn’t want to tell you how he felt, for fear of losing you. Archons, what would he do if you never wanted to talk to him again? If he lost his beacon of hope, he wouldn’t know how to live on. So, instead of pursuing you, Dottore decided it was best to leave you as a fantasy that helped him keep his head above water.

As Dottore was daydreaming of you to distract himself from his mind, one of his segments—Theta—walked into his office.

"Hey Boss, is [Name] going to be here today? I know how much you enjoy their company. You get so gloomy when they aren’t around." Theta said in a playful tone as he leaned on the desk, smirking at Dottore.

Dottore felt a pang of sadness at being reminded of your absence. "[Name] is busy today and likely won’t be present."

"Oh, that’s a shame. You’re all smiles when [Name] walks through the door." Theta laughed.

"I am simply happy to be handing off some tasks to someone else. That’s all." Dottore lied, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Aw, come on. Don’t lie to me! I know you like them." Theta teased.

"I do not." Dottore replied, wearing that same grin that told Theta everything he needed to know.

"So, what is it about them, huh? What is it that’s got the Second Harbinger himself all lovesick?"

Dottore sighed. "..everything."

Theta’s eyes lit up. "Woah, you actually have human emotion? I was starting to doubt it. Man, I gotta tell the others!"

Before Dottore could call him back, Theta had run off to gossip with the other segments. He had always been the same. After Theta left, that happy expression on Dottore’s face faded quickly. He was good at covering up how he felt around other people, putting on a show of confidence for everyone around him. However, his personality completely shifted when he was left alone with only his thoughts to accompany him.

Putting his head in his hands, Dottore tried to calm his mind. Archons, he missed you. It had only been a day since he last saw you, and yet it was still agony to him. He was addicted to every aspect of you; you were his person. His only source of true joy.

How was he supposed to focus on his work if any hope of you coming to visit him was extinguished? If only—against all odds—you'd just walk into his office and give him the energy he needed to keep going.

And, as if his prayers were answered by Celestia itself, you appeared at the door, which was left ajar when Theta had run off.

"Good morning, Dottore!" You greeted him. "I’m sorry for not coming in sooner; as you know, I was busy."

Dottore’s heart fluttered in response. Oh, how happy he was to see you. "No, don’t apologize to me. You’re perfectly fine; everyone is busy on occasion. I assumed you were going to spend the whole day with Pulcinella."

"Well, I expected to originally, but I managed to complete all the tasks assigned to me in quick time. After all, I despise doing work for Pulcinella; I just wanted it to be over." You said.

"Oh? Really? What’s the problem with working for him?" Dottore asked, curious.

"He’s just so set in his ways. If I don’t do what he wants me to do in the exact way he does it, he’ll make me redo the entire thing. Even if it’ll all come out to the same solution! I very much prefer being your assistant, Dottore."

Dottore blushed at the compliment, but since his face was hidden behind his mask, you never noticed. "You do? What’s so much better about the tasks I assign?"

"Well, it’s more about the fact that I actually like you. You don’t criticize my every action, and you’re nice to me." You grinned at him.

"I like you too, [Name]." Dottore replied, before quickly clarifying, "You’re a lovely assistant. Maybe you should ask to work for me full-time."

"Unfortunately, Pulcinella would lose it. He already complains about me spending too much time running errands for you, as opposed to helping out the other harbingers."

"Why should you care what he thinks? If he asks for your assistance and then complains about the way you complete said task, then you are perhaps not the kind of person he is looking for. He should let that go and find someone else instead of berating you."

You considered that for a moment. "You’re right, Dottore. Maybe I should–"

Suddenly, you were cut off by a yell from outside. "[NAME], YOU FORGOT TO FILE THESE PAPERS IN OPPOSITE-ALPHABETICAL ORDER! I ASKED YOU TO FILE THEM FROM Z TO A, NOT A TO Z!"

"Better get back to work, then. We can talk about this later." You sighed before sprinting out of the room. "Coming! I apologize for my error, Pulcinella!"

The moment you left, Dottore was overcome with a strong urge to slam his head into his desk. He felt like a fool; it was so clear that he was begging for you to spend every day with him. He just hoped you hadn’t picked up on his subtle flirting throughout the conversation. After all, he wasn’t exactly good at keeping a straight face when you complimented him—something that could definitely give away how he felt.

'I like you too, [Name].' What was I even thinking when I said that!? Of course, they don’t feel the same things I feel about them. They just enjoy working for me; that’s all they meant by that. But, Archons, it felt good to hear them say that they liked me.

As he inwardly cursed himself, his thoughts began to wander to even more self-deprecating ones. How could someone like you ever harbor the same care that he did for you? What did he even do to deserve your attention? Someday, would you consider him more than just someone you worked for? Was he even worth it? Would you hate him if he confessed?

Now Dottore was stuck between two equally unpleasant options. Either continue his dull and monotonous work or let his brain fill the silence by telling him how unworthy he was. Neither choice was something he particularly wanted, but he knew that his research must be completed for the day.

And so, day after day, he spent most of his time in his office, doing research just to fit the requirements of what was expected of him. Archons, he was so tired of it all. Nothing mattered to him anymore—except for you, maybe.

Each time you walked into his office, his day got significantly better. Unbeknownst to you, Dottore set aside all his work just to talk to you. You had simply assumed he was just so on top of everything that he could spare the time. Dottore had occasionally considered asking you out to a nearby cafe—just as work friends—but he was too worried that you’d take the invite the wrong way.

And so, he held his tongue. Of course, his heart begged for him to just make a move on you, but his brain prevented him from doing so. He knew that if his last reason to live was to be scared away, he’d surely fail to go on. Months went by like this; Dottore desperately longing for your affection.

One day, as Dottore sat at his desk, he suddenly felt the urge to clear his throat—almost like something was blocking his airway. Coughing a couple times, Dottore felt the strange object become dislodged and fall gently into the hand he was using to cover his mouth. Looking down, Dottore spotted a small petal; the shade was barely even pink; one could argue that it was closer to white than anything else.

Met with this odd occurrence, Dottore couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong with him. After all, one doesn’t just start coughing up flowers for no reason. But after taking a minute to think, Dottore couldn’t recall the last time he was around a flower. After all, flowers in Snezhnaya die unless kept inside, and Dottore had none in his office.

Despite his suspicions, Dottore decided to chalk it up to a peculiar circumstance with no further investigation required. However, when he coughed up another petal, he knew that this situation was much more serious. Dottore was very knowledgeable about all of Teyvat’s various illnesses, so it didn’t take much more pondering for him to connect the dots.

Coughing up petals.. no… no. It can’t be. I can’t possibly have contracted Hanahaki Disease. There’s absolutely no way.

Dottore immediately began pulling books on various types of illnesses off of the shelves in his office, flipping through them, hoping to find something—anything—on the specific ailment.

After about a minute, he found exactly the page he was looking for in one of the books. Quickly, he read through the section on possible cures. There was no chance he was going to tell you of the affection he secretly held for you. And even less likely, have you reciprocate his feelings? Impossible. Simply impossible.

Confessing… confessing… That won’t do—not at all. Even if I did decide to—which I heavily doubt—the likelihood of [Name] sharing my affection.. I don’t want to think about it. It’s impossible. Dottore thought, skimming through the text.

As Dottore continued to read, he came to a realization. His options were either to somehow woo you into loving him or to hold his tongue and die in the process.

When he realized these were his two options, Dottore wasn’t exactly sure how to feel. Any normal person wouldn’t wait for the disease to end them and would instead confess to their person, no? However, Dottore wasn’t the average man. He was tired of work—or, to be more precise, he was tired of living. When he really thought about it, what he wanted most was for it all to end. To eternally sleep in silence and in peace. No more responsibilities, and no more pain. This disease was his way out.

And so, he decided to accept his fate. He would leave the world behind due to his disease, and he wouldn’t look back. Not for anyone; not even you.

More time passed, and each day, Dottore coughed up flower petals more frequently. He observed that the color of the petals was gradually getting darker each time they appeared. However, he wasn’t that concerned. After all, he would finally have a chance to escape the constant cycle of his meaningless life. He was tired of holding on by a thread and a hopeless fantasy; all he really wanted now was to rest.

Even if Dottore wasn’t worried about himself, you certainly were. Even with Pulcinella constantly requesting your help, you still interacted with Dottore on occasion. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly much, but it was still enough to get a good sense of where Dottore was in terms of health. You had noticed his posture had gotten worse, and so had his general demeanor. Before, he used to straighten up when you walked into his office and would greet you with a smile. However, nowadays, he always seemed exhausted and burnt out.

What especially worried you was the strange coughing you occasionally heard from him, which sounded as if he was quite ill. You wished to get to the bottom of what was going on with him, but you didn’t want to inquire about things that weren’t your business.

You knew that if Dottore was suffering from an ailment, he would simply take the measures needed to cure himself. So why exactly did he still seem so sick? Was the treatment not working? Or was it just not taking effect yet? The only other possibility you could think of was that his sickness could not be easily treated. You weren’t sure what it could be, so you tried to calm your mind by assuring yourself that you were likely overthinking. Dottore would get over it in a couple weeks, right?

However, little did you know, that cough of his could very well be the end of him.

One day, as Dottore was strolling through the headquarters’ hallways, he stopped by a window to look out at the falling snow. He never really noticed the beauty of it until now—not until there was a chance he’d never get to see it again. Due to his focus being elsewhere, he didn’t notice Delta—another one of his segments—behind him until he spoke up.

"Something is wrong with you, Boss." Delta said evenly; it wasn’t a question.

Not bothering to turn around, Dottore replied calmly, "Nothing is wrong with me. Why would you think that, Delta?"

"Do you really think you can assure me just by denying my suspicions? First of all, you’ve been coughing for months; something is clearly up with your health, both physical and mental. Secondly, I saw the pages you marked in that book you left on your desk. Hanahaki, was it? Am I correct in thinking that this matter has something to do with [Name]? You’re quite fond of them, after all."

"You shouldn’t be getting involved in other people’s problems, Delta. You should know better than that." Dottore spoke in a cold tone.

"No, you should know better! You’ve always been like this—awfully stubborn. You’re mistreating yourself, Boss! I can’t just stand by and watch it happen. I’m getting involved in your problems because you won’t help yourself!" Delta raised his voice.

"When have you ever had control over my actions? You’re merely my segment; I am the one with power over you, not the other way around. I’d advise you to get your nose out of my business. It is my choice and mine alone whether or not I get help." Dottore walked away from Delta without another word.

Along with Dottore’s fading footsteps, Delta could hear him coughing as he left. He was so frustrated; why couldn’t Dottore just accept his aid? Why did he have to be so stubborn as to refuse to confess to you, even if it meant the death of him? Dottore of all people should have known that there was no alternative cure for Hanahaki Disease. So what in the world were his motives?

Delta was thoroughly confused by the man’s behavior. However, Dottore had his eyes on one goal and one goal alone: ending his miserable life. Absolutely nothing could get in his way. Archons, how he wished for an opportunity like this. All he had to do was wait until his body finally gave out, and then all would be still.

As more weeks passed, Dottore’s Hanahaki Disease steadily got worse. His throat had begun to feel sore, and it was quite painful to speak. However, through the pain, his hope was restored. His disease had gotten to the later stages; his life was coming to an end at last.

One evening, as Dottore was working on his soulless research, Delta came in to check on his condition.

"Boss? Is everything going okay?"

Dottore beckoned for him to come closer, not saying a word. The only noise that could be heard was his slight coughing as some rouge-colored petals fell from his mouth. Once Delta was close enough, Dottore wrote the names of some painkillers on a slip of paper and handed it to him.

Taking the paper, Delta stared down at the man before him. "What do you want me to do with this? Do you need me to get you these pills from your lab?"

Dottore simply nodded.

"Boss, painkillers won’t make your Hanahaki Disease go away. You can’t just keep ignoring it! You are hurting for a reason; your body needs help. The other segments and I are all worried for you; even [Name] is uneasy. You know, they miss you a lot, Dottore. We all do."

At the mention of your name, Dottore covered his ears, refusing to listen any further. He was determined to calm the beating in his heart that was triggered by Delta mentioning your concern for him. He couldn’t let his feelings for you interfere with his plans.

Eventually, Delta gave up trying to reason with him and went off to retrieve the medicine. After all, he wasn’t going to make Dottore suffer more than the man always was. However, there and then, Delta decided that he needed to tell you what was going on. He had wanted to inform you for a while, but felt guilty about breaking Dottore’s trust. But now, in his heart, he knew it was more important to save him.

Once Delta had acquired the medicine, he came back to find Dottore coughing up more petals than normal. He set down a couple pill bottles on Dottore’s desk, as well as a glass of water for him to swallow them with.

Archons, he just gets worse and worse every day. Delta thought, before bidding him farewell and closing the door to his office.

Just before Dottore was about to take his medication, he had another bout of coughing. The glass of water fell to the floor and shattered as Dottore doubled over in pain. This time, it felt absolutely excruciating, and the magenta-colored petals that fell to his desk were stained with his blood.

Dottore felt that crimson liquid spill from his mouth and drip onto the desk. He knew at this point that he was really, truly dying. However, even so, he felt oddly at peace. His years of labor would finally come to an end. His life would come to an end.

He had to pinch himself just to get the pills down, as the pain of swallowing was making his eyes sting. His own blood was enough for him to take the medication with, as the glass of water was no longer an option. All he had to do was endure half an hour of this torture before his throat would go numb.

Just as Dottore was heading to his private chambers to relax a bit as he waited for the pain to cease, he overheard Delta speaking to someone.

Delta was frantically trying to tell you something. "[Name], I have some extremely important information that you need to know about. It’s concerning Dottore and why he hasn’t been his usual self. He has—"

Just as Delta was about to reveal his secret, Dottore grabbed his neck, pulling him away from you.

Through the pain, Dottore managed to say, "That information isn’t for you to share as you please, Delta."

Feeling a hand on his neck, Delta went silent. Dottore wasn’t choking him, but this action was enough to stop him from telling you about the man’s disease.

Dottore dragged Delta away, leaving you alone to ponder what in the world was so important that Dottore had to threaten Delta just so he wouldn’t say it? Meanwhile, Dottore spoke quietly to Delta in an empty hallway.

"Delta. I don’t want to have to do this, as you’re the segment I trust the most. Zeta is too mysterious, Epsilon is too naive, Theta doesn’t take anything seriously, and Psi is never here. That is why I am reluctant to make a decision about your future; you are making things hard for me." Dottore spoke, enduring the pain speaking caused to his throat that had yet to fade.

"What are you talking about, Boss? What decision?" Delta nervously asked him.

"If this continues, I may have to send you away to a different nation, somewhere far away, where you cannot tamper with my plans."

"Oh really? You want to send me away? And what plans? What plans have you ever had!? Do you really intend to pass away just because you don’t want to tell [Name] that you love them!?" Delta yelled at Dottore.

"This is exactly what I mean. You get too involved with other people’s worries." Dottore spoke coldly.

"I’m loyal to you! That’s what this is, Boss! Loyalty! I want to save your life above all else, don’t you see!?"

Dottore sighed. "Yes, I see that, Delta. However, my orders are for you to stand back."

Now, Delta was extremely frustrated with him. "I care about you! I can’t just watch you perish! Boss, it’s almost as if you want to die!"

"MAYBE I DO!" Dottore snapped. "EVER THOUGHT ABOUT THAT, DELTA!? HAS ANYONE EVER CONSIDERED THAT!?"

Time seemed to stop.

"I—Boss? What?"

Regretting his words, Dottore quickly walked away from him, heading to his private chambers. "Forget it, Delta. It doesn’t matter."

"No—wait—this is serious. Boss? Boss, are you—" Delta tried to go after Dottore, but the man had already locked himself in his room.

"Please, leave me alone." Dottore said from behind the locked door.

Dottore fell onto his bed, exhausted. Archons, it hurt for him to speak. And yelling on top of that? He was surprised that it only hurt a medium amount, and didn't feel like his throat was being ripped open. He could feel blood dripping onto his bedsheets; he’d have to clean it up later. Now all he could do was ignore Delta’s desperate pleas for him to come out as he waited for the painkillers to kick in.

Meanwhile, you were absolutely shocked. Curiosity had gotten the better of you, and you had eavesdropped on their argument. All this new information had hit you like a truck. You had no clue that Dottore felt the way he did.

Dottore is dying from.. Hanahaki Disease? What is that? He wants to die? He.. loves me..? Archons, I’m so confused.. You thought, before running off to the library stationed in the Fatui Headquarters.

You were certain to find something on diseases in there, as it contained shelf after shelf of informational books on every topic under the sun.

As you rushed through the doors, the librarian slowly looked up at you. "Need something, honey? You look like you’re in a hurry."

"Yes, I do need help." You said, out of breath. "D-do you have anything on Hanahaki Disease?"

"Aw, someone’s lovesick, huh? What a shame; all you can do is hope they like you back." The woman said lazily, typing something up on her computer. "Well, we do have a couple books containing some information on that illness. Follow me, honey."

"I–the book is for.. a friend." You clarified.

"Mhm, that’s what they all say. Just make sure you return the book before you die; it’s such a hassle to go looking for them." The librarian replied as she led you over to a shelf.

"I’m not dying, ma’am."

"Sure you’re not, honey. Denial is all you have left, I suppose."

The woman began to pull a couple heavy books off the shelf, handing them to you. You nearly fell over due to the weight in your arms.

"Ma’am, I think I’ll be okay with these for now. Thank you." You said, nearly about to tip over.

"Good for you; have fun. Or don’t. I don’t really care. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything." The librarian walked away, leaving you to do your research.

You skimmed through the first one of the thick books, looking for a section on Hanahaki Disease. Once you found it, you thoroughly read through the entire text.

Unrequited love.. You could feel your heart beating quicker. Of course, you held very tender emotions towards Dottore, but you were too afraid to say anything before. Now was not the time to be getting butterflies over him—he was in serious danger.

You now knew you were the key to saving him. However, you were lost on what to do. Dottore had himself locked in his room and wouldn’t even listen to his most trustworthy segment, Delta. If you pushed him, Dottore would only hide away further. And then you’d truly never get the chance to save him.

You’d need to lure him out somehow, wouldn’t you? But how would you accomplish that? You were still pondering that as you walked out of the library, awkwardly carrying one of the giant books. As you headed towards your room to give yourself time to ponder, you overheard Delta pleading with Dottore.

"Boss, we can talk about this, okay? It doesn’t have to be this way. If you just let me help, things can get better. Please don’t give up like this."

Still hiding behind that locked door, Dottore responded, "I don’t need your help, Delta. Just leave. I want to sleep."

"No, Boss. I’m not leaving. You need help; you just don’t know how to accept it. I’m staying out here until you’re ready."

Your heart lurched painfully at that. What in the world would you do? You weren’t sure exactly how far along the disease had gotten, but he was still talking in clear sentences, which was a good sign that he wasn’t on his death bed yet. Still, when you thought back, his cough had started quite a long time ago, so he was likely in the latest stages. At best, he had maybe a week left. You didn’t want to assume he’d hold on for much longer, so you knew that you needed to act fast. You’d try to save him in the morning if he came out of his room.

Meanwhile, Dottore was just trying to fall asleep. Archons, his body was so exhausted. Delta hadn’t stopped begging him to come out and likely wouldn’t for a while. Dottore’s eyelids began to feel heavy, and he could sense himself drifting off. He wasn’t even quite sure if he’d see the next day; he really hoped he wouldn’t. Then his pathetic and miserable life would finally come to an end.

However, to Dottore’s great disappointment, he did wake up the next day. His body felt weak and oddly warm, and he longed to go outside in the snow to cool off. When he opened his door, he found that Delta had spent the night curled up outside of it.

Dottore carefully stepped over his sleeping body and began heading towards a door to the outside. That particular exit to the Fatui Headquarters wasn’t well known and therefore didn’t warrant being guarded. It was almost too good to be true, as the last thing Dottore wanted was for his plans to be discovered by anyone else. He didn’t want anyone’s help.

Once Dottore reached the exit, he stumbled outside, slowly making his way out into the snow. He wasn’t wearing the proper layers, just a collared shirt and pants, but he still felt too warm. The falling snowflakes melted on his skin, cooling him down just a bit. It still wasn’t enough for him.

When he was about ten yards into the snow, he began to have another coughing fit. He was in pure agony this time, as he had forgotten to take his pain medication that morning. He fell to his knees as blood poured from his mouth, leaving a stark contrast in the snow. Along with his blood, tears flowed down his face. Archons, the pain was unbearable. Pure red petals were scattered all around him, a sign that his disease had gotten to its worst stage.

Dottore didn’t even have the energy to stay balanced, and he fell to his side. Blood still dripped from his mouth as he lay in the snow and let the cold embrace his feverish body. All he could think of was that he could finally rest—forever this time. Just before his eyes began to shut, he caught sight of a figure running towards him, yelling his name.

Oh. It’s [Name]. At least they’ll be the last thing I see before I die.

When you reached him, you dropped to your knees beside him and removed the mask from his face.

"Oh no.. no.. please be okay.. please be alive.." You said frantically.

Dottore looked up at you as you did so, those crimson eyes of his matching the blood that was still dripping from his mouth. Those eyes that were wet with tears that had yet to fall. Likewise, you could feel your own tears dripping down your face.

"Dottore.. please don’t leave me. I love you; I always have. Just hang on for me, okay?" You spoke softly to him, gently stroking his cheek as you wiped away his tears.

Because of your heartfelt words, Dottore’s wretched curse was broken. However, at that point, Dottore was too weak to care that his attempt had failed. All that he cared about was the fact that you shared his feelings. His aching heart had seemingly been revived. You held Dottore closer, embracing him as you cried into his shoulder.

"Please, Dottore. Don’t try anything like this ever again. I’m going to get you the help you need; please just keep holding on."

Dottore had felt as though his existence was worthless, but now he was comforted knowing that it meant something to you. You loved him. That alone gave it purpose. Archons, it felt like a dream. His one reason to keep going had saved his life yet again.

Slowly, Dottore began to speak, "[Name].. I—I love you too.."

You smiled at him, tears still streaming down your face. Gently, you pressed your lips to his, your kiss as soft as a feather. It was at that moment that Dottore truly realized that he would no longer have to struggle alone. You’d be there for him every step of the way to recovery.

His life was finally worth something again.

165 notes · View notes

personwhowrites · 8 months

Text

Common Sense

Task Force 141 (kind of?) x gn reader(platonic)

No use of y/n or any female/male pronouns.

Words: 2k ish something

——————————————————————

Sense, that’s what they all told you in boot camp. If you want to survive in such a job, you need sense. Not just a ‘I felt that’ sense, but also common sense. It came to surprise when you almost put a sergeant in danger along with the squad you were assigned to. The base bussed with rumors about you, how you lacked common sense in serious situations and instead did stupid things. You don't like those types of rumors, it made you feel like you didn’t matter.

You did have common sense, you did know what to do in serious and tense situations.

“Are you done mumbling to yourself?” A voice spoke, finally you snapped back into reality and noticed you were sitting down in front of a man. “You’re a rookie, correct? Fresh out of boot camp?”

“Yes sir, I am..” You replied unsure why he needed to know if it was correct. “I want to apl—”

The apology was cut off short by the sound of him shushing you. You were taken back by this type of response and looked at his desk. There you found a label, his name written on it ‘Captain John Price’. You soon then turned your attention to Price, he didn’t seem so happy to have a rookie in his office, and his gesture made it clear he didn’t want any excuses or apologies.

“I have heard several rumors about you.” Price says looking at you, his face with a simple annoyed expression. “So, is it true you lack common sense?”

“No I don’t sir, I don’t believe that I do.” You reply is slightly hurt by his question. “I understand that things may seem like my fault but it isn't.”

“Yet it is your fault, you were the one crossing the enemy line.” Price adds and crosses his arms against his chest. “ I should be getting you fired and investigated., you could be a spy with all the actions you have done.

The word spy struck you like a truck, you a spy? How could he come to the exception that you were a spy? Could it be another rumor someone started behind your back that you weren’t aware of? Price cleared his throat, your attention back on him, your eyes slightly wide to his words.

“Are you a spy rookie?’’ Price asks you now, leaning back on his chair. “Your reaction makes me think otherwise..”

“I'm not sir, I was just taken back by your words..” You reply and look into his eyes now slightly scared. “I would never betray britain.”

“On that note do you lack common sense then?” Price asks, looking at you. “Looking at you makes me think that you lack common sense.”

“First of all I do have common sense.” You blurted with slight anger in you. “I understand that I might bebe violating some dress code with my piercings, butI do have common sense.”

Price leans back in his chair and sighs. He shifts his weight to the chair, you stare at him. It was clear he didn’t want your smart ass mouth talking anymore. An awkward silence rose between for a couple seconds before he finally sat back up.

“Twenty four laps around the whole base.” Price ordered as he reached for a file on his desk. “I don’t care if you get tired, I want them done before dinner.”

“That's in two hours!’ You exclaim and look Price. “That is impossible to do without breaks!”

“Dismissed.” Price bluntly said not looking on from his file. “If you did have common sense I would stop arguing and start now.’’

You looked at Price, he was being very serious about your punishment. You didn’t want to get a longer number so you left his office and headed down to the outside of the base. People around you were getting ready for missions, starting up cars and helicopters. The sunset was setting and you knew time was ticking down for you as you started to run. People gave you odd looks as you ran around the base, no one questioned you or even wanted to talk to you. Time became clear, it was so little so very little and you were just on lap seven. When you made your eight lap, Price was waiting for you, his arms crossed and a look of disappointment.

“Just eight how disappointing” Price remarks looking at you. “How bad of a rookie even you are?”

You look down at the floor, your hands on your knees as you're slightly slouching. Price hands you a water bottle and you immediately drink it. Price eyes narrow to the sight, did you really not take a break? You stand up straight and look at him, his cold gaze meeting your tired gaze.

“Who said you can stop now?” Price says looking at you now. “Go on, you had one of your water breaks.”

You look at Price and curse, even yell and tell him something but nothing escapes your lips. Soon you turn away from Price and start running again. Each time you finished a lap Price gave you a nod of approval and watched on. When you came around on your twelve lap, you saw three people standing besides him. They all watched you now. It seemed like they were trying to understand why Price is so interested in keeping an eye on you. Price stops you before you can runoff to do another lap, he hands you a water bottle.

“I'm surprised you haven’t decided to give up yet.” Price remarks and looks at you with some pity. “Call it a night if you know what’s best for you.”

You look at Price, unwillingly you walk away and soon start to run instead. You did see tall people next to him. One had a mohawk as their haircut was strange at first but then more looking into it did make his facial features pop out more. Another had a balaclava with a skull sewn into it, it gave you creepy vibes even more as you notice he was the tallest out of them. He definitely didn’t seem normal or friendly at all. A fellow male with a cap with a Union flag stood next to Price. They all seem to come from different backgrounds yet they seem to get along so well. When you came around on your thirteen lap Price stared at you. His gaze wasn’t threatening but more of a respectful look.

It took two more hours to finish up those twenty four laps. When you finished you collapsed onto the dirt. It was a sight, you were sweating and panting as you tried to regain your breath. Price kneeled next to you and looked at your shaking body. It was clear he was slightly impressed that you really didn’t give up like he expected you to. No one said a word, only silence and the cool night breeze hung around. Crickets chirped and the late night lights turned on, it was clearly late and you still needed to shower and finish your daily tasks. Finally after a couple minutes you regained your breath and stood up, Price stood up as well and crossed his arms. He had something in mind.

“Good job rookie, I honestly expected you to give up sooner.” Price beamed before handing you a bottle of water. “Follow me kid..”

You did as told, your feet ached but you couldn't stop then. When you followed Price the other three people did too. It felt like their stares wanted to eat you alive and know what makes you weak. You arrived in a building and saw a strange obstacle and Price stopped and turned to you, his gaze was now cold once more. Price handed you an L85A2, a rifle mostly used by beginners and people who fail to hold a gun correctly.

“I want you to do this obstacle and see if you really deserved to pass selection.” Price says and looks at you before pushing you forward. “Come one now, we don’t have all night.”

‘We’ the mention of it made you realize that the people earlier were going to judge you too. You heard the mohawk man snicker with the union flag cap man. Meanwhile the creepy tall looking man stared into your soul, definitely freaked you out. You held the rifle in your hand and tried to reject or say something but your body started moving. Your mind wanted to go against it and rest, but your body wanted to move and do as told.

When you finished the obstacle, a loud buzzer went off and you looked at them. Price had a semi pleased look on his face. He then grabbed the rifle out of your hands and looked at the union flag cap man.

“Gaz, you think they would beat your record?” Price asks them and the man chuckles, shaking their head. “No?’’ Price soon turns to the mohawk man and chuckles. “Soap?”

“You aren’t gonna call them a muppet?” Soap asks with a sly grin on his face. “That’s new for you captain.’’

“At least they don’t have a ridiculous codename like you when I first met you.” Price adds looking at you now. “Do you have a codename yet, rookie?”

“None..” You reply to price before yawning. “Why ask me that sir?”

“Oh you will get one soon when you're with us.” Gaz adds speaking for Price. “You are a rookie with common sense, correct?”

You let out annoyed sigh and nod to his words. It seemed like that common sense rumor would be sticking for a long time. Price ruffled your hair and chuckled, his whole attitude with you changed immediately and it seemed like the others as well. You looked at the four men in front of you, slightly confused about what's happening. Price soon dismissed you without another word. You left the building only to turn your head back around to see them talking like some sort of loving family. The scary looking skull masked man made eye contact with you. It sent shivers down your spine. Soap spoke, you couldn't manage what he said fully but he called the man ‘Ghost’.

The rest of the night was blurr, you found yourself eating cereal and looking at the table. You kept bobbing your head as you tried to remain awake. It wasn’t easy but you kept shaking your head hoping that would make you stay awake. The training for the day was a drag for you, already so you decided to sneak away hoping no one rats you out. You made your way into the busy hallways, buzzing with activity and movement of carts pushing items. You turned the corner of a hall and saw Price, he immediately saw you as you tried to duck behind a rack of boxes, he walked over and looked at you. He didn’t recognize you at first but soon did as you gave him a small awkward smile.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your rookie training?” Price says looking at you with a slight disappointed look. “A muppet like you really lacks common sense huh?”

There it was again, common sense..How come everyone you knew or well felt like you knew asked you such a thing. Have things become off after that mistake of yours? Did people really think you had no common sense no more or was it just to get under your skin?

“You done thinking? Because I still need an explanation.” Price says looking at you with a slight pity look. “Forget it, come with me I need to discuss something with you.”

You open your mouth to speak but Price had already walked away. You let out an annoyed groan and follow after him. He takes you back outside, past the other rookies and into the building from last night. There you see Ghost, Gaz and Soap all waiting for Price and you? Price pushes you up to them and they stare at him with some confusion.

“What is the rookie doing here? No offense..” Gaz says looking at you then at Price. “Thought this was private practice.”

“I did mention that I would be bringing someone here with us today.” Price adds before turning his attention to you. “You think that it’s okay to leave training and go sneak around the base. I think it should make some sense to punish you by making you train with them.”

Oh boy and training you did, Price made sure no one slacked off. Well mostly you didn’t slack off and tried to take a break. It did have its ups, you were training with a captain, two sergeants and a lieutenant. A normal rookie could never get that type of training, it wasn’t so bad in the end. They all gave you some slight pointers to better your skills and what not to do on a mission, for some reason they all had a good bond with you. Well except Ghost he moved away from you or scoffed as you tried to ask for his assistance or any tips. Soap told you he was like that to everyone so you shouldn’t take his actions to heart. Which you didn’t most of the time.. When lunch time you started to walk away from them.

“Where do you think you're going?” Gaz asked as he leaned against some pillar. “You have things to do or what?”

“Lunch, I don’t want to miss it and this training made me hungry.” You say looking back at him before Price shakes his head and chuckles. “What?”

“You don’t want to go out and grab a bite to eat with us?” Price says with a small smile on his lips. “You hurting us here rookie, we are a team after all.”

“Team?” You say confused before Price walks up to you. “We just don’t let some rookie hang and train out with us for no reason. You didn’t think this was a punishment.. Did you?”

“I mean.. You did say it was a punishment for sneaking away.” You say now embarrassed and confused by what's happening. “I should go back, I'm probably in trouble now..”

“Kid, don’t worry about that now” Soap adds, looking at his phone while leaning his weight on Ghost. “You’re with us now, so no need for some worry.”

“With yall?” you ask confused, Price sighs and places his hand on your shoulder,

“We really gotta work on that common sense..” Price says with a chuckle are you stare at him confused. “What do you feel like eating?”

You stare at Price unsure on how to answer, then look at the others. Then it became clear, they took you in but didn’t want to admit they did such a thing. You smile a bit, maybe just maybe you did need help with some common sense and they would be the ones helping you.

——-

Authors note; it’s been a while since I written anything. I hope I can get back into the rift of writing. All feedback is lovely, please tell me on how I can make the ‘fanfics’ in yeh future more enjoyable for you all. I take in all options and tips 🖤

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milfjuulpod · 10 months

Text

Special

req: yes

can you write a Melissa x Reader where reader is the new VP of Abbott and she’s just the most professional person ever. She doesn’t wanna interact with the staff in any way that’s not professional, she’ll refer to them by last name, has lunches in her car, doesn’t try to socialize unless it’s Melissa. Melissa never notices but reader is always lingering to watch her, calls her by her first name, goes out of her way to make sure Mel is never inconvenienced by anything at Abbott. it’s not until maybe Janine or Jacob, hell Gregory even point it out that Mel notices and confronts the reader about it. Reader responds in like the cheesiest way possible, something like “i was down bad for you from the moment i saw you” and Melissa just m e l t s!!

warnings: none

A/N: hello again 🧛🏻‍♀️ i absolutely LOVED this request, so i hope you enjoy reading as much as i did writing :)) thank you for all the support !!

After earning yourself your graduate degree, and interning at schools all over, you found yourself at Abbott Elementary. Despite its hazards here and there, you loved it. You maintain your poise and passion for work each day, staying on task and doing everything you could to help.

Being the Vice Principal came with a lot of responsibilities, especially working for Ava Coleman. Over the school year, just like the rest of Abbott, you grew to love her—but that didn’t mean she didn’t give you a headache every week. “Can you not eat in your car for one day and just come with me to this brunch?” Ava begged, but you knew better. “Ms. Coleman, if you’re going on this brunch, somebody has to stay here. Besides, you’ll be fine. I’ve prepared your folder for you and you nailed rehearsals,” you encouraged her.

Ava was preparing for a brunch with some people from the district, and as much as you wanted to go and support her, you had to stay. “You’re right, I did kill that last rehearsal. I guess I’ll go alone,” the principal dramatized, and left for her lunch. Walking back, you decided to do a quick sweep before heading into your own office. No harm in checking on everyone, right? You passed Mrs. Howard’s door, noticing her students taking a nap. She saw you through the window, and the two of you exchanged smiles before you parted.

“Oh, hey Y/N! I had a question for you,” a small, but loud, voice was heard from behind you. “Hello Ms. Teagues, how can I help you?” You turned to greet her. “You know you can call me Janine, right?” The shorter teacher gave you a friendly smile, and continued. “Anyways, I was thinking about doing a project with my students, they started this new book and are just loving it! Honestly I was a bit surprised, but I guess when the kids are with me-”

“The question you had?” You interrupted her. As much as Janine had a soft spot in your heart, you had work to do and a lunch to half-eat. “Right, sorry. Do you think Friday we could use the library?” She asked, shooting you puppy dog eyes. “I don’t see why not. Let me touch base with our librarian that week and make sure, I’ll get back to you.” You answered.

“Yay! Okay, I gotta pick my kids up but, thank you!” She yelled as she started to pick up speed down the hallway. You shook your head and smiled to yourself as you continued your walk, but quickly stopped in your tracks. Melissa’s door was open. For whatever reason, Melissa was…different for you. You never interacted much with people from your work life, never have. With Melissa you still kept your physical distance, but that didn’t stop the thoughts in your head that always came back to her.

Nervously, you leaned against the door frame and took in her room. She sat in her chair at the front of the room, book in hand, reading to her class. Every few sentences she would pick her head up and glance at her students, and each time you got nervous she would catch you staring. “The vine was alive! It was a long green snake! The snake fell from the tree, it splashed in the water and swam away,” Melissa read aloud. You watched as one of her students stood up from their seat. “Does the snake get Jack? Or Annie?” He asked. “I don’t know hon, that’s why we have to keep reading,” Melissa said to him, and motioned for him to sit back down.

“Sorry Ms. Schemmenti,” he apologized, albeit quietly. “That’s alright, I know reading can be very exciting. But let’s regroup, okay?” She regained everyone’s attention so quickly, and you couldn’t help but watch in complete adoration for the woman. You completely missed two teachers walk right behind you. Melissa went to go back to reading, but her head snapped back up immediately as she saw you standing. She waved for you to come in, and continued on. You sat there for the next few minutes, until it was time for her students to go to lunch. “Jacob is coming to get my kids, give me a minute and then I wanna talk to ya,” Melissa said to you as she stood up to get her kids ready.

You couldn’t help but study her every movement, the way she walked, the way she bent down to talk to the kids, everything. She had you wrapped around her finger like it was nothing. Melissa was, without a doubt, the highlight of your day. Every day. “So,” she started, pulling you out of your trance. “I need the library on Friday. I’m getting my kids ready for the science fair this year and I wanna try some bigger stuff with them,” she said. You could see the excitement practically glowing off of her as she told you about her plans. How could you say no? “Yeah! That sounds great. If I have time, I’d love to come see what you guys end up doing,” You told her.

“Yeah hon, you should swing by. I’d like that,” She responded. You tried desperately to ignore the way your heart pounded when she called you that, and went to make your exit. “It’s a plan. I have to get back to work but, I’ll see you around, Melissa.” She waved goodbye to you, and you went back to your office stomach full of butterflies.

Melissa wasn’t far behind you, although she was going in a different direction. She grabbed her things and headed towards the break room for her own lunch. “I’m not saying I don’t like her! I really like her, I just think it’s strange she still won’t call me Janine.” Melissa heard a voice she tried to ignore. She smiled or waved to those around, and made her way to sit down and eat. “She calls all of us by our last names, even Ava. She’s not social with us either, one time I think I saw her working and eating in her car. Are we not fun to be friends with?” Jacob frantically asked.

“No,” Melissa said in time with Ava, who was just walking in. “Are y’all talkin bad about my little helper?” She asked. Melissa, against her better judgment, chimed in. “She’s the Vice Principal, not just your little helper.” Ava sported a cheeky grin, noticing how that got under her skin. “Whatever, anyways, I came in here to tell you actually that the library is yours on Friday,” The principal continued her conversation with Melissa, although Janine was quick to say something. “Wait, what? I just talked to Y/N, and she said I could have the library,” she said frantically. “No, I just talked to her, she said I could have it. Sorry kid,” Melissa retorted. “Just because you’re her favorite, doesn’t mean you should get privileges,” Janine tried to say quietly, but she wasn’t quiet enough. “I am not her favorite! She doesn’t have favorites, she doesn’t like any of us,” Melissa argued. She turned her body more towards the table in front of her and crossed her arms.

“Oh come on Melissa, you don’t notice?” Janine poked. When she got no response, everybody decided to help paint the picture. “She calls you by your name. Your first name,” Janine told her. “She gave you the library over Janine,” Jacob added. “I saw her outside your classroom for like, five minutes today,” Gregory finished. Melissa was too stunned to say anything, both at everyone noting your behavior towards her, and the fact that she missed all of this. You didn’t wanna socialize with everyone, but everyone didn’t mean Melissa.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go figure it out. Sorry,” The redhead shot Janine an apologetic look as she walked out the door once again. Melissa felt her palms get sweaty as she got closer to your office. Now that she knew about all her little privileges with you, she didn’t want to say something and ruin it. Besides, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Melissa enjoyed the rare company you brought her. As she approached your door, Melissa took a deep breath in. After a quick mental pep talk, she knocked gently. Upon hearing your, “Come in,” she opened the door as slowly as she could.

Lifting your head to look at the door, your face lit up at the sight. “Oh! Hi Melissa, what’s up?” You asked her. Melissa closed the door behind her, and took a seat across from you. When she didn’t answer, you leaned in a bit closer and furrowed your eyebrows at her. Melissa couldn’t meet your gaze, and you hated it. “What’s going on?” You asked quietly.

“Why am I special?” Melissa blurted out. The both of you looked at each other, surprised at what she had just said. “I…I’m not sure what you mean by that,” you lied. “You told Janine she could have the library, and then went and gave it to me. You call me ‘Melissa’ but everyone else is last names only. And I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only person you buy coffee for once a week,” the older woman explained. You felt cheeks turn as red as Melissa’s hair when she said all this to you, and now it was your turn to avoid eye contact. “Hon?” She pushed when you didn’t reply.

After a deep breath, you spoke. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it is about you Melissa but my god. From the first day I got here I…I can’t keep my eyes off you when we’re in the same room. I want to do everything I can to make your day easier or better or just to see you smile. Everything I do here is for you. You’re special, that’s it. And I like you that way.” When you finally looked back up, you saw tears forming in the green eyes across from you.

“You…you really mean that?” Melissa asked you, like she almost believed everything you said. “Yes!” You let out a defeated laugh, tears forming in your own eyes out of embarrassment. “Of course I mean it. What made you decide to bring this up today?”

Melissa shifted in her seat. “It was brought to my attention today, that I may or may not be your favorite,” she admitted. She tried to hide the smile that was forming, but it was clear she was happy to be your favorite person. You sighed, “Well, you are. I’m sorry that it’s affecting work now,” You slid your chair back a bit and started to mess with papers on your desk. “Woah woah woah, don’t get all sad on me now. I never said it was a bad thing,” Melissa said, reaching across the desk to stop your hand from moving another paper. You tilted your head in confusion, which led to Melissa giggling at you. She stood up from her seat and walked around your desk, turning your chair to face her.

“I think I like being your favorite,” Melissa said in a much lower voice than you’ve ever heard from her. She rested her hands on either side of your chair, faces so close your noses were almost touching. You looked from her eyes to her lips, fighting internally which one to stare at. “Yeah?” You asked, so quietly you weren’t sure she heard you. Melissa nodded her head and when you did the same, she finally closed the distance and you were wrapped in the sweetest kiss you had ever felt.

After a few more kisses from Melissa, she finally pulled away. “I’m sorry it took me so long to notice,” She mumbled. You took her hands in yours and played with her fingers. “Don’t be, if anything I’m sorry it took me so long to actually do something about it,” You joked, which thankfully the older woman did find funny. “I think I was the one who did something about it,” Melissa corrected you. “Okay, fine. But either way, I’m glad you brought it up. Would you, maybe, want to kiss me again sometime? After dinner together?” Even though Melissa had just kissed you, you were so nervous about asking her out.

“I would love to, but I might kiss you before then.”

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fics #lisa ann walter #reader fic #melissa hours #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti imagine #melissa schemmenti x you #wlw #melissa x reader #melissa schemmenti

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avatar-anna · 1 year

Note

Hey I've had a rly rly bad day :( I'm about to breakdown down n trying to do things to distract myself.. would you mind writing a little fluffy blurb about h comforting reader ??? You don't hve to if you're busy :))

hey! i'm sorry you're having a bad day. here is the fluffiest blurb (w a little bit of angst bc reader has to be crying for some reason) enjoy! 💕💕💕

You never knew how little you put yourself first until today.

All your life you considered yourself a compassionate person. Reliable. Dependable. Someone friends and family could count on. And you liked being that person, you liked that you had a prominent role in the lives of the people you loved and cared for most.

And if carried over into your work life too. You were constantly working overtime, saying yes to projects that your boss or co-workers prefaced with, “I knew just the person to come to for this!” And that made you feel valued. Important.

Until today.

You were already behind on a project because one of your co-workers asked you for help with theirs, and without asking why, you agreed as usual. But your own was already kind of kicking your ass and you had a million other things going on outside of work that needed your attention. You really weren’t sure why you couldn’t say no this time. You had valid reasons, yet you still tacked on more work, more stress (and not more pay, either).

“Hey, Y/n, how we doing in here?” your boss said, knocking on the open door of your office.

“A little stressed, but what else is knew?” you said with a smile. It was your normal response, but this time there was a little edge to it you hadn’t expected.

Not even noticing, your boss moved on. “Good, good. I was wondering if I could ask a favor? Our partner office from Hong Kong is coming next week, and I thought who better to show them around than our hardest worker bee?”

He said it with a smile, like it was an honor to be asked such a thing, but all you could say in reply was, “Both of my projects are due next week.”

With a quick look around the room, you saw that you were one of the last ones in the big office space. Either your co-workers took their work home or didn’t have as much to do as you did, and for the first time, that irked you. Why couldn’t your boss ask any of them when you were clearly drowning in meetings and phone calls and spreadsheets and ten minute lunches?

“I know you’ll make it work,” he said, as if he hardly even heard your response. “So you’ll do it?”

“I...”

Tears sprung out of nowhere, perhaps the stress of a task you hadn’t even accepted already weighing down on you. There would be no time, no time for yourself, or anything or anyone other than work.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, hoping that your boss would ask someone else in the meantime.

“Well, I kind of need an answer now—”

“Then no, my answer is no,” you blurted, standing up from your desk to pack your things. “Not only can I not do it, I don’t want to do it. You have so many people that work here that could do this for you, and even though you knew I was up to my ears in work, you asked me anyway. So no. I will not be able to help you next week.”

Your boss floundered a bit. At your outburst, or that you said no, you weren’t sure. He probably hadn’t thought to ask anyone else, had just expected you to say yes. And that once would’ve made you proud, but now you absolutely despised that.

“Well, I mean, this might affect your promotion,” he said, a last stitch effort to get you to say yes.

Could he really not see you were on the verge of tears? Or that you were in the same clothes as yesterday because you fell asleep in your office last night? Or did he just not care?

That promotion was dangled over every project, every favor, every little thing you did at work. It was the reason you did so much. You worked hard, and you wanted a paycheck that validated that. But if your boss took one refusal as a reason for you to not get a promotion, when so many of your co-workers turned things down left and right, then...

“Fuck your promotion,” you said before you could filter your words, then hastily left your office, not bothering to look your boss in the eye.

Tears wanted to fall as you rode the elevator, as you got behind the wheel of your car, but you swallowed them down, pushing them away for later.

A minute into driving, your phone rang, your cousin’s name popping up on the screen on your car’s dash.

“Hey! How’s it going?”

You didn’t have it in you to be chipper. “I think I just lost my job.”

“Oh...Well that’s—Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug.

“Great! Well, I was just calling to ask if you and H have locked down a date for the wedding,” your cousin asked.

With a raised brow, you said, “We sent out save the dates three weeks ago.”

“Right, but my wife and I booked a cruise before you and Harry even got engaged, and our flight to get to port is on the same day as the wedding. You see where I’m going with this, right?”

You did, but you were so furious that you said, “I don’t, actually.” You needed him to say it, to admit what he was asking for.

“Well, you know, since we booked this cruise before you and H got engaged, we were wondering if you could change the date. Move it up or something.”

“Or something,” you said, voice completely devoid of emotion. What would that even mean?

Did you really accommodate so much that a family member was asking to move your literal wedding day for them? Did people really expect you to bend over backwards like that?

The answer was yes. You put so many people first, that you’d become the default, friends, families, co-workers were practically on autopilot when asking for favors, you doubted they even tried to come up with solutions themselves at this point.

“So tou’ll do it?”

You were surprised when you started laughing. Not a giggle, but a full-bellied laugh. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the ludicrous favor your cousin just asked you, or maybe you’d finally snapped. Your cousin was still on the other line waiting. Because despite what clearly was a nervous breakdown, he was still expecting you to do this for him.

“Shove it up your ass and don’t bother coming to the wedding,” you said when your laughter subsided, then promptly hung up the phone.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry was on the couch when you got home, watching one of his crime shows he loved so much. He smiled when he saw you, the reaction almost involuntary, but it faltered when he got a better look.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, turning the TV off and coming over to you.

“Bad day. Really bad day,” was all you said, voice empty.

“I’m sorry, lovie. Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, and Harry took that as his cue to pull you in for a hug. He was much taller than you were, so you were completely engulfed in his soft sweater and the fresh scent of his cologne. You sighed, your shoulders sagging as he squeezed you, as if he was trying to wring all the stress and sadness out of you.

After a couple minutes, Harry let go, but only to look down at you. “So I’m thinking that as your fiance, I need to make you feel better.”

“Yeah?” you said, a small smile forming on your face. Harry seemed to be the only one who put you first, or realized when you needed a break.

“Yeah, which is great because I bought stuff at the store to make that dish you really love. The one with chicken and the red sauce? I just need a little help with—”

“You need help?” you asked, smile immediately turning into a frown. “Like a favor?”

Confused, Harry said, “Well, it’s not really a favor, I just need—”

“And I just need people to stop needing me! Why can’t anyone understand that? I give, and I give, and I give, and I never ask for anything in return, so people keep expecting me to give. Well, I have nothing to give anymore. I‘m—I’m...”

You pulled away from your fiance and stormed upstairs, locking yourself in the bathroom the two of you shared. Your were breathing as if you’d just run a marathon, unable to get a sob out before the next one came over you. Tears were hot on your cheeks, and you knew if you looked in the mirror your face would be an angry shade of red. Sliding down to the cool tile floor, you curled in on yourself and just cried.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting like that, how long you stormed away from Harry. If you had the ability to think rationally for a moment, you would’ve realized that he wasn’t trying to use you or take advantage of your kindness. He didn’t even know that asking for help would’ve triggered you like this (you didn’t either, to be fair). But he just happened to be the person you blew up at, and while it wasn’t fair, you couldn’t exactly take it back.

Not that you could, at the moment. You couldn’t stop crying. No matter how much you tried to steady your breathing, or how much you thought you got out of your system, you just kept crying. So much so that you didn’t even hear Harry knock on the door the first time.

“Lovie? Can you unlock the door? Please?”

You didn’t answer, hoping that would be answer enough.

But he persisted. “I hate hearing you cry all by yourself. Will you please let me in? Let me help you, lovie.”

The sobbing stilled for just a moment, long enough to stand up and unlock the door for Harry. He opened it immediately, but you didn’t see his face before he pulled you against him again.

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that, how long you cried in Harry’s arms while he smoothed his hand down your hair soothingly and kissed the top of your head, waiting patiently until you let it all out. When you finally did, he wiped the remaining tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. You didn’t know what to say or what to do. You knew you had to do something, explain, apologize, change out of day-old clothes, something, but Harry thankfully spoke first.

“I think you need a long, hot shower.”

While you got undressed, Harry turned the water on and made sure it was the right temperature. You thought he would leave after that, but he began shedding his clothes too. You wanted to ask what he was up to, but you couldn’t find the words.

He led you to the shower and stepped in behind you. Once you were under the stream of hot water, he leaned down to kiss you, his fingers delicate as the held the side of your face. “Just relax,” he breathed, kissing the top of your cheekbone before turning you around.

Something like excitement stirred in you, even though you were much too exhausted for sex currently. But that wasn’t Harry’s intention. You heard the familiar squirt of the shampoo bottle behind you, and before you could utter a single word, Harry’s fingers were in your hair, massaging your scalp and working the shampoo into a nice lather on your head.

It was the greatest feeling, your fiance’s hands applying the right amount of pressure to make it feel soothing. Your eyes closed involuntarily, a small sigh leaving your lips as he combed through the ends of your hair. Harry repeated the process for conditioner, then body wash, and even a body scrub and the hair oil you applied after getting out of the shower. He did it all himself. You didn’t lift a finger.

At some point, as the steam and Harry’s fingers and the lovely scents of all the products used on you, you managed to find your voice. “I...I think I lost my job today,” you said, then proceeded to tell him everything. You left nothing out, not a single detail, and Harry didn’t say a word, just listened to you recount your day, and all the frustrations that came with it.

You were in a fluffy pink robe by the time you finished. Harry stood behind you while he combed your hair, careful not to hurt you with each knot he de-tangled. Only when you were obviously done talking did he say something.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, moving your hair aside to kiss your jaw.

“Really?”

He nodded. “I...I’ve noticed that you go...above and beyond for people, but family can be a touchy subject for you, and I didn’t want to upset you by implying that your family relies on you a little too much. But after hearing all of that, I can’t help but think I should’ve said something sooner. Why didn’t you tell me about work?”

“I just thought I was working hard,” you said.

It was true. You never really complained to Harry about work or let on how much you were actually doing. And maybe it was subconsciously because you knew he felt a certain way about how your family treated you. If you looked back, you could see moments where his caution manifested. Cancelling a date or two to pick someone up at the airport, running late because a family member called you at the last minute asking for a favor. It was almost like your life wasn’t yours anymore, it was everyone else’s.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a long stretch of silence while Harry finished combing your hair. “For letting all of that affect our relationship and for earlier. I wasn’t mad at you, I promise.”

“I know,” he said. He kissed your jaw again, letting his lips linger this time. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

You felt like there was, but Harry didn’t seemed concerned about it, just concerned about you.

He went through your skincare routine, applying everything to your face with gentle fingers. With each cream and serum, he kissed you. On your nose, your cheeks, your eyelids, the corners of your mouth. Every inch of your skin was sealed with a kiss and the mumbling of, “I love you.”

Harry helped you dress in cozy clothes—your favorite sweatshirt of his and your softest sweatpants. And when he was done he led you downstairs where a pot of something was waiting on the stove.

“I didn’t know how to make the red sauce,” he admitted. And you blushed at the way you exploded at him for that. He wasn’t asking just because he was lazy or wanted you to make dinner for him, he just needed a little help.

As if he could read all the thoughts swirling in your mind, he kissed your rouged cheek. “But no matter. I made macaroni and cheese for us. Straight from the box.”

“Sounds delicious,” you said. And you meant it, just appreciative that he did so much for you.

Harry served you and poured you wine. He talked about his day and the cute dog he saw while stopping for coffee, all the while holding your hand. And when you were both done, he sent you upstairs to relax while he cleaned the kitchen, threatening to haul you up himself when you tried to take your bowl to the sink.

It was weird to lay in your bed and do nothing. Usually you worked or tried to get some things done for the wedding, but tonight, you just laid in bed and watched some reality show on the television mounted on the wall that faced your bed.

Harry came up a little while later, two mugs with something steaming in them in his hands. He handed on to you and kissed your forehead before setting his down on the night table on his side of the bed and sliding in next to you. You set yours down too, cuddling into his inviting warmth.

You immediately found a comfortable position, tangled in a way that said he wasn’t letting you stand up for a single thing, except for maybe using the restroom. Harry’s cheek was squished against yours, his hand tracing delicate patterns on your stomach while he kissed you whenever he felt like it. It was the most relaxed you’d ever been, you thought. The most at peace.

“I love you,” you whispered, his hands and warmth and endless supply of kisses lulling you to sleep.

“I love you too. Now go to sleep, lovie.

To be taken care of. To hear the promise of Harry doting on you now and the rest of your life in his voice was enough to put a smile on your face as you did just as he said.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst

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sappymix1 · 4 months

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Okay writing prompt -> office au dnf where George is the front desk worker and Dream is in sales and they meetup in the break room and always flirt

hi anon so funny thing it did not occur to me that you meant office au as in the show the office until I turned on the tv earlier today and it was there lmao. but anyway here is 1.3k words of dnfies working for a company that supplies textbooks to high schools lmao

[12:14] 🐈‍⬛: Dream

[12:16] 🐈‍⬛: Hellooooooooo

[12:16] 🐈‍⬛: This is so messed up why are you ignoring me

[12:19] 🐈‍⬛: Dreeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaam

[12:21] 🐈‍⬛: Stop ignoring me, idiot

[12:25] 🐈‍⬛: I’m so bored. I haven’t had to do anything all day. This is so boring.

[12:27] 🐈‍⬛: And now you won’t even text me back. You hate me.

[12:31] 🐈‍⬛: You should come talk to me so I don’t die of boredom.

[12:34] 🐈‍⬛: This is me because of you

[12:34] 🐈‍⬛: Ignore the caption

[12:37] 🐈‍⬛: I’m going to start texting Foolish instead of you. I’ll find his number in my computer.

[12:38] 🐈‍⬛: I’m doing it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to find his number and text him asking if he can show me his muscles

“Thank you, Ms. French; I’ll make sure that gets worked out for you. Have a good day.” Dream hung up his phone, posture immediately worsening as he screwed his eyes shut, trying to force down the headache that had been brewing since about the third question about the difference in price between the fourth and fifth editions of the biology textbook some forgettable high school in Vermont was attempting to purchase before the new school year began.

Dream was pretty good at his job, mostly because he was pretty good with the people. He thought he had a good voice, one that made him good at dealing with people over the phone because it prepped them to like him by that alone. He was a bit more awkward in person, yeah – a bit too tall, not quite sure what to do with his arms or his feet – but clients were already endeared to him enough that at that point his slight awkwardness just ended up being charming. That wasn’t the point though; the point was that he was ordinarily really good at phone sales, customer service, that sort of thing. This particular call had just been a bit exhausting. He had barely even passed his own high school biology class; he definitely did not know which text book was the better option even though he had to at least sound like he did.

Dream glanced over across the office, over to the desk up by the door. His vantage point, unfortunately, wasn’t that great these days. His boss had gotten it into his head that some change of scenery would make everyone more productive as they got deeper into the hot months of summer and, as a result, Dream had traded his desk conveniently within eyeshot of the front desk for one much farther away, and all he could see over, of all things, the fucking broken printer was a little bit of curly dark hair that drifted back and forth in a way that made it obvious that its owner was rocking back and forth in the swivel chair.

Dream wasn’t quite sure that this rearranging was having the effect on productivity his boss had desired. He reached into his pocket, and he slid out his phone.

His lock screen was covered in a long chain of texts, all coming from a contact saved simply as a familiar emoji. Dream scrolled through them, automatically smiling as his stomach buzzed with strawberries and oranges. Apparently, he was not the only person struggling to focus.

[12:47] me: get better bait. you would text foolish telling him to die before you asked to see him shirtless.

[12:47] me: besides, you’d never do that to tina

Dream went to flip his phone over, not wanting to risk someone noticing that he was off task, but immediately, his phone buzzed with a response.

[12:48] 🐈‍⬛: What are you doing?

[12:48] me: i was on the phone.

[12:49] me: lunch?

This time, he didn’t bother putting his phone down, just watched the three little dots indicating someone typing on the other side of their conversation. He realized quickly that he was holding his breath, and he forced himself to let the lingering air leave his lungs. Don’t be stupid.

When the text came, it was much shorter than the time spent typing it would have implied. Dream could imagine him going back and forth and back and forth, fingers freezing on the same anxiety that both worried and excited Dream.

[12:50] 🐈‍⬛: Yes

Dream got up from his desk, heading to the break room to get his lunch. Once the door fell shut behind him, cutting off the low buzz of the lights and computers and air conditioning of the main office with a tight thud, he went to the fridge and pulled out the container of sliced up mango and half a sandwich in a baggie. A green sticky note with a smiley face adorned both of them, identifying them as his. He was in the middle of trying to crack the seal on the lid of his drink when he heard the door swing again and quickly felt arms encircle his waist.

“You’re so, like, needy, today,” he said without turning around. “What’s wrong?” Half teasing. Half so sincere that it made both of them squirm a little bit. Dream had always been good at that – caring about people. Especially certain ones.

“Nothing.” George – the receptionist, the cute British guy in the office, the most important person in Dream’s phone – pressed his face against the back of Dream’s shirt, muffling his voice. “I’m bored. You were ignoring me.”

Dream scoffed. He set his lunch down on the counter and turned around to face George. George was looking up at him, lips pressed together like he was trying and failing to keep himself from smiling. Failing, both because George wasn’t particularly good at hiding his happiness and because Dream could read his emotions from a single movement of his rich dark eyes. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was working. I spent, like, half an hour stuck on the phone talking about biology textbooks.”

“Wow, poor Dream,” George teased, reaching to open the fridge and find his own lunch – left over chicken nuggets, apparently, as well as a plastic bag filled with apple slices – before settling across from Dream at the table. “Forced to spend all day on the phone, while I’m dying at my desk.”

A bite of his sandwich. “Dying? Of what?”

“Boredom and neglect,” George said, sounding extremely put upon. “It’s so messed up that you’re letting your stupid job get in the way of our relationship. Just so that you can, like, have money or whatever.”

“I can’t believe you’d let Patches go hungry like that.” Dream reached over to steal a sip of George’s peach ice tea, and George just grinned at him before sighing.

“I guess that’s a good enough reason.” They were both quiet for a few seconds, ankles brushing under the table as George chewed on his apple slices and Dream picked at his mango with a plastic fork from home. It was comfortable, or at least as comfortable as lunch at a tiny breakroom table that was so short that Dream banged his knees against it every time he sat down could be. It was, arguably, one of the least remarkable days of Dream’s life. Tomorrow, he would put back on his scratchy work clothes and the shoes that pinched his toes, make a million more phone calls to talk about textbooks he couldn’t care less about, and eat another dry sandwich in the shitty breakroom. The same mundanity that he had found, despite the big dreams that he had had growing up, to be his life these days. And, just like he eventually did today, before they threw out their trash and tried to leave the breakroom far enough apart to make it inconspicuous, George would ask if he could come over after work, and everything would feel a little bit more special.

#SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG im so slow #asks #anon #sappy.ao3 #like its not but that's the tag #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANOGIEEE #dnf

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foranpo · 6 months

Text

CASE FILE #02 ㅤ TIMELESS ACHIEVEMENTS.

ㅤ ˖°.archieve.ㅤ ˖°.case file #01.ㅤ ˖°.case file #03. ‧₊˚.CONTENT ㅤㅤ ˖°.clients: ranpo edogawa, gn!reader. ㅤㅤ ˖°.wc: 2.429.

ੈ♡˳────── enjoy the reading ♡ ──────

“What do you know about the client?”

ㅤRanpo's question settled into the hot coffees that landed awkwardly on the office desk. Stacks of papers covered the entire surface of the table while Fukuzawa, so attentive and carefree, divided his tasks into two piles.

ㅤ“They suffered too much since they were little,” a shrug, a new dossier for the pile of reports awaiting review. “I don’t even know how they didn’t contact us sooner.”

ㅤ“And even now,” Ranpo stretched a little as he leaned back in his chair and looked at the building's clean ceiling, “it's not for them. It’s for their grandma.”

ㅤThere was a wave of silence that was only broken by the turning of papers as they waited for you.

ㅤYou were late, as always. Not that you did it on purpose, since it was always difficult to travel in a world that was on the verge of collapse, especially when you lived in an area isolated from all the misery; but the reality is that you were late.

ㅤTo tell the truth, when you received a letter with a smile in the address, your whole world was suspended –you never expected a response, you were never entitled to answers in any field of inquiry; so, when you received not only a letter, but also a request for a meeting, everything was suspended for you. You were finally going to be heard.

ㅤFor your entire life you wanted to be heard: by your parents, by your friends, by anyone and everyone who wanted to listen to you, but you were always ignored. No one paid attention to words in that world, much less when they were spoken by someone who had always been tainted by darkness.

ㅤAfter all, in that new world, negativity was contagious for all those who had the freedom to feel.

ㅤSo your whole life was lonely. From an early age, you were marked by negativity, a thick cloud of bad decisions and worse consequences covering your sky of existence. Without friends, with distant family members, everything for you had been an experience of loneliness and isolation from which you could not escape.

ㅤBut, as much as it surprised people, you didn't feel completely trapped in the confines of your emotions –all you knew was loneliness and detachment, why would you feel bad about the conformity of your feelings? Having known all your life only the pleasure of your company and the negativity of the world, why would you seek help for yourself?

ㅤIn your eyes, you were normal, you didn't need help –those who made your life beautiful were the ones who needed help. And your grandmother was the most important element on your list of people who needed help.

ㅤYou took a deep breath when you entered the great company of Happin-us, your steps a little uncertain, your heart beating unevenly.

ㅤYou were anxious for yourself, the hope to help those who always loved you growing with each step as you walked to the director's office. You went up stairs, you saw agents running from one side to the other, everything was in chaos, almost as if mirroring what was happening in your mind.

ㅤWould they really help you? Help your grandmother? Everything pointed to yes, after all, why would they invite you to a meeting if they were going to deny your requests? Because, quite simply, you didn't know how to give up: the number of requests you sent to the company was enormous, each one with a new appeal, all of them focused on your grandmother –you just wanted to do something memorable for someone who loved you.

ㅤ“Come in.”

ㅤA slurred voice answered your knock on the door and, after taking another deep breath you opened the door and entered Yukichi Fukuzawa's office with the confidence of someone who was going to be heard.

ㅤ“Good afternoon,” you said patiently as you walked to the chair Fukuzawa indicated to you. “I apologize for the delay. There are fewer and fewer trains…”

ㅤ“It’s okay,” Fukuzawa set down his pen and looked at you curiously. “My name is Yukichi Fukuzawa and this is one of my subordinates, Ranpo Edogawa.”

ㅤRanpo made a small gesture with his head to greet you and you let out a small, empty smile.

ㅤYou sat in the chair and did your best to make yourself comfortable, now feeling the pressure falling on your shoulders.

ㅤ“I called this meeting to talk to you about your request.”

ㅤYou straightened your back and struggled to breathe as you saw the company director turning over pages and files, looking for something in those papers.

ㅤ“My subordinates told me that in the last month we received the same request three times. Not to mention that last year we received ten requests from you.” Fukuzawa cleared his throat and looked at you. “Can you briefly explain to us what you really want from us?”

ㅤYou nodded and spoke confidently, the speeches you had been rehearsing in front of the mirror finally coming to fruition.

ㅤ“My grandmother is already old and is becoming senile. She was always a simple person, with basic pleasures and happiness that surrounded her two grandchildren, me and my brother. When my brother got married, his wife became like a third granddaughter to my grandmother. But unfortunately, they have been taken by the government as guinea pigs for five years. None of them came back.”

ㅤRanpo was leaning in his chair listening patiently to you while he saw his boss leafing through papers, surrounding words and expressions, checking your speech.

ㅤ“Of course I hid it from my grandmother. I just told her that they had gone to live in the capital and she believed me. But she has been very ill lately and has been asking to see my brother and sister-in-law again. And I know that if she sees them one last time, that she will pass away happy.”

ㅤ“So what you’re asking us to do is find your brother?”

ㅤ“No, sir.”

ㅤYou took a deep breath and looked Fukuzawa in the eyes.

ㅤ“I'm asking two of your agents to pretend to be my brother and sister-in-law for one night.”

ㅤYour true request caught the two agents by surprise.

ㅤRanpo looked at his boss, studying his reactions, trying to understand what answer he would have for you. Fukuzawa, in turn, just stared at you as he repeated your request in his mind, your proposal being the last thing he could have imagined.

ㅤOf course, during your various requests, they were all vague; just your grandmother's need making itself felt in the dozens of papers you had filled out. Therefore, it was with great surprise to Fukuzawa and his disciple that they heard your boldness, the answer to your request being a mere lie to your grandmother.

ㅤAfter reading so many of your requests, Fukuzawa believed that you wanted to recover your brother, knowing perfectly well that this was impossible –once taken by the government, no person would be free again, no matter their role in society. It was easy to deny such a request, explaining to the client the power of the government and how they could not play with it for fear of reprisals.

ㅤBut this was different. Your request was different.

ㅤ“I don’t think I quite understood your request…”

ㅤNo. He had heard wrong. That could only be the explanation for Fukuzawa.

ㅤ“I'm asking two of your agents to pretend to be my brother and sister-in-law for one night.”

ㅤWord for word –there was the confirmation.

ㅤ“I'm sorry, but we called you here to tell you that we cannot accept your request.”

ㅤYou looked at Ranpo, catching his words with a nervous hand, the denial of your request sounding like venom on that young agent's lips.

ㅤEverything fell at your feet. With a simple statement from Ranpo, your whole world collapsed and you felt, for the first time, the weight of negativity falling on your shoulders. If they had never expected to accept your request, why did they give you hope by calling you to their headquarters? What cruel game were they playing by denying you all your hope and tearing away any light that still shined within you?

ㅤOne sentence was enough to create a dark void inside you, your entire lifetime of negativity crashing down on you over and over again in the small seconds that followed that agent's statement.

ㅤThey couldn't accept it... They never intended to accept it... So...

ㅤ“Why did you call me?”

ㅤYour voice was shaky, the strength you used to keep from crying clinging to the syllables of the hurt words you spoke.

ㅤYou looked at Ranpo, your eyes red with disappointment, bright with the hurt that existed inside you. And Ranpo looked at you without fear or remorse, his face without any expression, without being able to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

ㅤ“We sent a response to your second request,” Fukuzawa drawled, enticing you to look at him. “The letter should have been lost among the strike.”

ㅤThere was never a chance of you coming out victorious. They would always rip you off your feet and push you into the abyss that you've been avoiding since you were little. They would always be the causes of your rebellion.

ㅤ“But why?”

ㅤYou gave a small sob and took a deep breath –you weren't going to give them the pleasure of seeing you break down at that moment. If you lasted that long in the ocean of suffering, you would be able to last a few more minutes without collapsing.

ㅤ“I didn't ask you to destroy the government or kidnap my brother! I asked for something so basic, so simple…”

ㅤ“It’s not basic,” Ranpo said again and you looked at him, your eyes holding back all the tears that had been wanting to fall for years. And he hesitated for a moment. “What you are asking of us is against our rules.”

ㅤ“I didn’t ask you to be my boyfriend.” Your words came out aggressive, pointing out in Ranpo all your frustration about the whole situation. “I asked you to be my brother. It’s not a love relationship.”

ㅤTension filled Fukuzawa's office.

ㅤAt that moment, you were all walking on eggshells, the silence that settled in being interpreted differently by each of you. The seconds dragged by with the knowledge that this meeting was a failure, each movement of Fukuzawa's clock lulling the tension into a static lake of pure confusion and frustration.

ㅤYou wanted to scream. You were irritated. You wanted to scream at the two agents in front of you for giving you false hope. You wanted to rebel, make speeches driven by the anger and frustration you were feeling, completely fed up, and tired, of having been carried away by the company's hopes and stories.

ㅤ“It’s not a love relationship…”

ㅤRanpo whispered your words and straightened up in the chair, gently turning his body and looking at his superior with a mysterious and somewhat moony look.

ㅤ“It’s not a love relationship. We always took this case as something against the government, something we could not accept. But the reality is different now.”

ㅤ“There is a relationship.”

ㅤ“Correct,” Ranpo raised his index finger and showed, for the first time in that meeting, a smile that resembled the victorious smiles he gave at the end of a successful mission. “But it’s not with the customer.”

ㅤFukuzawa furrowed his brow and let his face show the rejection to that speech.

ㅤ“If two agents accept this mission, neither of them will have to be the client's partner. Just their brother. As a result, the relationship between the agents will be false and without any knowledge of the feeling. Which makes the mission easier. Which makes the mission something that can be accepted.”

ㅤYou gently opened your mouth, looking at Ranpo and Fukuzawa eager for an answer from the director, hoping that the agent's little speech would be enough to fill in the gaps that existed in your request.

ㅤ“No.”

ㅤRejection. Again.

ㅤ“Yes.”

ㅤHope. Again.

ㅤ“Think about it, Fukuzawa. Two agents who know nothing about love can create a unique love that will have no collateral damage in their existence.”

ㅤ“Even if this were possible, which agents could take such a risk?”

ㅤ“Me and Yosano.”

ㅤ“Absolutely not!” Fukuzawa's denial sounded like thunder in his small office, making you shiver with the fear that you had failed once again. “I will not put my two best agents at risk to satisfy a relationship request. You may be the best agent we have, and have more achievements than the entire building, but you won't take that risk. I will not allow it.”

ㅤ“But you're going to allow it,” Ranpo's smile expanded with his determination, his eyes shining with the idea of a new challenge. “Yosano and I can manufacture any emotion, including love. It will be easy to pretend to be a couple, especially if the client is old…”

ㅤ“And without any sense of reality! They could literally argue in front of her and she would thought it was something normal in the relationship!”

ㅤRanpo winked at you, grateful for your collaboration, knowing perfectly well that he would be able to convince his superior to accept that mission.

ㅤ“I promise that neither Yosano nor I will take unnecessary risks. Of all the work I've done, have I ever worried you? With so many of my achievements, have you ever seen me taking unnecessary risks? Besides, it's just one visit. Three hours and a dinner and we’re back completely immune to relationships.”

ㅤA brief silence and a sigh filled Fukuzawa's office as he, utterly defeated by Ranpo's logic, was completely mesmerized by his conviction of wise words.

ㅤIn fact, Ranpo was Happin-us's best agent, the one who accomplished the most achievements and missions. Anyone looking at Ranpo's repertoire could see several successful missions, several means and methods to be carried out by the young agent, giving only one result: success.

ㅤAs such, it was impossible to ignore all of Ranpo's achievements, so many complicated missions and easy clients enhancing the agent's resume, showing Fukuzawa that he was, in fact, the ideal person for that mission.

ㅤSo, with a new sigh after calculating all the probabilities of success and failure, Fukuzawa spoke softly, the words coming out almost in a whisper: “Three hours and a dinner. No more, no less.”

ㅤ“Three hours and dinner,” Ranpo replied now looking at you, the smile on his lips still powerful and beautiful. “No more, no less.”

ੈ♡˳───── feedback is appreciated ♡ ─────

#;us the happiless;#;bungou stray dogs constellation;#ranpo angst #ranpo fluff #ranpo drabble #ranpo x reader #ranpo imagines #ranpo x yn #ranpo x y/n #ranpo x you #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

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apparitionism · 4 months

Text

Bonus

Happy particular Monday! Here’s a story for it, which came about mostly because I wanted to put a couple of people into a clichéd situation, and then I had to do leadup and aftermath... anyway, it’s intended to be a two-parter (yes, I know; aspirations) set in a not-entirely-canonical season 4, in which the Warehouse did get brought back and Helena did leave without explanation, BUT Artie doesn’t go full Father Data and Leena doesn’t suffer the consequences—mostly because Mrs. Frederic has sensed some badness to come and thus sent Artie and Leena away. Because why not? Also I have Claudia jumping into Caretakering, and even a bit of Artieing, with some enthusiasm.

P.S. I know I haven’t yet finished last year’s Christmas story—that’s a pain point—but I genuinely am working to get back on various horses, including that one. Weather (in all senses) permitting.

Bonus

“I genuinely cannot believe we’re stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. It may be the most true statement to which she’s ever given voice.

****

SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER...

Myka’s reasonably pleasant thought, burring along as background to her monotonous tasks, is I don’t mind this. She and Steve are in the Warehouse office early in the morning, doing file inventory, and it’s true: she doesn’t mind it. It’s a little lacking as a holiday activity, but with Artie, Leena, and Pete all away, “lacking” is pretty much the flavor of the moment.

Claudia pokes her head in and says, “Ping.” She’s unenthusiastic, speaking of lacking. Where’s the usual revving about what it might be this time? “At some midwestern accounting firm, because it’s important to have a boring Christmas.”

Ah. “An accounting artifact?” Myka asks. Speaking further of lacking: here, it’s artifacty zing. Then again, artifacty zing got Myka trapped in Alice’s mirror, among other catastrophes, so maybe boring isn’t so bad. “Balance sheets?” she ventures. “Pluses and minuses?”

“Some people at this pingy company just got extremely large Christmas bonuses,” Claudia says, “and some got their pay extremely docked. So yeah, ‘balance sheets, pluses and minuses’ just about covers it. Probably. I mean, I might be trying to manage expectations here.”

Claudia’s certainly right, in that getting one’s hopes up—about anything (or anyone)—is a fool’s game.

But still, there’s something to be said for boring-but-remunerative, even if only for some people... what a nice idea. “I’d like a Christmas bonus someday,” Myka says, “instead of a Christmas penalty. Which I think pretty accurately describes the Pete-plus-artifacts situation.”

“It’s two days before Christmas, and he hasn’t done anything yet,” Claudia says. “That you know of,” she amends.

“Because he’s been with his family in Ohio for the past week,” Myka points out, and she’s gratified when Claudia rolls her eyes. It’s practically a concession.

Steve says, “It’s inappropriate to say ‘Christmas’ bonus these days. It’s ‘end-of-year.’” The contribution suggests he’s listening with only one ear.

“I wish appropriateness mattered here,” Myka says, not really to him but in general. Who knows how a Warehouse HR department would make heads or tails of the application of employment laws—much less employment niceties? “Not that it makes a difference. Christmas, end-of-year... call it Fred, and we still wouldn’t get one.”

“If I ever do get a bonus, I’m absolutely naming it Fred,” Claudia declares.

Myka shakes her head. “Poor Fred. Doomed to be injected right back into the discretionary economy.”

“Inject-o-what are you even talking about?”

“Just a guess, but: you’d spend it on things you don’t need.”

Claudia harrumphs. “Thanks for lumping me in with the avocado-toast-and-Starbucks crowd. My fiscaling is way more responsible.”

“Really? What would you use Fred for?”

“Asus VG278HE gaming monitor. Plus a graphics card, maybe the Nvidia GTX 690, depending on how hefty Fred is.” At Myka’s snort, Claudia challenges, “Fine, where would you inject it?”

“My Roth IRA,” Myka says immediately. She’s not sure what assets her evil, crazy, or dead self will need in retirement, but given the many and varied forms each of those, or combinations thereof, could take, it seems like a good idea to have a financial plan in place. That’s another thing a Warehouse HR department might be useful for...

“You’re the actual human manifestation of an accounting artifact,” Claudia accuses. “Speaking of which, here’s the deal. I gotta stay here—some Mrs.-F homeworky stuff—and Steve’s busy reassuring all the misfit toys in the building that Leena hasn’t deserted them forever. And I’d say ignore the ping entirely, but your never know what’ll go viral, and I bet Artie’d say the last thing we need is another financial crisis. Or maybe you’d say it. Anyway, you’re it. And for your backup, when you get to Cleveland—”

Myka groans. “Cleveland? Seriously? Pete’s going to be so mad about you pulling him away from the family.”

“I’m not pulling him away,” Claudia says, blinking like she’s some innocent little lamb.

Myka groans again. “You’re making me do it?”

Claudia shrugs. “Sure. Why not. You’re partners, right? But here’s some advice: wait till you get there to call him. You know, put off the misery, if that’s what it is, as long as possible. Besides—more advice—I really think you should spend your travel time thinking about bonuses. Who gets ’em and why. Because what’s a bonus, really?”

“An economic stimulus whose nametag reads ‘Fred,’ if I’m understanding things correctly.”

“We’ll see what you think about that when you get to Cleveland.”

“On the day before Christmas eve,” Myka grouses. “By the way, that’s a whole lot of ‘advice,’ coming from somebody who’s over a decade younger than I am and not technically my boss.”

“By the way,” Claudia mimics, archly mocking, “we’ll see what you think about that too.”

“When I get to Cleveland?”

“When you get to Cleveland. On the day before Christmas eve.”

“Sounds like the title of a lesser Christmas carol,” Steve says—he’s tuned back in to the conversation. He then says, with his grin that curves so impish, “Think we could get Mariah Carey to sing it? It’s a hit if we get her, right, no matter how lesser?”

“‘When You Get to Cleveland on the Day Before Christmas Eve?’” Claudia skeptics. “Hit-wise, that’s gonna need a lot more power: Mariah dueting with Darlene Love at the very least. Plus we’ll need a Destiny’s Child reunion for at least one chorus.”

“Thanks for reinforcing my sense of how awful this is likely to be,” Myka tells them both, and Steve’s grin turns apologetic.

Claudia, however, shrugs. “Maybe you’ll sing it different.”

Myka is now the one to roll her eyes. “I won’t sing it at all.”

Surprisingly, Claudia doesn’t go with another eyeroll. “We’ll see,” she says, and Myka is struck by the Mrs.-Frederic resonance in her words. Does the homework include practicing the enigmatic tone?

Steve looks up and catches Myka’s eye. He winks. Myka would wink back, but he would probably interpret that as her saying she understands what’s happening. And that would be a lie: serious enough, probably, to make him wince and massage his temples.

So Myka just blinks—not Morse or any other code, just basic eye-moistening blinks. Then she goes upstairs to collect her always-packed travel bag for her trip to Cleveland.

****

Her flight departs late, of course; it’s December in South Dakota. But that’s this-time fine, because it allows Myka a necessary excess of opportunity to prep her Pete-placation. Under her breath, she practices the delivery of such words as “shorthanded” and “necessary,” aiming for maximum sincerity.

When she at last emerges from her Cleveland Hopkins jetway, that extensive prep deserts her entirely, for what awaits her is the manifestation of a Christmas wish she has worked overtime to convince herself would not, could not possibly be granted:

Helena.

Whose arms are crossed, and whose posture betrays that her foot might recently have been tapping out impatience with the plane’s tardy arrival. The attitude is so normal, so entirely of-the-world (rather than of-its-imminent-end), that Myka wants to reverse course, get back on the plane and redisembark, just so she might meet it again, meet it and refeel this wash of absolute relief at seeing Helena impatient in an airport.

Devious, Claudia, Myka thinks. Outstandingly devious. “Hello, Fred,” she murmurs, then tries, in the ten seconds she has before she and Helena are in proximity to speak, to engage in a far more consequential prep.

For Helena has been gone—has been, as Myka put it to Steve not so long ago, “god knows where”—since shortly after the Warehouse did not explode. She was there, in the Warehouse, but then she was gone, and Myka was told only that Helena had “matters to attend to.” God presumably also knew what those matters were, but Myka hadn’t, in the wake of that first moment of absence, and hasn’t since, been able to pry any information about matters or their whereabouts out of anyone, divine or otherwise.

And through the seemingly endless wondering, Myka’s mind and heart have gnawed themselves ragged.

Until this moment, when the wondering and gnawing end: now her blood speeds, coursing with urgency even as everything else seems to slow.... her movements, her reactions, her thinking, all are sluggish, unresponsive; only her blood matters. This blood knowledge. For all her wondering, she’s been avoiding gnawing her way to that answer.

“Claudia said you needed backup” are Helena’s words when they meet.

Myka’s attempt at prep has fallen grievously short—not that she could have risen to such an occasion, not when hearing that voice for the first time in some time, and certainly not when faced with what her blood’s embarrassing insistence has forced her to confront anew. “I... assumed I’d be calling Pete,” she says, to at least go with truth.

“Interesting assumption. Perhaps necessary, if you believe I’ll be insufficient.”

Myka’s impulse is to reassure: “More than sufficient—you’re necessary,” she would shout, or better yet, whisper. Instead, because Helena’s tone is neutral—is she in actuality indifferent?—she falls into a defensive, businesslike crouch, offering only implicit denial of the premise of Helena’s statement. “Let’s head for the accounting firm,” she says, internally cursing herself.

Cursing, but also justifying: Helena is here as backup, thanks to Claudia’s cleverness, and Myka should not assume (speaking of assumptions) that she even wants to be here. All focus should be on retrieving the artifact. Certainly on that and not on Myka’s (honestly) predictably overexcited blood.

She tries to concentrate on Claudia’s advice (while at the same time trying not to resent her success at being cryptic about it): what’s a bonus, really? Helena’s presence, the sight of her, the apprehending of her impatience, the experience of blood: whatever else may happen, these have been—must be—are!—the bonus.

****

The cab ride is quiet. Myka’s resolve to think only of backup and bonus is dissolving by the second, and she lets words reach her tongue that might start a conversation with Helena about things... but those words don’t escape her lips, for a strand of formality seems to be stiffening Helena’s spine. Does she know how Myka cherished her impatience? Is she attempting to discourage such adoration?

Myka, in regret and relief, follows that more-strict lead.

That’s a bonus too, though, for it turns the ride into unpressured, liminal time, perfect for simply basking in presence. It’s best, Myka is now thinking, to treat this reunion as something that was of course going to have happened. For backup or other professional purposes. Despite the fact that it’s the thank-god fulfillment of recurring, desperate dreams.

However: at one point in the traffic-backed silence, Helena, completely unprompted, turns and smiles at Myka.

Myka smiles back.

It’s a previously missing puzzle-piece slotting into place... yet in its aftermath, Myka finds herself having to push with force against a will to worry over other missing pieces; in particular, she must fight the fret-intensive futility of trying to count them.

****

They find the accounting firm’s lobby spacious but quiet—holiday-low staffing, presumably. Myka asks the receptionist, “Is there someone we can talk to about end-of-year bonuses? Also penalties?”

“I’m a temp,” says the young man. His tone suggests it’s his answer to every query... but then he adds, very quietly, “Unofficially, there’s this one guy...”

That has the ring of “artifact,” so Myka nods, encouraging him.

“Super-vocal about his paycheck the other day. How tiny it was. I mean, he’s the kind of guy you might have theories about what else is tiny, but I—”

“Who was that?” Myka interrupts, even as she feels Helena’s readiness to laugh. Mr. Super-vocal is thus probably not a wielder of an artifact; more likely, one of that wielder’s... victims?

“Bob,” the temp says. “I’m sure he’s got a last name, and I’m sure he thinks everybody should call him ‘Mr. Lastname,’ but my care level? Anyway he’s down the hall—one of the only ones in the farm today. Spite-working. Maybe on his anti-everything manifesto.”

“Down the hall” turns out to be a vast expanse of cubicles: definitely a farm.

Myka says to Helena, “Follow my lead?”

“Always,” Helena says.

It’s a tonally sincere utterance—and in that, admirable—but it’s also manifestly untrue; nevertheless, Myka’s blood decides to believe it, to recognize it as another puzzle-piece. I really need to function, Myka tries to explain to her interior. So if we could climb down just a couple rungs. Like to the cab-ride level, maybe?

Her body refuses the agreement.

Of course.

The occupant of the first inhabited cubicle they find is an over-coiffed middle-aged man who clearly spends far too much time in tanning booths. He’s typing aggressively, as if the force of his keystrokes will power his message. His manifesto?

“Are you Bob?” Myka asks him.

“You better be here about my money,” obviously-Bob says, clearly spoiling for a fight.

Myka finds his demand incongruous—his job has to do with other people’s money, and Myka and Helena are manifestly other people. Who could have money. Fred or otherwise.

“In a way,” she says. She follows up with “We’re from the IRS,” and it’s never not funny for that to be useful. Bob winces, as if she's about to strike him. Also never not funny. “We’ve noted some suspicious discrepancies in end-of-year reporting.”

“You have?” Bob asks. Now he’s avid rather than confrontational.

“Looks like some overreporting. Also underreporting. So you see our concern, particularly about effects on withholding.” She is making this up, as she generally does whenever she has to go actual IRS on someone. Read up on tax law, she reminds herself, as she generally does every time. Not that she’ll ever have the leisure to do that... “What we need to find out is whether it was in error, or if it warrants a full investigation.”

“Nancy Sullivan,” he says, with contempt, the name itself a curse. “She’s the one you should investigate, and then send straight to jail. She’s always been a witch about year-end, but now? On steroids. Talking about making her list, threatening to mark down people she doesn’t like, including yours truly, as naughty... and then we got our paychecks, and somehow she did it! No idea how she managed to push that garbage through, but I swear you better get her up on some kind of charges!”

He rises abruptly, clutching a slip of paper; his chair topples over behind him. He shoves the paper in Myka’s direction, his knuckles nearing her astonished nose—but in the instant before contact, Helena intervenes, her arm blocking his, stopping his forward motion.

Backup.

Helena plucks the paper from his pushy hand. “And what’s this?” she asks.

A pretty minimal manifesto, Myka thinks initially. But then she replays his screed in her head, and his babbling about Nancy Sullivan resolves into meaningful references; struck by the realization, she very nearly misses his next statement: “My pay stub. She can’t just do this.”

Helena says, “Of course not.” She’s soothing him, her voice a faux-caress. It’s enough to tempt Myka to act out, just to hear it directed her way, even as Helena continues, “But we understand some of your colleagues, to the contrary, received large bonuses.”

His “tanned” skin darkens further. “Guess she thought they were nice. To her. Suck-ups.”

Mya looks a Find out anything else that’s relevant at Helena, who nods. Retreating back to the pre-cubicle hallway—relieved that her nose is intact—she Farnsworths Claudia. She skips the pleasantries, starting with, “A very disgruntled employee says the woman who signs off on bonuses was making a list.”

Claudia chortles. “You’re hilarious. Was she checking it twice?”

“This is my point. We don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with, not yet, but I bet that’s the crux.”

“I should’ve known you weren’t aiming for hilarity. So you really think this is some Santa thing?”

“No. I’m saying words about lists because I think it’s a grocery thing.” Myka wants to shake her fist at the heavens and every deity who occupies it. Occupies them. All the heavens. “Of course I think it’s a Santa thing! I also think it’s Pete’s fault somehow.”

“Just because it’s Christmas? C’mon.”

“Christmas and Ohio?” Myka snorts. “You c’mon. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Maybe you should though. For peace of mind?”

“That’s another thing I don’t believe in. Just see if you can find anything about a Santa’s-list artifact, would you?”

“Roger. By the way, how do you like your backup?” She chortles again and disconnects.

“I like my backup like I like the sunrise,” Myka tells the blank Farnsworth screen.

“What about the sunrise?” Helena asks from directly behind her.

Myka wishes the sound of her voice were either more or less startling. She wishes also that she knew exactly how much overhearing had occurred.

“It’s inevitable,” she sighs.

In response, Helena blinks.

They take the elevator to Nancy Sullivan’s office.

In that elevator, which is aggressively mirrored, Myka can’t help but glance repeatedly at herself. So many reflections. You called this into being, thinking about Alice’s mirror before, she accuses. She tries not to focus on how her hair could really stand to be more controlled... she’d focus on Helena instead, but who knows how that would be received? Instead she allows herself one glance, then looks down.

She likes being on the elevator with Helena, though; it’s a space of relative privacy, like the cab. Have they ever before been on an elevator together? Alone or otherwise? She runs through their interactions, fast-forwarding from the Wells house to D.C., Tamalpais to Moscow, Yellowstone, Colorado Springs, Ohio (here Myka trips over the fact that Helena’ s now been to Ohio twice, if only once in physical form), Pittsburgh, Hong Kong...

The review—the speed with which she can conduct it—reminds her of how limited that time has been, so: an elevator ride. Yet another bonus.

“That fellow,” Helena remarks, and Myka looks up again; their eyes meet in the mirror of the elevator’s doors. It’s uncanny, as if they’re both holograms, so Myka turns her body toward Helena, who meets Myka’s actual eyes and continues, “He attempted to make a lewd joke about his willingness and ability to be naughty when it’s called for. I pretended not to understand.”

Myka can’t help it: she snorts. “I bet he didn’t buy that for a second.”

“I have the ability to perform ‘prim’ when it’s called for,” Helena says, and Myka has to acknowledge that statement as good evidence of itself. Then Helena’s face reshapes into a devilish grin as she says, “In a slightly different vein, his quailing at those three letters with which you assailed him? Hilarious.”

“Letters?” A little perverse-quirk makes Myka want to hear Helena say them, though she’s probably not pulling off “disingenuous” in making the request.

Helena seems fine with the perversity, for she obliges: “I,” she begins, then draws out “Aaaaare.” Then, after a beat: “Esssss.”

Myka now herself feels assailed—by how right Helena’s reading her. She tries to step it down with, “I wasn’t aiming for hilarity. I never do. Claudia can vouch.” But she does spend a little moment thinking about the context of that previous assailing: we’re from the IRS. We are here, together, from an agency. We, together, represent. It isn’t by any means everything Myka would have wanted... but it’s something: part of this bonus. “Fred,” she says, sotto voce.

The office they’re seeking is on the building’s highest floor, suggestive of Nancy Sullivan’s bonus-approving rank; it features several large windows, one of which affords the office a view of the hallway, and vice versa. Through it, Myka and Helena watch a woman, presumably that powerful Nancy Sullivan, writing with a quill-esque pen.

“It’s the pen,” Myka says, because it has to be. “It’s always the stupid pen.”

“Always?” That’s unusually tentative, like Helena’s trying not to step.

“Okay, once,” Myka concedes. “My dad and Poe and a pen, and as a result I’ve developed a severe aversion to those quill things.”

Helena takes a beat. Then: “I never liked feather pens.”

“Are you just saying that,” Myka says, because she might be, and she might admit it, and that might be good or bad or something else Myka has no way of evaluating. Why does Helena say words like this? And for that matter, why does Myka keep spending her limited time on this planet trying to parse them?

“Yes? In that I’ve... said it?”

That really didn’t help with any of the whys. “I mean, just to make me feel better?”

Helena shrugs. “The fact is, today’s ballpoints et cetera are far more reliable. Does that make you feel better?”

She’s playing at being obtuse—surely that’s for a reason? But Myka has no time to wonder further, for Helena is knocking on the office door and opening it without waiting for an invitation, and the real retrieval is underway.

Myka flashes her badge. “I’m Agent Myka Bering, and this is Helena Wells. We’re from the IRS.” She glances at Helena—all these glances!—and gets a small smirk in response.

Rather than introducing herself, the woman says, “Really? I bet that’s not true.”

“Why?” Myka asks. Have she and Helena, over the course of the elevator ride, lost their ability to perform “official” correctly?

“I have a feeling you’re here for this,” Nancy Sullivan says, and she lofts the pen, waving it like a wand. “Mostly because I also have a feeling that I want to close my fist around it, punch my way past both of you, and make my escape.”

Well. “That’s self-aware,” Myka says. “Unusually so.”

“Thank you? Although it’s less self-awareness than kind of a... sixth sense.”

Helena raises an eyebrow at Myka. “Sixth sense aside, we appreciate your good sense to refrain from attempting to punch your way past us. That would have ended poorly.”

“I wish I’d had the good sense not to use this pen,” Nancy Sullivan says.

“Is there a reason for your wish?” Helena asks. She sounds, to Myka’s ears at least, like a recently summoned, slightly flummoxed genie.

“Because of how much I liked using it—particularly when I realized nobody was going to question anything. I signed off on all these orders, and it was like...” she trails off. Then she concludes, “Magic.”

To keep her talking, Myka prompts, “Was it?”

“Having the power to reward good people has been fantastic,” Nancy Sullivan continues, “but penalizing the awful ones? I mean I’ve sort of resented feeling compelled to use the word ‘naughty’ about them, because that’s way out of character for me. But other than that? Utterly spectacular.”

“Bob,” Helena suggests.

“Oh, god, you met him?”

Helena offers a dry “Alas.”

Nancy Sullivan’s smile is as dry as Helena’s tone, astringently vindictive. “I could not have been more thrilled to hit him and everybody like him where it hurt... I admit I’ve always been kind of judgmental, but wielding this pen? Intensified. Like, the hates are more. In particular, the hates are more. I’m not saying the Bobs of this company didn’t deserve what I did, but I feel it more. Punishment. It’s satisfying, but also weirdly costly. Grinch-in-reverse costly.”

That’s a little on the nose. Myka glances at Helena again, because the satisfactions of punishment, of judgment, even of hate, are among the things they will need to talk about. Maybe. Someday. If they are to have a someday that is theirs... if that is even possible after so much time and tribulation... Myka lets the glance grow into a gaze, a resting regard, and it stays that way until Helena, too, glances, with the result then that their eyes meet and lock... such a clasp, Myka feels, could ground that potential, and potentially necessary, talk of things, if only they were not in the middle of a retrieval...

...which makes Myka think. Why are they in the middle of a retrieval?

“I wish I didn’t feel like I need to articulate this, but where did you get the pen?” she asks. Because she has a niggling sense of something larger happening, something beyond her grasp. Nevertheless, it is not—repeat, not—a vibe.

Fine. It might be a vibe.

“My cousin gave it to me,” says Nancy Sullivan.

“Your cousin,” Myka says. “Whose name is?” Now she’s knows what’s coming, and that has nothing to do with a vibe: no, it is entirely deduction based on experience.

“Pete Lattimer.”

TBC

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fanfic #Bonus #holiday (but not Gift Exchange)#proceeding at a vaguely nonzero speed #being left in the dust by snails and tortoises #but I do still love a Myka who fights with herself about who deserves what (and why)#and of course a Helena who can be reasonably inferred to do the same #struggling against the graceful acceptance of gifts #whatever form they take

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Don't Speak 36

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: we got that xmas hangover.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The living room is silent as you enter. Andy remains as he’s been, sitting at the corner of the couch, beer in hand as he stares at the television. Amber distracts herself with a hanging landscape on the wall, seemingly trying to disappear into that photographic world. Steve clears his throat as he follows you.

“Do you we have a truce?” The doctor asks.

He doesn’t get much of an answer. Andy slurps loudly from the neck of the bottle and Amber shrugs and grumbles. You hug yourself and stop at the end of the couch. Why can’t they get along? They both love you, don’t they?

“Bub,” Amber spins away from the framed picture, “were you going to show me your painting?”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” you rub your neck, cradling your elbow as you peek over at Andy. He stays transfixed by the television. It’s deliberate. He’s tuning you out.

“Can I tag along?” Steve asks.

You nod and make yourself stand straight. You point them through the door before flitting through yourself and lead them down the hall. You sigh as you escape the tension of Andy’s silent sulking.

You fumble with the garage door, you can feel the cold through the metal handle. You get it open and the light inside flicks on as the sensor triggers. You stand back and wait for them to go first.

Amber takes the lead, then Steve passes with a gentle smile, and you trail after them. They descend the few steps as their breath clouds visibly in the cold air. Your stomach flips as they turn their attention to the painting. They stop as they consider your work.

You near the edge of the easel and chew your lip, “do you like it?”

“Bub, it’s so good,” Amber claps her hands. “You did this all by yourself?”

You nod emphatically and smile. She marvels at the large canvas as Steve steps closer with narrowed eyes. His cheek dimples as he gives the pigment an inquisitive stare.

“How did you do this?” He asks breathlessly, “the feathers…” he raises his hand but doesn’t touch the canvas, “they look real.”

“Well, um, I just… did my best,” you sway back and forth, nearly squealing in delight.

You step away from the easel and turn to take in your work. A few days ago, you wanted to paint over it all but now, you wouldn’t dare change a stroke. It really is nice. And you did all that!

“It has personality,” Steve continues, “I can tell you made it for Andy… it looks a bit angry.” Steve chuckles and you give him a sheepish look, brows rising high, “not in a bad way.

“It’s cold out here,” Andy startles you as he stands at the top of the stares, filling the doorway with his tall figure.

“Not that bad,” Amber rubs her hands together. “Colder outside.”

Andy sighs and rolls his eyes, “not arguing, just saying.”

Steve sniffs, “we’ll come in soon. We’re just admiring the art.” He brings his hand to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully, “what are your rates?”

You look at him in surprise as Andy lets out a ‘huh’.

“Might want something small for the office,” he muses, “I know they’re kinda plain but I always thought nightingales were pretty.”

“I like nightingales,” you chirp.

“That sounds like a fun project,” Amber encourages.

You still feel a bit cloudy but your heart swells happily. A new project is always a new adventure. In the back of your mind, you think it's a good distraction. You glance back at Andy as he glowers.

“I should have time since I’m all done this,” you say.

“I’ll be more than happy to compensate you for that time,” Steve assures, “do you offer lessons? I always wanted to get into painting. I recommend it to so many patients, I might just take my own advice.”

“I’m… oh, I could…”

“You don’t need to make up your mind now,” he crosses one arm, cradling and elbow as he stretches his other hand wide, “I’m thinking out loud.” He shudders and wiggles his shoulders, “brr, it is cold out here.”

“Let’s go warm up with some tea,” Amber suggests as she pats your back, “huh? Tea always helps.”

“Sure,” you walk beside her toward the door.

Andy looms as you approach, not backing up until you get to the top of the steps, Amber just behind you. He inches away, stern as he watches you pass. He doesn’t move until Steve comes inside and he reaches to slam the door behind him.

“Don’t wanna leave that open,” he mutters, “heat bill’s high enough.”

🕊️

Amber lingers at the door. Steve stands behind her, neither eager to be away. Your sister clings to your hand, swinging your arms between you. You see the worry in her smile.

“I’ll miss you, bub,” she says, squeezing your hand.

“Miss you too,” you eke out, “you could come back again. Maybe tomorrow?”

She hesitates and glances past you to the doorway. Her lips slant, “yeah, that’d be nice. Or maybe… you can come visit.”

“Oh,” you blink, surprised by the offer. You hadn’t thought of going home; to her house. You were too afraid to invite yourself, “maybe. That’d be nice.”

“I still have all your things, you know? You could grab some stuff,” she offers.

“Sure, I… yeah,” you pull your hand from hers, twiddling your fingers. What about now? You don’t ask but you want to as you hear Andy in the next room.

“Have a good night,” she croaks and pulls you into a hug. It’s so tight, you can’t breathe, “please… be careful.”

“Amb,” you touch her side, “I’m okay.”

“I know,” she holds you close and rocks you, “I know, you’re strong.” She parts and keeps you at arm’s length, “you can call me. Any time, you know?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, “Amb, really…”

“Make sure you call my office too,” Steve intones as he steps up behind her, “should get a time in before next weekend.”

“Alright,” you chew your lip, “I’ll… call. Both of you. Promise.”

“You better,” Amber’s lips quiver, “please, I… I worry.”

“I will,” you avow firmly, “okay?”

“It’s late,” Steve touches her shoulder, “we’re all tired.”

You clutch your hands together, sinking your nails into your skin as you squeeze tight. You’d been so happy to see Amber, the thought of her leaving hadn’t even crossed your mind. Now the reality of it hits you like a bus. You can go with her.

Andy coughs from the other room. Your hope dissolves and you make yourself smile. You should stay, make sure he’s okay. After all he’s done for you, you owe it to him.

“Good night,” you squeak.

“Night, bub,” Amber says, “love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“See ya,” Steve waves over her shoulder as he pulls open the door, “get some sleep. Oh, and drink water.”

“Thanks,” you murmur and come forward as they sidle out the door.

You hesitantly shut the door in their stead and lock it. You stay and watch them leave through the window. The headlights of the car flash as it chirps and their doors open and close sharply. As long as the day’s been, it’s not over yet.

You shiver as cool air wafts up from under the door. You back up, crossing your arms, and turn slowly to face the empty house. You take careful but uncertain steps down the hall and stop at the threshold of the front room.

Andy’s head leans against the back of the couch as a sports recap shows plays on the television. You inch closer and peek around the side as you approach. His eyes are closed as his arm drapes over the armrest.

You ponder leaving him there. You’re tired and you’re starting to feel a bit sick to your stomach. The wine coats your stomach sourly and rises in acrid belches. You stand stuck in indecision. You could lie and say he wouldn’t wake up.

“They gone?” He startles you with the question.

You nod and gulp. His head drifts over and he looks at you, expression drawn with discontent. You pick your thumbnail and bounce on your heels.

“Amber helped me clean up,” you say, “so… we can go to bed. It’s late–”

“It’s nine,” he stretches his arm out, “come here.”

He latches onto you, pulling your arm up, trailing his hand down to your wrist. He guides you around the front of the couch as he sits forward. He lures you in as his beer-laced breath tinges your nose.

“I’m tired,” you take his hand in both of yours, “we should lay down–”

“We don’t have to go to bed,” he insists.

“I want to, Andy, please? My head hurts–”

“Because you drank too much wine,” he reproaches, “who’s fault is that?”

You wince and your eyes flick over to the empty bottle on the end table, then back to him. He sighs and curls his lip, “beer isn’t as strong as wine, did you know that? Hmm? Of course you don’t. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I…” you quaver, “I’m trying–”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he sneers, “to embarrass me.”

“What?”

“All day. Humiliating. You chose everyone but me. You hurt me, dove.”

“No, I wasn’t– I didn’t–”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head and looks away, “you said you love me but I think you’re lying to me.”

“What?” You pout.

“Just like you did with Amber. You’re using me,” he accuses.

“No.”

“Then what are you doing, huh? Dove,” he reaches forward and frames your waist, pulling you in as he slides to the front of the cushion, “if you love me, prove it.”

You bat your lashes as your mouth falls open. You don’t understand. You did everything he wanted all day. You cooked, you cleaned, and you tried to spend time with him but he pushed everyone away. Somehow it’s all your fault again.

He runs his hand up your arm and tickles your neck. He holds your chin between his thumb and index as he stares you down. You surrender. You’re too tired to fight. You lean in and kiss him.

The taste of him makes you sick. It’s wheaty and alcoholic, not as sweet as the wine. His arm hooks around you as he pulls you against him. You press your hands to his chest. His hand dips down your back and he gropes your ass, purring into your mouth.

His touch wanders further and he bends your leg, lifting it over his as his other hand travels down to mirror the movement. He urges you into his lap as he leans back. You part from his lips, straddling him awkwardly as you keep your hands flat to his chest.

“Andy,” you babble, “please, let’s go to bed–”

“We’ll stay here,” he reaches to grab the back of your head, yanking you close. Your arms bend but you keep your lips away from his, “what’s your problem?”

“Andy, please,” your stomach swims violently, “I don’t feel good.”

“You’re fucking drunk,” he slurs, “of course you don’t feel good.”

“Let me go,” you wriggle on top of him.

“What does it fucking matter?” He hisses, “you can lay on your back and do your duty.”

You flinch and slap his chest with one hand, “that’s mean. Andy, let me–”

You yipe as suddenly you’re scooped up and swept onto your back. The impact on the cushion knocks the air out of your chest as Andy quickly puts himself over you. His hand goes to your neck as he holds you down, pinning you as he lays between your open legs.

“Andy,” you beg as you grasp his thick arm, “you’re scaring me.”

“I just want a kiss,” he growls.

You close your eyes as he leans in again. You let him kiss you. He smothers you with the sticky lips as you squirm. A kiss isn’t much. A kiss won’t last long.

His knees shift as he raises himself slightly. Your heart leaps. His other hand creeps along the short hem of your dress and he tickles your thigh. Your stuck splayed beneath him as you writhe. He feels along the lacy edge of your panties and you whimper into his mouth.

You hit his shoulders as you try to push him away. You turn your head and gulp in air, “Andy, please, get off.”

“Baby, I need you,” he nuzzles your temple as he tugs aside your panties, “please, I’ve been waiting all day.”

Your chest pounds and your ears ring. You shove him helplessly as your chest racks painfully. No, no, no. The word echoes in your head. ‘You can tell them no…’

You ball your hands and hit Andy harder, “no!” You shout, “Andy, no! I don’t want it. I don’t want you!”

He ignores you, nibbling on your ear as he roughly jams his fingers between your folds. You squeal as your breath hitches. You can hardly puff it out as your heart hammers faster and faster.

“No, no, no…” you chant as you struggle beneath him, “no, get off… no, no…”

You reach above you and grab onto the arm rest. He hardly notices as he touches you, violates you. His fingers slip along your entrance, poking you dryly as you whine and plead. You grunt and pull yourself up with all your strength. You manage to drag yourself up only a few inches.

“Dove,” he snarls as he lifts head, his fingers delving into your cunt, “be good—”

You swing your elbow down. Not a thought, not a doubt stops you from cracking the pointed bone across his head. You’re not thinking, you’re too scared for that. His hand slips from between your legs as he cries out and cradles his head.

You wriggle under him, kicking and flailing until you slip free, falling heavily onto the floor. Your skirt is around your waist as your panties cling in the crease of your leg. You pant wildly as you crawl away from the couch, trying to get as far as you can.

You stop only as you hear a strange noise. You look back, sitting on your knees as you fold your hands to your chest, trying to calm the swell of fear. Andy stays on the couch, folded over as he holds his face. His body shakes as he sobs.

“Dove,” he croaks and sniffs, “how could you?” He slowly pushes himself up, a hand over his eye, “you hurt me. Why would you do that?”

You flutter your lashes as the pain in his voice stabs deep into your heart. You didn’t mean to hurt him, you never wanted to hurt anyone. But you were afraid and he wouldn’t stop. You just wanted him to stop.

“I– I said— no…” you eke out.

He bends forward, holding his head as he curls his shoulders. He looks small and weak. You shakily get your feet under you and stand. He wipes away tears as he hides his face from you. As you come close, you reach to touch him and he recoils.

“Andy, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t touch me,” he swats you away, “don’t—” He looks up at you, his blue eyes swirling with fear, “dove…” his lip trembles, “you’re scaring me.”

You rip your hand back and grip your wrist against your chest. You back up as if you’ve been struck. You? Scaring him? But…

He stands, watching you as if you might lunge. His shoulders stay rounded and hunched as he staggers, his hand still on one side of his face as he whimpers in pain. You reach your hand out and he winces again.

“Stay away,” he holds out an arm to shield himself, “dove, please, don’t hurt me again.”

He backs up, his gait uneven, almost stunned. He drags himself around the couch, sniffling loudly as he warily passes through the doorway. You look down at your hands, the throbbing still in your elbow from hitting him. You… hit him.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #steve kemp #fresh #dark fic #dark!fic #au #library au #series #don't speak #defending jacob

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