#i am sorry if this comes across as way too pretentious i got excited | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

day0walkersdrafts · 1 year

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The party is just so fucking loud.

Frat house bad; real bad. Two stories with a basement and crammed with people that Xavier didn’t necessarily like, or even get along with that well. But it was almost worse than a frat house, because this tidal pool of people went to university, went to college-college. For smart people. Really smart people, with GPA’s that calculated confusingly, that had triple major’s and two minors and got PhD’s after this. Masters. Belonged to societies, not social clubs.

So Xavier felt more out of place than usual, tagging along after Lark. Felt awkward in his jeans, distressed because he wore them thin, not for fashion. Hole in the knee because he’d skidded across the pavement falling off a skateboard. Out of place in his Carhartt that was stained because he worked a dirty job, not because he bought it that way. Because sometimes he had no rags and just rubbed car oil off on his jacket—that’s what it was there for.

Didn’t help that he was so fucking tall. Red haired. Beacon like. Xavier stood in the kitchen with his hands in his jacket pockets, trying to blend in and doing the exact opposite.

“What do you think?” The pretty blond turns to him then. She has saucer sized blue eyes that keep blinking morse code up at him. Xavier’s cup in his hand needs to be refilled with whatever cheap beer is on keg, but its across the room and these two have him absolutely fucking trapped.

“I uh,” he smiles down at her. “I thought The Shining was just a movie about a dude who goes crazy in a hotel.” Not that he’d stomached the entire thing; he’d made Benny fast forward through the blood elevator scene, which had made him sour the entire evening because it was his favorite part. The girl laughs with her head back. She has all that blond hair gathered up into a high pony tail. Her slim wrist has a gold bracelet on it; the kind that doesn’t unclasp. Permanent.

“Wow, you are so cute,” her companion says, a man only a few inches shorter than him. He has brushed back black hair and the strand that falls forward, onto his forehead seems purposeful. He looks at Xavier with hooded dark eyes that feel invasive. “Like, where did you come from?”

“Boston,” Xavier says, finishing the tepid beer in his red cup.

“Do Boston public schools not have media classes?”

Both of them laugh then, which makes Xavier feel like he’s somehow the shortest one there, despite being tall enough he could reach a hand up and touch the ceiling if he really wanted to. He doesn’t, hunches his shoulders instead, sinks into himself a bit as he scans for Lark’s blond head out in the crowd. When he catches sight, he angles himself sideways and shoves his way between the duo to the sound of their shocks gasps and rude and what’s his problem?

Xavier says, “Get me the fuck out of here.”

At the exact same time Lark says, “I just saw Benji.”

“You saw Benji?” he perks up then, shoulders dropping, tension draining like something was poked and let loose. Xavier has to tilt to look down at Lark, but he doesn’t feel small in front of the runner. Especially not with the way Lark sometimes keeps his chin tilted as if everyone’s meeting his gaze evenly. He’s grinning too, hands in his big track jacket, eyes rolling a little and indicating to the side with his head.

“Didn’t think he’d show—don’t think parties are his thing, but—”

Xavier turns, excited (big toothy grin, ready to find that curly hair, ready to get away from all these pretentious fucks, ready to get into a conversation that won’t make his head hurt, ready—) and his long arms crash into the person behind him. He yelps—and so does she, especially when the cup in her hand upends completely onto her front. Xavier watches in mute horror as beer spills all over a pale pink cardigan and a white dress.

“Oh fuck, I am so fucking sorry,” he pants immediately, blindly reaching into the kitchen for napkins until his eyes raise up from that beer soaked chest to the owner of the white dress and pink cardigan.

“Hi, Xavier,” she says softly and he panics.

“Daisy,” he says, thrusting the napkins onto her chest. “Uh, Daisy,” he repeats and then laughs, continues trying to soak up the spilled beer. When did she start drinking beer? Was a light weight when we dated. Or was she pretending to be a light weight? He swallows and tries to smile at her. She’s so small he has to almost fully arch over to look at her—makes his neck hurt.

“Oh—stop—” she laughs, swatting at his hands. Her cheeks go a dark red color, bloom a blush across her nose, all the way to her ears. She tucks strands of her loose dark hair away. “It—it was an accident, you’re fine.” Her hand smooths down over his and he almost jumps back from it. Afraid she might lace their fingers together like she used to do. He remembers the way she’d wildly swing their interlocked hands, her big, beautiful smile up at him. The little gleam in her eyes, the idolization of him apparent. He swallows hard and his hand lingers on her collarbone.

“Long time no see,” he says awkwardly. She blinks her big hazel eyes and then tilts her head and smiles more.

Xavier wishes he could turn, find that curly head of hair, but, he gets trapped there. Her fingers lace through his and hold him.

—

They catch up for an hour, maybe longer. Daisy talks about the non profit she’s started working at, her new apartment downtown. It’s a loft, with more square footage than Xavier’s childhood home that held four children and two parents. She says he can visit, if he wants, whenever. She hasn’t put together her book shelves because she’s not exactly strong enough; she laughs when she says it, that you know me, laugh. She talks about school, the pressures of it, maintaining her grades, what she’ll do after. And when she finally asks about him, her big eyes up and both her hands holding his one, he doesn’t know what to say.

Haven’t moved from this spot, where we parted. Haven’t really done anything else, Daisy. Would love to tell you that and disappoint you.

“Still smoke,” he says instead, grinning. “Actually, was gonna dip out for one.” Her hand tightens a bit on his, until she seems to collect herself. She makes a small sound of surprise—as if she’s not in charge of her own actions—hands fluttering up to her mouth innocently. Xavier has to look away then, awkwardly to the side door, where he knows freedom is just a step away. Fresh air. Even if it’s nicotine laced.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, eyes averted down. “I’ve like, totally kept you here for so long just blabbering about myself.” It makes his chest squeeze, makes his ribs cage into his heart and he swallows. Contemplates staying there, letting her continue before he slips a hand up to cup the back of his neck. He squeezes there, blinking around the party. She fits in here, because she’s wearing that cute dress he’s ruined. She fits in because she’s pale and pretty and has ambitions and—money.

“You’re fine—hey, we’ll uh, we’ll have lunch soon. Right?”

“Next week,” she says, with a gentle nod, a little soft laugh that’s girlish and sweet. He’d loved that laugh, loved making her laugh, loved telling her dumb jokes to make her laugh. It had made him feel special, sometimes.

They’d promised to stay friends when they broke up. Xavier felt committed to that promise, but had never actually acted on it—was busy. She was busy too, it seemed. But as he backs toward the door, her large eyes capture him again, make him pause. Make him feel like the bad guy as he fumbles for the sliding glass door.

—

It’s when the cold air rushes to meet him that Xavier realizes he might be a little drunk. His cheeks are warm against the biting wind and his hands feel fat and awkward as they shove into his jacket. He stumbles a bit outside, his long legs awkward and his converses sliding across wet grass.

“Stupid,” he seethes to himself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” And he’s angrier still, because he doesn’t have his cigarettes on him. Had left them in Lark’s car like an idiot. Xavier continues sliding across the grass. The house is on a knoll, big mound that lets it sit higher than the road across it where all the cars are parked. Wouldn’t matter even if he did get to Lark’s car, because he doesn’t have the keys. “Stupid.” Xavier hisses once more as he turns and slides a bit more.

There’s a single street light on, and it’s yellow hazy glow illuminates the figure sitting down in the wet grass, just right outside the ring of light. He leans with his legs thrown out in front of him, palms braced behind, chin tucked to his chest. Benji sits there, looking so out of place and alluring that Xavier’s whole stomach drops and he doesn’t recover. He slips again, has to catch himself a bit, hands sliding over the dewy grass as he stares.

Xavier’s eyes sweep over him again. They linger too much on those thrown out legs. One the curve of his body as he sits there. In the wet grass, without giving a fuck about anything. Xavier stares. He lingers.

Lately, it’s been—hard.

“Pff.” He is drunk, because its a difficult thought, but it makes him snort anyway as he starts walking toward the figure. Even if he’s grinning, maybe laughing a little—it has been hard. Lately, it’s been really fucking hard to look at Benji and not feel confused. Because; that’s his friend. That’s his friend. That’s someone he calls a friend, who he refers to as his friend. My friend, Benji.

His friend that he thinks about, in spare moments. Standing in line waiting to order food. Thinks about, when he’s under a car, doing a routine maintenance he could do in his sleep. His friend that he thinks about sometimes before bed, trying to get himself to think about anything else. Trying so hard to think of anything else but his friend.

My friend, Benji.

As Xavier gets closer, he expects him to turn and look at him—he doesn’t, which flares some weird anxiety in him. A did I do something wrong feeling? A little ice cube melting underneath his sternum. Daisy, in the back of his mind, his hand on her collarbone, his hand in hers, her eyes up at him, his guilt. Xavier swallows hard around a rough feeling in his throat, his head dizzy and warm. He slips some more as he finally gets right beside him and smiles down.

“Who’s the most popular guy at the nudist colony?” he asks Benji, standing beside him and looking down. Benji finally lets his head fall back, his brown eyes lifting to look at him. Xavier feels punched by that look, his chest caved in, because God fuck—fuck—just—fucking—fuck does Benji have beautiful eyes. Framed in dark lashes that flutter a bit, thick brows pulled down in his usual scowling grimace. Those big brown eyes are looking at him from behind those thick rimmed dark glasses that make them bigger and they reflect moonlight. My friend, Benji.

“Feels like this one’s gonna be a bad one, Xavier.”

“The guy who can carry a cup of coffee in each hand and a dozen donuts.” Benji blinks those liquid brown eyes slowly, his brows pulling upward. The scowl disappears, replaced with this humored look that fills Xavier’s stomach with butterflies. Really fat ones that ping around everywhere. Xavier lifts a hand and gestures obscenely with a tongue pinched between his teeth. “Get it?”

“So fuckin’ awful, mate.”

He lowers himself to the ground beside Benji then, bending his knees. The sloped hill makes it easier to sit and he watches the street light flicker, as if deciding whether or not it’ll stay on for such a picturesque moment. For a moment, they get to just be quiet—and that’s so fucking nice, it almost makes Xavier want to say it out loud, but that’ll ruin this moment, so instead he tucks his teeth into his lower lip. He looks out to the empty street, the music from the house inside soft behind them.

Xavier likes being quiet with Benji; likes the recuperation of it all. Sometimes, when they’re together, they don’t actually say anything at all. Sometimes, all they do is talk—for hours, about nothing, easy ping pong conversation back and forth, endless. But this is so nice after being inside that stuffy house, inside those waves of people, inside all those conversations and the music. Xavier tucks his knee closer and lays his cheek against it, tilts his face Benji’s way—is shocked to find him already looking at him.

“Do you have a cigarette?” Xavier asks, finds it weird how hoarse his voice is and has to clear it.

Benji fishes around in his pocket. That lightweight button up looks flimsy against the piercing night cold, so as he does, Xavier slowly shrugs off his Carhartt. He drapes it unceremoniously around Benji’s shoulders right as the man turns to offer the pack. They’re close then—probably too close. Xavier should probably scoot back, or at the very least lean away, because his friend, Benji is too close. Instead he stares, with big, blinking, drunk eyes and then grins.

“S’my last one,” Benji says and that grin drops.

“Oh, dude, I won’t take your last fucking cigarette—”

“Naw, we’re gonna share it.”

Before he can argue—because Xavier understands the importance of the last cigarette a man has—it’s being put in his mouth for him. That stuns him so hard the wet grass feels like its sliding up to meet him. Actually is a little because he’s turned on his side to face Benji and his shoulder connects with the ground. He laughs a bit, has to catch the cigarette and right it between his lips as he watches Benji fish out the lighter.

The jacket slips a little, so Xavier reaches up and fixes it more so it wont fall again. It makes Benji pause and glance over. His glasses slide a little down his prominent, strong nose. I love your nose, he doesn’t say, keeps tucked like his teeth in his lips. You have such a handsome nose.

Out comes the lighter then, Benji smiling crookedly. It’s one of those real smiles, no meanness to it. He’s never really mean. Xavier scrubs a hand back through his hair, unable to stop himself from grinning back. He’s not mean, at all. People get that wrong about him. He leans forward as Benji strikes the lighter; and he has to reach a hand up with it. Keep it cupped around that flame so that it won’t flicker out. But his hand wavers—so Xavier reaches up too and loops his fingers around Benji’s wrist to keep everything neat and straight.

He watches the flame at first, touching the tip of the cigarette. But on the inhale, his eyes slide until he’s looking at his pale thumb against Benji’s wrist. He watches, unable to stop himself as that thumb brushes smoothly across his vein, a pulse. Xavier’s eyelids droop, his lungs filling with nicotine as he inhales. Soft. Skates across his mind as his eyes slide back and find those brown ones staring at him through big glasses. Xavier’s hand doesn’t drop.

And when Benji’s hand moves, his fingers somehow trail over Xavier’s cheekbone, sending electric shocks through him. Straight over his spine, down curling lower, underneath his belly button. He has to blink a few times, has to stare forward at those beautiful brown eyes as the hand retreats away. The memory of finger pands on his cheek.

Xavier pulls away only slightly, cigarette smoke pushed from his nose and into the air. It’s then that he finally removes his hand and goes for it, laughing a little on the exhale.

“Fuck, I love smoking” He passes it over then. Their fingers brush. Nothing new. They touch all the time. Last week Benji had fallen asleep on the couch with his legs thrown over Xavier’s. They touch all the time. It’s nothing new. It’s fingers brushing sharing a cigarette. My friend, Benji.

“Tryin’ to quit.” He takes a drag, the cigarette fitted between his index and middle finger. Xavier watches his thumb flick it to send ash off into the grass. “Last one of the day. Half of one anyway.” Benji leans over and holds it out. Xavier takes it, oddly careful before putting it to his mouth. Xavier lays then, lets himself settle into the moist grass, kicking his long legs out. Benji does too, their shoulders brushing—lucky the Carhartt is mostly in the way. Lucky why?

“My neighbor has been mad at his wife for sunbathing naked,” Xavier says, rolling his head to look at Benji. Already looking at him too. He holds out the cigarette and Benji takes it back, tucks it between his lips. They curve, softly, into his smile, his fucking smile—that smile. That smile. The street light flickers again. “I, personally, am on the fence.”

Benji laughs, throwing out a leg to kick Xavier, to tell him, right fuckin’ awful! So fuckin’ bad every time.

And they dissolve into laughter over that, kicking at each other, squirming on the wet grass. That dissolves into talking, into discussing the TV show they’d been binging together; Xavier lamenting how Benji never gets the three-two-one count down correct and he’s always a few minutes ahead when they’re watching in their own apartments. They talk about Benji’s sister coming to visit soon (“Man, I hope she likes me.” “Oh, mate, she’s got opinions.”) and they discuss Xavier’s latest tattoo on his knee, a barbwire fence because he thought it looked cool.

The streetlight flickers off, but they stay there. Talk about something else, for a while.

—

When they get home, Lark is guiding Xavier into their apartment by the hips laughing.

“You always do this.”

“You love taking care of me.” He’s got his long pale arms over Lark’s shoulders, grinning as he stumbles back. One of his hands toy with Lark’s stark blond hair, tugging it a little and making the shorter man growl and glare. “You’re such a mom friend.”

“You’re such a shit head. You’re drunk,” Lark accuses confidently—and yeah. Definitely is. Had a few more beers than he was supposed to have, especially after Lark found him and Benji sitting together, but he feels dizzier than usual. Keyed up in a weird way, wound together tightly and energetic and also exhausted. Syrupy in the head in the same way it feels like that molasses is mixed with fucking pop rocks. He feels over the garden wall.

Lark turns him toward his bedroom then, still guiding him.

“Sleep it off, big guy.” Xavier swirls instead, back to facing him and scoops Lark up into a hug. He has to bend to get to him, has to arch down and hold him close. He feels Lark’s hand patting softly at his side and his soft laughter in his ear. “Man, love you too. Go to bed.”

When he does get into his room, Xavier—despite feeling like he could fall into it and sleep immediately—dedicates his time to getting his shoes unlaced. Puts them by the door, where they always go. He shrugs off his crewneck sweater—realizes then that Benji still has his jacket. The sweater and his jeans go into the hamper, which he stares down at, contemplating that jacket.

It’s his favorite. It’s expensive and worthwhile. He walks backward till the back of his knees hit the bed and he falls down onto it—long arms splayed everywhere and one leg hanging off the edge. His necklace, the little crucifix charm, slides until its all bunched into the hollow of his throat; he brings a finger there and hooks it around the chain and tugs slightly as he closes his eyes. He groans, all that wild energy suddenly leaving him in a rush because, Xavier realizes, he’s—

He’s in love with his friend Benji.

#xavier #xavier x benji #uni au

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fictitiousmagines · 3 years

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You Already Have Me Wrapped Around Your Finger Pt. 3

*Just a disclaimer. With dementia, confusion and fear can sometimes result in aggression.

I did it. I fucking did it. But why am I surprised? There is absolutely no fighting fate. You are my fate Y/N.

I'll admit I was surprised when you asked me to coffee. I was flattered but mostly because I know that you want this to. And I am far too weak to fight my impatience. It was over coffee that I got to know you on a level that Instagram didn't quite give me.

Not only were you an artist but you are an incredibly kind. You're a caregiver for your dad that has dementia. Which incidentally is how the book got ripped. But even after that admission, you still smiled and shrugged it off. "He just has his bad days," you said. There are so many flawed people in this world. But you still see beauty in everyone don't you?

I'll admit that I have a thing for creative types. It's irresistible when someone sees potential to create something out of nothing. But you're kindness was the final hook sinking its way into my heart.

It took everything I had not to slide under the table and worship the altar of your thighs. Right there in that shitty pretentious coffee you were so excited about.

But instead, I asked to walk you home. And imagine my great relief to know you were only a 15 minute walk away.

"Y/N" Joe said as she reached her porch. "Keep in touch okay? I want to know how our book is doing."

This earned a delicate but warm laugh from her.

"Of course."

And I appreciate you keeping your promise Y/N. I'm not a big fan of texting but I'm constantly looking at my phone hoping your name pops up. I love it even more when you find a little excuses to come into the shop. For book recommendations to read your dad. Just because you were in the neighborhood. I know you want this.

Which leads me here, at the strip of stores across from your house. Where I've been all day, watching over you. I don't mind really, I know you've been stressed out with your dad. And I want to be here for you. I worry about you; your safety. And if you're taking care of others who's taking care of you? That's where I come in.

Joe had to admit that watching you was fascinating. His particular favorite bit had to have been seeing you dance through your living room window. The older gentleman she was dancing with had to have been her dad.

What were you dancing to? The Drifters? Otis Redding? The Beatles?

He glanced up into the window to see if she had returned to the living room. He was sitting on a rickety bench in the shadow of an alley. The absolute perfect place for her silent protector.

A car pulled up into the parking lot of space and a figure popped out, clutching a cellphone. The light of the cell phone illuminated the figure to reveal a young guy in his mid twenties.

Who the fuck is this?

He made his way into the house and Joe got up almost reactively. He relaxed the muscles in his body as he walked across the street pretending to be walking home.

But suddenly Joe's phone vibrated.

"You busy? Wanna grab a drink? Maybe go on a walk? Feeling a little stir crazy." - Y/N

"Sure, be there in 20."- Joe.

Relief coursed through Joe’s whole body. Although he wasn’t happy about a random man came waltzing in so late, he was glad you could sense his desperate need to see you.

20 minutes later Joe knocked on her door and wrung his anxious hands. He was hoping to get a glance at this mysterious gentleman. Before he could dwell, she gently opened the door and smiled.

“Joe, Hey,” she whispered. She casually waved at her male visitor and nodded before slipping out of the door. Her visitor was sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.

“Sorry, for texting so late. I was needing a little bit of company. And you’re good company” she was dressed in a faded pair of Rebook shorts and an old Smokey the Bear shirt. Her black cardigan reaching mid thigh. She looked so cozy and comfortable. The kind of outfit he imagined she’d wear around their apartment on a rainy day. Her sitting by the window and him in the kitchen making her tea.

I just want to hold you. Keep you safe.

“Everything okay?” Joe asked before gently placing a hand on her shoulder. It was than that he got a better look at her face. She looked absolutely exhausted. The hint of a bruise covered her jaw.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Dad just had a bad day today. My brother offered to come over and give me a little break so I could get out of the house. Today’s just been a doozy.”

Did he hit you Y/N? I thought you guys seemed so happy dancing in the living room. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore because I’m here. And I wanna keep you safe. Even if its from you dad. Even if its from your own good nature.

Anger bubbled up underneath the surface but Joe nodded and grazed her jaw gently. “I-I’m sorry you had a tough day. But hey, I have an idea. There’s a bodega by my shop that has fantastic sandwiches. Why don’t I get us some food and we can hang out at the shop? Ya know, have some peace and quiet.”

Her response was an abrupt but warm hug in response. He could hear the tiniest of sniffles before she pulled away.

“Thanks,” she breathed.

“Lets get you that food,” Joe smiled.

Its really you, I want to thank Y/N. Thank you for letting me in. Thank you for letting me be someone you lean on. Because I care about you. And its high time someone took care of you, like I’m going to.

#joe goldberg #joe goldberg x you #joe goldberg x reader #Joe goldberg imagine #joe goldberg imagines #you imagine #you imagines #penn badgley #penn badgley imagine #penn badgley x reader #joe goldberg fanfic

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achillieus · 3 years

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let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning

(pinterest inspired board)

part: 1/6

(other parts) (masterlist)

The day it happened, it wasn't a significant meeting at all, you barely even talked. In fact, when he opened the door of your neighbor’s flat that day with a beer in his right hand and his hair messy, he didn't have any effect on you. You always knew that living next to a director meant that sooner or later you’d bump into the pretty faces of well-known people. Sure, you didn’t expect them to be Hollywood actors like him, but to say you were starstruck by the man, would be the overstatement of the year.

The building you’ve lived in for the last three years has five floors; you live in the 4th, he lives in the 5th. He’s a quiet person, usually spending his evenings out of his apartment. You’ve talked sometimes, about the weather and the weird lady that lives in the 1st floor. You’ve never told him you find his directing style a little pretentious.

You’ve never been to his place until that annoyingly warm August evening, when you find a white button up shirt on your balcony. You can clearly see more clothing when you look up and you’re certain the item you’re holding belongs to him.

He’s not there though. Instead you find a different face behind the door. Lighter eyes and darker hair. The man in front of you is definitely younger than the director. You don’t bother to notice what he’s wearing.

“Can I help you?” His voice is deeper than you expected. Stronger, with a touch of European accent. The sound of English surprises you at first but soon you realize he must be another foreign coworker that came to visit your neighbor

“No, I just think Argyris dropped this and it ended up on my floor.”

He looks at you and then at the shirt, in your hands.

Then he says “Sure, I’ll take it.”

“Okay.”

Then it ends. He doesn’t even ask your name. You don’t have to ask his. You figure out, as soon as you walk down the stairs, that it’s Sebastian Stan that you just talked to.

And while being a big fan of marvel movies, you think nothing special of him at first. You just wonder how a mostly unknown director from Greece got an actor like Sebastian to come here so they can work together. It makes no sense to you, but you forget it when your phone starts ringing.

It would’ve been easier if you never saw him again, yet you do. You see him trying to understand what the old lady from the first floor is trying to tell him. You already know. The elevator is not working. The next day you see him walking up the stairs.

You exchange a quick hello, how are you and then off you both go.

The same night Argyris invites you to have a drink with them in the terrace. Part of you wants to just stay in bed and binge watch some Sherlock episodes. Part of you already thinks of what to wear.

There are around ten people there when you show up. They’re all sitting down in huge pillows drinking and talking loudly. You don’t know most of them.

You sit next to a blonde girl, across from Sebastian. This time you notice he’s wearing a plain black shirt and holds a glass of whiskey.

You don’t share any direct conversations but you learn that he’s afraid of growing old and that he thinks Taxi Driver is one fucking masterpiece, as he says.

When you mention that you’re probably the least artistic person in the room right now, you hear him laugh.

A curly haired woman starts dancing with him at some point. You decide he’s not a good dancer.

He leaves the same time you do, following you down the stairs.

“I thought you live here.” You say when he doesn’t stop at the floor you expect him to.

“Ah no, I stay at a hotel near the centre.”

He keeps talking about his suite until you reach your door.

You part in a blur, with a short goodbye.

He still doesn’t ask for your name.

It makes you feel genuinely offended.

Two days after, he is the farthest thing from your mind, until you find him sitting in front of your door, his eyes roaming the place with despair. And then he sees you.

“Ah finally you are here.” He starts casually. “Thank god.”

You just nod.

“Argyris told me to wait for him with you. We had a meeting but he got stuck in traffic.”

You give him a look.

“He said you’re always at home so you won’t mind.”

Ouch. Yeah sure, your social life wasn’t something to brag about but for some reason the way Sebastian said it, it sounded like an insult.

“Okay, come in.” You shrug, clearly not feeling comfortable and turn around to unlock the door.

You hear him call your name. You thought he didn’t know.

“Yes?”

He offers you an easy smile. “Thank you.”

Sitting in your couch he’s eyeing the entire room, while you put some groceries in the fridge.

“Argyris says you’re a great girl.” He clears his throat. “But he thinks you’re too quiet for your own good.”

You look at him, your eyes flicking up and down his face.

“And from what I can tell, he’s right.” You hear him laugh.

It felt weird to see him laugh while he was leaning back at your cozy pillow. He had entered your life so suddenly you didn’t even have time to react to it.

“I’m sorry but I barely know you.” Your words are sharp. He sits up.

“Okay then let’s get to know each other, what’s your favorite Disney princess?”

Defeated, you laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, this is an important question.”

You wait for him to crack up but then you remember he’s an actor.

“I don’t know.” You think for a second. “Mulan?”

“Oh my god. Mulan is amazing.” You smile at him. “My favorite is Jasmine, she’s just so badass.”

You share your favorites that day, having almost nothing in common rather than your everlast love for animated movies and buttered popcorn.

When it’s time for him to leave, he stops and looks at you in the eye.

“You should talk more often.”

You stare at him with confusion. “I talk,” you raise your eyebrows. “When I have something to say.”

“Good.” he says, still looking.

Later in the evening, you’re eating some yoghurt when he comes knocking on your door.

He’s different. The white tank top he was wearing this morning is replaced with a dark shirt and his face looks tired. You assume they’ve been working since he went upstairs.

“Hiii”, he says dragging the i, “Am I interrupting anything?”

You desperately want to nod. You want to tell him that you were doing the most exciting thing in the world, before he came but you were never a good liar.

So you just tilt your head and take a step back.

That’s when he enters and is met with some loud rock music blaring from your laptop.

“You like AC/DC?” he asks, almost wide-eyed.

“Well, I can tell it’s them when I hear their stuff.” For the first time that day, he seems to be in loss of words. “Why are you so surprised?”

He sits in the same spot in the couch as earlier and laughs.

“I just didn’t take you for the kind of girl who likes this music.” It’s your turn to laugh.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Quiet girl who loves animated films and eats kids’ yoghurt” he looks at the carton in your kitchen table, “and also likes metal music? Doesn’t add up.”

“We’ve basically just met; you shouldn’t make assumptions about me.”

“Fair enough.” He sits back, fidgeting with his fingers.

You take some time just looking at him

There was a certain vibe about that man that made you wonder how it’d feel to cruise down a dessert highway in a convertible mustang with him. In the summer. With him wearing that white tank top.

The color of strawberries emerges at your cheeks just at the thought of it.

You wish he doesn’t notice.

You’re glad to find him looking the other way, before he speaks up.

“We’re going out tonight.” His voice is warm now. “Argyris says you should come along, even though I’m quite sure there’s no hardcore music where we’re going.” He laughs again.

I can’t. You almost say. But then anxiety slips away from you and out of sudden you want him to stop being so freaking arrogant, going around and acting like he knows exactly what kind of person you are.

He thinks you’ll say no. You can see it in his eyes.

“Sure, when should I be ready?” you say, surprising both of you.

He looks at you for some time and then trying to hide whatever he was thinking he says the first thing on his mind.

“How old are you?” He sounds pitiful. He knows. He wishes he could hit a wall; with his head.

“Twenty-one.” His eyes scan yours, unsure of what they’re looking for. “Why?”

“No reason.”

He inhales deep.

You try to blink. You’re at a party in a little bar you’ve never been before and a lot of people are wearing black. Alcohol. You can still taste it on the back of your tongue. You don’t remember how you end up pressed against a dark skinned man, but you can tell he smells of cigarettes and despair.

You sway your body to the beat, close your eyes. Breath in. And out. You think the music deafens you for a second but you open your lids and see Sebastian and he’s watching you, unashamed.

He’s not that far, though it feels like it with countless bodies in the way. The music melts. His gaze is almost angelic. Or devious. You can’t really tell.

He’s dancing with that curly haired woman again. You wonder how intimate their relationship is.

The red neon lights make his skin glisten. His muscles move divinely. It makes you think there’s an entire world inside him, his flesh barely keeping it hidden. Out of sudden you get the urge to walk towards him. You want to see him up close under this dim lighting. But you don’t move.

The man that’s groping your waist asks for your name. You tell him you need to flee. He doesn’t understand.

You sit outside with the sweet summer breeze touching your bare arms. The bass of the music in the background syncs with the beating of your heart. You can feel your ribs grow with every breath you take. Until you stop breathing because the door opens and his eyes suffocate you.

You can’t fathom the effect he has on you. He was a pretty face on screen some days ago. But right now he steals distance and stays near you.

You don’t look his way. He doesn’t say a word. Nicotine and smoke surround you as he exhales. His fingers hold the cigarette butt with care.

“Do you want some?”

You turn to look at him.

“I don’t smoke.” He laughs.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t want some.”

You want to know if his breath has the taste of sulfur. You want to pretend it’s the alcohol or the loud music that makes your head hurt.

“What’s the best part of being an actor?” The blue in his eyes glows.

There’s silence but he seems to be thinking about it.

“Do you ever feel things too much?” He says, his voice hoarse. “I mean, when you feel something so intensely it becomes a part of who you are.”

You nod. You understand.

“Acting allows you to let go of these feelings,” he starts. “You share the burden with the audience until it becomes light and you can hold it again.”

You look at him, shaking your head.

“I don’t think I could that,” you close your eyes. “I don’t think I could share what I feel so easily.”

He stands up. The wind hits you again.

“A lot people can’t. That’s why everyone is heartbroken,” he takes a breath, “Feelings eat us raw.”

You both go to bed alone that night. Tomorrow there is a hole next to you.

the morning after, search history

(02:45 PM) hangover recovery

(03:00 PM) best food after a hangover

(03:10 PM) sebastian stan

(03:30 PM) sebastian stan girlfriend

(06:00 PM) xanax side effects

You follow him on Instagram. He doesn’t follow you back. You remember he probably gets tons of followers every day and decide not to let it bother you. Instead you study for the exams of the following month.

The subject of your studies doesn’t interest you. Another poor decision you made under pressure. Sometimes you feel as if your life is borrowed from someone else. Sometimes you feel as if you haven’t found your home yet.

Feelings eat us raw.

His girlfriend looks beautiful in the pictures you find online. The media isn’t certain if they’re still together but you like to think so. It makes it easier to avoid him.

But the universe seems to be oblivious to your thoughts and you see him that same day. You’re taking the garbage out and he’s coming down from the top floor. You meet in the elevator.

“I’m glad to see you’re still alive,” his eyes are smiling as he talks “you looked kinda drunk last night.”

You fidget with the hem of the bag you’re holding.

“I wasn’t drunk.” You notice he’s growing some stubble. You’re not sure you like it.

“Whatever you say, doll.” You bite your cheek trying to devour any sign that might give away how his words make you flinch.

He turns his body a little so now you’re facing each other. He’s so pretty. He’s so pretty in a way that doesn’t hurt. You try not to stare at him, but you fail sometimes. You’ve never noticed how slow the elevator moves until you want to get out. You can’t stand being so close to him for much longer.

He’s an arrogant rich actor who loves Disney and smokes a lot, you think. I have no reason to be affected by him.

“Ah! Argyris said we’re leaving for the weekend.” You eye him curiously. “He wants to show us some small villages in the south. He thinks we should get to know the country a little more before we start.”

You’re stunned by your neighbor’s dedication to his work. Sometimes you wish you had something you could be passionate about too. Sometimes you think you’re never going to find it.

“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll like it.” You give him a smile.

He leans his back at the wall. The elevator stops. Finally.

“I like your eyes.” You grab tight onto the bag. “But they don’t smile when you do.”

He opens the door and he’s gone.

They tell you that it’s fun to meet a famous person. They tell you, you can ask for a photo and a hug. They tell you celebrities don’t talk a lot but that doesn’t mean they’re rude.

But he’s not like that.

He’s fire. He’s burning heat and scorching flames. His words are his thoughts; raw. You don’t like it.

late night search history

(00:38 AM) blue valentine movie soundtrack

(01:15 AM) is sebastian stan a bad person

(01:30 AM) acting classes for amateurs

(01:50 AM) cheap leather boots

(02:10 AM) sebastian stan eyes

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when you’re alone.

Thankfully he’s leaving for the weekend, you think.

The weekend, however, is two days away.

You think you can get away without seeing him. And you do. Until it’s late at night again. And they’re all upstairs with music so loud you’re certain the lady on the first floor is going to be rude about it in the morning.

The music tempo has you unaffected. All you think about is if he’s dancing with that woman again.

He’s such a bad dancer, he should not be dancing.

There’s a subtle knock on your door. You know it’s him. You hope you’re wrong.

“Do you feel like dancing?” His face is all flustered. It’s a good look on him.

“You can’t come knocking on my door at 2 AM and ask me to dance.” His gaze is filled with confusion.

“So you don’t feel like dancing?” You roll your eyes. He notices.

“That’s not the point Sebastian.” It’s the first time you call him by his name. You let it slip away slowly, testing the way it sounds coming out of your mouth.

He takes a step closer. You are suddenly aware of your pyjama shorts and your exposed skin.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to irritate you.” His eyes are the cliché blue of the sky. “I just thought you might want to dance, that’s all.”

Suddenly you feel guilty and embarrassed. He’s oblivious to it.

For a moment you feel his eyes linger on you. It feels surreal.

You nod at him.

He’s ready to say something when Argyris comes down the stairs, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“Ah man, I thought you got lost or something.” You lower your eyes. “Stop messing with the poor girl. People are looking for you.”

He throws a smile at you and Sebastian takes a quick breath.

“People are always looking for me.”

He gives away that he’s carrying a burden. Your expression softens. But then you look at Argyris and you see he doesn’t really pay attention to these words.

You share a quick look before you’re there standing alone at your doorstep, trying to grasp the idea of him.

When you wake up you feel like running. You can’t fathom where the feeling comes from but it starts like a liquid running down your veins and soon you can’t stay in bed even for a second.

Feelings eat us raw. Only if you let them.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged in this six part story :)

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #monday the movie #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #letyoudown

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Through the Mirror: Part 1

my body, my music

Pairing/setting: Detective!Levi Ackerman x Female!Ghost!Reader, modern!AU within the Walls

Summary: When you’re murdered one Tuesday morning, can Levi piece together the true circumstances of your death with your help from beyond the grave?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: dead body, descriptions of blood, swearing, mentions of violence

AN: Welcome to my new series because I have no self control and can’t finish projects before starting others! Lemme just start off by saying updates may come pretty irregularly because I do have a lot of other WIPs to work on, but! I’m really excited about this idea and have a whole lot planned:) I seriously hope you enjoy. After all, who doesn’t love a good murder mystery? Drop into my DMs/askbox/comments/reblogs to let me know what you think! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

“Ah, shit! Hello!? I’m standing right here!”

The woman completely ignores you, stepping carefully over the puddle of blood and across your tiny living room. You cross your arms and pout. She ignores that, too.

“‘Scuse me, boys, let the experts take it from here,” she quips, gently pushing past the two detectives and crouching next to your body on the ground.

It’s ugly, but she’s probably seen worse, you muse from where you’re leaning against the door jamb. It’s only been lying there for a couple of hours, so at least you haven’t bloated to something out of an NCIS episode. Must smell horrid, though, judging by the mask the head detective has pulled over his face.

“So, you said the landlady called at about 7 am?” the ME inquires, cocking her head up to look at the detectives, nylon gloved hands held at the ready.

“7:07 exactly. Said a neighbor made a noise complaint, she came up to check it out, found signs of a forced entry, and called us.” It’s the taller blonde who speaks up, reading from an off-brand pocket notepad in his left hand. The kind you’d find on sale at Staples after Back-to-School season.

Interesting. You lean your head against the wall, eyes trained on the trio. You’d pegged the ill-tempered shorter one as in charge. Maybe he’s just the quiet type.

“Hmm, alright. Moblit, get off your ass and come take the pictures before we move her,” the woman calls to someone behind you, and you turn just in time to get a face full of Moblit’s chest as he walks towards you.

You cringe back with a “God, seriously?” to no response.

“Yes, sorry, right away, Hange!” Moblit hurries past- no, through -you, sidestepping the ottoman and the blood. It feels weird, like a strong wind, but not altogether unpleasant to have someone walk through you, you suppose. You look down at your chest to watch your misty body re-settle into itself before looking back at the group in your living room.

Were it not for the gruesome accents of blood flecked up the walls and your body riddled with stab wounds, you’d chuckle at how all four of them struggled to navigate the space. It’s cramped enough when it’s just you, fitting only a couch, a chair, a coffee table, your fern (Boris), and a narrow IKEA bookshelf. With the four of them plus a dead body, it’s like watching a freaking clown car.

“Sorry, excuse me, Captain, oh, was that your toe—?” Moblit’s struggling the most, having to move to capture different angles with his bulky camera. When he steps on the shorter man’s toe, he positively blanches, fumbling over himself to apologize while the ME laughs openly.

“God, alright, just,” the Captain pinches his delicate nose between a thumb and forefinger, then decides it’s better to wait in the kitchen. “C’mon, Gin, let’s chat in there.”

The Captain and the blonde detective both pass through you on the way back to the kitchen, but you only sigh and shake the tingly feeling of being incorporeal out of your fingers before following them.

“So,” the man called Gin takes the initiative, flipping back through his notebook and standing by the fridge. “I got statements from the landlady and two of the neighbors, numbers 303 and 304 down the hall. 301, directly across the hall, didn’t answer, but I got contact info from the landlady.” He pauses to read and scratch at his whiskery beard. “It was 304 who made the noise complaint, said she heard yelling this morning at around 5:45, and that she normally wouldn’t’ve said anything but it was, quote, the fourth goddamn time this week and I work the goddamn night shift, I deserve some fucking rest, unquote.”

You grin. Mrs. Sheffield was never one to mince words, something you appreciated when your ex-boyfriend got too loud and she took it upon herself to give him a piece of her mind. You catch a glimmer of a smile on the ornery Captain’s face above where he’s pulled his mask down before he gestures for Gin to keep going, keeping his thoughtful gaze fixed on the floor and his back against your countertop.

“Then after she called the landlady, she went to bed, only to be woken by us two hours later.”

“You said she called the landlady at 5:45 and that she works the night shift?”

Gin double checks his notes. “That’s right.”

“And she works at the hospital?”

“Yes, as a scrub nurse on the night shift.”

“But the night shift at the hospital ends at 6:30.”

“It was her night off,” you and Gin say at the same time before you catch yourself. They can’t hear you, anyway. This’d be a lot easier if they could.

Gin plows ahead. “But she says she keeps the same sleep schedule so she doesn’t, ah, fuck up her circadian rhythm.”

The Captain practically snorts at this, itching for a second under his silk cravat (can someone say pretentious) before settling back into a listening silence.

“303 says he didn’t hear a thing. College kid, looked exhausted. Said he was asleep the whole night after he got in at,” a page flip, “11 o’clock last night. Wasn’t much help, but looked genuinely upset when we told him about the murder. Wanted to know if there was anything he could do. Oh, but he did, uh, hang on,” more page flips, “He did tell us that he heard her and her boyfriend arguing a lot. Which is consistent with what Mrs. Sheffield told us.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you correct into thin air.

“A lover’s spat gone wrong, then,” Mr. Pretentious Captain muses. You huff in annoyance. A lover’s spat. If that’s all that this is written off as you’ll have some serious PD haunting to do. Chris may have been an angry, loud, disruptive manipulator, but he wouldn’t murder you. He didn’t murder you. “Any info on the whereabouts of the boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyf—!”

Blondie cuts you off, “Not currently, but we do have a name: Chris Henderson, works in admin down at the University. Lives across town closer to the Bridge.”

“Send some uniforms to bring him in for questioning. No arrests yet, tell ‘em to keep it friendly.”

“Right, I’ll put Dreyse and Bodt on it.”

“Dreyse, really?” Captain Cravat gives Gin an incredulous look.

“Hey, she may look like a ditz but she gets the job done. And she might get him to let down his guard,” Gin argues, grinning.

“Fine. I’ll meet them at the station, you stay here and make sure that mousy-haired dunce doesn’t fuck up my crime scene.”

“Hey, who’re you callin’ mousy-haired, short stack?” Hange actually sticks her whole head through yours this time, to butt into the conversation, and you shriek and jump away to the other side of your tiny kitchen, now sandwiched between Blondie and Shortstack. The latter twitches and swats at the air by his ear, as though to dislodge a fly, narrowly missing yours. You give him a weird look then turn back to listen to the ME. She’s leaning into the kitchen at an alarming angle, one hand on the doorframe and the other on the end of the gurney you assume is carrying your body. You shudder at the thought of being toted around in a dark, musty, humid glorified coat bag. Ugh.

“—takin’ this baby”-she slaps the gurney twice and you flinch-“back so I can get started on the autopsy, Moblit’s staying to take more pictures and collect forensics. If Eld’s stayin’ here with Mob, does that mean you’re catching a ride with me, Levi?” The question is addressed to Captain Grump on your right, who gives a heavy sigh and pushes off the counter.

“I guess so. I get to choose music though.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” she’s wagging a finger, grinning. “My body, my music!”

“How about my body, my music?” you suggest, following Levi. “I deserve it after the day I’ve had.”

Again, Levi twitches and swats aggressively by his ear, nearly hitting you full in the face this time.

“You hear that, Gin? This place got a mosquito problem or something?”

“I do not have a mosquito problem!” and “No, sir, I don’t hear anything.” overlap in the air.

Captain Levi only grunts, then starts spouting instructions, which Gin notes down. “I want footage from any cameras in the building, and from the shops next door and across the street. I want statements from residents both upstairs and downstairs. I want names, addresses, and numbers of next of kin on my desk by noon, and lastly, I want no one, save for myself, you, shitty glasses, and mousy-hair, in or out of this apartment. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.”

“Good. I’m leaving you Braus to help and to show her the ropes of this kind of thing. Even though she’s on the case, she will not set foot in this apartment. I don’t trust her not to leave breadcrumbs in the bloodstains.

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect an in-person report before shift-change this evening. See you then.” Then, he’s sweeping out of the kitchen in pursuit of Hange and the gurney, leaving you to scurry after. As you exit your home, he shoots a young auburn-haired woman in a crisp white blouse and wool slacks a look. “Braus. You’re with Gin. Don’t go in the apartment.”

She straightens up from leaning against the wall with a jolt and brushes croissant crumbs off her front. “Yes, Captain Levi, sir!” It’s slightly muffled by the pastry stuffed into her mouth.

“Tch.”

It’s fascinating watching how Levi and Hange manage to navigate the gurney down the narrow, twisting stairs of your walk-up apartment building. They’re both clearly used to this sort of thing, communicating only in short phrases and grunts when they encounter an obstacle. Occasionally, you offer up a pointer and watch as Levi becomes increasingly irritated.

“Watch out for Mr. Laslow’s cat, he likes to sneak up on ya!”

“Hange, do you hear— shit!” Levi hops to the side, narrowly avoiding the tabby tail as Tubbins McGee whisks past.

“It’s only a cat, Levi, dunno what’s got you so worked up today,” Hange teases, grin echoing your own as you chortle from the landing above them.

Eventually, they spill out onto the sidewalk and into the bright mid-day, and Hange groans loudly, stretching with both hands on her back.

“Ugh. Remind me not to die in there, I’d hate to put someone else through that.”

“Boof, tell me about it,” you commiserate.

“Noted,” Levi snarks.

Hange removes jingling keys from her pocket and unlocks the ME’s van parked along the sidewalk with a beep, then opens the back doors and steps in. You follow, leaning against the cool metal siding to watch.

When they both load into the front seats and the engine turns over, you lean forward between them to listen in.

“So,” Hange starts, smoothly pulling out into the road behind a silver minivan. “I’ll be able to give you a more solid answer in a couple hours, but my initial estimated time of death would be around 5:45 this morning.”

Levi nods, staring out the passenger window while he answers. “That lines up with the neighbor’s story.”

“Theories so far?”

“Well, there’s the boyfriend,” he muses, lifting a hand to rub his chin.

“Too obvious,” you say dully, not bothering to amend the lack of “ex” yet again. “Next theory.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then mutter, almost too quietly for you to catch: “Too obvious, hmm? Next theory....”

You’re momentarily flabbergasted, hand falling through the faux-leather seat back in your shock. Can he actually hear you? You shake out your hand while it re-materializes, tuning in to the conversation as Hange’s responding.

“—a little far-fetched, don’t you think? I mean, has there been any of that activity in this area recently?”

“Mm, I’ll have to touch base with Petra. If there has been, I think it’s worth looking into.”

“What is? Wait, go back,” you frantically plead, leaning further into his airspace. But Hange plows on.

“Oh, it’s Petra, now, hmm? Not Raggedy Anne anymore?” Her tone is teasing, and she glances over to Levi for a reaction.

He doesn’t give her one, just stares out the window pensively before reaching for the radio dial. The stereo blares up into an Oldies station, and you make a disgusted face along with Levi.

“You listen to this shit?”

“Hey, my dead body, my music, sweetcheeks. Don’t like it, you can thumb it back to the PD.”

“How about my dead body, my music?” you suggest again, reaching for the dial at the same time as Levi does. Just as his slender fingers touch it, your hand passes through the whole front console and the oldies are replaced with a terrifyingly loud static screeching.

“Christ, Levi, what’d you do?” Hange shrieks, lunging forward to punch the radio off as you remove your hand.

“Nothing! It just went berserk!”

They bicker while you stare at your offending palm. “Huh. Didn’t know I could do that.”

If you can actually interact with objects, at least to some degree, and if it turns out Levi can hear you.... This whole thing might be easier than you thought.

#levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #aot x reader #snk x reader #captain levi x reader #female!reader #hange zoe #moblit berner #eld gin #sasha braus #through the mirror #valkyrie writes #tw:murder #tw:violence #tw:dead body #tw:blood

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2996-sana · 4 years

Text

Not So Unrequited Love - Jennie

At 11 on a Friday, Jennie finds herself at Coffee Beanz where her, Jisoo, Lisa, and Rosé usually meet for their weekly brunch. The quaint little coffee shop that huddled despondent among huge city buildings has cemented itself as their go-to place ever since Jisoo came across it during their freshman year of college. The interior was warm and cheery and always played really good jazz during Fridays which Jennie absolutely loved.

Now professionals with outstanding positions in their own industries, the four girls still haven’t forgotten about the one place that always gave them a bittersweet recollection of their time as broke and stressed college students. Not that they need the weekly trips to the coffee shop to see each other. They all lived in the same apartment complex separated by just a few doors from each other after all. It was just a nice little tradition that reminded them to remain grounded no matter how far they come in their own careers.

This week, the topic at hand over their usual coffee and brunch orders was Jennie’s struggle to find a date.

“Why is this happening to me?” Jennie complains, throwing her hands in the air. “Am I lacking something?”

The three girls rolled their eyes at their best friend. Jennie really did have a flare for the dramatics.

“Jen, you literally have people lining up to date you.” Jisoo reassured while the other two hummed in agreement.

“That’s right,” Rosé says, taking a pause to sip her coffee. “I mean Y/N is literally the living embodiment of that statement.”

Lisa snorts at Rosé’s words. You were Rosé’s childhood best friend and business partner who first crossed paths with Jennie about three years ago during their company launching and was notorious in their friend group for your not so subtle crush on Jennie.

This was not lost on Jennie however. Not at all. Moves were made. These so-called moves could’ve definitely been executed better, Jennie was sure of that, but she appreciated your efforts.

You just weren’t her type.

Jennie grimaced hearing your name. “I-I don’t know, Rosie. Nothing against her or whatever. She’s just not my type is all.”

“You know, Jennie, just because Y/N isn’t the typical person littered with tattoos that you usually go for, doesn’t mean she won’t make good company on a date.”

She wanted to rebut Lisa’s argument but she knew the girl had a point. Looking at her dating history, she was known for being with people – boys and girls – who all looked and acted like their moral compass could use some adjusting. What can she say? She has always been a sucker for someone wild.

You on the other hand could be compared to sunshine. Jennie can’t ever recall seeing you without a smile on your face. It almost seemed like it was the last step in your morning routine before walking out of your house. In Jennie’s eyes, you were too nice. Nicer than Rosé (if you’re on her good side) and that is saying a lot.

“Lisa is right, Jen. Y/N is actually super cool,” Jisoo insisted, remembering the time she bumped into you at an art exhibition. It was there that she discovered that you were one for the arts and had two of your paintings featured that night. She also noticed how people lit up at your presence and appreciated how you commanded the room whenever you began talking. It reminded her of how tough and demanding you were during a meeting she was able to attend that one time she visited Rosé. The impressed faces of your investors were ingrained in Jisoo’s brain. She was convinced you were a whole different person when needed to be.

Jisoo was fond of you. Especially for Jennie. She knew that if Jennie just gave you the time of day, Jennie would be able to look past her perception of you: boring and plain – and discover that you are more than what meets the eye.

“Yeah, Jen! Give her a chance,” Rosé was sporting a pout, clearly wanting both of her friends to get together.

With her best friends’ eyes on her, all looking like they were expecting the same answer, Jennie sighs in defeat.

Oh, what the hell. Just one date. What could go wrong, right?

“Fine.”

“Wow, we can tell just how excited you are.” Lisa was giggling at Jennie’s pained expression. She was sure Jennie was just overreacting anyway. Lisa actually thought you were cute and 100% dateable.

•

You were tapping your foot on the wooden floor of your office finishing off some paperwork when your silver-haired best friend slash business partner Rosé entered unannounced, a big smile on her face that was becoming borderline creepy.

“Why do you look like that?”

Rosé began to squeal in excitement complete with jumping up and down. “Jennie wants to go on a date with you!”

The words cause you to come to a halt as your cheeks are suddenly kissed pink, your blush searing through your cheeks.

For a minute Rosé thought her friend’s face was on fire.

“What?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me loud and clear,” Rosé teased. “Anyways, she’s free this Saturday and I did you a favor and called for a reservation at her favorite Italian restaurant by Graves Street under your name. 7PM, don’t be late! Bye!”

That was the last you heard before the girl slammed the doors of your office closed.

•

As planned, you were sat in one of the tables at Jennie’s restaurant of choice. Large mullioned windows, long embroidered curtains, dark walnut tables with splendidly proportioned cabriole legs, romantic candles on each table, soft live piano music, and a flagstone tile floor. The restaurant was fancy, that you could tell as you observed from your seat.

You resorted to playing with your fingers as you waited for the girl who has lived in your heart and mind rent free ever since you saw her that evening of your company’s launching. You were twenty minutes early due to the nerves that haven’t left since Rosé informed you of Jennie’s approval of the date. You couldn’t believe Jennie actually agreed to this. Last thing you heard was Jennie’s break up with her designer boyfriend of one year and that she was back on the market. You didn’t think you would be lucky enough to even be a candidate that could potentially bring her off it again.

You shake your head at your thoughts. You were getting way ahead of yourself. For now, you should just focus on getting this date right so that a second one could be on the table.

“Hey, you’re early.”

You cast your eyes upwards to see Jennie plopping down on the seat in front of you and you had to forcefully tear your eyes away from the beauty that finally graced you with her presence. She looked sinfully stunning in her black vintage Chanel dress.

“Oh, um…I-I actually just got here.” you blurted, looking bewildered. “You look beautiful.”

You wanted to hit yourself for such a basic compliment but being there with Jennie was nerve-wracking enough as it was so you cut yourself some slack. Jennie couldn’t help but giggle at how obviously flustered you were.

Cute, she thought. “Thank you, Y/N. I think you look dashing yourself.”

You felt heat rising to your cheeks and prayed it wasn’t noticeable. Thankfully before you could embarrass herself, a friendly looking waiter approached your table with a menu.

“Are we ready to order ladies?”

Jennie looked to you for confirmation which you answered with a tentative nod.

“I’ll have the poached lobster with butternut squash and chestnuts and…” Jennie threw you a glance from her menu.

“I’ll have the, um, beef tenderloin with the crab salad.” You read the first thing you saw from the menu, the pressure of Jennie looking at you throwing you off. “Thank you.”

“Okay, would that be all ladies?”

“Oh, and two glasses of white house. Thanks.”

As the waiter walked away with their orders, a silence settled over them.

“I know everything seems pretentious but I promise the food is worth it,” Jennie remarked with a teasing smile.

“It’s all good, Jennie. How’s work?” Your smile fades as you notice the girl you so badly wanted to impress was suddenly distracted, her attention everywhere but on you. You tried to see what Jennie was so focused on, following her line of sight.

After a couple moments, you realize that Jennie was focused on a couple eating across from each other a few tables away from you. The boy was studiously bent over his meal while conversing with the girl as she collapsed with helpless giggles. It didn’t take you long to realize that it was Jennie’s ex, Kai, having met him during Lisa’s birthday party last year. A big point to also remember was how the dude was literally Rosé’s cousin.

“Jennie?”

Jennie was snapped out her trance, desperately trying to compose herself.

What the fuck was Kai, her ex-boyfriend, doing here with a girl? She wasn’t jealous. Not in Kai’s wildest dreams. She wouldn’t get back together with him even if he was the last option she had left. No, she was annoyed because Kai managed to bag someone before she could. She was Jennie Kim. Why wasn’t she in a disgustingly cute relationship by now? She wanted so badly to curse the boy out until she remembered she was also here for a date with Y/N. Y/N! Right, Y/N.

“Shit, sorry. I just thought I saw someone I knew,” Jennie shrugged. Her tone was apologetic but you could tell she was still distracted.

“It’s okay,” you tried to sound nonchalant, sporting a counterfeit smile, but you could practically feel the uneasy tension in the atmosphere.

You just hoped you could salvage the night.

•

You weren’t able to. Jennie stayed distracted and uninterested the rest of the night, eyes either glancing at the couple a few tables away or at her phone. She answered your questions with one worded answers and empty laughs and you were left to shift uncomfortably in your seat, grasping your sweaty and nervous hands under the table.

You threw yourself on your bed, screaming into a pillow. You couldn’t digest the defeat you felt. You had one chance to show Jennie you were worth her time and you couldn’t even get it right. You felt traumatized and humiliated. Jennie would have that disaster of a date seared into her brain forever and the thought was ready to pop up and torment you for the rest of your life. You knew the regret would come to you in random moments, demanding to be reexamined again.

No, you shouldn’t beat yourself up for it. You tried your best. As far as you were concerned, you didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, Jennie was the reason why things didn’t go as planned tonight.

You gave your pillow another scream at the realization. Jennie was uninterested because that’s what she was – uninterested. She obviously didn’t like you enough to be present during the date.

She could’ve at least pretended to be happy to be there, you thought bitterly.

•

A week after that disaster of a date, you were walking down the street enjoying the only time of the week you had to yourself. Work had been excruciating these past few months as you were in the middle of negotiating with foreign investors and hopefully sealing the deal by next week. The late afternoon sunlight, soft and diffuse, giving way to the strong rays of the day, was doing its job of convincing you that it was gonna be a great day.

You’ve been feeling down ever since the date and you badly needed a day to recuperate and gain back the confidence that you lost. Rosé was nothing short of apologetic when she found out about the disappointing events and reassured you that she, along with Jisoo and Lisa, gave Jennie the scolding she deserved. Although your best friend’s desired reaction was for you to feel better, it just made you more embarrassed knowing that Jennie’s blatant dislike in dating you was known to all of her friends.

Today, it was your mission to forget all about Jennie and that night.

The antique store has been a treasure trove to you. It never failed to give you objects of delight and interest that instantly claimed your attention. Today was no different. Your eyes lit up as you see the old woman, who looked like your typical ahjumma, behind the counter. She wasn’t the kind of old woman you pity with old bones and troubled limbs, but the kind who could still run an entire marathon if given half the chance.

“Ah, Y/N!” the woman exclaimed, “I didn’t see you last week, dear.”

“It has been a nightmare at the company. I’m surprised I’m still walking,” you sighed, making your way to the shelves filled with odd objects.

“Y/N, you should really learn how to take a breather. You’re always at work! No wonder you’re still single,” Nora shook her head, shooting you a look of disapproval.

You laughed as you looked through every rack for some knickknack you wanted to bring home. There was a carved sandal-wood box packed tight with aromatic cotton-wool, and between the layers of cotton-wool were little brass figures, hump-necked bulls and peacocks and goblins, delightful to see and handle.

“You don’t need to remind me of my impending doom of living alone for the rest of my life, Nora.”

You let out an involuntary gasp as you spot a teapot fashioned like a china duck before carefully putting it inside your basket. You continued to stare amazed at the different peculiar objects, completely entranced, that you didn’t hear someone walking up beside you.

“Y/N?”

You jumped in surprise at the sudden voice. And not just any voice. You turned around to see Jennie looking at you with the same look of shock on her face. “Jennie?”

She looked down at your basket before giving you a tight-lipped smile. Something akin to an apologetic one.

“I’m… actually really glad I ran into you,” Jennie stammered, head bowed as if ashamed. “I’ve been meaning to apologize about my behavior last Saturday. I was being rude and incons-“

You cut her off with a soft smile, “Jennie, it’s fine. It’s all behind us now. Apology accepted.”

“Ugh, why do you have to be so understanding? I feel like shit,” she groaned, stomping her feet on the ground.

You almost laughed at how genuinely disturbed she seemed but figured you didn’t want to make her more upset.

“Stop beating yourself up for it,” you urged, gently patting her shoulder. “Anyways, I’ll have Nora ring this up on the counter. Good seeing you, Jen.”

Before you could walk away from the cat-eyed girl, you feel fingers wrapping itself around your wrist.

“It’s a beautiful day out. Care to spare a couple of hours to spend it with me?”

•

Jennie wasn’t lying. It really was a beautiful spring day out. Try as you might, your focus was scattered, filled with nervous anticipation. You were afraid you wouldn't be able to hold a conversation while your thoughts danced in infinite directions. Yeah, operation move on from Jennie Kim was not looking too good. Still as you walked with Jennie along the local park, you were determined to move past that and tried to convince yourself that this was nothing but a platonic hang out.

“How’s work been?” Jennie questioned, hands in her coat pockets as her eyes drifted to the kids playing around the field.

“Hard,” you sighed. “We’ve all been hard at work but I’m sure you know that given Rosie never really shuts up about it.”

Jennie laughs and you don’t feel the familiar butterflies you get whenever you heard the melodic sound and you think that maybe you’re finally making progress.

“Yeah, she always makes sure to give us an earful about it.”

“How about you though? The magazine is doing really great. I’ve seen at least a hundred people reading this month’s issue just today,” you exaggerated, wiggling your eyebrows which again brought out a laugh from Jennie.

She playfully nudged your shoulder, “Real funny, but yeah everything is doing really great. Getting Lady Gaga on this month’s issue was a really great move. We have Selena Gomez up next. We bagged a really great exclusive interview.”

You could hear the pride in Jennie’s voice and you knew it was warranted. Being the self-made CEO of her own fashion and lifestyle magazine, Jennie had every right to feel proud. Plus, it wasn’t easy pulling off having such A list celebrities to feature in your magazine.

“That’s really amazing, Jen. You should be proud of yourself. It’s only going up from here, I know it. I’m rooting for you,” you quipped.

Jennie shot you her famous gummy smile before letting out a whispered thank you.

As the both of you observed your surroundings, you realize you reached the pier.

“It’s getting pretty dark. Should you head home now?” you ask while taking in the beauty of the pier at night.

The pier was a permanent fun fair; bumper cars, the hall of mirrors, the ghost train, a loop-the-loop roller coaster and the big wheel. Waves playfully splashing below, gentle salty breeze, smoothies, burgers, donuts and cotton candy.

Jennie was equally taken by the bustling fair, shaking her head. “I think I can stay a little while longer.”

You broke out into a smile, holding out your hand. “Come on then!”

You dragged Jennie to the end of the dock before sitting down on the edge and beckoning her to do the same. When you tilted your head upward, you could see clearly millions of bright stars dotted on the black canvas of the night.

“It’s so beautiful,” Jennie mused.

“The pier is most beautiful at night. It never fails to shove aside the worries corrupting my mind even for a couple hours,” you smiled.

“Do you come here often?”

You snorted, “Are you flirting, Miss Kim?”

Jennie gasps before throwing her head backwards, erupting into laughter. “You know what I mean, Y/N! Also, what if I was?”

You decided to ignore the last part, suppressing the tingling feeling spreading throughout your body, “I used to come up a lot when Rosé and I were still struggling with the company.”

You could feel Jennie’s stare burning right through you.

“Tell me more about you, Y/N.”

•

Hours later, Jennie laid on her queen-size bed staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t shake the giddy state her night with you left her in. Spending time with you was filled with meaningful conversations and playful (and a little bit flirty) banter. Things with you felt natural and refreshing, like a breath of fresh air from the cocky and overconfident types she was used to going on dates with. Was this what she was missing out on when she decided to act like a complete imbecile on your date?

She couldn’t help the smile making its way to her face as she remembered the events of tonight. She felt light and warm and basically everything good in the world balled up into one. She felt like a high schooler with a crush. The thought of seeing you again tingled through her like electrical sparks on the way to the ground, gathering in her toes.

She was crushing hard.

So, when Jennie found out that Rosé was throwing a big party for her birthday next week, all she could think about was seeing you, talking to you, and maybe stealing a kiss. She was convinced she was just floating through her way on the days leading up to Rosé’s party.

The party was electric just as Jennie expected. Everyone was feeding off of each other’s smiles and fast dancing. She was in one of the lounge couches chatting with her friends sipping on a rum runner as she tried to look past the sweaty dancing bodies with the mission of spotting you.

“Jendeukie, you seem distracted!” Jisoo yelled through the music.

Jennie chuckled, feeling a blush form on her cheeks. Thankfully, the glow from consuming one or two glasses of alcoholic drinks successfully masked it.

“Excuse me for a sec,” she announced as she got up and made her way to the kitchen.

“Jen!”

She cringed as she realized who the voice belonged to. She almost forgot Kai was Rosé’s cousin and was most likely invited to the party.

“Kai, hey…” she sighed.

She was annoyed that the boy had interrupted her attempt to find you, plus she really wasn’t in the mood for small talk with an ex.

“You look ravishing tonight,” Kai smirked, reaching out for Jennie.

She quickly dodged Kai’s advances and whooshed past him, leaving the boy confused in her wake.

“Nice seeing you but I gotta go!”

She breathed a sigh of relief as she escaped her lame excuse of an ex-boyfriend but the relief was short-lived as her eyes found the scene not a couple feet away from her. You were by the sliding door that lead to Rosé’s poolside talking to some woman who was clearly interested in you, judging by the way she was caressing your arm up and down with her ugly wicked fingers. The woman started laughing and she knew you probably said something stupidly funny, reminding her of how much you made her laugh last week. This time though, Jennie was not on the receiving end of your witty remarks and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

This was probably how you felt that night when Jennie ignored your whole existence just to stare all night at her ex. Jennie felt disappointment bubble inside her as she finally decided to tear her gaze away from you and the girl. She sighed as she accepted the fact that you were done with her. Why wouldn’t you be? Did she really expect you to pine over her for years and then come crawling back just because of one night where Jennie did the bare minimum and was a decent human being to you?

Dejected, she takes a break from the loud and busy party downstairs and made her way to the upstairs balcony. The balcony was a concrete ledge with square rough edges but it quickly became an oasis to Jennie as she found comfort in the silence.

“Hey there, stranger.”

Jennie turned her head so fast she swore she almost had whiplash.

“Y/N?”

You grinned as you joined her near the railings, “The one and only. What are you doing here?”

Jennie shrugged off the bitter feeling of seeing you flirting with another girl and forced out a smile, “Needed some fresh air. How about you? You seemed really busy downstairs.”

You raise an eyebrow at Jennie’s icy tone, narrowing your eyes at the girl. What was she on about?

At your (admittedly adorable) confused look, Jennie sighed as she explained.

“You were busy chatting up a girl downstairs, were you not?”

“Careful,” you teased. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Expecting a defensive reply, you were surprised to find the girl fiddling with her hands. “Jennie?”

You saw as Jennie struggled, clenching and unclenching her jaw, eyes closed in frustration.

“I…I was really looking forward to seeing you tonight,” she lamented, finally opening her eyes to meet yours.

“For some reason, I can’t stop thinking about you. That night at the pier…” she went on, “I realized how stupid I was for not paying attention to you sooner. This amazing person right under my fucking nose the whole time. God, I could’ve saved us both a crapload of time if I weren’t so dumb.”

To say you weren’t expecting this was an understatement. Was Jennie Kim confessing to you? You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“No use thinking about what could’ve happened if you did this or that,” you stared seriously at the girl in front of you. “Um, I’m right here now, aren’t I?”

You tried to laugh but it came out strained. You still couldn’t believe what was happening.

“So, the girl downstairs?”

“Literally just met her tonight. She’s cool. Didn’t really pay any mind to her to be honest,” you smiled.

“Good,” Jennie hummed, satisfied with your answer. “I meant what I said by the way. I’d really like to start over.”

Before you could come up with a reply, soft plump limps planted itself on your cheek.

“If you’ll have me,” Jennie whispers against your cheek.

•

“Ugh, today was so stressful!” Jennie agonized as she plopped down on the soft cushion of your sofa. Immediately, her body finds itself entangled with yours. This, Jennie knew, was all she needed after a long day.

“Tell me about it then baby,” you started running your fingers through her messy curls while your free hand intertwined your hands together.

“First, the AC in my office broke down and I was sweating buckets half the day since the repair team didn’t arrive until 2PM,” Jennie revealed, planting a soft kiss on your neck. “To make things worse, my beautiful girlfriend wasn’t able to visit me because she had a meeting come up last minute.”

You giggled hearing your girlfriend’s words, “Clingy.”

Jennie breaks away from your hold, a wild look on her face. “How dare you! Is it a crime that I’m desperately in love with you and wanted to see you during my lunch break?”

“I’m kidding,” you chuckled. “You know I would’ve loved to see your pretty face today.”

“You better be,” Jennie taunted. “I love you.”

…

...

“Hey Jen?”

“Hm?”

“Remember two years ago on our first date you ignored me the whole time to glare at your ex-boyfriend?”

Your soft laugh filled them room as Jennie groaned, hitting you square on the stomach, “Don’t you dare bring that up. I don’t even wanna imagine not being with you. Just the thought makes me wanna puke.”

You rolled your eyes at your girlfriend’s dramatics, “Good thing you don’t have to ever live through that then.” hi:) i accept requests now

#blackpink #blackpink x reader #blackpink imagine #jennie kim #jennie x reader #jennie imagine #jennie #blackpink scenarios

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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

A/N: Timeskip Lev make me go BARK BARK BARK WOOF WOOF AAARF ARF. P.S: For double the experience, read while listening to this

diapason. | haiba lev

summary: in which lev meets you again and you develop some sort of warm reconnection with your past underclassman. (Continuation of this fic)

word count: 4402

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) a full, rich outpouring of melodious sound

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

The Danube Canal in mid-winter reminds you of a lot of things:

The Shakujii River flanked with its timeless parade of cherry blossom trees. Christmas celebrations spent at home with your family, popping bottles of soda and whining about misshapen gifts. Your piano recitals played in utter devotion, like the winter would never end.

You’re a long, long way away from home, and you start to hope if anyone is missing you. If there’s a hole in your figure carved into someone’s heart back in Japan or some place in the other side of the world—

What am I thinking... you sigh, bashfully urging yourself to keep on walking.

Nestling deeper into the warmth of your wool scarf, you wonder if it’s the cold ambience of the night that’s making you feel all sappy. Twinkling lights, murmured chatter from late-night cafés, the occasional gust of wind against your cheeks. You never thought you’d get so nostalgic on your “vacation”, but perhaps you’re just like any other hopeless romantic.

“Come to Vienna! A whirlwind of budding love!”

You’d read that advertisement in one of the catalogues your symphony’s personnel manager had excitedly dumped into your lap the day she announced your personal invitation to spectate the Vienna Philharmonic live a few weeks ago. You didn’t think much of the slogan, but even so... you have to admit you’re a tad bit lonely, aren’t you?

You can barely remember a moment where you didn’t feel lonely. You had your family at home, but you’d considered it your fault for being such a shut-in for the most part of your life. The neighborhood kids weren’t exactly the nicest people. And school life hadn’t been much of an improvement either.

Of course, until him.

A colossal first year stumbling into the desolate Orchestra Club room, with a mouth just as big as his stature. Haiba Lev who had been anxiously lost that day you’d met. With such little sense of direction, you can’t help but laugh at how much times he’d managed to find you in that maze of your high school.

He’d find you, talk to you, laugh with you. And you’d never felt all the rushing feelings you’d felt when you were with this dewy-eyed boy. He was the perfect image of confidence—radiant, ambitious and all the more charming.

If only you can thank him. Your hero of sorts. Haiba Lev who poured into you all the faith he had so you could move forward—

“A-ah, excuse me?”

Whipping your head into the direction of the choppy English, a seething blush rises onto your cheeks when you zero in to the large camera lens pointed right at you.

The bearded man speaks again. “Eh... you’re Japanese, aren’t you? Sorry, but we’re having a photoshoot right now, and you’re in the way of our model. Could you maybe...”

Oh dear, you frazzle. Prostrating yourself incessantly at the camera crew, you blunder. “I’m v-very sorry! Waah, I must’ve ruined your picture!”

“It’s fine,” the man smiles kindly. “Things like this often happen anyway. Ain’t that right, Hafu-sama?”

The lean figure behind you laughs, and for a second, you feel your chest flutter in your throat when you hear him. “Yep! Don’t worry about it, Miss—”

You really wish you hadn’t turned around because the moment your eyes locked with a pair of emeralds, you swear that your heart leapt out of your chest. All feeling of chilliness lamented, you feel red heat stretching out across your skin.

“H-Haiba-kun?!”

Unable to keep your footing steady, a stagnant lump rises in your throat when the familiar man grins at you with galaxies in his eyes.

“Fairy-senpai!!”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. October 2012.

“Senpai!”

Footsteps echoing down the corridor, a wave of frightened third years part to let the gigantic creature of a first year through. Haiba Lev, age 16, is excited. Haiba Lev, 194.3 centimeters tall, is burning with so much resolve that he pays no heed to the Discipline Committee member who is resentfully yelling at him to “stop running in the hallways, you hoodlum!”

But who could blame him?

When you turn around and jolt in surprise, Lev drowns in the tiny fairies that flutter in his chest.

“Haiba-kun? What are you doing here?” you take a moment to register his full presence—considering his substantial size, Lev would probably understand your current disposition.

Finally, you whisper in a low tone, highly aware of the crowd that’s pivoting towards your conversation. “... Did you get lost again?”

“Of course not!” Lev replies rather gruffly. “I wanted to look for you to give you this so I can thank you for when I got lost.”

Thrusting a daintily wrapped bento towards you, the tall boy is rather unabashed about the entire situation—lace cloth and all. There’s a fragrant steam seeping out from the gaps of the box, spooling and wafting (and you think your ears pick up the noise of someone’s rumbling stomach).

You’d thought of spending your lunch alone in your club room, or maybe even the rooftop if you were up for it... like the usual. But the moment Lev starts talking again, you completely forget the idea as a whole.

Innocently grinning, he asks, “Do you want to eat lunch together, L/N-senpai?”

How could you say no?

And thus, here you are in the courtyard with a titan first-year who is nearly twice your size, jovially chattering about as you quietly eat your lunch.

When was the last time you ate something so cute? Your parents stopped making you character bentos since you got into middle school (“Aah... sorry, Y/N. Dad’s hands aren’t as artistic as they used to be,” your father had told you that day, an utter look of guilt dancing across his face). You weren’t too confident in your own skills either, so bentos with endearing faces and shaped cut-outs of vegetables were simply a fragmented piece of the past.

First-years today are so talented, you think, shoveling down your meal in sheer politeness. “This is delicious, Haiba-kun! The chicken is so tender and the rice is so well-seasoned! I wish I had your sense for cooking...”

“My sister made it, actually. I tried to help her cut the eggs, but it ended up being a mess and she told me to just sit and wait in the dining room,” he replies sheepishly, a bubble of laughter slipping from between his lips. “I’m glad you like it though, Senpai! Just wait ‘til my sister hears about your reaction!”

“Does your sister always make your lunches for you?” you ask, curiosity subduing your reserve.

Lev takes a moment to swallow the lump of rice in his mouth.

“Mm, sometimes. If she’s not having a lecture in the morning, she’ll make breakfast. Otherwise, the teriyaki set at the cafeteria is just as good!”

Cafeteria. You shiver. That hellhole of shoving and scrambling and incessant talking... You’re thankful the school had decided to set up a few more vending machines close to campus when you entered your second year.

And then you think of Lev. With that extreme height and intimidating presence, he wouldn’t have to put his foot on the line every time he wanted melon bread, right? And he is definitely the type of person to be able to talk to the loud cafeteria lady without dropping his change.

Confidence. Recklessness. Bliss. All the prime features you wanted, right in front of you—and yet...

“Hey, L/N-senpai?” you snap awake from your thoughts. A dash of concern flashes over your underclassman’s features before he repeats his muted question. “Can I have one of your sausages?”

Peering down at the cluster of uneaten octopus sausages, you quickly nod, face reddening once you realize how close Lev is breathing near you. “G-Go ahead.”

Chirping out a “thank you for the food!”, the silver-haired boy swoops down on a miniature octopus, a sound of immense satisfaction humming in his chest. He’s like a child, you laugh to yourself. A young boy with no sense of care of the world, no concern of what’s going to happen to him unless he really does it.

Leaning back on the bench, you sigh, a smile dawning on your face. “You didn’t have to force yourself to eat lunch with me, you know. I usually eat by myself anyway.”

You’re being apologetic again. You want to punch yourself for even thinking of it. But your habit precedes your intentions, and you can already feel the mood turn sour—

“Why not though?”

Looking up at him incredulously, you can barely string together a coherent response before Lev pipes up again.

“Isn’t food always best when eaten together?”

How pretentious.

There are already valleys of flowers blooming in your stomach at his innocent reply. The same kind that sprouted the day he’d burst into your private practice room. You really hoped you wouldn’t get ahead of yourself anymore. Not with the risks that it carried. But this guileless first year was a much more difficult case than you’d imagined, and thus the flowers go into full blossom.

You smile, the faint blush on Lev’s cheeks going unnoticed. “Yeah. We should eat together more often.”

And so you did. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. The passage of time a trivial shadow beneath your budding happiness.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

“You work in a symphony?! Senpai’s job is super cool!”

Under the amber light of the cafe’s chandelier, you can’t help but feel a certain déjà vu at your current situation. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re having tea with your high school underclassman, or maybe it’s simply the residue of your more recent wistful thinking.

Yet again, it still hasn’t registered into your mind how you’d miraculously manifested Lev into proximity just from your sheer yearning... You kind of feel selfish.

“It’s just a freelance job though, it’s probably not as impressive as being a model,” you say.

Lev crosses his arms huffily, and you worry if you’ve started to offend him. Until he opens his mouth again. “Modelling is suuuper embarassing. Sometimes, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that ‘that’s my face!’ or ‘I made that pose with that other model’. The agency’s really harsh on the way I dress too—I mean, what’s wrong with wearing a shirt that says ‘HERBIVORE’ to go to Lawson’s?”

You stifle a giggle as he rambles on about “the time I had to cross-dress as a woman because the female model quit on the day of the shoot”. For someone who had grown up to be a lean, rather attractive figure, you can’t shake your head away from the thought that the 16-year old Haiba Lev is still stuck inside the body of a corporate slave. There’s a sense of relief that accompanies the feeling, and memories of your high school days slowly come into picture—

“One black tea and a latte for the lovely couple?” a kind-looking waiter gently sidles in between you, cutting Lev off from his rant, and you from your reflection.

Turning a vivid shade of crimson, you stutter, “O-oh... we are not—”

“Thank you,” Lev grins dashingly, enough to make your heart race and a few passers-by to stop in their tracks.

Once the waiter retreats back into the pantry, the man across you slowly leans forward to whisper endearingly. “My sister wants me to practice my English while I’m abroad. You think I got my message across, Senpai?”

“You did well, Haiba-kun.” There are a lot of things you want to ask him really. If he really knew the meaning behind the waiter’s sentence. Or if he realized he’d nearly pronounced ‘you’ with an extra ‘th’.

... Or why he’s pouring in a mound of sugar into your cup of tea.

“H-Haiba-kun, that order’s mine...”

“Hm? Yeah, I know,” he mutters, the soft clinking of the spoon against glass echoing in your head. “You like your stuff really sweet, right? Man, I used to be really worried the first few times we had tea together.”

That’s right, you gulp. The endless hours you’d spent together in the Orchestra Club room... he really did learn a lot of things about you that time, didn’t he? Although you had merely been friends, Lev had grown on you, as if he’d always been there from the start. And you wonder: what else does he remember about you?

“Ah, by the way,” Lev starts. “Are you still thinking about setting up that music store you wanted?”

“Of course,” you mumble. It was only a naïve dream was what you meant to say, but in the presence of such a captivating man, all the gears in your head seemed to... dislocate.

Lev smiles a simple smile. Boyish at best, but still enough to enrapture you into his lingering gaze.

“I’m glad.... I’m glad you haven’t given up. You know, the old L/N-senpai would’ve called it quits because you thought you weren’t good enough. But look at you now! Soon enough, you’ll be off to teach music to the world.”

Your heart is already doubling in size at his words. Any more and you’d probably explode... You’d lost it. You’ve lost all the capability to keep your heart in control, and now you are smiling like a maniac in front of the last person you wanted to see in this state.

But he only laughs. Youthful and full of color. Unchanging from all those years ago.

“Wahahaha! You finally smiled! We should celebrate, you know. Just a small holiday from all that hard work. Say... are you still going to be in Vienna in the weekend?”

“I’m free on those days. But what’s all this about?”

Hiding his bashful smirk behind his cup of coffee, Lev murmurs. “We have some catching up to do, don’t we—Uwaah! Hot!”

Unchanging indeed, you shake your head, calling over the waiter for an extra set of napkins.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. February 2013.

There is a tea party set stashed between the two cardboard boxes filled with sheet music and spare melodicas. They’ve been left behind by your graduated seniors, who insisted that tea, “as the prime component to a good host”, was to be kept in the club room at all times, case there were any visiting guests.

...Of course, such things never happened. And you always ended up drinking the tea by yourselves. But even with the departure of your beloved seniors, you can never shake off the habit of drinking and restocking the supplies whenever required.

So you wonder if you should really be thanking your tea-loving upperclassmen for the free beverages.

“That’s a lot of sugar!” Lev gasps in awe, the emeralds in his eyes twisting and shining with the cascade of crystals falling into your cup of tea. “I bet you have a lot of cavities in your mouth, Senpai.”

“I brush my teeth very well so I don’t think anything like that’s every happened to me,” you say, irritably trying to ignore the tactless comment from your starry-eyed underclassman. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in my club room, hasn’t it? I’m glad you didn’t get lost trying to get here.”

He grumbles, crossing his arms in faux-anger. “Geez! I won’t get lost like that so easily! Besides...”

Lev takes a moment to drink in the warmth of the club room’s solace. The grand piano in the corner. The orange light streaming through the open curtains. Your curious face, like something out of a fairytale book.

“This place is full of good memories, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll ever forget something like that.”

You chuckle at his monologue. “You sound like my grandfather, Haiba-kun.”

Lev’s face warps into something reminiscent of a prune.

“Senpai, we’re only two years apart!” he fumes. “You didn’t invite me here just to crush my self-esteem, right?! C-Come on, aren’t you going to show me the audition piece you wanted me to hear?”

There is a burning urge inside of you that’s telling you to “pull at his leg just a little more...”, but nevertheless, the artist within you says to keep your audience at bay. And so, the curtains open and your fingers dance on familiar keys.

You’ve played for him before. Songs like ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ or ‘Ma Mère L’oye’. Songs that you love, much like the one you’re performing for him right now. But you’re shaking in your seat. Wondering, anticipating, fearing.

He’s staring so much, you bite your lip, trying to avert your focus from Lev’s unbreakable gaze.

A single spectator wracks your brain even more than a theatre full of different kinds people—enthusiasts, university scouts, onlookers. But in your dismal, little club room, there is only your underclassman. Someone who knows nothing of music, but lacks so much knowledge that you know any of his critique would come from honesty alone.

...Why do you care so much about one person’s opinion?

You don’t realize how long you’ve been pondering until your train of thought is abruptly thwarted by the end of your song. You finish on a satisfying note and your endearing onlooker suddenly springs on his feet to shower you in applause.

“What the heck—that was so cool! I’ve never seen anyone play like that before!” Lev stumbles, everything and anything he’d planned to say pouring out as a blubbering mess as your face grows hotter from the attention. “Senpai, you’ll definitely pass the audition if you play just like that.”

“Y-You really think so?” he’s probably just being nice, you think. But for a spare moment, could you simply imagine that he means every word?

“I know so!” he smiles, the palpitations in your chest growing intense by the second. “You just have to keep going, won’t you?”

Even if you’re not brave enough to believe it, you want to believe that there’s a single Haiba Lev in this unyielding universe who believes that you, a mere side character who wishes for more, can and will.

You feel invincible.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Vienna, Austria. January 2022.

Did you know that swans mate for life? As a symbol of love and affection, they’re widely known to curve their necks together in a shape of a heart when courting. A form of elegance at its finest... until they start hissing.

“They’re so big! Senpai, come take a look at the swans!”

Folding the brochure into a tiny square, you return to your companion’s side, peering over the railings of the bridge to catch a glimpse of the thrush of white feathers down below.

You gulp. They are much larger than you expected.

“They’re surprisingly loud, aren’t they?” you mutter, watching a cygnet waddle its way out of the water onto the banks of the canal. You didn’t want to say, but it slightly reminded you of Lev the first time he’d waddled his way into the the Orchestra Club room.

With the constant squawking of the swans, the both of you find yourself in silence. For you, at least, the past two days viewing all sorts of Austrian sights with Lev had been strangely more gratifying than you’d fathomed. Lev, who’d been as excitable as he’d always been, breathes in peace, plumes of white forming from his mouth.

“This weekend’s been nice, hasn’t it?” you break the silence, observing the smooth junctures of his face. Lev turns to you slowly, his voice squeezing out.

“Don’t say that.”

Your blood freezes. “What?”

“Saying things like that...” Lev sighs wilfully and turns back to the view of the canal. He frowns. “I don’t want to think that this weekend is going to be over soon.”

You want to cry out. Me too. Me too, me too, me too. Your entire body is so full of butterflies you want to double over and pass out. But he continues.

“Travelling and talking with you is so fun, I never want it to end... It’s kind of embarrassing,” he says, eyes sparkling. “D-Do you think so too? Am I a selfish person for thinking that?”

You shake your head. “It’s not embarrassing, Haiba-kun. I—”

Are you red? Are you blushing? Your face feels so hot, you can’t even finish your sentence. He’s so close. So close to you. You want to be reliable, you want to reply, but you can’t. Under his bewitching gaze, you’ve fallen so deep.

When Lev opens his mouth again, it’s like everything around you—the bridge, the people, the swans have entirely vanished. “L/N-senpai, c-can I tell you something? Something I wanted to tell you for a long time.”

Eh?

“I’ve always liked you, Senpai. I really, really like you.”

Blank. Your mind goes blank, even when you whisper a small, “Really?”

You’re happy, you’re so happy you want to jump and shout to the world that you love him. Awfully. Dearly. It’s all like a train had crashed into you headfirst, and you can’t settle on a proper response before the floodgates burst open.

“Wh-Whoa! Don’t cry!” he flails his arms in panic as more tears dribble down your cheeks. “Geez, Senpai, at least reply to me first...”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you laugh, wiping your eyes with the edges of your scarf. “I’m just so happy, I didn’t know how to react.”

Lev’s chest inflates for a moment before he lunges forward to encapsulate you in his embrace. Between the persistent layers of clothing, the beating of his heart resonates deeply against your face. It’s quick and lively, warm enough to remind you of the swirled feelings that you harbor for one another.

“Oh, thank god...” Lev grins, burying his face in your shoulder. “You feel the same way...”

Humming calmly into his ear, you revel in the closure. “I really, really like you too, Haiba-kun.”

And none of you lets go—save for when a swan makes its way up to the bridge to peck at Lev’s boots.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tokyo, Japan. March 2023.

“... Lev, wake up.”

Feeling a slight nudge on his cheek, Lev tethers over opening his eyes to wonder at your beautiful smile or bury his face even deeper into the sheets.

It’s not like he didn’t favor you, but as of now, the comforts of your shared bed was more important. And thus, Haiba Lev, age 26, shrouds himself under the plush duvet and focuses himself on the sweet dream he was having about you.

“Lev, I know you can hear me...” he hears you sigh, long and airy, just enough to lull him back to sleep. “You have a fitting today, don’t you? You’re going to trouble Matsuyo-san and Alisa-nee if you arrive late.”

Isn’t that on Thursday? Actually... what day is it today? He isn’t very good with dates and formalities—that’s why he considers himself lucky to have you! A cute lover to bring him back to land during the day, and to shower with love and to cuddle with during the evening.

Yawning widely, Lev owlishly wrenches his eyes open, the crystalline sunlight from the bedroom window illuminating your face like a halo.... and was that his shirt you were wearing?

Lucky me~ he grins goofily.

Pressing his lips together, Lev pulls you by the wrist and before you can avoid the sudden attack, you’ve collapsed once more into a tangled mess of limbs and crooked sheets, with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Let’s just stay in bed today, Y/N-san~” he slurs, nuzzling closer to you. How catlike, you think. “I want to be lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy again...”

He yawns again, a few stray tresses of silver falling over his face. As if he wasn’t as attractive every hour of the day, you really have learned how to take control of your extreme heart palpitations around him.

Your adorable younger boyfriend, ah... he really is your weakness, isn’t he?

“I’m really sorry, but I have to open up the shop soon,” you reluctantly peel yourself away from him, eliciting a small whimper from the Leviathan in your bed. “I’ll make it up to you when I finish teaching my evening lessons and when you come home, okay?”

Stubborn as a goat, Lev grumbles. “I’ll come back early, you know. Can you not do your evening lessons today?”

“Hm? Why not?” your raised eyebrow is cynical, but is juxtaposed by the gentle strokes of your palm on the crown of his head.

As much as Lev loves you (he does, he really does!), it’s rather annoying when he can’t tell if you’re seriously being oblivious or simply teasing him. He hopes for neither, but in his case, you’re an addict to his gags and without a doubt, you’re definitely messing with him right now.

“Those damn brats... I don’t like the way they stare you up during your classes.”

You laugh, raucously. And Lev considers leaving you to catch a break from the constant jeering. When you finally pipe down, you shift closer to him and press your head onto his bare chest.

“Lev, they’re nine. How else are they going to learn to play if they don’t watch me do it first?” you chuckle. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me. You should be worrying about that fitting you have in a few hours.”

“Geez, fine,” he groans. “A kiss before I shower?”

You know exactly where this is going. “Just one.”

Lighting up like a Christmas tree, Lev makes quick work of his hands and tenderly cup your cheek before placing a timid kiss on your lips.

No morning breath, you notice. As expected of a professional model.

“One more...” he whispers, swooping down on your lips once again.

Two, three and maybe seven kisses later, Lev has you caged between his arms, his looming figure propped proudly over you as he continues to pepper you with affection. The moment he starts to lap up your bottom lip, you know you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

“It’s so early, Y/N-san,” he mumbles, pleading eyes making your heart turn to jelly. “We have a few more hours before we really have to go, don’t we? So... in the meantime...?”

Sighing, you can only turn a deep red—he really has you around his finger, doesn’t he? Oh well. You suppose it won’t hurt to push back your morning lessons for a few minutes, right?

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translightyagami · 3 years

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I don't know if you remember but you wrote a few posts about a Bookshop AU! where Beyond and Light meet at one and start dating and later L shows up? I'd love to hear more about it if you'd be willing!

Okay, this is such an interesting ask to get because i just re-read a short fic i wrote in that universe (which you can read here, if you haven’t already). its sort of half-Notting-Hill half-nightmare, where Light gets a job by being annoyingly smart at a bookshop Beyond owns because he dropped out of Wammy and channeled his energy into being a huge pretentious nerd instead of a murderer.

Light is flattered by the attention Beyond pays him, because Beyond is nothing if not good at focusing on people. He likes that Beyond knows all his anniversaries - his birthday, his mother’s birthday, even when Light’s finals are (he goes to the university across the way from the bookshop). He knows a little about Beyond, like how he likes toast with jam for breakfast, lets the quiet teenager who used to haunt the YA fantasy section work the register for cash to feed his Gundam habit, and how there’s this one GUY who Beyond HATES with his whole heart. And no one can explain why, or even really explain who the guy is.

So when a guy in white shirt and jeans, a guy with black hair, like Beyond’s shit dye job but natural, and comes to the buying counter to ask Light if he’s seen anything suspicious happening around the shop - Light doesn’t know he’s already sworn to hate this guy if he ever sees him. He doesn’t know that when he sways a little, grows warm under dark gray eyes that track him with the same interest, that he’s betraying Beyond deeper than anyone. All Light knows is when he talks to the guy, white-shirt-jeans-black-hair, his heart does the automatic flip that it took months to do for Beyond.

Turns out L is there because he’s got a case at the university, and wants to bum a room off Beyond. And while Beyond is livid to be sharing a room with the man who he was traumatized into idolizing b4 he ran away, L has dug up just enough dirt that if he let it slip why Beyond’s been able to keep a tiny physical bookshop open with a small customer base - well, it wouldn’t be good. (let’s just say that people are very easy to rob when you’ve seen their death date, and can jimmy a lock or two. he’s not killing them but ... Beyond often makes off with a nice purse.) So he lets L stay in his guest room, in the apartment above the bookshop, and he tries really hard to make L jealous. He shows off how much his customers’ love him - but L brings in fingerprints he wants Light’s opinion on. He tries to flaunt the treasure trove of first editions culled over years of searching antique markets - but L has only stopped by, sorry just for a moment, if Light-kun could help me question this witness, maybe he can take his lunch break, oh good, oh good. Beyond even takes L to the best restaurant in town, introduces him to the chef and hostess - a married couple who Beyond helped by hiring for catering until they could stand on their own - but L keeps running to the bathroom on phone calls that eventually mean he leaves early (and Beyond stuck with the bill).

Beyond has been trying so hard to show L how much better his own life is - that he’s happy, successful, even well-liked, without any help from the Wammy House, or L himself. He’s been trying so hard to impress L that when he comes home from an antique market trip, he’s actually surprised when he hears Light moaning - not from his room, but the guest room. But, he thinks as he slinks out the front door and back into the bookshop, he shouldn’t be surprised at all.

But to Light’s credit, he tried too. He tried to ignore when L brought him those fingerprints, but there was an interesting cut on one of the thumbs that he knew a guy from the uni GSA had. He said he was busy when L asked him to help with witnesses the first time - this one Beyond didn’t even know about! Light was buying a sandwich at the bodega where the mean Russian teenager made the best sammies - if you told him Beyond sent you - when L tapped his shoulder. He tells Light that he’s got a dossier on him - knows how back in Japan Light helped his dad with police work, knows that he transferred universities after an ex-girlfriend stalked him and threatened he and a lover, and L even knows that Light is with Beyond, okay, and that he’s happy just working and studying. But its so annoying, actually, how much L knows. Like how when Light does dawdle around the guest room where all L’s equipment is, pretending he just stumbled in, L has this look like he knew Light was coming.

And then there’s the investigation - all the thrill of puzzle solving returns to Light instantly, and L is a much better partner than his father. L questions everything; he is a battering ram that smashes against a problem from every angle. His forcefulness is almost endearing, given how whenever they take a break his manner is so ... not soft, Light thinks. But calm. In comparison to Beyond’s frantic, dog-like devotion, Light can’t stop himself from gravitating to L’s confidence. Does it make him a bad person, to love how he can displease L and he’ll say it to Light’s face, when Beyond never says a single word against Light? Does it make him a bad person that, on the night he knew Beyond was so excited to take L to the Morello’s restaurant, Light still called L three times to ask stupid questions - just to hear his deep voice say “Light-kun, you know the answer”? Does it make him the worst person on Earth that when, on the third call, L just said, “Go wait on my bed until I get there,” that Light ran and used the key Beyond gave him (FOR EMERGENCIES oh NO) to get inside and lie naked on the guest bed until L came in and Light cheated on his boyfriend in his boyfriend’s guest bedroom?

And then he cheated again. And after the first two times, it was so easy to cheat. L wasn’t a great kisser but his methods matched Light’s, and he liked when L steered him a little, had a hand a little more firm than Beyond’s - which was gentle, like he was afraid anything more might scare Light. And okay, Light knew it was a bad idea to have sex when Beyond was at the antique market - but they had solved the case, and L had said it so matter-of-fact, “Let’s have sex,” and he looked handsome. Light thought L was a strange, strange kind of handsome - the kind people didn’t believe him about.

Light put Beyond’s key in an envelope with a short letter of resignation. Not a two-week notice, but an apology that was as short as it was disappointing: “Leaving with L. Sorry am quitting before the holiday rush. Hire Near full time?” Beyond cried in the stockroom and texted Near that he was on the buying counter. L considered, all and all, that he’d had a pretty nice work trip.

#death note #the beyond/light pairing is fun because either beyond wants to be better for Light or be a fuck to match his levels #and L just likes having Light #and Light likes having L #lawlight #blight #Anonymous

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heyyyharry · 4 years

Text

Chapter 14: To The Boy Next Door

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which they play a game.

Word count: 4.7k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

ANNOUNCEMENT: The last chapter was supposed to be released on July 1, BUT I have two final exams on that same week, so I’ll have no choice but to move the schedule forward.

Last My Girl update: July 8, 2020. (July 3: Tumblr preview and full chapter on Patreon).

One year later

“Come in.”

When Asher entered the room, Gemma almost didn’t recognize him. He’d got a beard now, and he wasn’t wearing a suit. If she hadn’t known the charming Asher in the past, she would be so shocked to find out he was the CEO’s son. Too bad she didn’t care enough to wonder what had happened to him after his business had gone bankrupt because his father had refused to finance it. Now he was just a regular accountant.

His eyes went wide when he saw her sitting with his dad in the CEO office.

Hello, Asher, she thought, yet gave him nothing but a polite nod as if they were meeting for the first time.

“Asher, I suppose you remember Gemma?” asked his father with a sigh.

“Yes,” Asher mumbled, his gaze falling to the floor.

Of course he remembered her. Abusers always remembered their victims.

His dad looked from him back to Gemma. Hands folded on the desk, he said, “Gemma is our new COO. I hope you will have no trouble working for her.”

Asher’s head jerked up as if he’d just heard a gunshot. And Gemma, of course, was the one holding the gun.

She relished his astonishment and cracked a smile as she rose from her seat and walked toward him. She extended her hand, but he didn’t take it.

“Working for her?” he asked his dad, who replied with a stern expression.

“Yes. She’s your new boss.”

Gemma broke into a smirk, still holding out her hand in the space between them. Asher’s eyes had grown so big they nearly took over his entire face. “You,” he hissed at her, “I can't believe you weaselled your way into this company.”

“Oh, no.” Gemma frowned pretentiously and dropped her hand down to her side. “I’ve been a shareholder for almost a year. I’ve done more for this company in that short amount of time than you have your whole life.”

He thinned his lips and glared at her, unable to muster a single word.

She hated him but respected his father. And what was better as revenge than making sure she took everything he wanted? First, his father’s affection. Soon, his father’s company.

“I don’t want to make this unpleasant for you, Asher,” her voice dropped so low as she leaned in so only the two of them could hear. “Or maybe I do. So you better be a nice employee, because I wouldn't be sorry to kick you out of here.”

His face dimmed as she stepped away. If there was a camera, she’d take a picture and put it in a frame. Though she doubted this would be the last time she got to see that defeated look on his face.

"See you around, Ash," she said, placing a hand on her hip as she breezed right past him out of the room.

Two interns, a blonde and a dark-skinned girl, rose from their cubicles and rushed up to her as she was heading for the lift.

“Excuse me,” the blonde said timidly. “Are you...our new COO?”

“Y-Yes, yes, I am.” Gemma worked up a smile and the girls giggled to each other like teenagers.

“Congratulations and welcome!” said the dark-skinned one, who said her name was Marie and her friend was Claria. Gemma assumed they were going to fangirl about her brother, but then Marie said, “We love your sister-in-law’s book. We’re such big big fans.”

It took Gemma a second. “Y/N? She and Harry aren’t–”

“Future sister-in-law,” Claria corrected her friend, looking nervously from Marie back to Gemma. “We’ve...heard some rumours. Can you confirm or deny it?”

“I cannot. But I’ll let her know about you girls.”

The girls grinned like the Cheshire Cat, and Gemma could tell they were trying their best not to freak out. She waved them goodbye and hastened into the lift before the door closed.

Her phone buzzed with a new text.

Isey: Lunch? :)

Lunch :) she replied, biting back a grin.

Another notification popped up. A reply from Harry's girl. Gemma rolled her eyes as she remembered lending Harry her phone a couple of weeks ago. He'd changed most names in her contacts and she'd only managed to change back a few of them.

Harry's girl: Thanks for the birthday wish, Gem! (heart emoji)

You're welcome! Is Harry coming home today?

Harry's girl: I hope not. But idk.

We never know. How can you STAND him? Ugh.

Harry's girl: I can't lol.

Harry's girl: Anyway, what was his reaction?

Gemma knew right away whom Y/N was talking about.

Priceless, she responded.

Harry's girl: QUEEN. Make his life a living hell.

Oh I will. Certainly.

The door slid open with a ding, and Gemma tucked the phone into her bag. Her assistant was waiting outside to direct her to her new office. With a smile on her face, she stepped out of the lift and shook the assistant's hand.

She was so ready for this new beginning.

“Good aaaaaafternoon, girlfriend! Are you feeling twenty-two?”

Y/N laughed hoarsely as she blinked a few times to let her vision get used to the light from the windows opposite the bed. “You’re embarrassing,” she said, yawning.

On the phone, Harry gasped. “Did you just wake up?!”

“I stayed up all night talking to you and had a zoom meeting with Laura this morning. Besides, it’s Sunday.”

“It’s your birthday.”

“Duh.” She grinned at the ceiling and exhaled. “I’m twenty-two now. I’m like...old.”

“Ouch. Well, aren’t you supposed to get ready for the book signing?”

“Book signing is tomorrow. Bad boyfriend.”

The sound of his laugh made her heart leap. She missed him so much. He’d been in New York for two weeks and wouldn’t be back until next Thursday, which meant she’d have to spend this birthday without him. She wasn’t sure if she should let him know she wished he were here. She really did. But she also didn’t want him to drop everything and fly back to her for only one night. He’d done that before and it'd been romantic, still, she never wanted him to do it again.

“To prove that I’m not a bad boyfriend,” he said, snapping her back to the moment. “I have a surprise for you.”

She sat up straight and whipped her head to the door. “Goddamn it, Harry,” she huffed, “if you tell me you’re standing right outside–”

“No!” He burst out laughing. “No, no, no, I’m still in New York.”

She sighed in relief, but couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed.

“My surprise is in the pocket of my favourite suit,” he said.

She had no idea what he might have up his sleeves (quite literally). Still, she rolled out of bed, shoved her feet into her slippers, and padded out of the room.

Two years ago on this same day, he’d brought her to the roof of an abandoned building, where they’d watched the night city and eaten his homemade cupcakes. On her twenty-first birthday, they hadn’t been talking. And so this year, she’d suspected that he must have planned something extravagant to surprise her, even though he wasn’t home to celebrate with her. The surprise had come a bit earlier than expected.

She switched on the light in the walk-in closet, which was as large as her old flat. His favourite suit was the one he’d worn on Grammy’s night. Sparkling dark velvet to match the aesthetic of her silvery mermaid gown, which, unfortunately, she hadn’t got a chance to show off to the world.

She stuck her hand into the breast pocket of the jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Found it."

“Go on. Read it,” he encouraged.

“If it says ‘Happy Birthday, smiley face’, I’ll strangle you when you come back.”

A laugh burst right through him. “Your choking kink is getting out of hand, babe.”

“Shut up.” She huffed, unfolding the note. “Should have said I loved you,” she read aloud. “What does that mean?”

“You can ask for my help only once. Call me when you’ve found the fifth clue.”

“Wait!”

But he’d already hung up.

She almost called him back but then decided not to. She didn't want to waste her only chance to ask for help.

Classic treasure hunt, she thought, rereading the sentence.

The prize would be her birthday present for sure. Maybe he’d hidden it in the wood somewhere. A normal boyfriend would just have the birthday present delivered, or leave it on the table or in the garage, not challenge his girlfriend’s two only active brain cells with a children’s game. But Y/N wasn’t a normal girlfriend. And as much as she hated working for something other than her writing, a part of her was excited.

“Should have said I loved you,” she thought out loud, then snapped her fingers and rushed across the hallway to his library.

Two years ago, she’d told him she’d loved him for the first time and received silence in return. In this very room, he’d watched her leave.

She stood in front of the giant bookcase, which he’d had installed a month after she’d officially moved in. Most of these books were from her collection. On a shelf in the middle stood three framed photos of them. Them in Paris. Them with their families on a vacation last summer. Them at her graduation.

She flipped each frame over to check the back, but none had what she was looking for. She tapped her foot impatiently on the carpet while assessing the rest of the bookcase. It didn’t take her too long to notice that one book was upside down.

P.S. I Love You by Cecelia Ahern.

Of course. Of-fucking-course.

She rolled her eyes, feeling a smile stretching her lips as she took the book from the shelf and opened it to the first page. There was a post-it note that said:

Congrats, babe. You’ve found it. Next clue: Where the magic happens ;)

‘Where the magic happens.’ If it wasn’t sexual, the winky face had made sure that it was.

Could it be their bed? Nope. She'd slept there last night.

Could it be the first place they’d had sex?

Could the next clue be inside that car?

She jolted with a start and dashed out of the library, and as soon as she reached the stairs, she suddenly halted.

No. She didn’t remember which car they’d had sex in for the first time, and he’d got a whole collection of cars. It’d take forever to search every single one. That wasn’t the right answer.

Sighing, she stood on the first stair and contemplated the clue again.

They used to play Treasure Hunt when they were younger. There were usually at least five or six clues, and the first three should be easy.

Could it be her flat? Most of their ‘secret relationship’ had happened in her flat. It used to be their secret kingdom. Impenetrable. Disconnected to the outside world. They’d also had their second real kiss outside her door, and she still had until the end of this month before she must return the keys to the landlord.

She wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t going to drive all the way there just to find out she was wrong.

And so she decided to call him.

“Let me guess,” he said as soon as the beeping stopped. “You’re either super impatient or your fairy godmother appeared and helped you find all five clues.”

She rolled her eyes. “Third clue. Is it your car or my flat?”

“My car?” He sounded confused, which gave her the impression that she might have got it wrong.

Her cheeks burnt as she said, “We had sex for the first time in your car.”

“No, not my car, but damn, I should have thought of that.”

“So it’s my flat?”

“Are you sure you want to ask me now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he smugly confirmed. “It’s your flat. Now you’re on your own until the final clue.”

“Fuck,” she grunted and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I thought you’d have trouble with this one, too. I mean, we fuck everywhere these days.”

“If my birthday present isn’t worth all this, we won’t be fucking ever again.”

He gasped at the threat, and she could picture him wearing that stupid crooked smile as he told her, “Good luck, kid. I believe in you.”

She found the next clue on Thumper’s lap.

When she’d moved most of her furniture to Harry’s house, she’d forgotten to take the purple stuffed bunny with her. She held it under her arm and scrutinized the pink post-it note, which said:

I cannot believe you left Thumper behind. Third clue: Drunk little deer.

“Drunk little deer? What does that even mean?” Then she looked at Thumper. “Should I kick him in the balls when I see him?”

She made the rabbit nod and burst out laughing at how crazy she sounded. If anyone walked in and saw her talking to a stuffed animal, they would assume she was either crazy or drunk.

Drunk.

She was the drunk little deer. Drunk Bambi.

The answer was the place he'd seen her drunk for the first time.

Andrew recognized Y/N right from the moment she stepped into the pub. He leaned over the counter and shouted for everyone to hear, “Little girl! Good to see you again!”

“Andrew," she smiled and shouldered her way towards the bar.

He eyed her up and down as she slid onto one of the stools. “You look different. I hope you’re not here to drink again. I might have to kick you out.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You look different, too. I like your new hair.”

Andrew rubbed his shiny bald head, scowling at her as she raised a smile and rested her chin on her knuckles. Andrew might look intimidating, especially now without his hair, but he was one of the softest people she’d ever met. He’d been so kind to her during her tough times and even let her haunt his pub day and night until Harry had come for the rescue.

“You’re kind of famous now, aren’t you?” Andrew said. “I’ve read your book. It didn’t suck.”

“You have?”

He lifted one giant shoulder of his, pursing his lips. “My wife made me. She's a big fan. Your boyfriend came two weeks ago and he even signed the book for her. He said he was the one in the story.”

“My boyfriend was here?”

Andrew gave a nod.

The voices in Y/N's head started cheering like she’d just won a wrestling match. It would have been so embarrassing if she'd asked Andrew first and then found out she'd got it wrong.

“Well, did he leave...something for me? A message perhaps?”

Andrew growled as he turned away, and without a word, disappeared through a stained curtain behind him. He came back five minutes later and handed her a green post-it note with an unreadable grimace on his face.

She snatched it immediately. A laugh crackled out of her as if he’d just given her gold.

Hi babe, you’re almost there! My biggest fans (not you) have the final clue. Get back to work.

“He gave this to me when he signed the book,” Andrew said.

Y/N mumbled the words over as she tried to figure them out. Her first guess for ‘biggest fans (not you)’was Gemma and Isaac. But then she got rid of the idea because they had to be at the same place at the same time in order for this to work, and Gem and Isaac were both at work.

Which two people were together right now and were also Harry’s biggest fans?

‘Get back to work.’

Yes. That’s it!

Y/N thrust the post-it note into her bag and rose from the stool. “I’m sorry. This must be weird to you.”

“It’s quite romantic, actually," Andrew said.

“Really?”

“And weird. You two are both weird. What a perfect couple.”

“Gee, thanks.”

As she spun on her heels, Andrew called after her, “Hey, little girl. I’m sorry I said you weren’t a real writer.”

“You said that?”

“You were drunk,” he chuckled. “Anyway, bring your weird boyfriend back sometimes.”

“I will. If there’s free beer.”

“Get out of here.” He shot his finger toward the door, but it was the first time she’d seen Andrew smile with his whole face.

Eddie’s bookshop was busy on most Sundays. Well, it had been busy almost every day since Y/N had credited him in her latest best-selling debut novel.

She entered the shop and was immediately recognized by a group of schoolgirls, who asked her to sign their new copies of her book and questioned her about the story. She recycled the same amiable answers that didn’t give away any more than what they might already know. Since she’d already got used to the attention, the fans didn’t intimidate her anymore.

She took a selfie with the girls and bid them goodbye. Then one of the new employees told her that Eddie and Alice were sorting books at the back. She wandered along aisles until she found them. Eddie was scolding Alice for putting hardcovers in between paperbacks. Nothing got on Eddie’s nerves as much as putting hardcovers in between paperbacks.

“The hardcovers take more shelf-space so you cannot put them there! God, Alice, were you drunk when you were sorting these books?”

“I wish I were drunk now,” Alice said, and her eyes lit up as she saw Y/N. She nearly tackled Y/N to the floor with a violent hug, and Y/N returned with half as much enthusiasm.

“You’re like a Golden Retriever,” Y/N said, pulling back and cupping her friend’s face.

“Happy birthday! I was gonna send you–”

Eddie didn’t wait for Alice to finish as he pushed her aside to step forward, his face brightened like the sun. “You’re here for the clue, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I–”

“We can’t just hand it to you.” That sun-like face suddenly turned serious. “You need a password. What is Harry’s favourite book?”

Y/N arched an eyebrow at Eddie as if expecting him to say ‘gotcha!’ But he only mirrored her expression as he crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer.

“Seriously?” Y/N scoffed, looking at her two friends. “He’s that narcissistic?”

Alice smirked as she raised a shoulder. “Either you answer or search this entire bookshop yourself.”

“I fucking hate him and I fucking hate both of you.” Y/N rolled her eyes upward and exhaled sharply. “Norwegian Wood.”

“Huh?”

“That’s his favourite book,” she told Alice and remembered Alice didn’t read fiction unless it was compulsory. “Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami.”

Eddie looked confused. “He loves Haruki Murakami? His books are misogynistic.”

“Harry’s got a bad taste in authors. But judging from your reactions, I suppose that is not the correct answer, and I should probably break up with my boyfriend because I don’t know what his favourite book is.”

“You do, Y/N.” Alice beamed as she leaned a shoulder against the bookcase. “You’re thinking too big. It’s pretty simple.”

“Shit. Is it my book?” Y/N asked, then pinched the bridge of her nose as Eddie began to smile. “Goddamn it, he’s like my dad times ten.”

“What did your dad do?” Eddie asked.

“He bought a bunch of copies of my book and sent them to our relatives for Christmas. It was pretty embarrassing.”

“Aww.”

“ALICE!”

“Jesus Christ!” Alice covered her ears as she shot Eddie a glare. “I’m standing right next to you.”

“Go get the clue!” Eddie flicked his fingers at her. “Go! Hurry!”

Alice rolled her eyes and flipped him off as she backed out of the aisle. Eddie ignored her and turned back to Y/N, grinning from ear to ear like he was the birthday girl. “Are you excited?”

“Not as much as you are. That’s for sure,” Y/N said and made sure he knew she was joking by giving him a toothy grin.

“I’m not gonna tell you what the surprise is, you know.”

“I’m not asking.”

Eddie’s laugh was high as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “What I can tell you is that you’re gonna love it. Too bad I cannot be there to see your reaction.”

“Trust me,” she said. “You don’t wanna see me scold Harry through the phone.”

Alice returned with a copy of My Girl and handed it to Y/N with a smile that possibly meant, ‘You’re gonna love this’.

Suspicious and somewhat elated, Y/N opened the book to the dedication page.

To Mum, Dad, and the boy next door.

Those were her words. Below was his handwriting: Hi my love :)

Curious, she turned to the first chapter. This wasn’t just another copy of her book, of which she’d got all the different covers at home. With this one, Harry had done the same thing he’d done to her journal. His handwriting was scattered across the pages. He’d underlined all the quotes he’d enjoyed and left comments about them on the side.

Y/N heard Eddie say something about how he would never write in books and Alice immediately shush him for being rude. Y/N never wrote in books, either, but she loved reading Harry’s handwritten notes. It felt like he was reading the story with her. The butterflies in her stomach went wild just from imagining him taking his time writing on each page and grinning at his own jokes. If this was the birthday surprise, she could not ask for anything more.

However, she knew he had to be more extra than this.

And there it was. Proof that this was not the surprise. On the very last page, he wrote:

Meet me where the sky meets the earth.

“Where the sky meets the earth?” she thought out loud and glanced up at Eddie, who responded with a shrug. Alice did, too. Y/N didn’t think they were lying. Harry must have told them what the surprise was, but not the answers to these cryptic messages.

Eddie patted her on the back as he wished her good luck and shooed Alice back to the front to assist the customers. Y/N was left behind to work it out on her own. She leaned against the bookcase, pondering over the words.

Hadn’t Harry said she was allowed to call him when she reached the fifth clue?

She tucked the book under her arm and pulled out the phone from the pocket of her jeans.

“Hi, babe!”

“I’ve got the fifth clue,” she blurted. “What do I do now?”

“I don’t know. Solve it?”

“Yes, smartarse. The answer is, I don’t know.”

“You’re not even thinking.”

“You said you’d help me!”

“I said I’d help you once,” he countered. “And I did. I told you to call me just so I know when you’ve reached the final clue.”

“So you’re not gonna help me with this one?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Well, I can give you a hint. What do all the places you’ve visited today have in common?”

She chewed on her lip, an arm folded over her chest. “They’re memories,” she whispered.

“That’s right,” he whispered back, like they didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. “This last place is a memory as well. Where the sky meets the earth. Think, kid.”

She pouted. “Can I please get another hint?”

“You don’t get to talk in a cute voice and manipulate me, Bambi,” he sighed. “Fine. Our first date.”

“Holmes Chapel?!”

He said nothing and hung up.

It took Y/N a few seconds, but she believed she’d got the answer.

She took the lift and climbed four sets of stairs to the roof.

Adrenaline buzzed right through her, causing her hands to shake and her heart to pound against her ribcage. The metal was cold against her fingertips as she pawed the heavy door open slowly. It was unlocked.

The cold wind gushed in, blowing her hair out of her face as she stepped into the night. The city of London gleamed before her eyes. Where the sky meets the earth. This was where they could see stars high above and down below.

And there he was. Waiting for her with that smug crooked grin on his stupid face.

“Hi,” he said.

Oh, how she’d missed his stupid beautiful face.

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket and ambled forward, still thinking him being here was too good to be true.

He lifted both hands like a surrendered criminal, both eyebrows raised as he said, “Before you get angry, I can explain.”

“Please do,” she demanded but found herself smiling.

With the wind in his hair, dimples on his cheeks and city light in his eyes, he looked absolutely breathtaking. She couldn’t hate him even if she tried.

Harry exhaled unsteadily through his mouth before mumbling, “Here I go,” and then he was on his knee in front of her.

She didn’t react when he took her cold hand and pressed it against his warm chest. She could feel his heart beating almost in sync with her own.

“Are you surprised?” he asked, chuckling nervously.

She exhaled a quiet laugh and said, “Yes, but also no.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Because I warned you this would happen?”

“Because you warned me this would happen.” Her mouth curved at the corner as she recalled the Oscar night in his LA house, both of them drunk, him on his knee like this, a promise, and how in love she’d felt, almost as much as she did in this very moment.

“Is this too early or too late?” he ventured.

“This is perfect.”

She pressed her lips into a smile, and his green eyes flickered in the semi-darkness. “Well then.” He straightened his back. “Y/N ‘Bambi’ Y/L/N.”

“Yes.” Her voice was so brittle she feared he wouldn’t hear it, her stomach twisted into triple knots, her chest fluttering and her fingers trembling.

He held her gaze as the corner of his mouth arched. “Will you…”

“I swear to God if you’re jok–”

“Marry me,” he blurted, panting as though saying those words had drained all the energy out of him. “Marry me. I want to annoy you for the rest of my life. I want every fight, every laugh, every up and down, every kiss, every touch, everything about you. I will love you until all my teeth fall out, until you finally learn to cook–”

“I’ll never learn to cook.”

“I know,” he chuckled. “Most importantly, I’ll even let you love young Leo a bit more than me, but only sometimes.”

She covered her mouth. What meant to be a laugh came out as a sob.

“I would have written a speech, but I figured you’d roast me for my bad writing, so I’d rather improvise and blame this awful proposal on it being improvised.”

“God, you’re fucking annoying,” she laughed tearily into her hand and he was laughing, too.

Quickly, he got to his feet and tugged her into him. She circled her arms around his waist, her face buried into his chest as she inhaled the scent she’d missed achingly in the last two weeks.

“My girl is such a crybaby,” he said, kissing the top of her head, her temple, her ear, her cheek, her forehead. He kissed and held her until she’d calmed down.

“Yes,” she told him at last, lifting her eyes up to his.

“Yes, you’re a crybaby?”

“Yes, you’re a dumbarse and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life roasting you and yes, I’ll sometimes love young Leo more than you but only sometimes, because you’re the greatest love of my life and I cannot imagine a life without you–”

He stopped her with his lips, his hands tenderly cupping her face as his thumbs moved slowly over her chin, cheeks and jawlines. She’d imagined that their first kiss after two weeks apart would be sexually aggressive and against-the-wall hot, but this kiss was slow and sensual and passionate and full of wanting. It felt like his promise for their future together. One that would last.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #my girl series

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mopeytropey · 4 years

Photo

a beer buds series: chapter 8

author’s note: happy, sappy Lexa hath arrived

available on AO3: here or below the cut

Timeline: just after Lexa returns from her holidays in New York, Clarke is bombarded with work at Dockside; Lincoln keeps her company over the weekend as Lexa relays the events of her Friday spent with Clarke (chapter 7 of 'apu')

Beer: Frequency KÖLSCH-INSPIRED GERMAN ALE

Clean and bright. Pleasingly malty with a touch of noble hop. Crisp and sharp with a subtle malt sweetness on the finish

ABV 5.0%

Frequency: Winter Hill Brewing (Somerville, MA)

:::

Lexa cannot stop smiling.

She hasn’t been able to curb the small grins and outright smiles that keep spreading across her lips at random intervals since leaving Clarke’s house on Friday morning.

She doesn’t stop them when her thoughts drift to the sound of Clarke’s voice and the looks they shared in her kitchen over coffee and bagels. And, she can’t keep her lips from curving when remembering their dinner Friday night, the way Clarke’s eyes would gleam and her cheeks would blush when Lexa would say something purposefully flirtatious. She has more-or-less lost all power over the muscles in her face and the control Clarke has on her overall good mood.

She hasn’t allowed herself this much visible happiness in ages. It feels both incredibly unnatural and like enormous relief.

And, because she is smiling into her phone while reading a recent text from Clarke, riddled with profanity about being stuck at work, she doesn’t notice Lincoln approaching.

“Hey, I’ve missed that smile.”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and her smile remains. She’s missed him too.

“Hey.”

They clumsily exchange a hug while Lexa is sat on a wicker bar stool and Lincoln stands beside her at a bright grey bar counter made from swirled marble. The sun streams through the front windows of an upscale restaurant known for their brunch menu, woodfired pizzas, and signature cocktails.

Lexa had, in fact, intended to ask Clarke to brunch at this very establishment. She has been eager to resume their mutual exploration of the attraction that’s been brimming between them since early June. Friday had been a glimpse, a negligible fraction of what Lexa knows they are bound to discover over time. She thinks of her fingers tangling between Clarke’s or the physical distances between them that are gradually vanishing. Her head buzzes with all their potential in the days and weeks to come.

Lincoln unbundles from his wool peacoat and unwinds a striped scarf from around his neck to reveal his thick cable knit sweater beneath. “I just saw the girls,” he announces.

Lexa swallows, torn abruptly from the places her mind had been wandering. “Did you?”

“Yeah, they’re slammed down there.” Lincoln takes his seat and then angles himself comically in Lexa’s direction as if he plans to interrogate her. “So, Clarke says hi.”

Lexa’s chest balloons and her smile expands beyond her control. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“I assume this means you two are on speaking terms again?”

The burn in Lexa’s cheeks is so severe, she’s forced to look away to the sounds of Lincoln’s delighted laughter. He playfully jabs a finger into her bicep while she fails miserably to keep her cool.

“We started talking before I left for New York.” Lexa clears her throat, hoping it will reduce the heat of her embarrassment. “She dropped me at the train station, actually.”

“Yeah, I know. Octavia told me,” Lincoln admits. Lexa backhands him across his chest and attempts to scowl. “Sorry, I had to mess with you a little bit. I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“That’s your one free one.” Empty threats, and they both know it.

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” Lincoln plays along, nevertheless slinging an arm around the back of Lexa’s stool.

The bartender approaches before Lexa can respond, and Lincoln reaches across the bar to slap her hand in a familiar exchange. “What’s good, Lincoln?”

“Hey, what’s up, Taylor?”

“What are you drinking?” she asks him while sliding a coaster in front of him.

He nods to Lexa’s pint of beer. “What’s this?”

“It’s that kölsch-inspired one from Winter Hill,” Lexa answers. “It’s really smooth.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll do the same. Thanks.”

“You guys eating?”

“Yeah, I’d love to see a menu,” Lexa tells her.

Taylor nods, reaching for two rolls of cutlery from beneath the bar. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, so: what happened? What’s happening? Tell me everything. How was your Christmas?”

Lexa can’t help but laugh at Lincoln’s eager requests, rattled off with palpable excitement. She takes a deep breath. “Christmas was definitely interesting.”

“Oh yeah?”

Taylor returns with Lincoln’s beer and two menus. She mumbles something quick and low in Spanish to Lincoln that makes him laugh.

“She’s got some real pretentious dicks on the other side of the bar,” Lincoln informs her once Taylor has left them to tend to her other customers. Because the bar is circular, Lincoln attempts to scope out the situation on the other side of the bar by peering through the rows of bottles, glassware, and flatscreen TVs that create a barrier between both sides.

“Think we should bounce them out of here?”

Lincoln laughs into his first sip of beer. “Let me have another pint and I’ll let you know.” He finishes another long sip before sliding his glass back onto the bar. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why Clarke is suddenly in such a supremely good mood despite working her second double in a row, and why you haven’t been able to wipe that idiot grin off your face since I walked in. Wait—also, what did Anya get you for Christmas?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, hoisting up with disdain an article of outerwear from the stool beside her. “Stupid hat.”

Lincoln swallows his mouthful of beer and laughs, nodding approvingly. “Classic An. Okay so, what exactly happened while you were at home?”

Lexa watches her fingers trace the darker patterns that thread the marble bar top. “For one, Costia and I met for coffee after Christmas and finally had that long overdue conversation I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, you weren’t the only one avoiding,” Lincoln reminds her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And so, it’s over?”

Lexa exhales, reaching again for her pint of beer and taking a low sip. “I think it’d been over for a while, but: yes. In an official capacity, we ended it.”

“And, how are you and Costia? Okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good. We’d been such good friends anyway—I honestly think that was a huge part of what complicated things for us for so long.”

Lincoln hedges his reaction. “I want to be really happy for you right now because you basically look like you just dropped this huge weight around your neck, but … are you okay with everything?”

“I am.” She looks up to meet his eye as if to prove herself. “It felt right. And, I’m—” Her traitorous lips, already pulling at their edges in a smile, will give her away every time. “I’m really good actually.”

“Good because I’m so happy for you, buddy.” Lincoln squeezes her shoulder with the hand resting on her stool. “Okay so, I know you and Clarke are talking again—and, believe me, we’re all relieved as hell about that—but, what exactly have you told her?”

“You mean about Costia?”

Lincoln finishes his sip of beer, pinning her with a look he must have learned from Anya because Lexa feels absolutely transparent. “I mean, I think Costia is just the tip of a pretty substantial iceberg, but sure. Let’s start there.”

At his candid retort, Lexa exhales a laugh and grasps her beer. “I’m fairly certain Clarke knows that my feelings for her aren’t entirely platonic, if that’s what you mean.” Her mind flashes briefly to the lighting and warmth of Clarke’s kitchen, the scent of toasted bagels and freshly ground coffee.

Lincoln claps his hands, as he so often does in moments of triumph, and smiles broadly. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that we are finally having this conversation.”

“I know. Me too.” In spite of her nerves constantly bubbling to the surface, Lexa is also flooded with the acute relief of authenticity.

“Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”

“We spent some time together on Friday.” Lexa ineffectually bites at her lip to keep from smiling. She thinks of slow hugs, soft hand-holding, and timid admissions amid charged goodbyes. Their interactions thus far have been so buffered by innocence, Lexa cannot believe the way her stomach swoops at her memory of them. “I brought her bagels.”

“Suave.”

“Listen, she—I wasn’t attempting to be romantic.”

Lincoln doesn’t miss a beat. “Liar.”

“Clarke has been living her entire life under the misguided assumption that a small, newly established bagel shop in northern Massachusetts is on par with legitimate New York bagels, Lincoln.” The severity in Lexa’s tone has him visibly amused. “I felt it my sacred duty to correct this misconception.”

“You brought her Bergen’s, didn’t you?”

Lexa looks offended at the ask. “Like I would offer her anything less.”

“And, where are my Christmas bagels?”

She rolls her eyes, reaching for her nearby pint. “Linc—”

“Okay, I see how it is. Too hung up on impressing Clarke to remember one of your oldest friends.” He is nodding, self-righteously.

Like a loveable idiot.

“I’m beginning to second-guess your request to hang out today,” she tells him while averting her eyes to the paper menu in front of her.

Lincoln laughs at her stern tone, knowing it’s a bluff, and returns his arm to rest along the back of her stool.

“How are you actually feeling about this?”

“Sharing an afternoon drink with you? I’m of two minds at the moment.”

“Now who’s being a jackass?” Lincoln grins. “So, you’re scared out of your mind about Clarke then?”

Yes. Absolutely. The nervous uncertainty is all-consuming.

Lexa shrugs, ignoring her inner anxieties and recites aloud the mantra of useless facts she’s been telling herself for days.

“Clarke and I have been close for quite awhile. She knows me, maybe better than most people. Despite any potential uncertainties, we’re operating on the foundation of a very sound friendship.”

Lincoln watches her like she’s come entirely unhinged. “Okay, yeah. Do you have any idea how incredibly shook I was at the prospect of kissing my friend Octavia?”

At the thought of kissing Clarke—images painted vividly by her traitorous mind—a breath lodges in her chest, and Lexa must return to her beer for fear of passing out.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m just trying to get you to be honest with yourself. And me, for that matter. I mean, I’m just assuming—knowing how much you overthink every goddamn thing to death—that you haven’t slept with her yet.”

“Jesus, Lincoln.” Lexa swallows her embarrassment through multiple sips of beer.

“For that matter, you probably haven’t even kissed her yet.”

“I can’t think about … that yet,” she manages to say without her voice croaking from the strain.

“Kudos to you for being able to think about anything else.”

“I have, obviously, considered the prospect. I just—more than anything I keep thinking about how I want to be around her all the time.”

“No offense, because I mean this genuinely and supportively as your friend, but are you just now figuring that out?”

“Shut up,” Lexa laughs.

:::

The food, as it turns out, is notable.

Lexa orders chicken fried steak and eggs with chorizo gravy and griddled potatoes, immediately lulled into a state of happy sedation as she clears her plate.

Lincoln groans his satisfaction as well, leaning back into his stool when he’s finished. “Damn. That was so good.”

“I might nap on this stool. Your friend would be okay with that, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.” Lincoln stretches his arms over his head and folds his hands behind the base of his neck. “A good bartender is always looking to have her guests fall asleep at the bar.”

“Okay good,” Lexa answers with a sleepy smile and suppresses an actual yawn with the back of her hand.

“What are you up to for the rest of your day?”

“This meal has completely erased any prior motivation to workout. My couch sounds pretty nice right now.”

The sun is setting and the streetlamps have begun to flicker on along the cobblestreet outside the restaurant windows.

“Not gonna go lurking outside Dockside until Clarke gets out of work?” Lincoln prompts with a teasing wink.

“Why do I feel like this was an actual tactic used on Octavia?”

“An effective tactic, you might say.”

“No,” Lexa laughs. “I’m not planning to stalk Clarke at her place of business, you creep.”

“Suit yourself,” Lincoln shrugs. “If you need any tips, I’m just sayin’.”

Lexa’s laughter is more of a cackle, lost in the increasing din of the Sunday evening bar crowd. “I think I’m all set. Thanks.”

“Oh okay, here we go—two beers later, she is confidence personified.”

Taylor returns to collect their empty plates, and Lincoln, practically gleeful, seizes on an opportunity to embarrass Lexa in a public setting.

“Taylor, help me out here—first kisses with relative strangers versus first kisses with a friend-turned-something-more. Generally speaking, which one makes you more nervous?”

“Why?” Taylor grins, bracing herself across from them with both hands grasping to the edge of the bar top. “Is one of you about to ask me to makeout?”

Lexa smothers a mortified oh-my-god against the palms of her hands where she has covered her face.

“No, no,” Lincoln laughs while shaking his head. “Like I would ever do anything to get Toni on my bad side—your girlfriend might be more intimidating than Octavia.”

“She’s gonna love hearing that,” Taylor smiles.

“The thing is, Lexa here—”

“Would love the check,” Lexa interjects, pinning Lincoln with her most threatening glare while her cheeks still burn warmly. “And, for reasons yet unclear to me, I’ll take Lincoln’s too. You can put us on the same tab.”

“You got it,” Taylor chuckles, and strides off to the kitchen with their empty dishes.

As Lexa signs the tab, leaving an exorbitant tip to somehow assuage her own embarrassment as well as fulfill an unspoken creed between service industry workers, Lincoln warmly grabs her shoulder.

“Thanks. This was a great way to spend my otherwise very boring Sunday while O is stuck at work.”

“Lucky for you, my Sunday plans were also foiled.”

“So glad we could be each other’s second fiddle,” Lincoln grins.

Lexa returns his familiar smile. “Anytime.”

They bundle back into their coats and hats and gloves before Lincoln waves and shouts a quick farewell to Taylor from across the bar. As they push through the front entryway back out into the cold and wind and lightly dusted snowy sidewalk, Lincoln wraps an arm around Lexa’s shoulder and hugs her closer.

“Thanks again—you didn’t have to pick up the tab, buddy.”

“Think of it as your belated Christmas present. Besides, you basically always pay whenever we hang out. I owe you.”

For the drinks and food, yes. But, Lexa also feels indebted to Lincoln’s unending kindness and patient listening as everything between she and Clarke has unfolded.

“You don’t owe me anything, but that food does make for a great belated Christmas present.”

“Well, it’s not pumpernickel bagels and pimento cream cheese, but,” Lexa shrugs, looking up to catch Lincoln’s eye just as his expression creases painfully.

“Aw man, did you have to bring up the pimento cream cheese?!”

Lexa laughs and savors the warmth of Lincoln’s broad frame close beside her.

:::

Sometime between the distance of Lincoln’s apartment, where they had parted after a smothering hug, and Lexa’s front entryway, her phone buzzes from within her coat pocket. When she sees Clarke’s name as the incoming call, she removes a glove with her teeth and swipes to answer.

“Hey.” It’s so cold now that the sun has set, her breath is frozen in puffs, but the anticipation of hearing Clarke’s voice builds a warmth deep in her stomach. “How are you?”

“Oh my god, I’m so tired,” Clarke whimpers.

Always so dramatic.

Still, she has sympathy for Clarke’s long and tiresome hours of unexpected work over the weekend. Lexa shuffles across an empty crosswalk, hurrying towards her street as other pedestrians bustle past in bulky winter wear. “Sorry you’ve been stuck there for two days.”

“I was prepared for Saturday. Today has kicked my ass. Where are you? It sounds windy. Oh my god, please tell me you aren’t running in this weather.”

Lexa laughs as she reaches her apartment and searches for her keys while keeping her phone pinned against her shoulder. “I’m walking home from grabbing food and drinks with Lincoln.”

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, my brain is fried. Drinks and food sound so nice right now,” Clarke practically whines.

Lexa pushes into the warmth of the stairwell and begins to take the stairs to her apartment. “Seeing Lincoln was really nice, although it was you I was hoping to share a meal with today.”

“Were you?”

She can hear Clarke better now as she unlatches the locks of her apartment’s front door and steps inside a quiet, darkened room. She smiles shyly at Clarke’s surprised delight and lightly clears her throat.

“Yes.”

“And what did these plans entail?”

Lexa used to wonder constantly about Clarke’s intentions—whether or not she was consciously aware of the provocative ring to her voice. Presently, Lexa requires no translation: Clarke’s flirtation is unmistakable.

“I wanted to take you out for brunch.”

“I would have loved that.” Clarke sounds beyond charmed, and Lexa’s entire face warms.

“That’s—that’s good to know,” she responds, exhaling shakily at Clarke’s belated acceptance to a date they never got to have.

“I had brunch plans for us today too!”

“Oh yeah?” Lexa’s intrigue instantly distracts from her spike of nerves.

“Yes! They involved homemade waffles and really nice prosecco I absconded with the last time I left my mom’s and, most importantly, not being at work for over nine hours.”

Lexa clicks on a nearby lamp and shuffles out of her coat but does not bother to remove her absurd winter hat. The idea of Clarke making plans for them—specifically plans that involve home-cooked meals and sharing bubbly wine in Clarke’s home—sets Lexa’s stomach fluttering as she collapses onto her sofa.

“Well, for future reference, I’d be up for drinking prosecco with you any time, appropriated or otherwise.”

“This is good information to have.”

Lexa cozies into the couch cushions at the sound of Clarke’s laugh, wishing desperately that they were sat side by side, filling each other in on their day. She might weave her fingers into Clarke’s hair to help her relax or pull Clarke’s legs into her lap to massage her calf muscles after a long shift at the bar.

“How was your afternoon with Lincoln?”

“He was very upset about being excluded from the New York bagel delivery.”

More of Clarke’s laughter broadens the small smile on Lexa’s mouth. “They were indeed very enviable bagels.”

“I’m glad you liked them. We’ll have to get more sometime.”

A pregnant beat in which Clarke doesn’t immediately respond has Lexa’s heart racing. “In New York?”

The insinuation of taking Clarke to Brooklyn is lightyears ahead of asking her to brunch, and Lexa scrambles to backtrack her overzealous suggestion while pulling her stupid hat over her eyes. “I, um—I didn’t mean—”

“Lexa, I’m sorry—ugh,” Clarke grunts in frustration. “I have to go help one of our servers with something.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. I’ll let you go,” Lexa fumbles to say, grateful that Clarke’s endless string of responsibilities has saved her from more useless stuttering.

“Can I call you when I’m finished here? If it’s not too late?”

Lexa sits up and finally removes her hat. “Call me whenever.”

“Okay.” Lexa can hear the grin in Clarke’s response and indulges in one of her own. “Oh, and if the invitation still stands, I would go with you to New York any time, with or without the promise of bagels.”

Lexa cannot stop smiling. She doesn’t even try.

:::

#a beer bud series #apu #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!#clexa fic

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years

Text

Wait For It

Dean stalks out of the Impala agitatedly.

It's a sunny afternoon, and Sam's on the porch, coffee on the table next to him, flipping through his political science handbook. He looks up when he hears the car door being slammed, and his eyes follow Dean as he lands in the other chair around the table.

Then, without warning or premonition, Dean starts to talk.

He's got a new colleague.

Novak, he calls him. With gritted teeth, frowning eyebrows, and feeling.

They don't usually talk about people. So Sam listens.

Considering the amount of time Dean devotes talking about how Novak walked into his office, stride radiating importance as though he'd been summoned by Dean himself - well, he really must be a pain in the ass.

Over the next week, Sam's not always outside when Dean comes home from work. When he finally is, on a Thursday, Dean plants himself across him and starts speaking immediately.

Sam closes his book, purses his lips and pays attention.

Castiel, he's become.

Horrible, he's remained.

When Dean's done ranting, the sun's gone down. He gets up, hands on his hips. "He's just a jackass about everything, Sammy. Who's pretentious about eyecolor? Nobody's eyes can be that blue."

Sam nods sympathetically.

Dean goes away to make dinner, satisfied.

Midterms are round the corner.

Without really paying attention to it, Sam's stopped flipping through his handbook, and started highlighting in his textbook. He stays up late, and wakes up early, determinedly chipping away at the ginorminous block of syllabus, bit by bit.

He also stops being out on the porch when Dean comes back from work, and Dean tends to not barge into his bedroom to talk about the awful people he works with, so that's that.

But dinner isn't saved.

It's a simple conversation about mashed potatoes, and Dean goes off. "You won't believe how ridiculous Castiel is about honey, dude." Sam asks for a second helping, he also receives an anecdote on Castiel's ungrateful attitude towards Dean.

Sam doesn't even dare to mention his dislike for bacon once, for all the times Dean offers him it - because he's sure he'd get another indepth analysis of how Castiel hates Dean.

But when they settle down to watch Law & Order after dinner that night, Sam gets a chance to think. He wonders, not for the first time, how truly terrible Cas must be, for Dean to talk about him all the frigging time, and by the end of the episode, he's decided to be the pillar of support his brother needs, right now.

So when Dean starts, randomly, about how Castiel doesn't even appreciate good music, Sam whips out his puppy eyes, and listens to the entire tale.

Weeks pass.

His first paper is Tuesday, Ethics. Sam spends most hours of the day on his desk, holed up in his room.

It would be unfair to Dean to say he used up all the time Sam did spend around him, to talk about Cas.

(Which Castiel had ended up being, obviously.)

He only used like sixty percent of it.

"He's just...a weird, dorky little guy." Dean ends, biting his lip, eyes cast to the floor. His hands play with the hem of his jacket - he's still in work clothes.

Sam sighs.

"You know what?" Dean stands up. "I'm going to make coffee. Do I get you a mug or a thermos?"

"Thermos, please." Sam calls after him, gratefully.

"Okay. Carry on, bitch."

Sam feels guilty.

He's been so caught up in college, deadlines and exams, he's hardly talked to Dean except to thank him for all the coffee and sandwiches.

Dean may be a jerk all year, but he can get really supportive when Sam needs him to be.

Sam feels bad for not doing the same.

So when Dean puts a peanut butter sandwich in front of him, at one am while Sam panics through his last night revision, he looks up at his brother blankly and asks. "Hey, how's the guy who's been making your life hell? You stopped telling me about him."

"Oh, uh." Dean pauses.

Sam waits, but Dean takes too long, as if he's contemplating, so he takes a bite of his sandwich instead.

"He's not that bad." Dean finally lets out, exhaling into a hint of a smile.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

"To you kicking Stanford's ass!" Dean raises his bottle, perhaps the sixth toast of the night, giant grin plastered on his face.

"I keep telling you the results are a far way from being out yet - but hear, fucking hear!" Sam clinks his glass to Dean's beer, smile equally wide. He's finally done. There's finally no more papers, no more tests, no more revision.

He made it through.

"I'm proud of you." Dean mutters lazily, leaning back on the seat.

"Y-yeah. I know." Sam returns joyfully, neither of them really thinking about what they're saying. They've been drinking for hours. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at his words. There's a moment of silence - well, as silent as it ever gets in the Roadhouse. Then Dean speaks up. "Guess what, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't even correct him.

"What?"

"I'm going to ask Cas out today." Dean declares, and Sam's eyebrows go up again, because while he's definitely known his brother's into guys for years, he hadn't expected Dean to come out like this.

But six beers in, and a declaration of pride out, Dean just ups and says it.

"I think I have a crush on him."

Many months go by. It's Sam's final year. And he's moving back onto campus.

"I'm going to miss you." Sam tells Dean, after they've finished lugging all of his bags into Jessica's room. Dean's half sitting on Baby's hood, and Sam has his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Shuddup." Dean throws back, and he definitely sounds weird. "I'm like, seven minutes away."

"Still." Sam grins, earnest.

"Yeah, alright. I'm not making you move out, okay?" Dean straightens, scoffing. "Have fun convincing Jessica to make you breakfast food at midnight."

"Yeah but," Sam laughs. "You live like, seven minutes away."

"Like hell I do. Get your ninety-percent peanut butter ass over here." Dean sighs, and Sam walks up to him, letting Dean pull him into a hug.

They hold onto each other, safety in the familiarity. Both of them know that they're probably not going to live together again. Sam has a plan after college, which doesn't involve moving back to Dean's. But they've shared a house for so long, it's going to feel weird.

It's going to be strange.

To lighten the moment, Sam whispers. "So, uh. Cas is moving in after I'm gone, isn't he?"

"He's probably already redecorating the place to get rid of your nerd cooties." Dean thumps him on the back, as they separate. There's a smile lingering on his face.

"What about your nerd cooties?" Sam bitchfaces at him.

"He likes those." Dean defends, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I bet he does." Sam snorts, and Dean reddens, realizing he just walked right into that, and then he just swears under his breath goodnaturedly as Sam walks into his new place.

Sam's phone rings.

It's only eight, on a Saturday, and Sam doesn't have to leave for office at nine like everyday, so he's sleeping in. Amelia's next to him, and she elbows him when the annoying ringtone wakes her before it wakes Sam.

"Sorry, babe." Sam tells her, kissing the top of her head distractedly, picking up the phone and sitting up when he hears Dean's voice.

It's trembling with excitement.

"Sam!" Dean gushes, and there's really no other word for it. There seems to be a commotion behind him, but the happy kind. Dean's tone is almost ecstatic.

"Dean?" Sam confirms, groggily.

"Dude, Cas just asked me to marry him!" Dean let out, almost breathless. "And I said yes! Of course, I said yes! We're getting married, Sammy!."

A smile grows on Sam's face. "Dude. You're getting married."

"I'm getting married!" Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at something Cas is saying apparently, because then he tells Sam he's putting him on speaker.

"Hello, Sam." Cas greets him, sounding thoroughly overjoyed.

"Congratulations, Cas." Sam says, beaming now. He's so happy for them both. Cas is amazing, and he gets Dean, and Sam knows Dean loves him so much. "And, uh, Dean? You better fight a good fight for my Bestmanship, versus Castiel's brother, okay?"

Dean laughs, and it's the kind of rare excited laugh which makes everyone around smile too.

Cas answers, instead, his voice just as excited. "Don't worry, I'd rather have Gabriel be the caterer."

Sam chuckles. "Good."

"Give the phone back a minute, Cas," Dean says in the background, and then it's off-speaker, and just Dean, again. "You're not busy being important or anything, are you?"

Sam looks around him. "No?" Dean hesitates for a beat, until Sam catches the gist. "Dude! Of course I'm not busy. Tell me everything!" Dean lets out a sound which is definitely a squeal, though he'd never own up to it. "How did it happen? Why did it happen so early?"

Dean exhales, happily, and Sam can picture the smile on his face.

"Wait, is there a ring? Dean, I need you to show me the ring." Sam adds, just before Dean starts to tell Sam about it all. Just like he had, at the very beginning.

Six days to the wedding, Sam sits on the old porch chair, tapping his pen on his notebook.

He needs to write a speech.

There's so much to tell. The two of them are adorable, for god's sake. They tend to be cheesy even in front of him, and so unaware of it - Sam wonders if they turn into mushy marshmallows when his back is turned.

Maybe he should include that in his speech. "Mushy Marshmallows" is a cute alliteration. Huh.

After an entire evening of thinking, he pushes himself off his seat to get a cup of coffee. (He'd try to convince Dean to make some, but him and Cas have an appointment with a florist for the wedding.)

In any case, Sam may not be done with the speech entirely, but he figures he's earned a break. You see, he's already got an unbelievably great title. He can work from there.

"How Dean Is The Worst Judge Of People."

He has a good first line, too. "Exhibit A: Novak-slash-Castiel-slash-Cas."

#destiel #deancas fluff #deancas fic #deancas au #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #castiel/dean #castiel/dean winchester #young castiel #young dean winchester #stanford sam #sam winchester fluff #sam and dean #destiel ficlet #domestic destiel #i wrote a thing #dean is bi

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erensnubs · 3 years

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

Colt Grice x F! Reader Dystopian AU

Chapter 2

Word Count: 1.6k

"[NAME]! AHHHH YOU'RE HERE!!" Hange screamed across the room. Your head was turning all around the bright, marble like room as you tried to find the familiar auburn head.

You whipped your head around after talking to Dr. Pyxis.

Dr. Pyxis smiled at you as he acknowledged Hange's presence and walked away. Hange was running, their hair flying with Moblit behind her muttering "sorry" and "excuse us" to the victims of their running.

They flung their arms over your shoulders and squeezed ever so tightly. Your breath hitched and reluctantly patted Hange's arms.

"My god! How have you been? You look stressed. Is Levi bothering you too much? You know you could just stay at HQ! You can live with me and it's cheaper!!" Hange muttered, burying your body into theirs.

You try to pry yourself from Hange's grasp, but they keep holding on.

"You know Levi never tells me anything right? I mean we've known each other for a while through us, I mean for God's sakes we dated! And then you're so busy writing up papers and meeting with people so it's just like I-"

Moblit grabs Hange's shoulders and pushes them away from you. He audibly sighed and buried his face with his hands.

You couldn't help but chuckle at the stark contrasts of their faces as they looked at each other.

"Hange I'm doing fine alright? And Levi's coming to the after party there's nothing wrong with him. By the way, you look ravishing," you said pretentiously with a little smirk.

Hange's face lit up, "Oh [Name], you are getting flirty. But yes thank you for the compliment."

Hange started sliding back and forth on the polished floor, posing in their velvet red suit, the coat tails swishing behind them. Their hair was down and curled at the ends, with the ends fringed with a brighter red from previous hair dyes. Hange's eyes and lips were tinted red, her overall theme and it looked messy, and rushed. Exactly the way you liked it.

Moblit smiled tiredly at you and you patted him on the back, "Moblit how are you besides sighing so much?"

"Oh fine, I just don't know how I'm going to survive this ball and the after party. I spent a good 5 hours of our evening last night, experimenting with some new tools for missions," he said nervously.

"Oh Moblit, don't stress yourself out so much. Your inventions and experiments are insightful and they truly contribute to the research. Take a break sometime," you say reassuringly, as you lecture him.

"That's exactly what I told him! I caught him doing experiments when I told him not to!" Hange said. "Lighten up for once Moblit!"

You nodded, "I agree. This ball isn't a job, it's a break for people who work their asses off like you to help save us."

"I guess…. But heyyy… aren't you and Erwin acting as dates when you're actually just pushing an agenda?" He inquired playfully.

You smirk at him, "The ball is my work time, the after party is when I loosen up."

Hange spoke up, "Speaking of which, CAN SOMEONE GET ME SOME ALCOHOL FOR ALL 3 OF US. 2 FOR ME AND 2 FOR THEM!"

You grabbed Hange by the shoulder and laughed into it, "I swear Hange you are so scary to be in public with."

They looked at you with a questioning gaze, "Well how the hell am I supposed to get wine when all the waiters and people are over there where all the rich people are? They'll come to me, not the other way around."

A dark-haired boy with green-blue eyes trudged over to Hange. Eren Yeager. Stupid little shit, you had to teach him for a while when you were training soldiers but a passionate one. Beside him was Armin Artlet, the blonde boy who was arguably one of the smartest children you've ever met.

"Here you go. The other waiters just told us to bring these to you," Eren murmured.

"Hey speak up, Yeager," you tell him.

"He-"

You looked at him again, "I'm just playing kid come here and give me a hug,"

He looked at you surprisingly and passed the glasses of champagne to Moblit and Hange before tightening his arms around you.

Eren and particularly his classmates were the only teenagers you have ever liked in your life. They were smart, determined, and knew how to goof off, and have fun. You developed a sort of parenting attitude towards them, as you watched them rise in the ranks.

Armin hesitantly wrapped your arms around you, but you pulled him closer and kissed the tops of their foreheads.

"My god how the hell did you grow? You're up to my neck now Yeager and Artlert too! What are they feeding you", you say sipping your champagne flute.

"The same thing they've been serving since we went to training camp," Eren said, snickering.

You raised your eyebrows at them, "So how's life going for you? Don't you have your special Survey Corps dance thing coming up soon? You guys excited for that?"

"Not me," Armin said reluctantly. "I don't have a date."

Eren started laughing at him, "Pffft… lame."

Armin threw a dirty look at him, "Oh shut the fuck up, you don't either."

You cross your arms and look at both of them, "The government parties aren’t all about relationships you know. It's about hanging out with your friends as well. If you really feel bad about it just go in a group together."

Armin spoke up, his mood lightening immediately, "Did you go in a group? Are you all still friends?"

You waved your hand nonchalantly, "My 1st time I didn't go, I snuck over to the underground area in the city I lived in and watched street racing with some friends. Got in trouble of course, but I got lots of money from bets. The next 2 times I did go with friends but the last time I went with-"

"Oh, we shouldn't have brought that up Dr. [Name]," Eren said apologetically.

"Oh no no no, don't feel bad I can't just keep my fiance's memory buried." You gulped at the choice of words but went on.

"He would have loved to share these stories with you. But for now, you should be hanging out with your other friends not with an old person like me. And try drinking a little," you smiled with a hint of sadness that was quickly upturned while you flashed your teeth.

Eren interjected, "You're not THAT old Dr."

"Sweetheart I am old all right. Now go I think Mikasa is waiting for you," you shoo them along with your hands and usher them back to the middle. The two boys quickly walked away back to their friends. You sighed and looked around you and realized Moblit and Hange were out of sight and Erwin was nowhere to be seen.

"[Name]."

"Oh my god, Erwin! You can't just sneak up on me like that!" You say as the blonde was literally looming over from behind you.

"Sorry but I was wondering how the papers are going. I was chatting with Mr. Zachary over there and he said he would love to sign our papers," Erwin tilted his head to the old man with the white beard and glasses.

"Doesn't he monitor the 3 parts of the government?" You asked Erwin.

He nodded, "Having him on our side would help us out a lot. Any progress for you?"

"Dr. Pyxis said he would sign. I just have to convince Nick and Nile," you rolled your eyes.

Nick believed that all the funding should go to the military police, to help protect the citizens. You have argued and counterattacked that one day there might be no people to protect, no military police to defend because the funding was put all into one place.

"AT LEAST PART OF THE FUNDING SHOULD BE PUT FOR OUR MISSIONS!" You yell at Nile.

Nile rolled his eyes, "Sorry to say this but the public might not agree. They don't care about your little missions."

"Well the PUBLIC Nile, is full of cowards who want to be protected by another set of cowards because the goddamn government doesn't know that the best place to put their money is in the Scout Regiment. They're the ones that's actually doing something," you say.

You stepped forward, "The public doesn't have an MD. The public has not spent a good chunk of their lives researching this. The public is not head of the government's esteemed research section. The public doesn't have knowledge that I do.

"Really cowards? What are you some self-righteous wannabe?"

"Oh shut the fuck up, Nile. All of you in this room are fucking cowards. People's lives have been lost just because we didn't have enough supplies and food for a group of 100 soldiers," you say and left the room.

That was 2 weeks ago and Hange and Erwin were present, and that's when you 3 decided to convince everybody to sign these papers.

Erwin nodded,"You can take a break for now, Nick and Nile are chatting up with some women."

You nodded at Erwin and parted ways. You grabbed a piece of dessert from the long dining table and leaned your back against the wall and drank more champagne. You lifted your head and tried to think of ways to convince them.

Nick was a religious man, and was one of the people who believed that the Warning was a sign from God. Maybe you could throw in a little religion, say that the money could help find out of it is really God. For Nile, just threaten the man. He was a coward at heart so that would be easy. But what if he backed out on the papers? Didn't actually mean it? What would you do then?

You hummed to yourself the possibilities, not even noticing the man standing in front of you.

"Uh, hey? You seem lost in thought."

Prev/next

#attack on titan fic #aot fic #colt grice x reader #colt grice #colt x reader

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narcoleptic-drag-queen · 4 years

Note

38 Q with Crygi please💕💕💕

I can’t believe I managed to make this not very sexy at all and just fluffy, but that is what crygi does to me 🙃i hope you like it!

38 - “Fine, but I’m gonna complain the whole time.”

Q - Stripper/Porn Star AU

When Gigi had agreed to this project, Jaida had told her, with no uncertainty, that the world was probably ending now that she was going to willingly work with Crystal Methyd.

“That is,” she’d added, as Gigi rolled her eyes and continued to throw her bags together. “If you don’t burn down Paris before then.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m going,” Gigi’d said. “Paris. France. I’ll go visit Oscar Wilde’s tomb and be cultured.”

“That’ll be a first,” Jaida had snorted, and Gigi’d slapped her with the silk scarf she’d planned on wearing the third day of her visit, with the little beret that matches. She’s planned out all of her days in Paris, wanting to be completely decked out in designer clothes and sleek hairdos - that is, for when she isn’t going to naked.

Gigi loves being a porn star.

It’s gotten her fame, fans, money, and now, it’s gotten her to Paris, to work with Nicky Doll, famous for her lesbian period erotica that sounds niche but actually has a massive following. It’s a dream come true: fancy costumes and fun scenes and no dicks. The only catch?

Crystal Methyd.

She’s arrogant, air-headed, and completely pretentious. She only takes specific projects, sticking to the ‘weird’ side of porn (“What’s the fun in normal?” she’d said when Gigi had worked with her last, clearly eyeing Gigi up and down), and yet still managing to build an enormous fanbase.

Gigi can already feel the little ball of resentment growing in her chest as she makes her way through the set, still clinging on to an insult that wasn’t even really an insult years later. To be called ‘normal’ - it itches under her skin. She’s creative. She thinks out of the box, moves into more than just het, vanilla stuff. She can be weird. She just doesn’t have a fucking god complex when it comes to taking more traditional projects.

But she’s not bitter. Crystal isn’t worth it.

Obviously.

Gigi makes a beeline towards the foldable table set up with Dunkin’ Donuts boxes, itching for coffee. What she really wants is to drown her stresses in wine, but a mocha latte is going to have to do.

She fills a styrofoam cup and quickly raises it to her lips, looking around. It looks like they’re starting with a scene in an attic, with long, billowing white curtains and a rickety-ass bed shoved in the corner. She can see the period gowns tucked away in the corner for her and Crystal, and a strange mix of excitement and dread runs through her. She doesn’t know how she’s going to do this with Crystal, of all people, but she’s an actress, and an actress she shall be.

She wonders if--

“Is that coffee any good?”

Gigi’s entire body stiffens. She turns to find Crystal standing beside her, all curly brown hair and insane grin, pointing to the coffee with a questioning brow quirked. She’s gorgeous. Not that Gigi’s noticing anything special, of course. All porn stars are gorgeous.

“It’s fine,” Gigi says flatly, after a moment, and Crystal gives a happy shrug before grabbing a cup for herself.

“Coffee’s coffee!”

Gigi feels frustration bubble up in her gut, Crystal’s permanent cheer far too much for 8 am. “Yep,” she grits out.

“Are you excited?” Crystal asks, oblivious to Gigi’s mood. “We’re working with Nicky Doll! Can you believe it?”

“Actually, I can,” Gigi says shortly. Crystal looks a little taken aback.

“Ummmm,” she says, long and drawn out. “Well. Are you excited?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound so excited,” Crystal teases, and Gigi bristles.

“I think you’re excited enough for the both of us.”

Crystal giggles. “Can you blame me? This is like a dream! I love projects like this, they’re so… odd, I live for it.”

Gigi understands the implication perfectly: and you, obviously, don’t. Normie. “What, and I don’t?” she snaps, and Crystal looks surprised.

“Wh--”

“I’m not weird enough for it?” Gigi presses. “Too ‘normal’ to be invited here? Is that why you’re so surprised?”

“I’m not surprised to see you here at all,” Crystal says, and then her eyes take on a sort of mischievous gleam. “You were cc’d in the email, after all.”

Gigi stares at her. “You’re an asshole,” she decides, and she turns to walk away, irritation thrumming through her veins, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. She hadn’t needed to go off like that, but the nerve to tell her that--

Crystal grabs her arm. “Hey, wait!” she says, and Gigi stops, turning around to meet Crystal’s eyes. They’re beautiful, a sort of hazel color that catches the light in breathtaking ways. Not that Gigi cares. She’s sure she’s seen prettier.

“I’m sorry,” Crystal says, and she doesn’t let go of Gigi’s arm, even though they’re stopped. “I didn’t mean to make you think-- I’m not surprised you’re here. I know this is right up your alley - you watched so many period dramas when we were working on that one motorcyclist series. When I got the email, I immediately thought of you.”

Gigi can feel herself softening, regret pinching at her chest. “You did?” she asks, and Crystal laughs like it’s obvious. Which, now that Gigi’s thinking about it….

“I’ve been following you too long to not!”

“You have?”

Crystal frowns at her, a confused smile on her lips. “I’m a big fan. I thought I told you that.”

Gigi licks her lips, nervous giggles bubbling up inside her chest. “I thought you were being sarcastic.”

Crystal’s eyes widen. “Gigi Goode, I don’t think I’ve ever used sarcasm in my entire life.”

“That’s a lie,” Gigi laughs, heat still staining her cheeks. Crystal shrugs.

“Maybe,” she says playfully. She finally lets go of Gigi’s arm, and Gigi finds herself missing her touch, which makes her blush come back to her full force. She doesn’t quite know what to say in response, embarrassed at her years long grudge and quick temper, at her assumptions and snippy comments - she doesn’t know how to react to Crystal, anymore, other than think she’s beautiful and want to hold her hand.

Gigi hates being gay.

“Wanna grab some more coffee?” Crystal asks, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over them. Gigi smiles.

“You want more lukewarm Dunkin’ Donuts?”

“No,” Crystal laughs. “Let’s go to the little cafe around the corner. We still have an hour before Nicky gets here. That is, unless you don’t want to?”

Warmth unfurls in Gigi’s chest, and she’s unable to stop the gigantic grin that spreads across her face. “Fine,” she says, finally able to tease her back. “But I’m going to complain the whole time.”

She allows herself to think that Crystal’s laugh is musical, and she allows the other woman to take her hand to lead her out of the building, her touch comforting and warm. It’s the best decision she’s made, in a while.

She can’t wait to have sex with her.

#im sooooo rusty at crygi but the change of pace was really fun #also calling gigi a normie made me laugh bc i am what? a comedic genius #crygi #prompts #writing #ask game

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twiceblackvelvet · 4 years

Text

Blame

Pt. I, Pt. II

June 2nd, 2022. 14:32 PM. Busan.

“That’s a wrap everyone, thank you!”

The booming voice of the director echoing throughout the set. Lighting rigs are taken down by the many production staff on hand. The few extras needed to walk in the shot background shuffle out of sight without speaking a word, grateful for the opportunity to be working, and not willing to do anything to risk their position here. You can see the hunger for more in all of their eyes and the envy they feel towards those with speaking roles. None of them have caused trouble, something the former male lead should learn from.

The first few weeks here had been tortuous but finally, Joy has completed the filming of her first acting job since the split of Red Velvet, without murdering the god-awful co-star initially hired which is an accomplishment. The role of a mistress seeking revenge against the man who murdered her father just seemed too good to pass up on. However, had she known it would come with dealing with by far the most pretentious man to exist, she might have thought twice.

The first few days it was plain sailing. Everyone just got on with their jobs and kept things moving along. But then, trailers needed to be made bigger and fine foods had to be stocked inside every day. The final straw being a request for an assistant solely to hold water bottles close by the actor. To say Joy was annoyed would be an understatement. So, she confronted the man for his poor behavior and put him in his place. Respect should be earned not just given, and this man had earned zero.

After being showed up in front of everyone, things spiraled quickly into ruining scenes on purpose just to make shoots run late or purposefully blocking the camera with his body during close-ups. Eventually, the director settled on replacing him with another actor, far better both in the talent and attitude department. The firing caused a setback in the schedule, but luckily everyone worked twice as hard to finish within the allotted time-frame.

To finally be rid of this experience feels like a breath of fresh air. Not that she didn’t enjoy portraying what most would deem the “bad” character for a change, it just became difficult to do so when a real-life villain was haunting the production.

“Hey, the director has arranged a wrap party, are you going?”

Eunseo, a petite woman in charge of the third camera who everyday likes to inform Joy she owns all of Red Velvet’s albums asks. Her toothy grin is remarkably unpleasant as the question escapes her mouth. However, Joy has gotten used to her overexcitement over the small pleasures in life.

“Sure, I just need to grab my things from the trailer and I’ll get my manager to drive me straight there.” A lie. A very obvious yet unnoticed lie.

“Great, I’ll see you there.” Eunseo latches her arms firmly around Joy’s neck, although, she barely reaches because of her lack of height.

Joy quickly squirms her way out of the smaller woman’s arms and gives only a smile in response before scurrying away to her trailer, not daring to allow her a second chance at grappling her neck.

Unlocking her phone as she gets closer to the spacious trailer she’s spent the last few months getting used to, a few notifications appear about her upcoming drama, which she subscribed to the alerts for. If the former male lead tries to tarnish her name despite his own actions being the issue, she wants her team to be on the case of fixing it immediately. A few missed calls from her sister and mom, likely wondering how long they need to keep babysitting Haetnim whilst she’s out of Seoul. But finally, some texts from an unknown number that she deletes without reading. If it’s anyone or anything important, they’ll contact her manager.

Getting closer to the trailer, the door appears to be slightly ajar. Joy stops in her tracks, trying to think back to whether or not she locked it before heading to the set. She’s certain she did, however, with the excitement of the final day looming over her, she thinks it’s possible this slipped her mind.

Not willing to risk a masked assailant, however, she shouts inside first to see if anyone responds.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

Silence is all that follows. Not trusting this, she asks again in a more threatening tone.

“Hello? I’m calling the police if you don’t come out!”

A small chuckle is all that can be heard, but there’s no one in sight. Fed up with the not knowing, Joy steps inside of her trailer attempting to use her phone like some kind of weapon. The last person she ever imagined being sat inside of her trailer, however, is there in all of her glory as made-up and ready for the runway as ever, despite her “normal” life now.

“Irene?” She asks, as if unsure of whether the older woman before her is real or just a figment of her imagination.

“Joohyun. It’s Joohyun now.” Adjusting her shirt as she speaks, Joy can tell that she’s nervous to be here, with her, for the first time since the day they parted as members. “Nice trailer, I can see you… decorated.”

There’s clothing thrown on the floor with little to no care, a reminder of their days in the dorm, everyone making a mess, and no one in the mood to clean up after themselves. However, if Joy had known that Joohyun was dropping by, she’d have attempted to at least make it slightly presentable. She does still mean a lot to Joy.

“Um… What are you doing here?” The bluntness to Joy’s tone being something she didn’t mean to let out, however, her voice naturally shows that she too is on edge.

The pair look at each other for a few seconds before Joohyun stands and attempts to leave. However, Joy places her arm up onto the door frame to block her path before she can whisk back out of her life as fast as she has re-entered it.

“This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry.” Sadness drips off every word Joohyun speaks, her eyes averting to the ground.

“Come on, sit back down. I’ll make us a drink and you can tell me all about it.”

Joohyun desperately wants to escape, but Joy has always had a way of roping her into things she’s not so sure of. So she sits. They drink, something that is far too stiff for both of them to handle, however, it helps the words flow from Joohyun’s mouth and Joy’s ears do a lot more listening than they’re used to nowadays.

She tells Joy all about the offer from Dongchul and how she’s considering stepping into the acting world, about her garden that has become a haven where she can let all of her thoughts out and about how her parents’ smiles have become the thing that makes her heart feel alive now.

Joy has always found Joohyun beautiful, so has anyone lucky enough to lay their eyes on her, however, seeing her happy like this makes her feel that her own actions regarding their group splitting are justified if Joohyun is enjoying her new life this much. Joy desperately hopes to feel the same way one day about her own.

“How about you? Do you keep up with the others?” Joohyun asks and breaks Joy from her own inner monologue of life. “How are they all?”

Joy hesitates in answering Joohyun’s innocent question. She knows that her former leader is not trying to stir up any negative feelings by asking about the others, yet, sadness is all Joy can feel when she thinks about the state the group has erupted into.

“I don’t speak to Seulgi, she stopped speaking to me that day,” A frown replaces Joohyun’s smile from seconds ago at this. “Yeri and I hang out sometimes, she’s just as busy as I am. We check in with each other when we can.”

“That’s good, you two were always close. Annoying, but close.” Joohyun adds, “What about Wendy, do you see her still?”

Confusion etches across Joy’s face. Granted Joohyun is yet to reveal whether she has kept in touch with anyone, she figured that she would have at least saw the news on the internet or television.

“Well that would be difficult, given that she’s in America now, did you not know?”

Joohyun almost chokes on her drink at Joy’s words. America? Why would she move there? Why did no one tell her?

“No, when did she move?”

“She left about two months after the split.” If Joohyun thinks this is the only bombshell awaiting her about her former members, Joy has yet another shock in store for her. “So, you don’t know about the singles clash then, I guess?”

Placing her drink down onto the table, Joohyun shifts her body closer towards Joy’s, unsure of what she’s talking about.

“Singles clash? No?”

A deep sigh leaves Joy’s body. Dealing with her awful co-worker had also been made more difficult by the decisions made by two of her former members. Interviewers desperately wanting her to comment on what ended up being a situation blown out of proportion, but a stressful one to deal with. Fake smiles were plastered on and rumors of a feud swiftly denied by both her and Yeri on behalf of Seulgi and Wendy.

“Seulgi got to debut solo two months ago, SM did their first thing right in years and went all out for her, the whole works,” Joy can see Joohyun’s mental cogs shifting trying to figure out where an issue comes into play here. “But Wendy released her first solo song in the US at midnight, an hour before Seulgi’s showcase here.”

Suddenly, everything makes sense. But surely this was all coincidental? Joohyun thinks but doesn’t verbalize as Joy is in before she can.

“Wendy insists that she had no idea Seulgi’s debut was that day but, I don’t know. It turned into a messy situation and fans didn’t know which to support. Seulgi still topped the charts, but it can’t have felt good to have her thunder stolen from someone who was once her friend. She already blames us for the disbandment, this just added fuel to the fire.”

Joy’s hand’s motion between the two of them as she speaks.

“She blames me?” Joohyun asks softly.

Joy pauses and recalls that Joohyun missed the blow-up from Seulgi in the office that day having left before it happened. She decides it’s best to stick the knife all the way in and tell Joohyun everything instead of trying to spare her with a lie.

“Except for Yeri, she blames all of us.”

pt. iv

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soundofseventeen · 4 years

Text

Can I Have This Dance? Pt. 4 (Kwon Soonyoung)

Hi! I have about 3 of the requests done. Here’s part 4!! I hope yall are enjoying this!! 💛

Masterlist

“So, you think you’re ready for tomorrow?” Soonyoung asked, finishing your final lesson. You were laying on the dance studio floor, hands covering your face.

“Am I?” You looked at him, Soonyoung just shaking his head.

“Yeah, I think you are.” He smiled, once again ignoring his heartbeat. Every day this happened, he came up with some new excuse as to why his heart was doing that. Today his excuse was that he had just spent the last 2 hours dancing with you.

“I’m still so nervous…” You said, putting your hands over your face again.

“That’s just because you hadn’t danced with him yet. Once you get there tomorrow, you’ll be fine.” Soonyoung said, choosing to ignore the little pang he had when he mentioned your boyfriend.

“You’re right. God, you’re right! I just need to calm down.” You said, sitting up but staying on the floor. “It’s kind of weird that this is our last lesson, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, a bit. I kind of got used to seeing you.” Soonyoung said, leaning on the wall. “Seungcheol is going to miss you too.” You grinned, looking over at Soonyoung.

“It’s been fun hanging out with you guys. I don’t know, you’re easy to spend time with. I’m going to miss that.”

“You could always still come hang out with us. I’m sure the guys wouldn’t mind.” Soonyoung offered, you sighing.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to come off as annoying or something.” You smiled, Soonyoung tilting his head.

“Well, we could still hang out every once in a while, if you wanted.” Soonyoung said, heart beating quicker as your face lit up at the suggestion. He didn’t even have an excuse for it that time.

“Really?” Soonyoung nodded, you smiling at him. That damn smile. “I… I would love that.”

“Great. Well, we can do that then.”

“I should probably go. It’s getting late and I gotta catch the bus.” You said, standing up and grabbing your things. “Plus, it’s going to be a long day tomorrow to get ready for this party.” You took a deep breath, looking at Soonyoung.

“Yeah, get home safe, okay?” He said, you nodding your head.

“Oh! Before I go!” You turned around and looked back at him, startling him a little bit. “Okay, there’s this bar that is having this like, global experience thing on Thursday and Jiwoo is working some shoot that night and Daeho is going to be working on some project at work, would you want to go to that?”

“...This Thursday?” Soonyoung asked. You immediately squished up your face.

“Is that too soon? I’m sorry, you can totally just forget I asked and we can-”

“No, no, I’d love to!” Soonyoung interrupted, smiling at you. “I just have to make sure my schedule is good, but that sounds fun.” You smiled at him, nodding your head.

“Alright. I will see you Thursday then!” You said, skipping off down the hall to leave. Soonyoung shook his head, not sure how he felt about this.

Soonyoung sighed, waiting in line for his tea. He was mentally preparing for a day full of rehearsals and dance practices, then tonight he had to go with Seungkwan and Seokmin to find a birthday gift for Chan’s birthday. It wasn’t too unusual of a day, but he just wasn’t looking forward to it today. He felt like he had a thundercloud over his head all morning, and he couldn’t figure out why.

As he grabbed his tea, he turned to leave when he saw a familiar face. He checked the time on his phone, figuring he had a few minutes. He went to sit across from the person, smiling as they looked up.

“Oh hey!” Jiwoo smiled, closing her computer. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad. Just some pre-rehearsal tea.” He held up the cup, Jiwoo smiling.

“Pre-shoot coffee.”

“At least some of our rituals stayed the same.” Soonyoung chuckled, Jiwoo nodding.

“Tell me about it.” She took a sip, looking at Soonyoung. “Thanks again for helping Y/N, by the way. She’s so excited about tonight now that she’s pretty sure she won’t make a fool of herself.”

“Ah, it was no problem.” He said, shrugging his shoulders. “It was actually kind of fun.”

“That’s how it sounded.” Jiwoo smiled. “She always came back from the lessons in a good mood. Maybe you’re a happy virus?”

“Nah, I think that’s her.” Soonyoung grinned, looking around the shop, Jiwoo tilting her head a little bit. A thought crossed her head, but she decided not to voice it.

“She’s still pretty anxious about tonight, but I think you helped her a lot.” She said, Soonyoung nodding.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Jiwoo nodded, taking another sip. “What… What do you have against Daeho?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, no offense but he clearly isn’t your favorite person. And this little old lady said something about hearing stories about him from Y/N and-”

“Oh, you met Mrs. Lee?” Jiwoo looked at him, Soonyoung nodding. Jiwoo pondered for a second, then let out a sigh. “Okay, no he’s not my favorite person in the world.”

“Why though?”

“Because… Okay, and keep this in mind that I’ve only had small interactions with the guy, but he’s just… He’s kind of a prick. He’s really stuck up and pretentious and he always acts like he’s so much better than everyone else. I don’t know, he just rubbed me the wrong way when we met and hasn’t done anything to change that.”

“But you let your friend date him?” Soonyoung asked, Jiwoo sighing again.

“Yeah. He’s… He’s not like that with her. Look, I still think that she deserves way better, and I don’t appreciate how they got together in the first place, but he treats her well. He doesn’t pressure her into stuff she’s uncomfortable with, and she’s happy with him. So I promised myself not to interfere unless I thought he was going to hurt her somehow.”

“Wait, how did they get together in the first place?” Jiwoo thought for a second, then pointed a finger at him.

“You can never tell Y/N, it would crush her, you understand?” Soonyoung was concerned, but nodded his head. “Okay, one of his friends told me that when they met, the only reason he even began flirting with her and acting interested was to piss off his parents. They had some big argument, and he thought that the best way to get back at them was to hook up with some girl who they would never approve of.” Jiwoo shook her head, Soonyoung still feeling concerned. “I guess he developed feelings or whatever, because obviously they’re still together, but Y/N doesn’t know so you can’t tell her. She was so excited that someone like him was interested in her.”

“Oh…” Soonyoung said, taking a sip of his drink.

“Look, Soonyoung, you don’t have to worry about her. She’s a big girl. She’s tougher than she looks.” Jiwoo said, patting Soonyoung’s hand. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for the day she realizes she’s too good for him and breaks it off.”

“I’m not worried.” Soonyoung said, Jiwoo raising an eyebrow.

“I know it’s been a while Soon, but yeah, you are. It’s a little obvious.”

“Okay, I have to get to rehearsal.” Soonyoung said, Jiwoo laughing.

“Deep breaths Soon, deep breaths.” Jiwoo said, Soonyoung waving a hand as he walked away, Jiwoo shaking her head. “Maybe…”

You were just leaving the flower shop, waiting for the bus to show up. You tapped your foot on the concrete, wishing it would just get here. You still had to get home and do your hair and makeup and change, maybe you would try a new perfume tonight? Finally, the bus showed up, you getting on and finding a seat quickly. You were driving through the city, watching the buildings go by, mentally going through the steps Soonyoung taught you in your head.

You saw your phone light up, the picture of you and Daeho showing up. Smiling, you hit answer and brought the phone to your ear.

“Hey you!” You grinned.

“Hey.”

“I’m on my way to the apartment right now. Listen I was thinking of trying a new perfume tonight. Do you prefer-”

“Listen, uh, tonight’s not happening anymore.” Daeho said, your heart falling a bit.

“Oh… What happened? Did they cancel it?” You asked, hearing Daeho sigh.

“Not exactly, the party is still happening just… I can’t bring you.”

“What?” You asked, starting to feel tears prick at your eyes. “Why not?”

“My parents friends have this daughter who couldn’t get a date so they’re making me take her. It’s kind of this weird situation, so I have to do it.”

“But… But…” You said, looking at your lap. “But I bought a dress and took… Daeho I learned how to actually dance for this…”

“Y/N, I’m really sorry, but it’s not happening. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” You felt a tear drop from your face, shaking your head.

“Yeah, okay.” You muttered, wiping a tear from your face.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” You hummed in response. “Thanks Y/N, I love you.” Daeho said, hanging up before you could even say it back.

You put your phone in your lap, trying not to cry. At least not until you got home.

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bensakindofmagic · 4 years

Text

Chapter Twenty

A/N: yo. so I'm back at uni and work is a little hectic. sorry uploads haven't been as regular, but I'm still loving making these moodboards. keep requesting folks. much love

Warning: angst, swearing

w/c: 2.1k+

Chapter Twenty

You winced as you walked to the kitchen the next morning. Bruises had formed overnight and left your skin mottled, hickeys punctuating them with with red. You still bore Ben’s handprint like a stamp of ownership. It stung sharply as you sat down.

“Morning my love,” Ben smiled, kissing you on the cheek. “How’re you doing?”

“A little sore. Sitting is… challenging.”

“Oh, but you took it so well, princess.”

“Be careful using that name,” you said darkly. It was reserved for very specific circumstances.

He smirked, then asked, “Can I get you an ice pack?”

You shook your head, “No, baby, I’m okay.”

He was particularly affectionate with you that morning, as he always was after nights like that. It was as though he felt he needed to make it up to you, despite the fact that you probably enjoyed it even more than he did. He kissed your forehead as he laid your breakfast in front of you, and stroked your thigh under the table as you ate. He glanced over at you often, and smiled warmly whenever you caught him looking.

“You look beautiful this morning,” he beamed. “Love looks good on you.”

A warm laugh burst out of you like birds from a cage, “That is the cheesiest thing you have ever said!”

You leaned across and wound your hand around the back of his neck, exploring the softness of his skin there. “But I do love you.” When your lips met it was like the setting sun on a summer day in London, golden rays illuminating the divine in what before seemed mundane.

“I love you too,” he cooed.

He insisted you stay in for the morning, so you sat at the breakfast table for hours. It sometimes still felt like a novelty to be able to just sit with him and talk, not through a phone or a computer screen, not worrying about wifi signal or your responsibilities. Ben’s hand rested lazily on yours, his pinky finger occasionally stroking the back of your hand. Every time he did it you smiled.

You were only interrupted by the buzz of your phone in your pocket, indicating an email. You wouldn’t usually look at work stuff while your were hanging out with Ben, but your body went on auto-pilot as you unlocked your phone and opened the new email in your inbox.

You froze.

The job for which you’d speculatively applied months ago, with a big studio in an expensive new franchise, full in the expectation that you wouldn’t get it so had therefore completely forgotten about, had just been offered to you. You had to reread the email four times to make sure you hadn’t got it wrong, or that you weren’t dreaming — which still felt like a distinct possibility because when Ben spoke his voice sounded so distant from you.

“Y/N? What is it?”

“I’ve been offered a job,” you said more to yourself than to him.

“Congratulations,” he smiled, squeezing your hand. “What for?”

“A new sci-fi franchise. It’s three films, back-to-back, with the possibility of promotion if they like me. The shoot starts in a month in LA.” Even saying it out loud didn’t make it seem more real.

“Oh right. Wow,” he said, distinctly unenthusiastically. Slowly, he retracted his hand, instead clasping it in the other on his lap.

“This is insane,” you laughed. “I applied for this on a whim, I never actually thought I’d get it.”

“Are you going to take it?” There was a bitterness in his voice that brought you back to yourself.

“I’ve only just got the offer through Ben, I don’t know.”

“But you want to, right?”

“Of course I want to. It’s an incredible opportunity for me.”

He huffed and stood, turning his back on you.

“Opportunity to do what? What are you looking for Y/N?”

The question stunned you, you had not anticipated his anger. He was supposed to be excited for you, but when he faced you there was fury in his eyes.

“You’ll spend probably three years in LA to become what, second AD? First? That’s the height of your ambition?”

“No Ben, but this is a huge step—”

“Step towards what goal? Where does you career end? You’re not trying to become a producer, so what?” he spat, venom in his voice.

“I knew you felt weird about that! I knew you didn’t get it.”

“No I don’t get it. I don’t get why you’re actively wasting your time.”

You gawked at him, your anger overtaking your hurt, “So you think my job is a waste of time, do you?”

He started to refute you but rage was already hissing in your throat. “Don’t go getting all ‘holier than thou’ on me, Ben,” you rambled. “Just because I’m behind the camera, doesn’t mean what I do is less valuable. I like being a PA, I enjoy my job. And I’m good at it. I like the rush, the variation, I like problem solving. I like working with creative people, even if some of them are pretentious arseholes,” you shot pointedly. “Don’t be so naïve as to presume we all need exceptional success to validate us.”

He rolled his eyes dismissively, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He huffed loudly, and gesticulated, “My career is here, Y/N, in London.”

“You’re about to go away for five months.” Your temper was starting to bubble like acid.

“That’s hardly three years!”

Barbed words scratched harshly through your throat, “And what exactly makes your career so much more important than mine?”

“What makes your career more important than me?!” he yelled.

You raised your voice to meet his, stomping your foot at the tears threatening to fall, “This isn’t about you.”

“It’s about us,” his voice cracked. He went ominously quiet and all you could hear was your heart thundering in your chest. “You expect us to last if you move to LA for three years?”

“Don’t you dare,” you whispered, tears now spilling uncontrollably down your cheeks, “Don’t you dare ask me to choose.”

“The choice is in front of you, I don’t need to ask,” he spat. With that he turned tail and stormed away. He grabbed a jacket and his keys and left you alone in the apartment that was once his. It wasn’t until you heard the slamming of the door that you shattered into pieces.

———

Who does he think he is?

You made yourself a cup of tea with a heavy clatter of metal on porcelain on marble. You had been oscillating between rage and heartbreak all day, with a barrage of tears accompanying you through it all. As the sun sank lower into the sky your mind rampaged: you couldn’t believe Ben had been so selfish, you couldn’t believe he hadn’t supported you, been excited for you. The fact that you had even been offered the job was a huge achievement but he hadn’t cared at all, much less encouraged you in it. He didn’t even entertain the idea of you going, and him possibly going with you — he could easily get work in the US, especially in LA, for a few years. Maybe he wouldn’t move permanently but he could go back and forth. You’d be long distance a lot of the time anyway, why did it matter if that was based in London or LA? But of course Ben had just fucked off and denied you any opportunity to even discuss the logistics. It was him or the job. No compromise. How could he even ask, when he knew what your answer would be? You had made it very clear from the start that you would never let a man hold you back in your career; it was the reason it had taken so long for you to tell him how you felt. He knew — he knew — what your job meant to you. Did he want you to leave him? Was he giving you an ultimatum because he knew you wouldn’t pick him? As much as you wanted to pick him, as much as you loved him, you made a promise to yourself long ago that you would always choose your job. He was well aware of that.

Of course he doesn’t want you to leave him, you’re being irrational, you thought to yourself, shaking the idea from your head. He loved you, there was no question. But he could bloody well come home and talk to me so I didn’t have to jump to conclusion, or at least answer the phone.

You had called him eight times throughout the day, and been consistently ignored.

The afternoon had well set in by the time you heard keys rattle in the door. You stayed sat at the kitchen table, staring firmly at the wall, until Ben rounded the corner and sat down opposite you.

“So you’ve deigned to come home?” you said bitterly.

Ben sighed, hanging his head, “Can we not do this please, Y/N?”

“Not do what? Not mention the fact that: one, you were a selfish fuck about something great that’s happened for me, and two, you stormed out for literally HOURS and didn’t think to return my calls! I didn’t know what had happened to you, I had no idea if you were even coming home. At all.”

“I’d never abandon you,” he refuted firmly.

“Really?! Cause it felt an awful lot like you just did!”

You’d been determined not to cry in front of him, you wanted him to know how angry you were, but still tears clouded your vision and left tracks on your cheeks.

“Look, can we have a rational discussion? I’ve been trying to clear my head all day — I didn’t want to come back until I could talk to you calmly.”

With a face like thunder you spat, “I am perfectly capable of being rational and upset at the same time. Do not try and tell me I am being irrational for getting mad at you.”

“No, of course not, that’s not wh—”

“I’m fuming Ben! And I have every right to be.”

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did and I should have told you where I was.”

You stood in stunned silence, caught off-guard; you had geared yourself up for a screaming match, not an apology.

“Right,” you grumbled.

He rounded the table and came to sit beside you, taking your hand in his. There were grazes on his knuckles.

“We need to work on communication, right?”

You nodded.

“So I’m asking you to listen to me.”

“I can do that,” you whispered.

“I lashed out because I was scared. The thought of you going to LA for three years fucking terrifies me and I don’t want you to go. But I didn’t know how to tell you that, knowing what your work means to you. I didn’t want to ask you to pick me. So I was angry with the situation and angry with myself for not knowing how to deal with it.”

He sighed, heaviness settling into his bones. He watched his fingers tracing shapes over the back of your hand. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You should have been excited for me.”

“I am,” he shrugged.

You tilted his chin to make him look at you, “Don’t lie to me, Ben.”

Melancholy-tinged green betrayed him. “I’m trying to be.”

“What do you want me to tell you Ben?

“That you won’t go.”

You had been contemplating it while he’d been gone; whether to go or not. Of course you didn’t want to lose Ben, to leave him on the other side of the world. You’d already had a taste of long-distance and it was bitter on your tongue. But you just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Sure, the big blockbuster thing wasn’t what you’d done before, or particularly what you wanted, but it gave you steady work for three years (in an industry where that was rare and precious) and possible promotions. Who knew where you’d be in three years? If you didn’t take the job not only would it feel like a betrayal of the person you had worked so hard to be, but you also knew that you’d forever wonder what might have been. And you’d likely resent Ben for not letting you find out.

“You know I can’t do that.”

He nodded, clearly not surprised but crushed none-the-less. Meekly, he asked, “So where does that leave us?”

You gnawed at your lip. “I don’t know.”

#kind of magic series #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x female reader #ben hardy fanfic #benjamin jones #angst

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