#i have never had my dimples complimented not to my memory at least

[britneyshakespeare]

you know at the end of the day today i was chatting w some other paras. i was a special ed para for a seventh grader today that's what i did. and the last block for them is just learning center and it's chill and it's friday and some of the kids were making pizza and no one was really doing anything or stressed or bothered so the kids and the adults just have various little shooting-the-breeze sessions although im usually not that active in these bc Im Shy, And A Substitute so i feel very out of place a lot of the time. but anyway i had never really talked much w either of the paras i was with today and we struck up a conversation about some stuff and one of them says to me "you know just so you know i LOVE your hair" and she turns to the other para and she's like "isnt it gorgeous? dont you love her hair?"

and i kinda blushed and said thank you a couple of times and looked down bc that's what i do when i receive a sincere-sounding compliment unexpectedly. and then i chatted a little more before i kinda drifted out of the conversation and opened my book and after a page or two one of them asked me about what i was reading (it's Song of the Cell: An Exploration of Medicine and the New Human by Siddhartha Mukherjee if you were wondering and i started it a few days ago). so i told them a bit about it and started chatting again on the topic of reading and i guess i was just naturally smiling and the same one who complimented my hair said "look at those dimples. i just can't w you"

#made me wanna cry a little. i was like thank u mom #felt beautiful at work. who do i tell this to? #tales from diana #i have never had my dimples complimented not to my memory at least #i kinda forget i have them bc i don't. i don't like. smile naturally and get a good view of them when i look in the mirror #i dont think they show up when i dont smile candidly either? unless im forced-smiling really hard #yeah idrk what they look like i guess #i received both of these compliments with a little bit of an 'oh shucks' (blushes) attitude #i have to say. it's not that i don't get complimented on my appearance. but most of the time it doesn't sound... don't wanna say 'sincere' #it doesn't feel like. FELT. as a compliment. a lot of the time #like sometimes it feels like courtesy. and other times. it feels like #someone will mention to me that im like young and pretty but theyll say it in a 'but im not impressed' tone which is really #odd bc. it's not like i asked? #it's like in a small way it's to 'put me in my place' or address some elephant in the room #like it's an annoyance to them rather than an expression of. you know. admiration #not that i need to be admired for my appearance but that's what i mean. like it felt nice #like a lot of the time ppl will tell me im pretty it sounds either like flattery or like some kind of weird anti-flattery #they're trying to give me a big head or they assume it's already big and they wanna deflate it #yeah that was nice tho. i talked w one of those paras for a pretty long time abt art and photography #she has a children's book coming out soon too and it sounded so interesting. i liked her a lot #i also like the kid i worked w today. i had been w her before but not in like 6 months. she's a sweetie

[palmofafreezinghand]

twilight advent calendar day twelve: What changes did the rest of the family see in Edward as he began to fall in love with Bella? (prompts here)

Early March 2005. 

Gesso. Ochre. Cadmium red. The routine had stayed the same for over forty years. 

A professor had once written about the warmth of her — well a male pseudonym’s — art, about the expert knowledge of color theory and keen observation skills, and how she — the male pseudonym — was arguably one of the most technically skilled artists of the century. Her husband had been thrilled by the recognition of what he had claimed to know for decades. She always suspected he was thrilled by the fact his vast collection of unreleased sketches and warmup paintings skyrocketed in value overnight. It was an amusing memory, a silly little compliment that had cemented her routine in fear of never reaching such recognition again. 

“Dr. Callaghan may have been wrong about the technique, but he was not wrong about your skill. You are one of the greats,” Edward’s voice came from the doorway. 

“How long have you been spying?” Esme asked. 

“Have you ever accepted a compliment?” 

“How can I help you, Edward?” 

“I do not need anything,” Edward responded, taking a seat in the armchair tucked in the corner of the studio, placed specifically for the two members of her family who insisted on keeping her company as she worked. “I only wished to watch you paint.” 

‘This will be good,’ Esme thought to herself, failing to bite back her sigh. At one point in their lives, Edward would have sincerely spent an afternoon sitting comfortably watching her paint. It had been at least ten years since he had last done this. 

“It has not been that long,” Edward said quietly. 

She flipped through her memory like a rolodex. Dozens of times she would drift into the living room while he played the piano only for him to excuse himself a few minutes later. Hundreds of invitations to accompany her on a hunt, or errand, or in a game of chess, all politely declined. The past month or so he had scarcely been home at all. 

“I have been a lousy son.” 

“I did not say that, dear.” It had been seventeen years since he referred to himself as her son in front of her, it had only been a year since he referred to himself as such in front of others. Edward winced at this thought and she mentally apologized. 

“You did not have to say it, it is true.” 

“I was simply surprised you are here, sweetheart, that is all.” 

“I wanted to watch you paint.” 

Esme smiled, getting up to fetch a new bottle of linseed oil. 

“And,” Edward continued after a moment. 

“Here we go,” Esme laughed. 

Edward rolled his eyes with a fond smile. It was a playfulness that was once hallmark to their relationship. She had not realized how much she had mourned it. 

“You were the one painting me, I presumed you would like a live reference.” 

“I have your face memorized, you know that.” 

“It appears I have been the subject of the week,” Edward said, standing and walking over to her desk that was littered with dozens of sketches and paintings of him. His unspoken question of why hung in the air. 

She did not say the answer aloud but instead thought of the element she had been trying to capture. She walked back to her desk and saw his finger lingering on one of the drawings’ dimples. 

‘It had been a while since I had seen that smile,’ she mentally explained. If she was truthful she had not seen him smile so brightly before, before he met… her. 

“I apologize I have been so morose lately.” 

“Lately as in the past twenty years?” Esme laughed, poking his arm. He shockingly laughed along. ‘I’m happy to see you so happy.” 

“Even if it means I am never home?” 

“Of course,” she smiled. “I was probably a rotten friend when Carlisle and I first started courting.” 

“You were an awful friend,” Edward chuckled. “You kept thinking of my father without his clothes on, it was traumatizing.” 

Esme smiled, attempting to keep her mind from wandering. 

“Esme,” Edward chided, crinkling his nose in disgust.  

“You brought it up,” she smiled, taking a seat at her desk once more. He walked back over to the arm chair, slinging his legs over one arm. 

They sat in peaceful quiet as she worked on the portrait, occassionally glancing over at him as she painted the face she knew too well. 

“Will you just ask already?” Edward eventually sighed. 

“I do not wish to pry,” Esme lied. She wished to pry very much and to know every detail about the girl who brought her son’s happiness back but she knew better. 

“Her name is Bella.” 

“I know that,” Esme grinned, spinning on her stool to face him. “Tell me everything else.” 

“She’s perfect. She loves Jane Austen,” Edward said, looking at the ceiling as if he did not know where to begin. “Her middle name is Marie…” 

Esme reached for her sketchbook and pencil as he spoke, not taking her eyes off his face. She barely glanced down at the paper as began to sketch her son absolutely beaming. 

He stopped after a minute, recgonizing the faces begining to form on her page. 

“Is that what I look like?” 

‘Only when you talk about her… and Liberace.’ 

“I should not be this happy. She is a human, this is not going to end well,” Edward started, the familiar frown returning between his brows. 

“Edward,” Esme sighed. “Can you allow yourself to be happy for once?” 

“How are you not worried?” 

“I know you will worry enough for the both of us,” Esme laughed, begining to refine her linework. 

“Your eternal optimism can be cloying at times.” 

“Do you wish to tell me you do not feel hopeful when you think of her?” 

“Not solely hopeful.” 

“But there is hope?” 

“Yes,” Edward admitted reluctantly yet immediately, a soft smile on his face. 

Esme grinned. “Will you please tell me more?” 

“She was born on September 13, 1987. Her favorite color is brown…” 

He was grinning as he spoke, allowing himself a rare moment to gush without worrying about the future and all the possibilities. Esme had to flip to another page of her sketchbook, it was difficult to capture his unadulterated joy accurately but she was quite grateful she finally had the opportunity to try.

#so sorry i keep bending the prompts #twilightadvent23 #edward cullen #esme cullen #my stories

[moonlit-rose-garden]

Fabled Treasure

Part 3

(Y-n) wakes up to the scent of flowers and gentle sunbeams from the window. 'Flowers? I don't usually have flowers in my room... Did the King send me a surprise present?' (Y-n) thought as she peeked over the bed. "Oh, my, white roses... they're gorgeous!" Delicate white roses were piled up all around the bed. A wine-red envelope with a silver seal lies atop the roses. Picking up the envelope, she smells a sent that she'd never smelled before, yet it was oddly familiar... (Y-n) subconsciously whispers a name.

"Fersen..."

It was Marie's lover. Strangely, (Y-n) could tell that was Marie, who longed for him. Not her. 'At least I can tell my feelings from Marie's when it comes to romance.' She thought as she opened the letter.

My princess,

The war has finally ended, and I am on my way back to you. I miss your canary like voice, your dimples, and your starry eyes... I miss everything about you. Do you miss me too? I have too many things to tell you, but I want to say them while looking into your beautiful eyes. I hope you can sense how much I long to fly to your side, but I can only use these white roses to represent the unchanging feelings I've had for you all these years.

Yours, Fersen

(Y-N) blushed, and a foreign feeling bloomed in her chest. However, the feeling felt like it wasn't her own. It was Marie's heart that was racing. Reading the letter again brought old memories. The day Fersen left for America, for war. "Lafayette has returned from the war, so Fersen can't be too far away... How should I... face him?" (Y-n) mumbled to herself.

"Marie, why is your face so red?" A sweet voice called out. Gabrielle had entered the room and sat on the bed next to her friend. It took only a glance at the letter and the roses for Gabrielle to understand. "Oh, it's Fersen! He's such a hopeless romantic... I think you'll meet him at the banquet two days from now." (Y-n) looked up confused. "Banquet?"

Gabrielle cocked an eyebrow. "The banquet welcoming our war heroes home! You've been looking for a grand accessory for the occasion, haven't you?" Gabrielle stood, taking (Y-n)'s hands. "A jeweller named Bohmer is here to see you. He's brought a really special necklace!" This caught (Y-n)'s attention. 'A one-of-a-kind necklace? I'm curious...' She thought to herself. (Y-n) felt the urge to be the most attention-grabbing woman at the banquet. "Excellent! I'm looking forward seeing it!" Gabrielle smiled at this. "Let's take a look at it. Maybe you'll wear it to the banquet!"

Gabrielle helped "Marie" get dressed and soon she was ready to see the jeweller. Bohmer stood as (Y-n) and Gabrielle walked in. "Y-Your majesty. I'm a jeweler, your majesty, and my name is Bohmer. I'm here to show you a treasure today! My partner and I have spent two years crafting this necklace from over 600 diamonds. We think it suits your majesty's beauty perfectly! We are here to present it to you..."

Bohmer held out a beautifully decorated box and opened the lid. 's eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked at the necklace in awe. "My goodness, what a stunning necklace!" Gabrielle looked at (Y-n) excitedly. "Marie... I think you're the only person beautiful enough to wear it. I heard the previous king once commissioned a grand necklace for Madame du Barry. If that story is true, this should be it!"

Bohmer nodded. "Y-yes! Madame is wise indeed to know its origins." Gabrielle ignored his flattery. "I only heard of it... Too bad Madame du Barry was dismissed from court and never laid eyes upon the necklace. But maybe this is God's will. Madame du Barry is no longer in favor and has lost the right to wear it..."

Gabrielle smiles warmly towards "Marie". "Marie, with your beauty and status, you are the only one who could wear such a necklace!" Bohmer nods in agreement. "Y-yes, that's true! There's no other like it. Please buy it, and allow it to compliment your beauty... W-we're only asking for the low price of... 1,600,000 livres..."

(Y-n) was shocked, suddenly this beautiful necklace was not as beautiful. "1,600,000 livres?!" She swallowed hard. "How many years of palace expenses is that?!" Bohmer looked nervous, and started to sweat. He never thought Marie Antoinette would care much about the price. "Your majesty deserves jewelry that benefits her station. This necklace is grand enough for royalty! This is a great purchase! Only your majesty deserves such a necklace!"

No amount of Bohmer's flattery could take away the knot in (Y-n)'s throat. 'Only royals would have funds to buy this. But Louis XV can no longer afford this... is that why Bohmer's here?' Bohmer clears his throat, interrupting Marie's thoughts. "What do you think, your majesty?"

The gems' captivating brilliance did tempt Marie's vanity but was sorely outweighed by a feeling of fear. That was years worth of palace expenses... That money could feed so many civilians... And the thing that was in the forefront of (Y-n)'s mind was the image of a guillotine. It's bloody blade glistening in the sun.

(Y-n)'s hand found its way to her neck. 'I already have a bad reputation. If I spend that much on this necklace, and it gets out, what will the people think of me?... I have a chance to stop things from getting worse... I will not suffer the same fate as Marie!'

Gabrielle gently puts a hand on her friends shoulder, concerned by "Marie"s expression. "Marie... Don't you like this necklace?" (Y-n) smiled wanly at Gabrielle. Anyone worth like this necklace... Myself included." Bohmer quickly cut in. "Then you should take this opportunity, your majesty!" (Y-n) quickly shook her head and smiled politely at him. "I'd would love to, but I can't afford it. Thank you, anyway."

"Oh, please reconsider, your majesty!" Bohmer began to practically beg. "I-if you're concerned about finances... for the sake of giving this necklace, I present a solution... your majesty can pay in installments." Gabrielle nods. "That sounds possible..."

(Y-n) quickly shook her head. "No, no, thank you. I don't need it." She said with a nervous smile. Upon hearing this, Bohmer lost his salesman smile and recoiled slightly. "Oh, your majesty... I'm disappointed..." He was starting to get on her nerves. "Unfortunately, I cannot buy it. I'm sure you can find a more suitable buyer... But thank you for showing it to me." Bohmer forced a smile. "Yes, your majesty... You're the only who deserves to own it... What other owner could it possibly have?" He gently closes the ornate jewelry box and bows. "If you ever change your mind, please send word to my humble shop. I will reserve it for you indefinitely..."

After Bohmer left, Gabrielle turned and faced (Y-n). "Marie, why aren't you buying it? You would have bought it in the past without hesitation... this isn't like you." (Y-n) didn't meet Gabrielle's gaze, in stead looking at the coffee table. "It's pretty, but if I had bought it... It would have only brought trouble. Gabrielle, you know the people of France don't think i deserve to be Queen." Gabrielle frowns. "Well... But that's not your fault... And no matter what you do, they'll still say bad things about you... So you must do your best to live as happily as possible, isn't that right?"

Helplessness and despair well up with (Y-n). Marie's misery becomes hers. The hopelessness of it all felt overwhelming and suffocating to her. 'What's the point of living?... But I mustn't... I mustn't give up just yet.'

With new determination, (Y-n) faced Gabrielle. "Gabrielle, I was too pessimistic earlier. I might still have a chance to change things. Will you help me?" Gabrielle was delighted with her friends change in attitude and nodded happily. "Of course... As long as it makes you happy , I'll always stand my you no matter what decision you make."

(Y-n) clasped her hands together, over her heart, a hopeful expression on her face. "Thank you, Gabrielle. I don't feel so alone now." "What are you saying? We'll always be together, right?" "Yes, you're right!" They both smile encouragingly at each other.

'People may not change their minds about me, but I think I did the right thing today. If I keep trying my best, I'm sure I'll see the results some day.'

With the help (Y-n)'s friends, she starts preparing for the banquet in two days. She felt excited and kind of wished time would skip forward to the day of the banquet.

"What are you going to wear to the banquet instead?" Gabrielle asked, breaking "Marie" from her thoughts. "I'll just wear something I already have! But I haven't thought about how to accessorize my outfit yet..." Gabrielle stood abruptly. "Leonard will help you coordinate! I'll go ask him now."

(I read about Marie Antoinette's death, and now I'm really sad. Dont look it up, just take my word for it.)

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 5

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: cursing, eventual smut

Word Count: 4.0k

Masterlist

A/N: yeah so about that upload... i was really busy this whole week but i hope to start uploading mondays again! thanks for understanding!!

Taglist (reply to be tagged!): @planetdemon​ @hvunvely​ @fluffybitch0325​ @fashi0nablee @juststop88 @straykisz @theultimaterad @margaritas-en-la-montania @meowtella

There was a pause in the phone call.

You started biting your nails, instantly regretting what you had just done. Basking in your stupidity, you could only wait for his response, for it was too late to retract what you had just said. Your day must have been worse than you thought. It must have been so bad that you had the nerve to ask Bang Chan — an idol, a person with a strict schedule, somebody who you had an argument with — to come over to your pathetic little apartment.

You kept nibbling on your fingers.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

You froze, eyes wide.

“Huh?” You were bewildered. You weren’t even expecting an answer, much less this.

“It’s cold this late at night,” he explained, “I’ll be there soon.”

You didn’t know what to say. You heard rustling on the other side of the call.

“Wait, I’ll tell you my address,” you blurted out.

“You did,” he said.

You frowned, trying to remember if you did or not. That’s right. You blushed at the memory of your first day of work.

“Oh yeah, umm, I’ll hang up now.” You awkwardly said, hanging up before Bang Chan could fit another word in.

You were a statue in your own apartment, clinging on to the last words exchanged on your phone. In actuality, you didn’t know why you asked him to come over. It was just blurted out in the moment. Or maybe it was a result of your extremely frustrating day. Either way, you felt extremely embarrassed that you did so, especially so late at night.

You started boiling some water, still trying to rationalize what you had just done. This was normal for friends, right? Na-eun and Yoojin came over just yesterday and you were friends with both of them. You knew for a fact that you two were friends, but you still couldn’t find an explanation for the strange feeling in your chest whenever you were around him.

Turning your phone on, you checked your face in the selfie camera. It was a miracle that your makeup didn’t smudge off. You thanked your new ‘CLIO’ foundation cushion, it looked like all that time you spent doing your makeup didn’t go to waste. You stared at your reflection for a couple more seconds before turning your phone off. Why did it matter what you looked like anyways? You wiped off any remaining lipstick with the back of your hand.

The kettle started rumbling, letting you know that the water was ready. You took out your mug to prepare some tea. It was a bad idea to have tea this late at night, but there was something about your mother’s tea that could knock a grown man out.

Sipping your tea, you turned on Youtube to an episode of a Korean web-drama that was getting really popular. It was another one with some rich CEO and a clumsy average girl, but you still watched, fully enamoured. On the recommendations list, there was a video with Felix — the other person you saw at the cafeteria on your first day — on the thumbnail. I can never escape from work, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes.

You clicked on it anyways, just to pass the time. Watching through the video, you were shocked by the production value. Well, that, and Bang Chan. Whether it was hair and makeup or just his acting, he was so different from the person you knew in real life. You were in awe by his natural charisma gleaming at you through the screen as it was a rare quality that few people you knew possessed. Embarrassingly, you found your eyes drawn to only him in every group shot. He looked good in an apron.

You got distracted by more random videos before clicking back on your drama. The next episode was just about to start when the buzzer to your apartment rang.

It was Bang Chan.

Hurriedly, you shuffled towards your door. With your hand on the handle, you took a deep breath before opening the door.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“Hey,” he smiled back. He was leaning over you, his forearm on the doorframe. His coat was bulky, almost engulfing his whole upper body. He was wearing the same beanie you saw on multiple occasions, and in his hand was a white plastic bag.

You stepped aside, silently gesturing for him to come inside. He took your hint and sauntered in the room, head turning left and right to observe his surroundings.

“It’s not much,” you blushed, realizing how small your apartment really was. You could basically see all your belongings from the center of the room.

“No, it’s cute.” Bang Chan looked at you, taking his hat off. His dimple peaked out. “I brought some leftovers from that barbecue place. The kids and I went there after our shoot today.”

So that was what the bag was. With only food on your mind, you rushed to help hang Bang Chan’s coat before setting the table up.

The food was really good. They were leftovers, but it was so good. Stuffing a bite of pork belly in your mouth, you sighed. Where was this food earlier today?

“It’s good, right?” Bang Chan asked whilst chewing on a piece of meat. “I’ll take you next time.”

It was like he read your mind. You nodded eagerly in response, to which Bang Chan replied with a smirk.

“So, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, “how was your date today?”

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to remember that embarrassment of a night. It was such a pity too, because that man was probably the most gorgeous man you’ve ever witnessed. You swore he had just stepped out of a webtoon when you first met him.

“It was alright,” you shrugged. It was difficult to reflect on the date without putting a damper on your mood, but maybe vocalizing it would have helped ease your discomfort. “He compared me to a model, you know.”

Bang Chan chuckled, making you look up in confusion.

“Was it because you looked exactly like the model?”

“No,” you replied.

His face immediately fell. “You’re kidding, right? Y/n, tell me you don’t believe anything that loser said. He’s got to be something below garbage if he was comparing two women.”

“Thanks, Chan.” You tried to force a grin on your face. “I appreciate it.”

There was a pause.

“I know my opinion means nothing, but Y/n, I think you’re beautiful.”

You stared into Bang Chan’s eyes, frozen like a statue. Your heart was beating so loud that you could hear it more than you could feel it. He stared back at you from across the table; mouth parted, breaths uneven.

You’ve received many compliments before, to which you would always reply with a smile and a quick ‘thank you’. However, it felt as if your brain malfunctioned in this moment and your heart was the only thing keeping you alive. You could still feel your body, but you couldn’t think.

“Thank you, Chan.” You awkwardly coughed, blushing profusely. Immediately focusing your eyes at the table, you couldn’t bear to keep looking at him.

The two of you ate in silence, with only the tapping of chopsticks adding to the ambience of the room. You wanted to make conversation with him, but you did not want to be the first one to break the silence. It frustrated you that you were so shy right now as you’ve never been like this back home.

To heck with it, you thought. There was no need to be shy around him.

“So,” you still couldn’t look him in the face, “any shows you’ve been watching lately?”

Small talk was good. You could do small talk.

“Actually, I’ve been wanting to watch this Transformers movie for quite a while.”

“Transformers?” You’ve never heard of that one. It must’ve been an American movie.

“Seriously?” his eyes widened. “You’ve never seen Transformers before? Oh, we’ve gotta watch it now.”

“You wanna?” you smiled. “I haven’t used my TV since moving in.”

“Mhm, let’s do it.” He stuffed the rest of the leftovers in his mouth before standing up and clearing the table.

You watched him clear the table in a trance. You should have offered to help since it was your own home, but watching the veins on his hands appear and disappear was way more interesting. Watching him, you suddenly remembered the hoodie.

“Oh, that’s right!” You exclaimed, shuffling over to the bag with the hoodie in it. Taking Bang Chan’s black hoodie out, you held it up to him with both hands.

He looked down at you and chuckled.

“Keep it,” he took it from your hands and slipped the hoodie over your head. “At least until you buy a new jacket.”

“I will.” You rolled the sleeves of his hoodie higher to show your hands. You turned the light off, leaving only the floor lamp to illuminate your apartment. Grabbing the remote from your coffee table, you summoned Bang Chan over to the couch.

You turned on the TV, fooling around with the remote control for a few seconds before giving up.

“I give up.” You sighed. Pouting, you handed the remote over to Bang Chan. He took it from you and started reading the buttons.

“Netflix, right?” Bang Chan asked, to which you nodded. “There we go.”

He scrolled through the titles, looking for the coveted movie. Once he found the movie, he quickly selected it and turned the subtitles on. That was nice of him, you thought. Although you also studied english in university, it was nowhere near the level of watching a full english movie.

The title sequence started and you tried to immerse yourself in the movie. You watched in awe, surprised at the fast pace of the action already.

Fully engrossed, you started to sink your back into the couch. Half-way throughout the title scene, you felt Bang Chan stretch his arm behind you to rest on the back pillow. Suddenly, you started feeling too aware of your surroundings. You sat up straighter.

Throughout the whole movie, you caught wafts of Bang Chan’s cologne everytime he moved. He smelled like safety and familiarity.

You turned your head up a little to get a glimpse of his profile, mapping out every edge and curve of his face. The light illuminated the tip of his nose, along with his dewy cheekbones and chin. The plum of his lips were let slightly open, allowing his teeth to peek out slightly. You unconsciously let out a sigh.

“Something wrong?” He turned his body to face you.

You shook your head and focused on the movie.

The rest of the movie was pretty good, although it lost you at parts. You watched the end credits in silence, not knowing what to say.

“So,” Bang Chan cleared his throat beside you, “I should get going now. Since it’s late.”

You turned your head to face him, not realizing how close the two of you had physically gotten throughout the movie. Looking up at him, your face was inches away from his. His face was almost enveloped by the darkness of your apartment. You heard his breathing get heavier.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “you should.”

He didn’t get up though.

You heard his staggered breath as you kept looking in his eyes. The end credits had long been over by now. Your own breath was just as shaky and you heard your heart beat out of your chest.

He started leaning in. Slowly.

Your eyes widened. You gulped, your nerves snapped you back to reality all of a sudden. Wasn’t he supposed to be your friend? This wasn’t what friends did… Right?

Clearing your throat, you leaned back shyly.

“You should go. I don’t want the others to notice you’re gone.”

Silence.

“Yeah.” Bang Chan’s lips flattened in a line. Without another word, he stood up and walked towards your door.

You followed him in silence, hoping to at least send him off. Wrapping your arms around your torso, you watched as he put his boots on in the dark. He tied his laces, and with a nod, he opened the door and stepped out.

You were left with a sour taste in your mouth and a cloudiness in your head. Still standing in front of your door, you tried to process what had just happened. However, you couldn’t. All you could think about was the soft curls of his hair, the delicate threads of his eyelashes, and his lips. The dusty rose of his lips. The parting of his lips. Inviting you in.

You were frozen, looking at nothing particularly. The only thing on your mind was Bang Chan.

The door opened.

“Hey, sorry, I forgot my jack-”

His sentence never got a chance to complete itself as you rushed to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. As your lips touched his, you felt a fire ignite in you like nothing you’ve felt before. Your fingers clawed at the nape of his neck, wanting more. Wanting to be closer.

Almost immediately, Bang Chan responded. He was taken by shock at first, but his hands didn’t waste any time to grip your waist. You felt the muscles of his shoulders tighten as he pulled you closer.

He moved you back into your apartment by the waist, lips never leaving your own. You blindly shuffled backwards, only focused on trying to get closer to him. If that was even possible.

You ignored the clunking of his boots against your clean floor, allowing him to guide you to the couch. A whimper left his lips as you used your hand to comb through his hair, pulling it. His soft brown curls were silk against your fingertips.

The back of your legs hit the couch and he turned you around so he could sit on the couch. Your lips finally left his. You gasped for air, trying to steady your deep breaths.

Bang Chan’s breathing was synchronized with yours, his equally as unsteady. He reached his hands out again, grabbing your waist and pulling you on top of him. You were a ragdoll, responding to whatever he wanted to do to you.

With each knee on either side of him, you gripped his jaw and kissed him again. The fire inside of you instantly reignited. It was addicting.

The two of you didn’t dare to separate from each other, only parting to gasp for air every now and then. Even in the dark, you could imagine the plum of his lips and the threads of his eyelashes. This drove the fire in you more.

“What if the boys realize you’re gone?” you breathed out the next time you parted from his lips. They were most likely sleeping, but the thought still worried you.

“Fuck them.” Bang Chan exhaled. Grabbing the back of your neck, he reconnected his lips with yours. You gladly complied.

His sloppy kisses slowly moved from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck, eliciting a soft whimper from your throat. This seemed to only edge him on as kept leaving sloppy kisses against your neck, all the while running his hands up and down your waist.

His cologne surrounded you, keeping you safe. Soon later, the adrenaline left the two of you, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing to fill the room. You brushed your thumb under his eye to which he deeply inhaled.

“Chan?” you said. He was leaving kisses all over your collarbone.

“Hmm?” He didn’t seem to pay much mind to what you were saying.

“It’s half past three. I really think you should get going.” You didn’t want him to leave, but you were almost sure he had another packed schedule for tomorrow.

“Mhmm.” Your words went in one ear and out the other as he made his way up your neck again. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and let out a small moan.

“C’mon, get up. How did you even get here, by the way?” It took everything in you to break away from his touch, but you were starting to get sleepy.

“Taxi.” He said, helping you get up from his lap. He stood up after you, brushing his hand against your waist one last time before making his way over to his jacket.

“You’re allowed to ride a taxi?” You tilted your head, sceptical.

He slipped his jacket on.

“No.” He peppered little kisses on your cheeks. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that now.”

You giggled, pushing him by his shoulders out the door. He played along, pretending to stumble with every step he took back.

“Text me when you get home,” you said, repeating what he said to you on your first day of work.

He nodded in response and winked before turning around to head home. As soon as the door shut, you slapped both hands against your face. Your little act of impulse had spun your head in spirals. You didn’t know whether to feel relieved at the fact that Bang Chan reciprocated your impulsive actions, or to worry that you had not only just kissed your coworker — but also a freaking idol. No one — not Manager Chen, your friends, or even anyone in the general public — could know about this. If they did, both your careers would be screwed.

You doted on this thought as you got ready for bed, only the worst possible outcome came to mind. If either your manager or his manager knew about what happened tonight, you could get fired. Or even blacklisted. You sat in bed, nervously biting your nails.

Your phone buzzed.

Bang Chan: Hey, I got home. Nobody’s awake… ^^

Bang Chan: Don’t think too much, alright? It’s late, go to sleep…

You felt relief reading his text. For some reason, he knew you were overthinking your actions. You decided to listen to his words and go to sleep.

The next day, Sunday, was very uneventful compared to the day before. You texted Bang Chan back when you woke up, but because of his busy schedule, he hadn’t had the time to reply yet.

Yoojin called in when you were eating lunch, asking about your date. You told her the truth, explaining how there would definitely not be a second date with that man. She sounded disappointed and vehemently tried to set you up with another man in her pool. You politely declined, thinking about your restless night with Bang Chan.

You finished some work ahead of time to free up the next week. Since you were invited to work with Manager Chen at the content shooting, you assumed that you could lessen your work stress ahead of time.

The shooting days were allocated for Friday and Saturday, with there being an overnight stay at the mountains. Whilst you didn’t know the arrangements for Stray Kids, you were informed that the production crew booked a small lodge for the team. You were excited to not only see a behind the scenes of a real shoot, but to also possibly form a closer relationship with Manager Chen.

You were thankful that you did some work ahead of time as Monday’s workload was so much lighter than usual. People were still coming to you with their ideas for the project, but with your other work done, you had the time to go through everybody’s ideas.

You didn’t hear from Bang Chan the whole day, which was nothing out of the blue. You remembered him showing his schedule to you once. The amount of things he had to do everyday had your eyes bulging out from their sockets. All of a sudden, you were thankful for your nine-to-five job.

The next couple of days ran the same way as your Monday, with you easily breezing through your workload. Since you had more time during your breaks at work, you took to exploring the part of the building that you could. You admired all the art, the trophies, the awards and memorabilia. Of course, you also spent more time with your new friend Na-eun.

On Thursday, the day before the shoot, you were helping the producers by translating some notes for the script. All was going smoothly, when you got a text.

It was from Bang Chan.

You weren’t going to lie; you were curious as to what he sent you. He was basically silent the whole week so far, and if you were being honest, you missed hearing his voice. And seeing his face. And feeling his hands brush against your waist.

Bang Chan: Come to my recording room… I’ve got something to show you.

Your eyes lit up right away, curious as to what he wanted to show you. Quickly checking the time, you decided to take your lunch break then and there. After all, you didn’t have much work left for the day anyways.

Locking up your computer, you zoomed inconspicuously past all the other cubicles and made your way to the elevators. You weaved through the hallways of his floor, praying that your memory didn’t escape you. It seemed like your memory was on your side today as you found yourself in front of a familiar set of doors. You didn’t bother to knock before going in.

Inside was Bang Chan: feet up on the desk, drinking from his iced coffee, concentrating on his producing software. You smiled. He looked so comfortable, even in an ‘office’.

He had his headset in, and didn’t seem to notice that you had entered. You went up behind him and tapped his shoulder. He turned around, and immediately threw his feet off the desk and stood up upon seeing that it was you. You smirked.

“I should really put a ‘please knock’ sign on the door.” He cursed under his breath. He reached behind you to close the door.

You giggled.

“So, what do you have to show me?” you wondered aloud.

“A new song. Since the filming is tomorrow, the producers put me on a time crunch to finish the song by today.”

So that was why he was so busy, you thought. You didn’t realize how the sudden filming would have impacted his schedule for the month. Especially since it would take up two whole days.

He let you sit in his chair, and hovered over you to press play on the song. His chair smelled like his cologne.

As he was playing the song, your eyes drifted up to see his face. The face — even after only four days — you missed. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent. That, along with his disheveled hair, told you that he truly was dedicated to his work. You imagined him sitting where you were, two in the morning, sipping on his iced americano.

“You like it?” His eyes drifted towards you, resembling a puppy bringing a ball back to its owner.

“It’s amazing. I don’t know how you managed this in just a few days,” you said. And you were sincere too. You couldn’t imagine yourself doing any of this.

“Eh, you know, late nights.” he shrugged. “Wanna see another?”

You nodded, and the two of you began listening to another one of his songs. You listened in silent wonderment.

However, the silence didn’t last long as the two of you soon found yourselves on the couch: hands all over each other, lips the same. You were lying underneath him, his arms resting on either side of you to hold his weight up. Your lips never left his as you ran your hands up and down his defined biceps.

The two of you couldn’t stay away from each other. The sound of the songs that he had put on shuffle filled the room, along with a fleeting sigh of moan every now and then. Bang Chan’s hand had started wandering up your blouse when, all of a sudden, the door opened.

“Hey, I have the lyrics h-” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide.

Crap.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #stray kids angst #bang chan angst #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfiction

[letssingintherain]

empty dreams ➵ d.m.

you accidentally slip in draco’s bed instead of your boyfriend’s for some cuddles. 

pairing: draco malfoy x y/n (slytherin) x blaise zabini 

summary: draco has had a soft spot for you since year 3 but has to conceal it because his best mate starts dating you. it becomes harder to deal with after a heart-fluttering instance, making draco’s life quite a bit more miserable. 

contains: 3.5k words of angst and draco being a simp. NO cheating!! set in year 6 with no voldy. :)

song recs: dancing on my own - calum scott, hold me while you wait - lewis capaldi, somebody else - the 1975 (i listened to these songs and a few others for inspo)

Draco was terribly in love with his best mate’s girlfriend and it irritated him to no end. 

The infatuation started long before Blaise asked Y/N out, and to be honest, Draco had no clue exactly when it started. All he knew was that during his third year he began taking notice of the way your eyes sparkled with mirth, the way your hair caught the sunlight, the way your dimples lingered on your face after hearing a witty remark, and the way you showed selfless concern for everyone without being afraid to speak your mind. After that, he found it hard to focus on anything else but the beat of his pounding heart when you were talking to him. 

Draco never made a move because he was scared of losing your friendship. Y/N, Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Daphne, Theodore, along with Crabbe and Goyle were the most tight-knit friend group in Slytherin. So it was easy for Draco to use the excuse of “keeping the friend group intact” and avoid ever confronting his feelings about you. Unfortunately for Draco, Blaise didn’t share the same sentiment and asked Y/N on a date to Hogsmeade a few weeks ago.  

~

You were chattering with Daphne and Pansy in the common room about the absurdity of the latest “Quibbler” when you heard someone approach you three. 

“Hey ladies, mind if I borrow Y/N for a moment?” Blaise flashed a charismatic smile at the trio and extended his arm to Y/N. You glance at the girls in surprise before taking Blaise’s hand. 

“No, not at all!” Daphne and Pansy share knowing looks while giggling. 

Feeling quite out of the loop, you follow Blaise outside of the common room, not sure what to expect. 

He gently let go of your hand once you two reached an empty hallway. Blaise turned around to face you and took a deep breath. 

“So I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now..I find you very attractive,” He said these words slowly while observing your reaction. “I’d love to get to know you more and take you on a date to Hogsmeade, if you’re okay with that?” 

Your were shocked by his proposal because you had never imagined Blaise Zabini to have feelings for you. You knew how many girls would wait nervously outside his classes hoping to catch a glimpse of him. You and your friends would even roll your eyes at the sight and tease Blaise about having a “fan club”. 

After getting over the shock, you looked at Blaise and thought about his words seriously. “Blaise is really attractive,” you noted the way his jumper with rolled up sleeves perfectly fit his body. “And I do always have a good time with him,” you added on after thinking of his sly humor and good-natured personality. 

“I’d be honored.”

~

Draco winced at the memory of the start of you and Blaise’s relationship. He worried that Blaise would follow his old pattern of dating girls just to dump them a few weeks later, but everyone else in the group assured him that he was overthinking. He had congratulated Blaise with a forced smile and a pat on the back while fuming inside. He couldn’t exactly blame Blaise though, it’s not like he confided to Blaise about his crush on you. 

Which is the reason why Draco is currently doing his best to remain focused on Professor Snape’s drawling voice and not look at you whispering to Blaise from the corner of his eyes. 

Blaise looked as charming as ever in his signature look—a dark green jumper with rolled up sleeves over a collared shirt, with his Slytherin tie poking out slightly. You looked like a princess with your flowing [y/h/c] hair and the green headband nestled snugly on the top of your head. You ditched the jumper and were just wearing a collared shirt with a Slytherin tie along with the normal green plaid skirt and knee-high socks. 

The sight of you two looking so attractive together made Draco feel cold and glum inside. And it didn’t help that the classroom was actually chilly and gloomy.

“You’d think they’d be able to at least afford some bloody heat lamps in this place, but I guess not.” Draco mumbled to himself in annoyance while blowing on his hands and rubbing them together. He was wearing the normal Slytherin uniform complete with a long cloak, but with a few special touches that displayed his status. He had a small snake enamel pinned on his tie that complimented the snake signet ring he always kept on his right ring finger. 

Most of the students at least made the effort to seem like they were focused on the greasy-haired professor, unlike you and Blaise. Snape finally noticed this and focused his eyes on you two. 

“Today we will be attempting to make the Elixir of Euphoria to practice for your NEWT level exams. It is a highly advanced potion so I suggest all of you give it your full attention.” Snape waved his cloak dramatically and glared at Y/N and Blaise. 

“I am talking about you two, Miss. Y/L/N and Mr. Zabini. Or is whatever you’re so feverishly discussing more urgent?” Snape’s comment earned a scoff from Draco while the whole class looked back at the couple. 

“No, professor. Sorry.” You and Blaise grinned sheepishly and moved slightly apart, eyes gleaming when you exchanged glances. 

It physically pained Draco to see you two act so close. He wished that he could be the one to bring a smile to your face, to shower you with affection, and to spoil you endlessly with his wealth. And he wished you could be his person to comfort him when he felt down, to run your hands through his silky platinum hair, and to assure him that he was enough and everything was okay. 

But these were all delusions, and all he could presently do was sulk and twirl his ring while he fixed his gaze to the front of the room. 

Snape huffed and turned around to stand behind his desk. He tapped his cauldron two times with his wand, filling it up with a glowing yellow substance that resembled sunlight. 

“Your instructions are on the board along with some tips, and your ingredient list is in your textbook.” Snape flicked his wand at the blackboard, revealing intricate steps in tiny font that filled up the entire board. The class groaned at the sight and reluctantly opened their dusty books. 

Daphne worked with Pansy, Crabbe paired up with Goyle, and of course you partnered up with Blaise, which left Theodore unlucky enough to face Draco’s wrath. 

Theodore slipped in the seat beside Draco and slapped him on his shoulder.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing, because I bloody well don’t.” Theodore chuckled, hands crossed behind his head while leaning back in the chair. 

“Of course you don’t. Just try not to get in the way, yeah?” Draco snapped impatiently and squinted to read the board. 

“Sounds perfect to me,” Theodore dismissed Draco’s attitude for his usual cynicism. He absentmindedly looked around in the classroom, eventually spotting you and Blaise. 

“Oi, Y/N and Blaise are snogging!” He pointed out, entertained by the sight of some of his closest friends kissing. 

Draco smashed the shrivelfig to a fine powder before realizing that he meant to only chop it. He cursed under his breath and reached for a new one. 

Theodore noticed Draco’s strange temper and remarked, “What’d the shrivelfig do to you, mate?” Draco glared at him, causing Theodore to raise his hands in defeat and back away from the cutting board. 

Draco couldn’t resist peeking at you two and immediately regretted it after he confirmed you two were indeed getting cozy. He sneered in distaste before feeling his heart ache painfully. Draco tried to ignore the ache as best as he could and resolved to focus on his potion. 

...

“Let’s see if any of you possess the talent of a potion-brewer.” 

Potions class was finally coming to an end, and Snape wandered around to check everyone’s results. Only a few cauldrons resembled the desired bright yellow color and Draco’s was sadly not one of them. Draco and Theodore stared at their dark orange concoction while exchanging grimaces. 

“You may try a sip of your elixir. It should induce silly giggles and an overall mood-boost.” Snape observed you and Blaise’s sunshine-yellow potion, showing silent signs of approval as he glided away. 

Draco scowled at the sight and downed a whole bottle of his own potion out of pure spite. After a few moments of regret and apprehension, his nose started to bleed profusely. 

“Ahh, what’d you do that for?” Theodore hastily handed a towel to Draco, who groaned and leaned his head back to slow down the flow. 

“Nothin’...thought it’d be safe.” Draco’s voice became nasally due to the blood spouting from his nose. 

“Mr. Malfoy, please see Madam Pomfrey before you bleed out in my class.” Snape glanced down at Theodore and Draco, tilting his head at the door. 

“Yes, sir.” Draco muttered while covering his nose with a towel, passing by you and Blaise on the way out. 

“Hey, Draco’s got a bloody nose!” Blaise pointed out in amusement while you giggle next to him. Normally Draco would respond with a witty jab, but he really wasn’t in the mood to do so. 

“Shove off, Blaise,” Draco spat in a hostile manner, feeling ashamed at his disposition. He proceeded to hurriedly exit the room, leaving you and Blaise confused.  

“Maybe his elixir had the opposite effect?” Blaise shrugged it off. 

...

It was night-time and Draco had visited Madam Pomfrey’s three times to no avail. 

“I’ve told you this already but I’ll repeat myself once more, Mr. Malfoy. You’re just going to have to let it bleed out by itself.” She passed him several blood-replenishing potions to drink over the course of the night. 

“What’s the use of a healer if they advise you to bleed out?” Draco thought in annoyance before accepting the potions. 

Blaise offered Draco to switch beds to be closer to the bathroom, in case he were to keep bleeding throughout the night. Draco accepted begrudgingly, annoyed at how his feelings for you made it difficult for him to fully appreciate Blaise’s kind actions. 

Though he knew it wasn’t Blaise’s fault, Draco couldn’t help but be bitter towards his best mate.

“It must be the jealousy,” Draco admitted sullenly while laying on Blaise’s bed, observing how he was facing the windows of the Black Lake instead of his usual position of lying next to them. 

The lake lapped at the windows soothingly, giving the dorm room a dappled green glow. The room had several mahogany four-poster beds and was decorated lavishly thanks to the generous donations by Slytherin alumni. Draco was the only one in the room so it was filled with a peaceful silence that implored sleep.  

Draco’s sleepy haze caused his mind to unconsciously drift to images of you and Blaise. How you two would hold hands while walking to class, jokingly feed each other food in the Great Hall, and even kiss during Potions. He irritatedly turned over, forcing himself to focus on anything else. 

After listening to to the waves of the lake for a few more minutes, he couldn’t help but give in to the pull of sleep. 

“Stop it!” Y/N flustered and pushed his chest. “It’s a common mistake.” 

Draco chuckled and held your wrist. He pulled you closer to him and took advantage of his towering height over you by tilting your chin up. 

“Don’t worry, darling. I found it quite endearing.” He smirked at the blush in your cheeks. He reached down to wrap his hands over your waist, feeling your hards cross over his neck. 

Draco indulged in the smell of your hair, taking in the clean notes of your perfume. He hugged you tighter, not wanting to pull apart. 

Draco was waken up from his dream by the sound of a yelp and opened his eyes groggily. To his surprise, he met the [y/e/c] eyes of Y/N, who seemed even more taken aback than him. 

Draco immediately backed away, bewildered at how this happened. 

“Draco! Why are you in Blaise’s bed?” Your eyes were wide open and Draco inappropriately noted how they were even more beautiful close up. You slid off the bed before turning around to face Draco with your arms crossed. You were still clad in your normal uniform while he was in a loose white tee and gray sweatpants. 

“He switched with me so I can get to the bathroom quicker because my nose keeps bleeding.” After saying this, he felt blood rush to his head that was undoubtedly about to come out of his nose. Draco sat up on the bed, feigning ease in the hope that it was an illusion. 

“Why’d you pull me closer then?” You asked curiously, embarrassed that you accidentally climbed in bed with the platinum blonde boy. 

“I don’t know, it was a dream, Y/N! Why would I push someone away in a dream?” Draco threw his hands up exasperatedly, also embarrassed that he unknowingly cuddled you. 

You felt your lips curve upward, finding the situation humorous. Draco saw this and started grinning too. To his horror, blood began spurting out of his nose, making him rush to the bathroom. Y/N followed him closely, both worried and curious at his infliction. 

After reaching the sink and letting the blood out, Draco exhaled in relief. He turned to his side and looked into your eyes, suddenly resisting the urge to laugh. You looked so cute looking up at him with wide-eyed concern. You meet his eyes with a grin and you two finally laughed freely at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. 

“I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable, Y/N. I’ll be more careful next time I switch beds with Blaise.” Draco teased while playfully nudging your shoulder. 

You shifted your weight on your feet and shook your head, “No, it was my fault too. I should’ve checked the hair color before getting in bed.” You reached up to ruffle Draco’s fluffy white-blonde hair amusedly. 

Draco felt his heart involuntarily skip a beat at the sudden contact and shifted away from Y/N. He cursed himself internally for showing signs of his infatuation and couldn’t bring himself to make a response. 

“Um...You wouldn’t happen to know where Blaise is right?” Y/N broke the silence, perplexed at the sudden awkwardness. 

Draco tensed at the mention of Blaise. 

“No.” He replied coldly before walking back into the room without making eye contact with you. He sat on the edge of the bed, deliberately gazing towards the windows of the lake and nowhere else. 

You were puzzled at the sudden coldness but didn’t dwell on it, assuming he was moody because of his pesky predicament. 

“Alright, I’m gonna go find him.” You tentatively walked to the door of the dorm. “Feel better, Draco!” You gave him a small smile before leaving the room and closing the door with a soft click.  

Draco waved slightly, not wanting to reveal any more emotions. After making sure you had left, he threw himself on the bed frustratedly. It didn’t help his obsession that he felt the emptiness of the bed more clearly now. It also didn’t help that he has a memory of your eyes close up. It definitely didn’t help that he remembered the scent of your perfume. 

He sighed before turning over, silently vowing to let go of his feelings for you, both for his sake and Blaise’s. His vows were greeted by the silence of the dorm, quiet except for the gentle lapping of the lake. 

He didn’t think it was possible, but the ache in his heart grew. 

“It’s got to get worse before it gets better, right?” Draco sighed once more, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

...

Months go by, and Draco was proud at how he successfully suppressed his feelings. You no longer took up the majority of his thoughts and he could finally return to being his snarky self with Blaise. 

Draco hung out with the group as if nothing was wrong, and no one seemed to notice anything different. The group maintained the old dynamic of sarcasm and witty humor, reflecting Draco’s wish of “keeping the friend group intact”. 

He was strolling around with his buddies in his usual air of haughtiness when he noticed Pansy and Daphne quietly whispering about you in the corner of a hallway. 

“...Can’t believe Blaise said that..Poor Y/N...” They sighed, clearly worried about what happened to you.  

Draco’s felt a familiar tightening in his heart he thought he got rid of. He ditched his other friends and walked towards the two, apprehensive to learn about what happened.  

“What’d he do?” Draco demanded, his imperative demeanor taking Pansy and Daphne by surprise. 

“I’m not sure if she’d want us to tell anyone yet.” Daphne hesitated, unsure of what to say. 

When Draco realized they weren’t going to give up any clues he scowled and strode off, deciding to ask you himself. 

He walked briskly in the stone hallways of the castle, thinking of places you could be. He knew you loved the stars, but it was still bright outside, so there was no reason for you to be in the Astronomy Tower. He knew you loved the serene setting of the Black Lake, but it was bound to be infested with underclassmen on a sunny day like this, which you wouldn’t like. He realized you must be in the garden, recalling the way you always looked at the flowers in adoration.

He picked up his pace and walked swiftly in the direction of the garden. His thoughts made him restless on the way there, “What could Blaise have done?” 

He added another thought hastily, “What can I do without crossing a line?” 

He spotted you in the garden before he figured out the answer to his question. 

Draco watched as you sat on a stone ledge directly facing the wisteria flowers. The flowers were not yet in full bloom, so the tree was scattered unevenly with buds and flowers. You distractedly dangled your legs in the air and flourished your wand to enchant flower buds to grow towards you. Your eyes were glossy and your face was tear-stained, but Draco thought he had never seen you look more ethereal. 

He reached you in time to see your charm work too ambitiously, making the flowers blossom and wilt in mere seconds. You started to break into tears, hugging your body close. Draco slowly approached you, but you were too busy crying to notice. 

“Hey.” Draco said hesitantly. 

“Oh! Hi, Draco.” You wiped your eyes furiously and looked up at him. You gave a tiny smile that looked more like a grimace. 

The sight of you being so sad made Draco miserable as well, feeling the tug at his heartstrings. 

“What happened?” Draco asked in an empathetic tone and took a seat next to you on the ledge, making sure to give you ample space. 

“Blaise..broke up with me. He said he just wants to be friends. How could he say that after months?” You said bitterly, tears sliding down your face.

Draco noticed the drops of water gliding down your face and had to use all his willpower to refrain from wiping away your tears. He hated that a guy made you feel like this, especially because it was his best friend. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Draco awkwardly reached out to rub your shoulder in soft circles. 

You leaned against his hand on your shoulder, sniffling quietly. 

You two stay like this for a while, before Y/N scooted closer to Draco, burying your head in his chest and clutching his white dress shirt while emitting muffled sobs. 

Draco’s heart broke at the sight, holding you closer to comfort you. He secretly cursed Blaise out before feeling guilty. He felt like an accomplice as he watched you let your pain out. 

How did he let you get hurt? 

You cried some more before looking up at Draco with teary eyes. 

“I’m sorry for ruining your shirt.” You smiled in an embarrassed manner and moved away from him. He noticed how your lashes were slick with tears and how your nose and cheeks were rosy from crying. He felt his heart rate quicken after glancing at your swollen lips, and quickly averted his eyes before blushing slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Draco shrugged nonchalantly. You two look at the wisteria trees, feeling the breeze flow through both of your hair. Draco understood why you liked this spot, it was quiet and came with a stunning view of the trees and flowers. It was a beautiful day out, sunny with some clouds floating lazily. You both bask in comfortable silence. 

“I just feel...hollow? Like I'm missing a part of myself,” You confessed eventually, wearily twisting around to look at Draco.  

He nodded knowingly, very familiar with the empty feeling you were describing. He turned to make eye contact with your wounded eyes, feeling just as much heartbreak and pain as you did. 

Even though Draco hated seeing you with Blaise, he couldn’t help but feel like he hated seeing you heartbroken even more. 

a/n: this is the first fic i’ve ever written, so i feel quite nervous publishing it. if you read this far, i appreciate you so so much <33. i’m thinking of writing a sequel to this with more fluff and possibly more focus on y/n’s perspective, so let me know your thoughts! :) 

edit!: hi lovelies, i’ve decided to write more parts to this fic! thanks for all the love and lmk if you want to be tagged <3    [read pt.2 here]

(also, i know slughorn should be the potions professor during their sixth year but i just felt like snape fit the story a bit more!)

-k.z.

#lsitrfics #draco malfoy #draco x reader #blaise x reader #draco malfoy x reader #blaise zabini x reader #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fic

[quokkacore]

everywhere at the end of time | z.cl

summary: in his old age, chenle can’t remember any of it anymore. but you do. you do, and it burns.

pairing: zhong chenle x fem!reader

genre: ANGST, fluff, slice of life, parents au

warnings: dementia, themes of grief, depression, language, suggestive content, period typical sexism, mentions of domestic abuse (not from chenle!), traditional gender roles, body image, kind of implied postpartum depression

word count: 3.8k

a/n: this was inspired by the caretaker’s everywhere at the end of time, a compilation of albums meant to simulate memory loss from dementia when listened to in one sitting. i listened to half of it yesterday, and it was so haunting i needed to write about it. if you decide to listen to it, please be careful. several analyses i’ve seen about it talk about how it can be very emotionally distressing. i personally didn’t feel too upset by it, but be aware.

There was a boy who smiled at you once, from across a dance hall. Long, long ago. His grin, boyish and playful, made your face heat up and your body turn to giggle to your friends. And then, suddenly, he was walking over to you, and reaching out his hand to you. He didn’t seem nervous at all. He looked like he had not a care in the world, as if life were a calm ocean with soft winds and he were a sailboat.  

“My name’s Chenle,” He’d said, speaking loudly over the music, “Wanna dance?”

Swing was the thing back then. You barely had time to tell him your name before he pulled you onto the dancefloor and spun you around like there was no tomorrow. You were quite literally swept off of your feet, flying across the hardwood floor as the two of you laughed and danced. When the song was over, you were out of breath. You weren’t quite sure if it was because of how hard you’d danced or because he managed to steal your breath and your heart within a matter of minutes. 

Up until then, you were damn sure that love at first sight was impossible. But you were suddenly very sure that love at first dance existed. You’d tell that story for years to come. How you danced a few more songs, how he took you to the side and you spent the next hour or so talking. How your girls tried to tug you away, saying that it was getting late, but you simply didn’t want to leave. You were hooked on him, and he was hooked on you. He begged to see you again, and you very quickly found a napkin and a pen to scratch down your home phone number on. 

You said you’d wait for his call, and had left with a lovestruck look on your face. The entire way home, the girls didn’t let you hear the end of it. That he seemed sweet, he was quite the dancer, and my, was he handsome. You probably looked like a fool, mind turning to mush at how gentle his hands were on his waist, how contagious his laugh was, how tentatively he’d listened to you speak.

Once. Long, long ago. It’s all just a burning memory, now.  

There was a boy who kissed you, once. It’d been a few months after you’d met. He’d been careful, and you’d bided your time. When he called for the first time, he was very respectful when your father had picked up. The two of you spoke for however long your parents allowed it, talking about anything, everything. 

Childhood stories of how he got the scars on his knees. Times you’d gotten into trouble at school. How you were both turning 18, and how adult responsibilities were starting to set in. How Chenle was set to inherit his father’s business and he was terrified of failure. How you desperately wanted to study but your parents wouldn’t let you, because men don’t like it when girls are smarter, and how would you have time to find a husband if you had your nose stuck in books all day long?

Desperately, you both needed a break. Your parents let him take you out because he was a Zhong, and the Zhongs had money, and because he seemed quite taken by you. That was exactly what they wanted. 

Chenle was a gentleman first and foremost when he stepped into your home. He spoke with your father about politics while he waited for you to finish getting ready, complimented your mother, and opened the front door for you as you were leaving, promising to have you back by ten o’clock. 

One date turned to two, two to three. On the fifth date, when he took you on a walk in the park, he took you to the gazebo to sit on a bench in it. The birds were chirping, and you felt content, despite the dull ache in your feet because of your heels. 

Chenle looked down, before meeting your gaze. “I wanted to ask you something,” He murmured. You tilted your head to the side, uncrossing your legs.

“What is it?”

He took your hand in his, leaning closer. “I really like you,” He admitted, “And I wanna be with you. You’re sweet, and fun, and you’re so beautiful. I think about you all damn day, and I think I’d die without you here.”

He smiled fondly, those dimples making an appearance once again. “Be my girl, maybe?” 

Your heart did a backflip, and your yes had tumbled from your lips before you could even really think about it.

And then finally, on your seventh date, when he’d taken you to a bookstore and bought you a book about the Amazon rainforest, he kissed you in his car. He tasted like mint and his lips were hard against yours, but not forceful. Like he’d been waiting eons to kiss you and now he simply couldn’t hold himself back anymore. His hands held your face the entire time.

When you pulled away, you no longer saw a boy in front of you. You saw a young man in his place, watching you with reverence and desire.

“I’ve been waiting to do that ever since I first laid eyes on you,” Chenle whispered. 

“Well then, don’t just sit there,” You answered, nuzzling your face into his hands, “Kiss me again.”

Kiss you he did. The memory feels like a dream, a sweet one at that. A bit fuzzy but you can recall the softness of his hands if you think about it hard enough. 

It’s a memory. Sixty something years later, at least you still have it.

There was a man who teared up at the sight of you in white, once. 

He asked you to marry him a year and a half later. Your parents loved him, because he was kind and respectful and rich. His parents tolerated you, because you didn’t talk back too much and your family was respectable enough. Of course you accepted. Who cared about what your parents thought? You adored this man, with his high pitched laugh and his cheeky words. He worshipped the ground you walked on, with your caring attitude and your loving smile.

You were shaking the whole time, trembling like a wet chihuahua on a winter day as your father walked you down the aisle. You watched as his best man, Jisung, whispered something to him, and he nodded, blinking furiously. He looked awestruck, mouth agape and eyes glossy. 

When your father left you at the front of the altar with Chenle, your lover squeezed your hand. “I love you so much,” He whispered to you, just before the ceremony could officially begin.

For the first time ever, you saw Zhong Chenle get nervous. His voice was shaking slightly, and you could make out a single drop of sweat on his forehead. You squeezed his hand reassuringly, unable to say anything back as the officiant began the ceremony. He knew what you meant.

Your vows were the traditional cookie cutter vows, the good old fashioned “I do”s. You didn’t care. You knew you’d whisper your own vows to him later tonight. You knew he would do the same. 

After that, you danced the night away. Drunk on champagne and love for each other, you could barely remember the party. Jisung gave a lovely speech. You knew that the band played the song you’d first danced to on that one fateful night. Your girls danced with his boys, and he pressed kisses to your cheeks and the top of your head.

You remembered what came after better, after everyone went home. Chenle stole you away to the honeymoon suite to peel your dress off, take off your veil and press kisses onto your hips, and whisper promises of everlasting love against your neck.

That’s all gone now. Even though it’s gone, you’re glad. Because years later, you remember. You look at the faded photographs in the scrapbooks and remember the moment they were taken. They’re all you have now. Because even though Chenle is still in your home, he isn’t Chenle. 

There was a man who had taken care of you, once. You’d had your doubts about love, about married life. All of them stemmed from your parents’ marriage. Late night arguments, slamming doors, hands laid on your mother that left her reaching for foundation to hide the bruises during the day. Chenle was there to cast most of them to the side.

Most of them, because no matter how much you love each other, marriage is never a walk in the park. You tried to study. Chenle was paying for your education, much to his parents’ disapproval. Three years into your marriage, and two years into your studies, you got pregnant. Chenle was ecstatic. You, not so much.

It was hard for you. Your body changed, it became hard for you to concentrate. You ended up dropping out because it was simply too much for your mind to handle.

A few months later and you were recovering, trying to adjust to not getting any sleep and having to take care of a tiny human and the house all day while Chenle was off at work. And he doesn’t just want one, he wants two more.

“God, Lele, at least wait until Jiali can sleep on her own,” You huffed, trying not to be too loud. You had finally managed to get your daughter to sleep after a particularly fussy day, and if she woke up now, you were pretty sure you’d start crying too. 

“But why not?” He asked, sitting down. “Don’t you want to give Jiali brothers and sisters to grow up with?”

“I do,” You answered, trying to ignore the throbbing in your head. “But I’m too tired to handle another pregnancy right now. It’s way too much, Chenle.”

Chenle sighed, resting his face on his chin. “It can’t be that hard—”

“Are you joking?” You snapped, standing up, “I’m awake in the morning to make you breakfast and feed Jiali. Once you’re off, I have to make the bed, change her diapers, clean the floors and the bathroom. I have to make sure Jiali isn’t getting into trouble and figure out why she’s crying—and she cries so much, Chenle! I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep since before she was born. I barely have time to take care of myself, much less another baby. I make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and tend to the garden, and bathe her when she gets dirty, and—”

“Y/N, I think you should—”

“I can’t handle another baby!” You cried, “I can’t, I won’t!”

A high pitched wail rang from the nursery, and all the fight you had in you drained instantly. You hadn’t realized how loud you were being. 

“I’ll be right back,” You murmured, voice breaking. Before you could walk towards the nursery, a gentle hand on your wrist pulled you back. Chenle’s gaze had softened, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. 

“No, I’ll go,” He said quietly. “You go clean yourself up. Take a nap, I’ll make sure she gets back to sleep."

You didn't have it in you to argue.

About an hour later, he stepped into the bedroom, where you were curled up on the bed. You weren't asleep. He sat down on the other side of the bed, caressing your arm.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, bowing his head. "I wasn't thinking straight. I just got so excited at the thought of us finally having a family, I forgot to think about how you were doing. If you don't want anymore kids—" 

"Lele," You murmured, "Of course I want to keep building our family. But I need time. I'm always so tired now. Let's wait until Jiali is off to school and then try for another one. I'm begging you."

He leaned over you, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Whatever works best for you," He answered.

You kept your promise. Once Jiali was off to preschool, you got pregnant a few months later. By the beginning of next year, you had a baby boy—Yanlin.

This time, Chenle was more mindful of your wellbeing. He came home from work earlier, helped out around the house, told you to go out with the girls every now and then. 

Over the years, you had one last child, a girl named Mei. The kids were more than a few handfuls, but the two of you managed. 

Things were by no means easy. There were nights when Chenle decided to sleep on the couch because of a disagreement that had grown into something bigger. Insecurities about your body that grew into jealousy of his secretary, who was younger, more beautiful. Issues with the in laws as the both of you had problems setting solid boundaries.

But at the end of the day, he was your everything. This life you'd built for yourself made it all worth fighting for. You saw it when he tossed Mei up into the air, catching her as she giggled, "Again, daddy, do it again!" 

Or when he talked to Jiali about the family business, how if she wanted, he'd teach her everything. When he helped Yanlin get back to sleep after he'd had a nightmare, singing him to sleep with that soft, gentle voice of his. When he looked at you from across the dinner table, years of domesticity and love growing into all of this.

Chenle was your home, the father of your children, a pillar you leaned on when things got difficult. You were the same to him. No argument could take that away. 

The kids grew up and went to college. Much to your father in law's dismay, Yanlin didn't care much about the family business, while Jiali did—he hated how Chenle encouraged them to do what they wanted instead of pushing the status quo. 

Times were changing. More and more women went to college, and you wanted for your daughters what you yourself weren't allowed to have: a good education, a professional career. 

Since time flies like birds migrating for the winter, soon all of the kids were grown up, and you and Chenle were left in an empty house. By then, the two of you had started to change, too. Gray hairs started sprouting from your heads. Your backs started to hurt with more frequency. Your faces were starting to sag. 

And still, you loved each other. You found new things to do with this new freedom. You read more books, spent more time in the garden. Chenle started singing around the house more, something he didn't even realize he was doing. 

When you turned fifty, Chenle took you on vacation to Malta, and Chenle decided to officially announce his retirement, handing the business to your oldest. From here on out, the two of you had time to simply do whatever you wished. Chenle had saved a lot of money over the years, allowing the two of you to live comfortably. 

Your kids married, and had kids of their own, and the two of you spoiled as much as you could. You'd bake cookies with your grandkids and spend the holidays telling them stories of your youth. Their favorite story was how you met their grandfather, and you fluffed the story up to make them laugh. 

"He was the handsomest man I'd ever seen," You told him, "Tall, sweet, funny, the best shincracker I'd ever danced with."

"What's a shincracker?" One of your grandkids asked. You blinked, before letting out a fake sob, raising your head up.

"I'm so old," You wailed, the kids giggling at your theatrics. When you looked down, you smiled. "In my day, that's what you called someone who danced very well."

The four of them ohhh-ed in unison, and someone in the kitchen doorway laughed. "So, I was the best shincracker you'd ever danced with, huh?"

"Honey, I've told you that a million times!" 

He walked over to you, patting the heads of your grandkids as he passed them. "Your grandma looked so surprised when I asked her to dance," He said to the children, "But she was the prettiest dame there that night, I couldn't not dance with her."

"What's a dame?"

Chenle stared at you, eyes wide. He lowered his head. "God, we're old!"

Now, most of your grandkids have grown up, and barely have time to visit. But you have the photographs hung up on the wall, of past birthdays, holiday parties, of your wedding. 

They work to help you remember. But now, Chenle can't even get out of bed to look at them.

There was an old man who'd broken down in front of you, once. He'd been having trouble remembering where things were, like his keys and his glasses. Initially, it didn't worry you, since you'd been having similar issues. You only started to worry when one night at dinner, you brought up the fact that Mei had called to ask the two of you to dinner next week. He'd looked confused, and stared at you like you were from outer space.

"Who's Mei?"

You scheduled a doctor's appointment the very next day. It took about two months for everything to reach the same conclusion: early dementia. Chenle had gotten very quiet as the doctor handed you some pamphlets on treatments and the different stages. The whole drive home, he said nothing. 

It was only once you got home that he sat down on the bed and crumbled to pieces. You walked over to him, and caressed his hair when he pressed his face into your stomach. 

"I don't want to forget," He sobbed, "I don't want to." 

He tried to fight it. Once the family knew, everyone started visiting more frequently. In the beginning, he could remember your grandchildren's names. Jobs and school were a bit difficult but there were eleven of them—it was hard for you, too. 

On the occasion he did forget someone, it frustrated him. He'd have to excuse himself from the table for a few minutes, and the energy in the dining room would change completely. Suddenly everyone was aware of the ticking clock, and your family was starting to crumble.

You wanted desperately to hold it together, to super glue it and force it back into place. But so many things were out of your control, on top of Chenle's diagnosis. Mei was going through a divorce. Your youngest grandson, Lijie, was having behavioral problems and Yanlin looked to you for advice. 

Chenle tried to hold on. You watched your husband pore endlessly over the family photos, trying to place names to the faces. He remembered his parents. He started to ask you where they were. You didn't know how to tell them they'd passed over thirty years ago. 

He wandered through the house like he was lost, and you knew he was trapped somewhere in his mind, everything disintegrating slowly around him. Sometimes he'd come up to you and give you a kiss.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," He murmured. 

Some days were better than others. He would sing old songs from your youth, and try to dance with you in the kitchen. You both still remembered the steps but were too stiff and slow to do them properly. 

Eventually, one of your grandkids came to live with you. Daiyu had studied to become a nurse, and now, Chenle needed around the clock care. It was simply too risky for him to be left alone. He'd try to go outside, saying that he was late for a meeting, or that Jeno—who had passed two years before his diagnosis—had invited him to his house to watch the game. 

He forgot how to hold a spoon, how to walk properly. After four years, he became bedridden, speaking in slow, short sentences. You'd read to him after lunch, from books you'd acquired over the years. He seemed to enjoy one book the most: a battered old copy of a book about the Amazon rainforest. 

You knew your Lele was in there somewhere. You could see it when Jiali and her husband came to visit, and he asked her about the secret handshake the two of them had even though he couldn't remember her name. When you reached for his hand, he would press a kiss to yours, unsure as to why he was doing it. And when you walked past the bedroom, sometimes you could hear him humming to himself—a lively, fast tempo song that a boy had once asked a girl to dance to, lifetimes ago. 

There was a man named Zhong Chenle, once. He was good at dancing and a lovely singer, he was a loving father and husband. He's gone now. In his place is someone who has his face, but isn't really him. He can't remember how to speak. When you read to him, his lips move, but no sounds come out. His eyes drift across the room, looking for things he doesn't know the name of. His hands are gnarled and his fingers twitch, itching to do something, anything, but unsure of how to do it.

The last time you spoke to your Chenle had been three years prior. 

"Do I know you?" He asked, voice small. You smiled at him, biting back tears. No matter how many times he asks you this question, it hurts every time. You'd learned to play along with it. Telling him the truth would only scare him, confuse him further.

"My name is Y/N," You told him, "I'm an old friend. We used to go out dancing together."

His eyes were void of anything until a second later, recognition pooled into them.

"Y/N," He sounded out slowly, "We should—we should go dance again someday."

"Someday," You agreed, nodding, "But now we have to wait until you're better."

"Until I'm better," He answered with a smile, dimples making your heart crack even further.

All he—and you—could do now was wait for the end. Truthfully, you've made peace with it. You'd be heartbroken to see him go but happy to see him finally rest. He started his decline seven years ago, and the past five have been spent like this. It's sad enough to see him in this way, to watch Daiyu try to feed him when he barely even remembers how to eat anymore. A shell of who he once was, a living ghost.

The family knew, old friends knew. That was all that mattered to you. That there had been a man named Zhong Chenle once, who wasn't scattered in the wind. 

Once. Long, long ago. It's all just a burning memory, now.

#nct dream x reader #zhong chenle x reader #kwritersworldnet #nct angst #chenle angst #kpop angst #kpop au #nct au #nct dream angst #chenle x reader #nct scenarios #kpop scenarios #my writing

[bellakitse]

Carlos and Grace save the world

Carlos is surprised at first when Grace seeks him out, but when she explains that she’s worried about her neighbor possibly being abused by her husband, Carlos instantly agrees to help.

They become friends.

+

The story I wish they had in 2x05

(I started working on this about two weeks ago when we heard that Grace and Carlos would have a story together in the last episode. I then put it on hold to work on the tarlos valentine’s event. At the time, I was worried that the story would be pointless after the episode, and then the episode happened, and the story was given about a minute of airtime, so I figured I would finish this.)

Warnings for: Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Threats of Violence, and Knife injury.

Carlos will admit he’s a little surprised when Grace seeks him out. They don’t really know each other that well. The only interaction they really have is when he’s answering one of her dispatch calls. Or when the 126 is having some kind of gathering at the station like now.

Still, they don’t really talk.

“Officer Reyes?” she greets him with a tentative smile, coming up to him as he pours himself a glass of water. Around them, the 126 and extended friends and family mingle. They’d finally come together to honor Tim the way they couldn’t when the wildfires were roaring.

“Mrs. Ryder, hello,” he answers politely. He points at the pitcher of cold water in his hand, offering to pour her some.

“I’m good,” she answers with a shake of her head and another smile. “And please, call me Grace.”

“Only if you call me Carlos, ma’am,” he gives her a smile of his own; it grows as she lets out an amused chuckle and nods in agreement.

“Okay, that’s a deal.”

“Good,” he says jokingly. He puts the pitcher back in the fridge before turning to give her his full attention, frowning when he finds her fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot nervously. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Grace blurts out, looking as surprised as him. “I wanted to talk to you about something, but now I’m not sure if I should, or if it’s any of my business – or if I’m even just imagining things and overreacting.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at the woman’s run-on sentence. “Well,” he starts off slowly and with caution. “I know we don’t know each other very well – ”

“We should change that,” Grace interrupts him with a kind smile on her pretty face.

“I completely agree,” Carlos concurs, liking Grace’s welcoming presence even before this conversation. “But what I do know about you is that you just don’t seem like the type of person who overreacts. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and we’ll see if I can help,” he finishes with what he hopes is an encouraging look.

“TK got himself a good one,” she says with a fondness that makes him blush slightly. “Okay, so I have this new neighbor, Rosie,” she starts to tell him.

Carlos listens as Grace explains about the newly married couple on her block, Rosie, a jumpy young thing, and her husband, Derek. He frowns as Grace tells him about her first encounter with them, the way the girl went from friendly and lively when they were alone in her front yard to subdued the moment her husband showed up.

“I can’t explain it,” Grace lets out a frustrated exhale. “He was friendly enough; he didn’t grab her in any way that would raise concerns, and yet alarm bells went off the moment he walked up to us. Even as she was smiling, there was something in her eyes that has stuck with me.” Grace sighs again. “Like I said, maybe I’m overreacting, looking for trouble where there isn’t any.”

“Grace,” Carlos starts with a shake of his head. “I have been on a number of your calls, and I hear you over the radio. You are an amazing operator because you have good instincts. If you’re worried about this girl, I don’t doubt you saw a reason for it. What does Judd say?”

Grace’s expression softens at the mention of her husband, her eyes shining with love and affection. “I haven’t told him yet. Judd, bless him, is so tenderhearted and protective. If I said to him that I think something is wrong with this slip of a girl, you better believe he would be pounding down their door before we even find out if something is really wrong.”

Carlos gives her an understanding smile. “Sounds like TK,” he tells her, earning a chuckle in return.

“Why do you think they clashed when they first started working together?” she questions with a twinkle in her eye that lets him know she’s heard as many complaints about TK from Judd as he’s heard from TK about her husband. “Those two are reckless softies who want to save the whole world, and if no one is there to check them, they dive in headfirst,” she says with a pointed look at him.

“Is that supposed to be us?” he questions jokingly. “We’re going to keep them in check?”

Grace shrugs easily. “Well, I married mine, so I pretty much signed up for the job. You’re still dating, so that’s up to you to decide.”

“Can you be my support group?” he questions. It’s not like he really needs to decide after all. He might not be married to TK yet, but he has known since the night of the solar flares and maybe even before that, that it’s his job to keep TK safe.

Grace grins at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners from her smile. “We can meet on Wednesdays for pie.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Carlos says easily, only half-joking. He likes Grace’s easy energy and can see himself becoming good friends with her. “Now, how do I help you with Rosie?”

 ֎֎֎

 “You and Grace were talking for a while back at the station.”

Carlos looks up from the book in his hand over at TK as he comes out of the bathroom into his bedroom. He licks his lips as he takes his boyfriend in, dressed only in a pair of grey sweats that rest low on his hips.

“Carlos?” TK questions as he runs a towel over his hair, a smile taking over his face when Carlos jerks his gaze from all the tantalizing skin.

“Huh?” he questions, blinking a few times, hoping to focus. He blushes slightly at the knowing chuckle TK gives him in response.

TK throws the towel in the hamper before he crosses the distance to him. He presses a knee on the bed by his thigh, throwing the other over him.

Carlos quickly drops his book on the bedside table, freeing his hands to place them on TK’s hips as he comes to sit on his lap. He runs his thumbs over the soft skin right at the edge of TK’s sweats. This time it’s his turn to smile in satisfaction as the simple touch causes TK to shiver under it, his eyes going hazy and soft as he looks down at him.

“Don’t think you’re distracting me,” TK accuses him softly, even as he sits more firmly on Carlos’ lap, arching into his touch as he moves his hands from his hips to his back, fingers touching the constellation of freckles he now knows by memory. “You two looked deep in conversation. Is everything okay?”

“Grace has a neighbor she’s worried about,” he tells him, watching as TK goes from soft to tense and alert. “She has a bad feeling about the woman’s husband and asked for my opinion as a cop.”

TK frowns, concern replacing the previously touch-induced daze on his face. It’s not surprising to Carlos in the least. He’s pretty sure he’s never met anyone more empathetic than his boyfriend.

“Does she think he’s hurting her?” he asks, worrying his bottom lip in distress.

Carlos runs his hands up and down TK’s back once more, this time not to arouse but comfort. “Maybe,” he says with caution. From everything Grace told him, he understands her worry, but he also doesn’t want to make up an opinion before having all the facts. “She’s going to visit her tomorrow with some food as a late ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ thing, and asked me to tag along.”

TK bites down on his lip even harder, causing Carlos to reach up and press his thumb against it until he releases it. “Hey,” he starts softly. He tips TK’s chin to look at him in the eyes. “It’s fine. I’m just going for support and to offer a helping hand if there’s something to Grace’s concerns.”

“You’ll be careful?” TK questions, his voice low and worried. “Domestic situations have a way of spiraling out of control quickly.”

“Of course,” he answers, tugging TK forward. He lets out a content sound as TK settles on top of him. He turns his face into TK’s damp hair, giving it a kiss. “Everything will be fine, I promise,” he whispers, holding his boyfriend close.

Later, the promise will ring loudly in his ears.

 ֎֎֎

 “Relax,” he says to Grace quietly as they stand on Rosie’s front steps. He arrived at the Ryder’s home thirty minutes earlier and waited as Grace finished her peach cobbler before they crossed the street, food in hand. “You’re just being friendly, and I’m tagging along for the ride.”

“Right,” Grace murmurs back as she presses the doorbell. She spares him a look with a raised brow. “That’s a nice shirt, by the way.”

“TK got it for me a few weeks ago,” he says, running a hand down the light-weight cream color polo. “The color makes me look less intimidating, don’t you think?”

Grace’s mouth quirks upward in amusement. “Carlos, sweetheart, you’re massive. I don’t think a soft-colored shirt will hide what you’re packing. Luckily you have a kind, gentle face to balance out all those muscles.”

Carlos grins at her, his smile growing when she rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah, you’re cute,” she mocks sarcastically, her dimples winking at him.

Carlos laughs at the begrudging compliment and Grace’s teasing ways. It reminds him a lot of his sisters and the way they gently like to mess with him. He’s still mid-laugh when a young woman with long light-brown hair and big green eyes opens the door. Her eyes remind him of TK, and he instantly feels protective of her. He remembers Grace calling her a slip of a girl, and he understands why. She’s small and sweet-looking in a heavy long sleeve shirt and print leggings.

“Grace?” she questions curiously, her eyes shifting quickly from Grace to him and back again.

“Hi Rosie,” Grace greets her with a bright smile that convincingly hides the tension she had moments ago. “This is my friend Carlos,” she points to him, not adding anything else. Better to keep her attention off him as he studies her. He takes in her clothes again, the shirt so big the sleeves come down to her fingertips, the thickness odd for the current warm weather. “He was visiting, and I mentioned I hadn’t had a chance to properly welcome you to the neighborhood, so we made you cobbler. Can we come in?”

Carlos smiles in what he hopes is friendly and reassuring as Rosie sneaks a look at him again. She looks over her shoulder towards the inside of the house before giving them a nod. “Sure, Derek is not home anyway,” she says, stepping aside to let them in.

He lets Grace cross the threshold first, but not before sharing a pointed look with his friend. The mention of her husband and her being comfortable with letting them in because he isn’t home already setting an alarm off for him.

“Sorry about the mess,” she says as she follows them into the living room, where there are still a few moving boxes on the floor. “I haven’t had a chance to put everything away,” she says with a self-conscious chuckle. “I can’t make up my mind where I want things to go. It drives Derek crazy.”

“It’s fine,” he tells her with an understanding smile, speaking for the first time. “When I first moved into my place, it took me a month to put up curtains because I couldn’t decide what color I wanted.”

Rosie gives him a small smile, her shoulders relaxing slightly at his comment. It only makes Carlos more tense and aware. He’s already starting to see what Grace was talking about. Even with the friendly smile on the girl’s face, there is an air of tension around her as she moves – the slightest shake of her hands as she takes the cobbler from Grace while she asks where Derek is.

“Oh, who knows,” she answers with a smile that looks more like a grimace. “He likes to wander about. This looks delicious Grace, thank you. I can’t bake to save my life,” she says with an awkward laugh. “I’ll serve some up, be right back.”

They watch Rosie walk into the kitchen silently before they turn to each other.

“Okay,” he starts once they’re alone. “You’re right something is up. She’s nervous, even scared. She only let us in because he’s not here, and I don’t like how she put herself down twice already, like someone who’s used to hearing negative things about themselves.”

“It’s pretty warm for a sweater today,” Grace comments quietly, her brow wrinkling in the middle as she frowns. “I don’t want to be right about this, Carlos,” she whispers, obviously pained by the idea.

Carlos has only known Rosie for a few minutes, and he knows exactly how she feels. He opens his mouth to reassure her that they will not leave without helping the young woman when the front door opens and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Derek – is almost as tall as him but slimmer, with limp, dirty blond hair and cold blue eyes. He has a mean look on his face that Carlos doesn’t like one bit.

“Who the fuck are you?” he sneers at them, making zero effort to hide the fact that he is not happy they’re in his home.

“Derek!” Rosie exclaims as she walks back into the living room with two small plates in her hands. Her eyes are wide as she looks at her husband. “Hi, baby,” she says, trying to smooth her expression out but failing as her eyes dart back and forth rapidly. “You remember Grace, right? She’s our neighbor from across the street.”

“Hello again, Derek,” Grace greets him, but there isn’t a hint of a smile on her face as she looks at him like a bug.

Derek notices if the way his eyes narrow is anything to go by. He turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “And you? Who are you?”

Carlos wonders for a second how he should play this, but as he catches Derek’s angry looks at his wife and how Rosie seems to be shrinking into herself the longer she stands by the archway of the room, he decides to rip the bandaid off and let the chips fall where they may. “I’m a friend of Grace’s, Officer Carlos Reyes with Austin Police.”

The reactions are, unfortunately, instant. Rosie drops one of the plates she’s holding in fright while Derek snaps his neck to look at her.

“What the fuck have you been saying?” he questions her, taking a menacing step forward.

Carlos moves too, getting in the space between them, holding up his hands defensively to Derek. “Back up, man,” he warns him, his voice hardening.

The ugly twist of Derek’s face grows nastier, meaner, and now that he’s closer, Carlos can smell the bourbon coming off him.

“Seriously, Derek, back the fuck up,” he grits out through clenched teeth when the guy takes another step forward, ignoring his warnings.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Derek all but shouts angrily. “This is my house, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

“Like hurt Rosie?” Grace asks him with a stern look, and while Carlos understands the sentiment, he groans internally at the question and the way it takes Derek’s focus off him to Grace. Behind him, he can hear Rosie quietly crying.

“And what if I do,” Derek questions with another sneer. “What are you or anyone else going to do about it? She’s my wife. I can do what I want with her.”

Grace looks at Derek with the same look of disgust he feels. Quietly he pulls out his phone and sends a quick message to his partner, grateful he had the forethought of mentioning the situation to her before he came.

“Only cowards hurt their wives,” Grace answers with another nauseated look and shake of her head.

Carlos admires her bravery. It proves the wrong thing to say, though, as Derek sticks his hand in his pocket and Carlos catches a flash of silver.

“You have a smart mouth on you, don’t ya?” Derek snarls at Grace with a switchblade in his hand.

He moves, and Carlos does too without really thinking. Like with Rosie, he gets between Derek and Grace, only this time Derek is ready, and he swings his knife-carrying hand at him.

Grace and Rosie both shout, Grace quickly moving out of the way and towards the young woman when she tries to step forward to intervene.

“Derek, stop!”

“Put the knife down, Derek! He’s a cop!”

Derek doesn’t listen to either of them, and neither can Carlos, as he jumps back to avoid the knife being lunged at him. The fight happens for Carlos in a blur as he tries to avoid the blade, disarm Derek and keep him from turning his rage toward Rosie or Grace.

“Please stop!” Rosie screams again, loud, and so scared it breaks Carlos’ focus for a moment. Unfortunately, it’s a moment too long, and he lets out a shout of his own as the knife pierces his skin on the left side of his flank.

Grace shouts, alarmed. “Carlos!”

He holds her back with one hand as she rushes towards him. She shoves it away, placing hers on his wound to put pressure as his shirt quickly stains with his blood.

Derek stares wide at him, the realization of what he’s done coming over his face. He doesn’t have a chance to react further than that as Austin Police barges through the door, Carlos’ partner at the front.

Carlos leans on Grace heavily, and Rosie comes forward to help him stay up as the three of them watch Derek be dragged to his knees and handcuffed.

“You can’t stay out of trouble even on your day off, Reyes,” his partner shakes his head at him before signaling for EMS to come in.

He tries to roll his eyes at her, but he’s starting to feel lightheaded, and he’s just grateful when the gurney rumbles in.

Rosie and Grace hand him off, but not before Rosie apologizes, he tries to reassure her, but he finds it hard to speak as he gets sleepier. He thinks he hears Grace tell her it’s not her fault, and he nods tiredly in agreement.

Looking over at Grace, he smiles, hoping it will ease the worried look on her face. “TK is gonna be pissed about the shirt,” he jokes right before he passes out.

 ֎֎֎

 Carlos wakes up to bright lights in his eyes. He groans, annoyed at them as he tries to cover his face and finds that he’s tugging on his IV.

The hospital, shit.

“Everything will be fine, I promise,” says a soft mocking voice to his right, and when he turns his head, he’s not at all surprised to find TK sitting there with a raised eyebrow, trying to hide his worry behind a sarcastic look. “Getting stabbed, needing surgery, and having your spleen removed doesn’t scream ‘everything is fine’ Carlos Reyes.”

“Hey, baby,” he rasps out, his throat dry like the Sahara. “Sorry about that.”

TK gets up with a deep sigh. He crosses the distance to him and leans down, pressing a kiss on his forehead before he lays his against Carlos’. “You were being a big damn hero, so I forgive you,” he whispers as he touches his nose to Carlos’. “But if you can please avoid getting hurt while you save the world next time, I would appreciate it.”

Carlos makes a humming noise in the back of his throat, closing his eyes for a moment as he basks in TK’s closeness.

“I would have to agree.”

Carlos opens his eyes to find two other people in the room he didn’t notice before. Grace and Judd sit on the other two chairs of the room, both standing when he looks over at them. They walk together to the foot of his bed, and Grace wraps her hand around his ankle, giving it a squeeze.

“If we are going to be friends and go on adventures together, you can’t end up stabbed, honey,” she says with a sweet smile on her face.

“Carlos and Grace save the world,” TK says with a proud but dry smile. He looks over at Judd, sharing a look with the older man. “God help us, brother,” he says, getting a severe nod in return from the cowboy, while Grace scoffs at both of them.

“We didn’t save the world,” Carlos protests at the repeat of those words.

“Tell that to that sweet, scared little thing you two helped get away from her abusive husband,” Judd answers, still somber.

“Yeah,” TK agrees with a nod. He combs a soothing hand through Carlos’ curls. “Pretty sure Rosie would tell you differently.”

“Is she okay?” He asks, seeking Grace’s eyes, letting a relieved exhale when she nods.

“Your partner had a social worker ready, and they are setting her up as we speak,” Grace assures him. “She said thank you.”

Carlos lets out another deep breath. “That’s good.”

Grace looks at him for a moment with a small frown on her face. “You had them ready, even when we weren’t sure if I was right – “

“I trust your judgment, Grace,” he interrupts, answering her silent question. “You knew – so I prepared.”

Grace gives his ankle another squeeze, and Carlos nods at her in understanding.

“We should go,” she says with a smile. “I’m sure TK wants to scold you some more and then smother you with kisses.”

TK lets out a sound of protest that has Judd snorting. It makes Carlos chuckle despite the pain it causes.

“Pie on Wednesday?” he asks Grace, grinning at the twinkle that enters her eyes as she smiles back widely at him.

“I’ll see you in my kitchen – 4ish?” she points at him. She starts to turn with Judd after he agrees, but the older man stands still, looking at him.

“Thanks for keeping my baby safe, brother,” Judd says to him quietly.

Carlos swallows hard, the weight of the words impacting him. He looks up at TK to find him staring at him with a soft loving look on his face. “You keep mine safe all the time, just returning the favor.”

The Ryders both smile at him as they leave; Grace makes a signal that she’ll call him, blowing him and TK a kiss before closing the door, leaving them alone.

“So you and Grace are friends now.”

“Yeah,” Carlos answers, smiling at the comment and how true it is. They’re friends now.

“That’s cool,” TK says, smiling as he sits at the edge of his bed. “But for mine and Judd’s sake, can you two keep the dangerous situations to a minimum?”

Carlos snorts at the comment, grinning when TK rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbles sarcastically. “Look who’s talking, right?”

“You said it, not me.”

TK shakes his head, but his expression goes soft as he looks at him. “I was so scared when Grace called me,” he tells him with a trembling smile. “But then she told us how you kept her and Rosie safe, and I was so proud of you, baby.”

Carlos reaches for him, tugging on his hand until TK gets the hint, and lies next to him on the small bed, resting his head on Carlos’ shoulder, his arm going around him, careful of his wound.

“I love you,” TK whispers into the slope of his neck.

Carlos closes his eyes as tiredness starts to take over again. He’s in some mild pain, and he’s sure there is gonna be a mountain of paperwork later waiting for him, but Grace and Rosie are safe, and he’s in TK’s arms, so everything is okay in his book.

He turns his face towards TK’s, finding it inches away as TK looks up at him.

Pressing a kiss against his lips, swallowing the soft, peaceful sigh TK lets out, he whispers back. “I love you too.”

#911 lone star #carlos reyes #grace ryder #tarlos #tarlos fic #grace & carlos fic #911 lone star fic #my writing

[mmvalentine]

The Bargain Pt 2 | Feysand

Modern AU. Read Part 1 Part 3.

Feyre's first time being tattooed was surreal- positive in many ways, but mostly it just hurt a lot. There was no way of preparing herself for the pain, Rhys just sent her an email reminder of her upcoming appointment and advised that she have a big carb-based meal before she come.

And then there she was, lying on his bench, staring at the thousand ink drawings they had pinned up around the studio and trying to take her mind off the searing sensation in her forearm.

Rhys had drawn her a beautiful design, just like all the other beautiful designs she had seen on his website. She hadn't wanted to see it before today, hadn't wanted anything to make her chicken out. This appointment had been booked for three months, and the more time went on the more sure she was that she wanted this. She would lie in bed, in the dark and be able to see the ink on her skin in her mind.

The design itself seemed to be made of smoke and stars. Every tattoo Rhys made was different of course. While she had been saving pictures of florals and swirls, this one seemed to contain midnight clouds within the pattern. She loved it from the moment the stencil hit her skin. Now she just had to endure three sessions of agony and then it was hers forever.

On the upside, Rhys actually made her feel very safe. And Feyre tried very hard to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was exceptionally attractive. There was something about the way his shoulders were so big, but his hands were so gentle as he moved her arm, that made her feel assured that even though she was in pain and her body was freaking out, he was in control.

For a while, Feyre looked around herself, for distraction. Studied the sketches pinned up all over the studio, and how each artist had a wall that was distinct in style. Counted the Japanese masks that hung along one wall, that stared back at her with empty eyes. Watched Rhys' face as he concentrated, and the muscles that moved in his arms.

"Do you get used to the pain?" she asked. Rhys, like all of the artists in the space, had both his arms and what she could see of his chest under his t-shirt covered in tattoos.

"Yes and no," Rhys answered, without lifting his eyes from her wrist. "I think the pain is just as bad but you can endure it a little longer each time. Unless of course you stop doing it for too long. Take, oh, six months, a year off, and then you have to build your tolerance all over again."

"What's the longest you've ever been tattooed for?" "I did ten hours once, but I wouldn't do it again." He flashed her a grin. "Felt like death. I was shaking so hard, I didn't even realise at first and I wanted to keep going. But the artist had to stop because I was making his lines wonky. Then I felt like I had the flu the next day."

"Wow," Feyre said. "Ten hours feels impossible." "You're doing great," Rhys reassured her. "Just tell me if you need to stop, and we can finish for the day." "I'm okay," Feyre said.

A while later, she asked, "Did you go to art school?" Rhys redipped his machine in the ink. "Yeah, I did," he said. "I actually thought I might paint murals or something. But then my first year out I was offered an apprenticeship, and this is actually a pretty stable income as far as art goes. So I never left." "Where did you go?" "I went to Burton's." "I went to NAS," Feyre told him. Rhys looked up at that.

"You went to NAS?" He whistled. "That's a great art school. I heard they got Katherine Silkie to teach a term there." "Yeah, it was the best term of my degree." "I'll bet," Rhys said. "I used so many of her pieces as inspiration works. So you paint too?" "Yeah, I do. Do you still get to paint much?"

Rhys shook his head. "Nah. Mostly drawing for work at the moment." He was quiet for a moment. "I haven't really painted since I moved out of my ex-partner's place. She used to hate the smell of paint, it made her so mad. So I stopped painting at home, and then I left school and didn't have just... never really did it after that."

"Oh. That's too bad," Feyre said. "My boyfriend likes my paintings... but I kind of feel like he thinks they're a way to keep me busy." "What do you mean keep you busy?" "Like... sometimes if he doesn't want me to go out, or go with him to things, he suggests that I 'work on my painting.'"

Rhys paused and looked up at her.

"What do you mean 'doesn't want you to go out'?" he asked her. Feyre shrugged. Memories of Tamlin telling her she didn't need to go out now that she had him, of him telling her "it's not you I don't trust, it's other guys," of him not wanting her with him when he met up with his own friends. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and when the needle touched her skin again it was almost a distant sort of a pain.

"You know," Rhys said slowly. Focusing on the drawing he was carving into her. "My ex was really controlling. She had her own stuff going on so I tried to be understanding. I think I let a lot of stuff slide because I figured it wasn't her fault, she had like a pretty horrible family and a lot of mental health issues as a result. But, then a few years in I realised we were both just steadily getting worse. And she wasn't willing to work on any of it, she just always blamed me."

Feyre looked at him, but Rhys didn't lift his eyes from the tattoo.

"I got out eventually, but actually the worst of it was the six months after I left. I was grieving, but also she was throwing everything she had at me. So I get that relationships are complicated and I'm not going to pretend like I know anything about yours. I just want you to know that I've been in a hard situation and it took me ages to leave, and then it got worse but then it got better."

Rhys turned the machine off then, and set it on the table next to him. He wet down a paper towel and cleaned up her arm.

"I hope it gets better for you, too." He gave her her arm back, and looked up at her. "You're all done."

Feyre looked down at her forearm and marvelled at the new tattoo there. The skin was red and swollen, and but the pattern was beautiful and perfect.

"Shading next time," Rhys said. Feyre just blinked down at herself.

"Thank you," she said. "I love it, so much." "You're very welcome." Rhys smiled at her. "You did a great job, especially for your first tattoo." It was a small compliment, but Feyre felt an unreasonably large bloom of pride in her chest. Not to mention a blush that was triggered by the dimple in Rhys' smile. How embarrassing, she was crushing on her tattoo artist.

Then Rhys began pulling out lengths of clingfilm to wrap her up. He went through the after care instructions, and Feyre nodded along. Honestly, she was still shaking a little from her body being under stress for so long, and was very grateful when Rhys gave her a little flyer with everything written down. Finally, they were done, and Rhys stood with his hands leaning on the bench as she tried to sort out her feelings.

"Take it easy tonight," Rhys said. "It feels weird that I just met you," Feyre said. Now that the pain had stopped, left over adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she felt giddy. And she suddenly found it odd that this person, whom she had just let cut her arm up and make permanent marks in it, was a stranger. The words slipped out before she knew what she was saying. "Can we be friends, Rhys?"

The dimple again.

"Sure," he said. "But I'm afraid I can't see you outside of the shop, at least not while I'm tattooing you. I gotta be professional, and all."

"Okay," Feyre nodded. "I guess I'll see you in a month, then." Rhys nodded. "One month," he said. "And Feyre? Thanks for the trust today."

And then she walked off into the dark, clutching her arm to her chest and feeling both relieved and a little sad that the day was over.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine

[let-them-read-fics]

The Finer Things

Pairing: Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4,864

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Some Self Doubt, Fluff, Some Angst, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Blackpink. I hope you enjoy. Happy reading, as always! Let me know what you think. 

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Part 1: Partners

“Alright class, settle in now. Today we’ll be starting our new projects. You know the drill; they’ll be a quarter semester long, and you’ll have a partner to work with. That gives you 9 weeks to complete the assignment and be ready to present your creations. Your topic is “the finer things in life”. Remember: there’s no exact way to do this. Whatever that topic means, however you interpret it, just show us what you envision when you think of that. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

Unsurprisingly, everyone is rather excited for this project. Considering this class is an elective, your classmates signed up for it knowing what they were getting themselves into. Regardless, even the stray few that enrolled for an easy A would rather do this than Calculus and Statistics. 

Your eyes scan the room, and you smile upon seeing everyone light up as they discuss their game plans. Familiar eyes meet yours from across the room, and you feel a blush begin to rise to your cheeks. You mentally curse yourself at how easy it is for her to make you giddy, but you don’t look away. The small smile that she gives you nearly makes you combust from the cuteness; you can’t help the dorky grin that takes over your features. 

Before you can fully melt under her gaze, your teacher speaks up again. You silently thank the universe for that divine intervention. “Now that you’ve had a minute to brainstorm, it’s time for everyone’s favorite part: partner time! I’ve chosen your partners based on your individual strengths and weaknesses as photographers; I want this to be a true learning experience for all of you. Being an artist takes constant growth, and I see this as the perfect opportunity.” 

Since your class is a fairly close-knit group of students, no one’s upset by who their partners are. Mrs. Johnson continues rattling off the pairs, and you take a moment to look out the window. It’s a beautiful day, the trees swaying gently in the breeze. The vivid red hues of their leaves are complimented perfectly by the bright blue sky behind them.

“...Y/N, you’ll be working with Rosé.” The second those words leave her lips, your eyes shoot to your partner’s. It’s an odd feeling, to put it plainly; those were the words that you were dying to hear, but also terrified of. After all, working so closely with your long-time crush would definitely prove to be nerve racking. You didn’t have much time to worry, though, as Rosé sat down at the desk in front of you, turning the chair around to face you. It was clear that she loved to see what she did to you, your reactions to her words, everything. She studied you like her life depended on it, but you never noticed. Your brain was always too busy short-circuiting to take in the ways that she watched you from afar, remembering every detail, curve, and dimple of your face. 

“So, how about we meet up after school today to get some ideas going?” She proposes, and you nod. “How’s the park sound? I’d hate to miss such a gorgeous day.” Her face lights up at your suggestion, and you smile at the sight. In her excited state, she rushes out, “That’s just what I was thinking!” The two of you spend the rest of class chatting and goofing around, and go your separate ways once the bell rings. You send her one last wave, already missing her presence. To say the two of you are eager for your next meeting is a major understatement.

Part 2: The First Few Meetings

The first couple weeks are spent getting to know one another better and spending more time together -- something you definitely weren’t complaining about. Seeing her out of school, able to really be herself, was a magical experience. You often thanked your lucky stars that you decided to sign up for the class in the first place.

Part 3: You Go To One Of Her Practices

Attending school practices and games was never really your speed, but you made an exception for Rosé. Some family issues had gotten in the way of your meet-ups for a bit, so the two of you were a little behind schedule for the project. You weren’t worried (the honor student in you knew that you’d get it done in time), but Rosé asked you to stay after school for one of her cheerleading practices. “We can work on it everytime coach gives us a break, okay?” She had said earlier that day, during class. You were almost too mesmerized by the way her lips moved while she spoke to comprehend what she had said, her accent popping out in the most adorable way possible. 

The memory brought a light smile to your face, and she saw it, stealing a glance at you. You looked up at her and tilted your head to the side, letting her know she’d been caught. Her eyes widened in shock and she quickly cleared her throat, clearly not expecting that. 

~~~

“Ah, ah, ah,” you protested, blocking her from sitting down in the seat beside you. “Stand in front of me, I wanna take a picture.” She put on a horrified face, looking down at you. “Excuse me?? Absolutely not! I look terrible. I’m all sweaty.” You rolled your eyes at her, letting out a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry to inform you, Rosé, but you’re physically incapable of looking bad. My condolences.” You bowed your head in mock pity, adding to the effect. “Oh shut up, you dork.” She said, pushing you playfully. “Fine. One picture; you better make it a good one.” You smiled your signature grin at her, and she got a little lightheaded at the beautiful sight. “1, 2, 3…”

Part 3.5: Could It Be?

“Rosé, I don’t know….” You begin, a grimace crossing your face. The object of your affection had spent the past 10 minutes trying to convince you to ditch work and accompany her to the local fair that was in town for the weekend. It’s not that you didn’t want to go; in fact, you can’t think of a place you’d rather be tonight than with her, getting away from the stress of everything life had been throwing at you. If you were honest with yourself, though, the work was just an excuse for something bigger; you knew that with each step closer you got to Rosé, you would eventually be taking two steps back. You had long ago assured yourself that she didn’t share your attraction, and you had done okay in accepting that fact. By okay I mean “totally not at all, even in the slightest.” You liked to pretend, though, wanting to have some semblance of control over the situation. 

“Pleeeeease?” She whined into the phone, drawing the word out to torture you a little more. Surely she had to know what she was doing.

That simple question served as your command, and it became very apparent in that moment that you’d do just about anything that Rosé asked you to. You kicked yourself, a genuine feeling of nervousness rushing over you. 

A sigh left your lips as you responded, “Okay, okay! But only for a little while.”

Her high pitched cheering drew a laugh from you, and you shook your head at her antics. What were you getting yourself into?

~~~~~

Rosé looked stunning, as usual. Her long blonde locks fell elegantly over her shoulders, looking just as soft as always. The pink top she donned complimented her light blue jeans perfectly; if you weren’t so enraptured by her, you might’ve gotten jealous. How can someone look so gorgeous without even trying? It’s infuriating, to say the least. 

“Ready?” Her cheery accent met your ears, and you felt yourself pep up at the single utterance. Dear lord, you’re in deep. Pushing the thoughts from your head, you send her a simple smile and nod, pulling her in for a hug. 

Freezing time had never been a thing that you thought about often, but it surely crossed your mind as you stood there with her in your arms, feeling her skin against yours. All too quickly she pulled away, already rambling excitedly about all of the rides she wanted to try out. You were still in a bit of a daze, her strawberry perfume making your head spin. Before you know it, she has a hold of your hand, dragging you towards the largest drop tower that the festival had to offer. Maybe this would be a good time to mention that you’re deathly afraid of heights…

~~~~

Hair disheveled and heart palpitating, you stumbled away from the ride. It was comical really, the state you were in. Rosé must have thought so, because she couldn’t contain her laughter once she looked over at you. The sound was music to your ears, and you quickly decided that you’d be willing to get back on that ride if it meant you could hear her giggle like that again. 

After your laughing fit died down, you suggested getting on the ferris wheel to see all of the city lights. Everything burned a little brighter this time of year, the downtown area bustling with life and activity.

“I was just about to mention that. I like the way you think, Y/N.” The combination of the look she gave you and the way your name rolled off of her tongue made you weak in the knees. Before your mind could even begin to question if she had meant something else -- something deeper -- you stopped yourself. It wouldn’t do any good to read too far into the things she said. It was just innocent teasing, you reasoned. 

You failed to notice the way Rosé had looked at you, her eyes taking in every part of you. She wanted to remember this sight; your head thrown back, eyes welling with tears of laughter. When you didn’t pick up on her flirting, though, she took it as a sign to back off a bit. Surely it had been obvious, right? She told herself she’d give it one more try, by the end of the night. No matter your reaction, she would have an answer. 

With that decision made, she led the way to the ferris wheel, you trailing happily behind her. 

“Two?” The worker looked to be about your age, face marked with acne scars, and attitude already unpleasant. With a simple gesture of confirmation, the two of you made your way to the nearest cart. You held the small gate open, allowing Rosé in first. The metal was cool against your palm as you closed it after yourself.

A chilly breeze rolled in, and you noticed her body shiver in the seat across from you. You could tell she tried to hide it, but you were far too observant to miss that. “Here,” you start, already pulling your leather jacket off of yourself and offering it to her. She shook her head furiously, saying, “No, I can’t. You’ll get cold up there!” Maybe it had been the slushy you had earlier, but you got a sudden surge of confidence. “Come over here, then. We’ll keep each other warm.” Her eyes shined with something you couldn’t quite place; something mischievous, perhaps.  

She quickly repositioned herself next to you, snuggling up against your side. “You’re still putting this on, Rosé.” You say lowly, lips grazing her temple. The way the words left your mouth, so matter-of-factly, made her bite her lip. You rarely told anyone what to do, so this role reversal was a bit unexpected. A welcome surprise, she thought, as she slipped the warm material over her shoulders.

~~~~

If someone offered you a million dollars to be anywhere else in the world right now, you would turn them down. You were sure that you had died and gone to Heaven, with how Rosé’s body fit perfectly up against yours and the distant skyline looked as though it had been stolen from a postcard.

Once the cart reached the top, the ride stopped for a short while, allowing you to get a picturesque view of the surrounding area. You grabbed the camera from your bag and snapped a few pictures, not wanting to forget this moment. A quiet wow left her mouth as she leaned over you, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Has she never seen the lights like this? The untamed beating of your heart echoed wildly at the feeling of having her so close. You prayed she wouldn’t notice the tremble that ran through you as she placed her hand on your thigh, pushing herself up higher into the air for a better perspective. She must’ve noticed something in the distance, because soon she was pointing across the city and bouncing lightly in the seat. With some help, you located what she was so excited about: it was an inflatable cat. She had been that giddy over an inflatable animal on the porch of someone’s apartment. Such a dork, you muttered. She drew in a breath, feigning disbelief. “I am not!” She started, about to defend her honor, when she turned her head. In the excitement, the two of you had pressed closer together -- much closer than either of you had realized -- and now you were face to face. Your eyes darted down to her lips, and you almost threw caution to the wind and closed the distance. You didn’t, though, still missing the signs she was sending you. Her gaze raked across your features, and she grew bold; her hand came up to your cheek, her thumb soon brushing the soft skin. She was achingly close; you could feel the warmth radiating from her body, calling for you.

This cycle continued; both of you waiting for the other to make the first move, terrified that the other didn’t feel the same. It was a wicked game of cat and mouse, and you were finally getting the courage to end it. Just as you were about to lean in, the rickety ride started back up again with a groan, and she was jostled away from you, back into the seat.  

That had to be some sort of symbolism. 

The rest of your night went well, soon again filled with laughter and jokes, but the two of you couldn’t shake what happened. There was an air of something uncertain now, and only something significant was capable of putting an end to this cruel arrangement. 

Part 4: The Realization

“Shit!” You exclaim with a huff, realizing your mistake. “Rosie, do you have any extra film for the polaroid? I lost the last pack I had.” You mentally slap yourself for that one. When you don’t get a response, which is quite unusual for Rosé, you take that as a sign to go look for her. The two of you had chosen to work on the project at her house this time, and it was definitely more spacious than yours. “Rosie?” You call out to her again, checking the rooms as you pass them. Sniffling sounds perk up your ears, and you follow them to their source: the bathroom. “What happened, Rose?” She just sniffles again, letting out a defeated sigh. “It’s nothing, Y/N. I’m okay.” You shake your head, a pained look taking over your features. Knowing that she was hurting killed you. “I don’t believe you. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but at least let me cheer you up. Please?” You plead through the door, waiting rather impatiently for her response. Wordlessly, she gathers herself and opens it, choosing to lean against the frame and meet your concerned gaze. “It’s Joon. He’s being an ass.” You set your jaw and quickly bite your tongue, not wanting to upset her more. Her sweater is soaked and matted with tears, large stains polka-dotting the fluffy material.

Who’s Joon, you may ask? Rosé’s boyfriend and star of the football team… aka your arch nemesis. The two of you typically avoided talking about him, and dating in general. As far as you were concerned, he wasn’t deserving of the attention. A muffled sob pulls you from your stewing session, and you’re quick to step forward and wipe away her tears. You cup her cheeks, softening at the way she leans into your embrace. It’s not hard to tell that she doesn’t get the love that she deserves. “You’re too good for him, Rose. He’s never deserved you.” You say softly, tired of seeing her being mistreated. One instance of this was more than enough, and knowing that this isn’t the first time that he’s been the reason for her tears makes your blood boil. You pull her in, and she rests her head against your chest. If circumstances were different, you would’ve been terrified to have her so close; however, that’s not at the forefront of your mind right now. You’re determined to be there for her, even if it’ll never be in the way you want. “You should be with someone who values you. You can do so much better.” You whisper against her temple -- just loud enough for her to hear -- lips in the same position as they were that night at the fair. It comes out as a gentle confession, but you say it like the simple fact it is. 

After a few more moments of holding her close, her sweet vanilla perfume in the air, she shifts in your arms. Her eyes find yours, and the moment seems as though it was plucked out of some cheesy, coming of age movie. Something within both of you clicks at that point, and you just know. Her slightly puffy features look especially adorable right now, her eyes sparkling. That always seemed like such a strange, poetic thing to you -- how some people can manage to look so stunning after crying. It’s as though she needed that, in some twisted way. It opened her eyes to the situation she was in, although it hurt. She knew she could get through anything, though, with you by her side. And standing there, wrapped in your warmth, she really couldn’t find it in herself to even think of Joon. 

Your eyes fell to her lips, and she didn’t fail to notice. God, those lips. You thought, remembering all of the times you’ve wanted to kiss her. She somehow managed to be utterly perfect without even trying. Your heart rate sped up at the feeling of her hands working their way down to your waist, gripping your hips tightly. The atmosphere shifted, and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. “Y/N…” she says lowly, almost as if she’s trying to keep herself from doing something stupid. “Hmm?” You drag out, causing her to bite her lip in return. Just as the two of you lean in ever closer, the sounds of keys jangling downstairs interrupts your moment. Feeling brave, and not wanting that encounter to pass with nothing to show for it, you give her a sweet kiss on the cheek. You chuckle lightly at the whine that leaves her lips, and take a minute to gather yourself before leading the way downstairs to greet her parents. 

----

Over the next few days, neither of you mention all that’s happened. You want to, but you have no idea how; your nerves would surely get the best of you. And what if she didn’t feel the same? How embarrassing would that be? You wanted nothing more than to have that Hallmark, fairytale ending with her, but you knew that was unrealistic. So, you did what you do best; you continued falling for her from afar, attempting to settle into this routine.  

Little did you know that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it. She often found herself stroking her cheek, where your hand had been that night. If she focused hard enough, she could almost remember the smell of your tropical shampoo, too. Her feelings confused her, but she knew what she wanted. Her fear of rejection outweighed her courage, though, and she never knew how to tell you that she had fallen for you. 

Part 5: An Overheard Conversation

As you made your way through the halls and towards the library, your mind wandered to a place it often frequented: Rosé. You had been so caught up in other things that you hadn’t really registered that the project would be over soon. It saddened you to think about, but maybe it was for the best. Perhaps a little distance between the two of you would make it easier to ignore your feelings. Turning the corner, you collided with someone, sending their books into the floor. “I’m so sorry!” You apologize quickly, making sure they’re alright, before helping them gather their things. They do the same, and continue on their way as you readjust your clothes.

At the sound of that achingly familiar voice, you freeze.

“I broke up with him, Jennie.”

That’s all it took for you to press yourself up against the wall, set on listening in on the conversation without getting caught. Part of you felt bad for doing that, but there was no way you were leaving now.

“Good, he never deserved you anyway.” The other girl, Jennie, said, and you made a mental note to give her a high five later on. 

“He took me for granted. I’m just upset it took me so long to realize it.”

“Hey, don’t do that. You remembered your worth and didn’t let that jackass hurt you anymore. That’s queen status, if you ask me.” Make that a double high five.

The sounds of her locker being closed lead you to believe that the girls are about to walk away and end the conversation, but you soon stop dead in your tracks, yet again.

“There’s another reason that I ended things, though, and I’ve been meaning to tell you about it.” 

“Ooh, do tell.”

Rosé clears her throat, and quickly checks to make sure the coast is clear before speaking again. Thank God she didn’t notice your presence. 

“I’ve liked this person for a really long time, Jennie.” She confesses, before continuing. “They’re always there for me when I need them… and don’t even get me started on how adorable they are.”

Jennie chuckles at Rosé’s words, and you can see her shake her head. “What??” Rosé asks, pushing her shoulder lightly. 

“You’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you blush like that at just the thought of someone. And that’s saying something.”

Rosé hides her face in her hands, embarrassed but amused. “She’s just so incredible.”

Your heart stops, blood running cold in your veins, and your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Does Jennie know she likes girls? SHE LIKES GIRLS?? I mean, you had thought so after that night but she’d never admitted it before.

“She?” Jennie asks gently, not even a trace of judgement in her tone. A little surprise, sure, but nothing bad. Rosé simply takes a deep breath and nods her head, waiting for her best friend’s reaction to her slip up. It’s not that she thought she would be unaccepting, just that these kinds of things were a little bit of a shock to hear sometimes.

“Well, who is she? I’ll have to do some snooping on your next potential love interest.”

Rosé lets out a giggle, and you almost blow your cover by laughing with her.

“You won’t be getting that information out of me yet, Jennie. No way.” She says, taking the other girl’s hand and leading her down the hallway, away from you. 

Once alone again, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Could you be that girl?

Part 6: Presentation Day

As you make your way to your seat, you let out a tired yawn; you had stayed up late adding some last minute touches to your presentation. You wanted it to be a surprise for Rosé, so you hadn’t told her about what you had done. Hopefully she would enjoy it.

The other groups each took turns showcasing their projects and explaining what the prompt had meant to them. Some said “money”, “luxury”, “time”, etc. Your answer was a bit different than theirs, and you were excited to share it with everyone.

Once it was your turn to present, you made your way up to the front of the room, selecting the correct files and connecting your device with the projector. Rosé could sense that you were anxious, which wasn’t new for you; school presentations had always made you nervous. Silently, she took your hand within her own and rubbed her thumb across your knuckles. None of the class was paying much attention yet, since you were still technically getting set up, and you were beyond thankful for that intimate moment with her. 

A short time later, you begin. 

Rosé expertly introduces the different topics you chose to cover with the prompt, explaining their meaning with sincerity. Images of old couples smiling, holding one another close, graced the screen when she brought up “growing old together” as a finer thing in life. “Not everyone gets the opportunity to do that with who they love,” she said, and you noticed that her eyes went to you when she said that. Maybe you just imagined that last part, you thought to yourself. Surely so. 

Other slides of animals, pets, and nature appeared as she continued her speech, followed by her suggestion that “the act of loving and preserving Earth and its creatures” is another finer thing in life. 

This process continued, with you jumping in for the slides that you had chosen to take over for. 

Upon hearing Rosé finish her last stretch of rehearsed dialogue, you look to your teacher, who gives you a subtle nod and smile. Rosé shoots you a confused look, but you don’t answer her with words. You move a nearby chair to face the board before bringing her to it. She sits, even more confused now, but trusting you. 

You swallow nervously, and lick your lips. “Over these past couple months, Rosé and I shared new experiences,” with a click of the remote, images of your adventures flood the screen -- your trips to the lake, forest, park, and even the beach, capture the attention of the class. Rosé was right there with them, considering she had never seen some of these pictures, let alone expected you to present them. “We tried new foods, left our comfort zone, and learned more about each other.” More images popped up; some from when you went on a tour of the different restaurants around town, some from bungee jumping, cave exploring, and open water fishing. 

“But as we grew closer, I realized more about myself in the process. I’m totally, utterly, and undeniably in love with you, Rosé.” The next set of candid images shows a new glint in your eyes when you look at each other; this was when you had really gotten in deep. You shyly raise your eyes to hers, your stomach in knots. Tears are quickly forming in her eyes, and she’s covering her mouth to quiet herself. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been, and life feels better with you. You are my finer thing in life.” Despite all of the emotions she’s feeling right now, she smiles at the dorky pictures of the two of you doing random things during your shared escapades. 

Finally, you click to the last slide, revealing a series of pictures of you spelling out, “Be mine?” 

This was the final straw; tears finally make their way down her face, spilling onto her soft cheeks. You nod at Mrs. Johnson the same way she had done before, and she swiftly bends down to grab something beneath her desk. When she returns, she hands you a single red rose. “OMG! A rose for Rosé, how cute!” One of your classmates yells from the back of the room, and you laugh aloud. That broke the tension, and soon all of you were giggling loudly together. “Well, whaddya say?” You ask, holding out the rose to her in offering. Wordlessly, she takes the flower and wraps her arms around your neck, connecting your lips in a long overdue kiss. The class erupts at this and she smiles against you. 

“Mission accomplished.” Mrs. Johnson says to herself, once everyone is settled back in their seats and chatting about what happened. “I was hoping that would work out.” Confused, you decide to inquire. Reluctantly taking your eyes off of Rosé, you look to your teacher and ask, “Did you plan this from the beginning?” She gives you a curious look before scoffing, “I’m practically a matchmaker, Y/N. I saw the way the two of you looked at each other. It would’ve been a crime not to pair you up.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you look back to Rosé, finding her donning a similar expression. “I was tricked into the plan!” You realize, laughing with her. “It was destiny, then.” She says, pulling you in by your collar for yet another kiss, loving the feeling of your blushing cheeks against her own.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!!!

#rosé x reader #rosé #blackpink #k-pop #k-pop blackpink #rosé blackpink #rosé x fem reader #chaeyoung #park chaeyoung #roseanne #kpop girl group #jennie #let-them-read-fics #blackpink oneshot #blackpink imagine #rosé imagine

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass tonight

I got so much going on with uni, but I couldn’t resist. If you too are queen/king of procrastinating uni work, you have my deepest support! Hope you enjoyed x

TW: none (except fool language)

Part 2    -    Part 3*

Office parties have never been y/n’s cup of tea, the idea of enjoying yourself in the very place people usually count down the hours before they can leave, is rather ludicrous in her humble opinion. Alas as the boss’ personal assistant, she not only had to plan and organize the whole shebang but her presence was also required, supervision purposes and all that. The only solace sweetening the deal for her was that she’d be in charge of the catering too, and y/n learnt very early on that good food and greater booze could make any boring work function at least tolerable.

Now that the festivities are in full swing, conversation flowing almost as heartily as the champagne in the guests’ eager mouths, y/n thinks she did quite well. The vast open space of the office is decorated with taste, the music set at the perfect level as to not overpower the boring chitchat bouncing off its walls, and to her greatest delight, the catering company she hired has truly outdone themselves. All in all, everybody seems to be having a grand time, and y/n decides that’s reason enough to officially relieve herself of her supervisor’s duties.

As she scans over the assortment of canapés, mini-quiches, crudités and other mouth-watering ambrosias, y/n fails to notice the tall figure casually approaching her. She’s in the midst of pondering whether she should try the humous or a cream cheese and salmon toast first, mouth salivating and stomach growling in appetite, when a raspy voice interrupts her inner battle, "I see m’not the only one who’s here just fo’ the food".

Her eyes pop off the delicious hors d’oeuvres to the sight gracing them next and she doesn’t know which is the most appetizing. Because standing a few feet from her is Harry, vibrant smile and pretty dimples on show, as he leans over the verrines platter to pick the best-looking one. He’s wearing an olympic blue floral suit on top of a scandalously unbuttoned transparent shirt, a bold number that would grant anyone else looks of surprise and confusion but looked absolutely divine on his broad frame. Besides, after two years working at the office, everyone had gotten used to his unconventional fashion choices by now.

Y/n quirks an eyebrow in curiosity as she dips a cucumber stick in a bowl of humous, before quipping, "not a big fan of these things?"

Harry lets out a small chuckle in a ‘no kidding’ way, and attaches his emerald eyes to hers, "they’re kind of a drag, if m’bein’ honest."

She smiles at his admission, realizing they both share an aversion for mundanities, "I know right. Like, why party here where everyone has to be on their best behavior when we could be down at the bar without the boss gallivanting around?" she cries out in exasperation and not for the first time, Harry thinks she’s quite possibly the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. His smile widens the tiniest bit at her passionate rant, "my thoughts exactly. Do we even know what we’re supposed to celebrate?" The question makes her laugh, she wouldn’t have known either if not for her involvement in the affair, "well as the person behind this all drag," she give him a pointed look at his jeering choice of word, "it would be weird if I didn’t."

Harry’s face falls at the possibility of having offended her, but his uneasiness quickly dissipates when she starts laughing at him. "M’sorry, that came out wrong," he tells her before letting out a giggle of his own and y/n revels in the moment. The idea of interacting with him beyond the usual ‘here’s the presentation for today’s conference’ or ‘do you have the quarterly report ready’ is rather intoxicating for her already feeble nerves. "Don’t worry, I take no offense, I’m just as bored as you are," she reassures him with a smile, "the party is for a new potential investor, something about wooing them with some ‘corporate fun’. S’a load of bullshit if you ask me".

Harry nods at the explanation unimpressed, his boss’ intentions being the least of his worries. Aside from being the classic douche every manager typically insists on being, the guy has always made his distaste about him pretty clear, so Harry would rather focus on more interesting things. Like how beautiful y/n looks right now, her hair tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, leaving a few strands to fall around her face. "You look amazing, by the way," he brings himself to say, though he thinks his compliment doesn’t even do her justice.

Y/n looks down at her own outfit then: a knee-length red dress composed of a skater skirt and a backless top that only holds with a couple pressure buttons clasped behind her neck. Her cheeks warm up to match the color of her apparel, betraying the timidity she’s always fallen victim of whenever he happened to be in her vicinity. Y/n’s never been one to shy away from her feelings or trip over her own words when facing her crushes, but there is something about Harry that teleports her right back to her sheepish 13 year-old teenage self. Also, she’s not too keen on office romances and the drama that usually ensues so she’s always made sure to stifle her blossoming attraction and keep their relation work-appropriate. Surely that must account for most of her awkwardness, doesn’t it?

Her eyes trail back to his face and her response comes in a shy euphemism, "thank you, you clean up quite nicely yourself." It’s enough to quirk Harry’s lips in a bashful smile, their  complexion evidently on edge as they tread uncharted territories. Professionalism has always regimented their interactions with kind but polite rigidness, neither of them quite inclined to cross that invisible line, but tonight seems to challenge that.

Tonight, Harry is resolute in his infatuation, no longer inhibited from social construct but driven by a quest for knowledge; anything that will help him decipher her carefully shielded crux. Tonight, he endeavors to scrape the edges of her rough diamond to expose the gem encapsulated inside, peel back the stoic layers of her exterior to find her unapologetic and intrinsic nature. Tonight, he is thirsty for secrets and confidential disclosures, and he won’t leave until he’s drained it all out of her. Unless she tells him to fuck off, obviously.

Harry keeps the conversation going as he browns the buffet for a new delicacy to snack on, "so, what would you be doing if you didn’t have to be here?" He wants to know everything, the present and the past, the good and the bad, the superficial and the substance, the messy and the orderly, but he figures he should start by what she likes to do in her own time. The things that loosen her up after a tense week at work, the things that will make her eyes shine with passion as she relates them back to his curious mind.

The question reaches her ears as she takes a sip of her drink, "mmm," she smiles around her glass before placing it back on the table, "-that’s easy. Playing pool with the gang at Gibson’s." Her answer spills without hesitation, a heap of follow-up questions already brewing up in Harry’s brain, but the foreign name is what beckons his attention first, "Gibson’s?" he echoes with a faint rumple pulling the skin between his eyes. Is that the name of a friend? A boyfriend? Out of all the questions he’s contemplated, y/n’s relationship status never crossed his mind. He’s always assumed her to be a single woman, the evidence of a significant other never present in her language and demeanor.

A wave of relief washes over him at her elaboration, "it’s a bar couple blocks from my place. It’s been my friends and I’s HQ ever since we all met." The sentiment has her eyes sparkle at the remembrance of all the happy memories the place hosted, and Harry stores the information in his mental list of all y/n’s soft spots.

"Sounds rad, so you play pool?" he inquires with enthusiasm. He’s been knows to play a game or two in his youth, though it’s been a hot minute since he’s felt the weight of the cue in his hands as he sinks ball after ball in their respective pockets. He remembers the elation of it all, the adrenaline coursing through his veins at each successful strike, and his heart flutters at the thought of ever sharing a game with her; she seems like the competitive type in the most entertaining way possible. Before his thoughts can spiral into much filthier realms, like bending her over the table mid-game when his own skills prevail and she turns into a sore-loser, y/n’s voice rings him back to reality.

"Uh uh, correction," her expression suddenly turns in false seriousness before she proves him right about her competing tendencies, "I win at pool." Her eyes are so full of confidence, a spice of mischief sparkling in their corner, she would have no difficulty persuading anyone of anything that passes the threshold of her mouth. Harry certainly doesn’t doubt her mastery of the bar game, but it doesn’t stop him from challenging her in a slightly elevated pitch, "oh is that so?"

Y/n only grins at the banter, not at all fazed by his taunting remark, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." She reaches for another snack, not taking her come-hither look off his handsome face, and Harry revels in her flirtatious advances, a smug smile taking possession of his lips as he surfs of the same wave of seduction. "Is that a challenge?" he philanders back, fueling the sensual back-and-forth they seem to have embarked upon.

"Not much of a challenge if I know I’ll win," y/n replies with cheek, her self-assurance once again burgeoning like sexy wildflowers sprouting from the ground underneath Harry’s feet, wrapping around his ankle and growing along his body to twine around his spellbound heart. He absolutely loves her unfaltering aplomb, finds it undoubtably sexy but he can’t let her know that just yet.

"Cocky."

"Confident."

They both chuckle at their repartee, enjoying this ping-pong of quick-witted banter they’ve never found in anybody else before. It’s like their intellects were meant to collide in galvanizing forces, the encounter of two fiery psychs too brilliant to one up the other.

Harry is mesmerized by their connection, if he knew sparks would fire this bright, he would have made a move ages ago. "Fuck, you’re something else," he shakes his head in incredulity before confessing, "definitely not what I expected."

Y/n’s chest tingles at his comment, a rivulet of liquid glee leaking through her arteries to pump her heart and her ego full of bliss, "Oh so you expected something, did you?" She punctuates her teasing with a thousand-watts power smirk, and Harry finds it strikingly alluring.

Not about to let her have the upper hand however, a burst of smugness crosses his features as he boomerangs her earlier allurement back to her, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." It earns him a deep jazzy laugh rooted in her tummy and a tinge of pride swirling in his own. He wants to pry laugh after laugh from her belly until her last giggle, only relenting once the muscles in her chest are aching from unbridled joy.

Y/n sighs in content before taking a bite out of a mini-tartlet as she considers how to proceed in this much too flirty conversation. "So what would you be doing tonight, if not for this stupid party?" she returns his first question before realizing,  "-wait a sec, what are you doing here if you hate these things so much? My presence was mandatory but yours isn’t."

"I’ll have you know I was coerced into coming too," he quips back in a fake defensive tone, hand pressing to his chest, "Mike from accounting begged me to tag along, he just broke up with his girlfriend so I didn’t have the heart to tell him no." The selfishness of the gesture softens her heart in a goo of adoration, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Softie."

"Chivalrous."

His comeback has her giggle, a rejoinder already tiptoeing at the edge of her lips, "see, who’s cocky now?" Her eyes are full of jest and lightness, somehow taking the weight of the party off his shoulders. Turns out, food and booze are not the only remedies for boring work functions, y/n’s company is just as effective if not more, and that’s with the guarantee of a hangover-less comes next morning. Harry is truly happy he decided to make an appearance tonight, a sentiment he definitely didn’t foresee for the night. The realization has him faintly shaking his head in amazement, his lips letting out another whispered "something else" softly enough that it doesn’t quite reach her already inflated ears.

"So did you have any plans tonight?" She reiterates the question not wanting to ever stop talking with him.

There are probably a hundred exciting plans he could have conjured up to come off half as intriguing as she seems to be, but instead he decides to go the honest route, "nah, I would have probably crash on my couch, this week’s been pretty hectic." His truth is confirmed by the faded blackness tinting the skin below his eyes, a proof of hard work and long hours under the heedlessness of a greedy superior. Y/n knows it all too well, having had firsthand experience with her boss’ jackassery. That’s why she directly inquires, "boss giving you trouble?"

Part of Harry is eager to steer the conversation back to more pleasant waters but he guesses talking a little bit about work was inevitable at some point, especially since they both share palpable distaste for their superior. "The maniac keeps giving me last minute reports like I’m expected to work all night along on his bullshit projects," he explains dejectedly before running his hand through his luscious curls in sign of frustration. "Barely finished in time fo’ the party tonight, I had to slip in his office to put the file on his desk, that fucker had already left."

Y/n listens attentively, her chest tightening in empathy at the recollection of his misfortune. She’s very familiar with the embittering feeling that comes with working your ass for someone that barely registers your efforts and dishes the office hours before you can even dream of clocking off. She’s faced the same scenario time and time again, including tonight, when she’d come up to lock the boss’ office hours after he left to get pampered for the party. She barely got time to make the double commute to and from her place, much less spend hours getting dolled up. She does remember the odd file on her boss’ desk though, "oh I was wondering what that blue folder was about, he never usually leave unattended paperwork on his desk."

Harry starts nodding in confirmation before stopping dead, eyes widened in distress, "wait, did you just say blue?" he asks in urgency.

Y/n frowns at his sudden agitation, her mind reeling to try and visualize the state of the surroundings she left several hours ago. She’s pretty positive she saw a blue binder laying there, not that she knows the ramifications of that simple fact, "yes I think so, why?"

The dire nature of the situation becomes painfully obvious as Harry’s face turns into a mess of  dread and panic, "oh shit, oh fuck, no no no," the words keep tumbling from his mouth in a ramble of nerves. "So stupid, m’so fucked" he keeps muttering self-admonition in quiet anger, hands griping at the root of his hair.

Concern is starting to fester in y/n’s guts as she takes in his disheveled state, "Harry, Jesus, take a breath, tell me what’s going on," she steps closer to him, one hand softly holding at his biceps as she tries to connect their gazes.

Once his eyes plug into hers, pupils blown out in turmoil, he finally calms down enough to word  out his mishap, "s’not the right file on his desk, I only use red binders for the reports." Spinning around out of her hold to shout his stress back to the wall in a loud "fuck!", Harry’s mind is caught up in a swirl of possible excuses to give to his boss, all sounding more ridiculous than the other. He can’t think of way to fix his mistake and escape the inevitable berating coming his way comes morning.

Fortunately for him, y/n is not about to let this happen, "it’s okay, we’ll fix this," she encourages. "What’s on his desk right now?"

Harry looks back at her then, not totally convinced that this all mayhem is salvageable. His boss is never going to tolerate this minor negligence, especially once he finds out the irrelevant material mistakenly slipped amongst his work. "My 14 year-old niece’s english project" the answer comes out as a question, a hint of self-deprecating humor lacing through his words. "Bloody hell, he’s gon’ have my head fo’ that one."

Harry is adamant in his doom, but if anything, y/n is not a quitter. "No he’s not. He hasn’t seen it yet, right? You said he was already gone when you brought the file."

He takes a long breath, "I suppose not."

"Guess it’s a good thing I have the keys to his office then, yeah?" She smiles proudly as a beacon of hope shines on his conflicted face. The forest green of his eyes seems to breath back to life in an endearing revival, effectively tugging at y/n’s heart’s merciful strings.

"Fuck, you’d do that fo’ me?" his shoulders loosen up in relief, the tension slowly simmering down to a gentle buzz, as he envisages the possibility of an illicit break-in. Well, as illicit as it may be, considering they have the keys. Still, best they don’t get caught snooping in the boss’ office, for both of their sake.

"Of course, silly. No questions asked," y/n answers with a smile, and her willingness to put herself in potential trouble, warms Harry’s heart from inside out.

"Y/n, you’re an angel, a life savior," he grabs her shoulders in each of his hands, his gratitude painted all over his soft traits. "Fuck, I could kiss you right now." The words fly out of his mouth without him realizing their significance after spending the last ten minutes coming onto her. And well, y/n isn’t too opposed to the idea either, and she thinks she might hold him to that promise in retribution for her saving grace when the time and space works better in their favor. "Alright Casanova, let’s get your ass out of this mess," she grabs her purse form the table and takes his hand to guide him through the cluster of people milling around the office space, eventually reaching the row of elevators across the room.

As they stand waiting for their lift to come, Harry starts fidgeting with nervous energy, feeling like a kid who’s about to get caught trying to steal straight from the cookie jar. "Shit, alright, we have to be discrete if we want to pull this off," he tells her, not taking his eyes off the room in case someone would look at them and read their plan straight off their guilty-looking faces.

"Says the guy in the flashy suit," y/n immediately counters, in an attempt to revive the playfulness of their synergy. The night was going swimmingly before the whole ordeal, and she’s convinced this foxy little adventure can only add to the appeal of an evening full of surprises.

Harry’s indignation at her dig teeters from his pouty lips, "hey! It’s not that bad." She giggles at his poor rebuttal, and as the doors of the elevator open, they quickly take a few steps inside.

"Harry, that suit is so loud, it could break the sound barrier," y/n teases as she eyes the crowd of people frivolously chatting away, while waiting for the door to close back.

"Thought I cleaned up nicely," he cheekily throws back her words from earlier, letting them resonate within the small confines of the elevator as they make their way up to their boss’ office.

She turns to face him then, a smile spreading on her supple lips, "don’t get me wrong, you look wonderful, just nowhere near decent for a secret spy mission."

Her words have him beaming back at her in a second, his mind fixated on her compliment rather than how impractical it is that his clothes are flashier than the Queen’s; in his defense, neither are y/n’s. "Damn, just got upgraded from nice to wonderful, this night is actually turning around," he chirps as the door open to the deserted hallway of the top floor.

"Alright, more action and less flirting, Styles," y/n playfully chides him. "Go get the right file, while I open his door, we should be quick in case he decides to bring the tour and his special guest up here." She sends him off with a tilt of her chin in what she knows to be the direction of his office, and Harry complies with ease and starts backtracking a few doors down, "yes ma’am."

While he’s gone to fetch the correct document from his office, y/n rummages through her purse to find the key of her boss’ office and unlock the door. Once she’s inside, she makes her way around the imposing mahogany desk commanding the space, and finds the imposter file sitting innocently on the polished wood. For pure curiosity’s sake, she starts leafing through its contents and lets a small chuckle as she takes in the endearing work of a young aspiring writer.

Her reading is interrupted by Harry’s hurried strides when he joins her in the room. "Here’s the damn report," he flings the folder on the desk next to his niece’s, red clashing with blue, mocking him for his slight negligence. As he absorbs the sight of y/n’s face engrossed in the teenage’s fiction, he moves slowly behind her, getting a glimpse at his niece’s whimsical words over her shoulder, before his eyes settle on the bare skin of her back.

Y/n welcomes his sudden proximity, has stranding on end as she feels the soft puffs of his breaths against her neck. "Your niece is quite the writer, does she always come to you for advice?"

She ignores the shivers running down her spine, and gulps when Harry’s voice greets her ears in a deep quiet hoarse, closer than she excepted, "usually, yeah. I was the one who got her into writing, so it’s kinda become our thing, I guess."

She smiles at his softness, "that’s really sweet," and draws in a long breath in a vain attempt to calm her jitters. She can almost feel his presence on her skin though they’re technically not touching, her fingertips tingling in anticipation.  

Another frisson travels through her when he responds with a low "mhm," his nose slightly grazing behind her ear, taking in her beguiling fragrance. Jasmine and vanilla, fresh and soft, exciting and comforting at the same time; it suits her perfectly.

"Harry-" she doesn’t know what to follow the whisper of his name with. Careful? Not here? Please don’t stop? At this point, she wants nothing more than to succumb to his affections, regardless of their improper whereabouts.

Harry brushes the back of his index down the smooth skin of her back in a featherlike caress, "thanks fo’ saving my ass, tonight," he murmurs into her ear, before laying a small kiss behind it.

Y/n is exulting under his tender ministrations, her eyes closed to enhance the feeling of his touch. "Anytime," she breathes out as her head tilts backward, a hand coming behind his neck in a silent plea not to let go, and Harry smiles against her skin at her receptiveness, goosebumps of his own blossoming across his body.

His next words are out of his mouth before he can think, "mmm, I owe you a big one," his playful persona resurfacing now that the situation was handled. They snort in unison at the double-entendre, and Harry slides his free arm around her waist to bring her closer to his chest in silent remittance. Y/n doesn’t mind though, she kinda likes this boyish side of him, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Gross."

"Hilarious."

Their ping-pong of wisecrack is back despite the tension permeating the air. It’s the kind that speeds heartbeats and moistens palms in lustful anticipation, the kind that curtails people’s breath as their lungs fill up with voluptuous aphrodisia. "Will you let me kiss you? Show you all my gratitude? I really wanna have a taste, love," he pleads for her permission, and y/n is too consumed by desire to deny him, "have it."

In one swift move, he spins around and latches his eager lips onto her. Passion ensues, hands roaming all over each other to find the perfect hold; the back of a neck, the lapels of a suit jacket, a few strands of hair, the curve of an exposed ribcage, it’s all intoxicating but there is always more to explore. Their tongues are caught up in a heated tango of their own, swirling around each other to quench the thirst of passion, licking their lustful way around their mouths.

At one point, Y/n finds herself pressed against her boss’ desk, one leg around Harry’s waist as he attaches his hips to hers in a heated embrace that leaves them breathless upon parting. He rests his forehead against her temple as they both process the intimate exchange, not ready to burst out of this fairy bubble. "Fuck, been waiting to do that for a while," he exhales with a smile, still incredulous at the evening’s proceedings, and the girl nestled in his arms.

"Same," she agrees and gently cups his face to bring his eyes back to hers, barely believing the adoration and warmth swimming within his lovely olive irises.

Harry’s heart feels like a ticking bomb about to implode, the sweet taste of her lips already providing him with a fix he didn’t know he was addicted to. "One more," he demands against her mouth before diving into another searing kiss. This time his hands explore more meticulously, scavenging for other soft spots to add on to his mental list. The dimples in her back right above the curve of her ass seem to rival the area at her side right below the swell of her breast, but Harry is pretty sure he’ll find more sensitive spots in the near future. Hopefully.

Once again, the need for oxygen compels them to part way, but neither of them make a move to separate their tangled limbs. Y/n is reveling in the moment she’s been daydreaming about for months, "so good," she keeps whispering sweet nothing against his lips while rubbing her nose against the bridge of his.

Harry clears his throat as he regains his bearings, realizing that there are still very much in the middle of their boss’ office, a place they are not supposed to be in, doing stuff they’re not supposed to be doing. At least not here. "Let’s get outta here, yeah?" he brushes a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, "you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and I’ll tend to yours once we’re back at my place, what’dya say?"

And well, how can one say no to that?

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #Harry fic #harry styles au #ofc #reader insert #coworker!harry #office au #fluff #flirting #harry styles fluff

[headcanonsandmore]

‘Sweetness And Light’, Chapter Three

Summary:  Ginny's growing interest in the blond girl has her utterly perplexed. But, in the light of the full moon, things may change...

~~~~~~~~~~~

                       Read on FFN.                                         Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Luna and Ginny both sat down at the breakfast table. Ginny was determined not to think too much about the way they had slept together in bed the previous night. Not least because it made her stomach fill with butterflies at the thought that the same thing might happen the night after.

Luna rested her hand on Ginny’s, who promptly stuck her elbow into the butter dish.

Fred and George both snickered. Glaring at them and feeling her face burn, Ginny tried to surreptitiously wipe the butter off her nightdress without Luna noticing.

‘So, Luna,’ Ron said, cheerfully. ‘Did you sleep well last night? The lightning storm was pretty bad.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Luna replied. ‘I was scared for a while, but Ginny helped comfort me and I was able to drift back off to sleep again.’

Ron gave Ginny a knowing look.

‘I am sure she did.’

Ginny didn’t respond. She didn’t want to think about the way Luna had slipped in and out of Ginny’s dreams. Dreams that made Ginny very confused about… well,  a lot of things.

‘I imagine you are probably a little homesick,’ Mrs Weasley said. ‘Did you grow up in London?’

Luna smiled, softly.

‘My parents moved around a lot when I was growing up, although we would often stay in Devon. But… well, things have changed a great deal since my mother passed on.’

Ginny looked round, feeling her heart ache in sympathy. Without thinking, she reached out and wrapped her hand around Luna’s. The blond caught her eye, and smiled in thanks.

‘Oh, you poor dear!’ Mrs Weasley said, looking horrified. ‘I am so sorry, I should not have-’

‘No, it is fine,’ Luna said. ‘She was a lovely woman; I do miss her, but I have so many good memories.’

Ginny did not remove her hand from Luna’s, and the girl did not complain. If anything, she seemed to draw comfort from it. Not that Ginny was staring, of course.

Oh, who was she kidding? Not herself, that was for sure.

 *

 The day had passed quickly. Luna had spent most of the day indoors, helping Mrs Weasley with some of the housework and then assisting her with the evening meal. Ginny had not seen her much, as she herself had been outside doing more preparation for the harvest. As a result, when she entered the kitchen just before dinner, she was sweating heavily through her clothes.

‘Get washed and changed for dinner, Gin,’ Mrs Weasley said, stirring a pot on the stove.

‘Okay… wait, where is Luna?’

‘Oh, she is upstairs,’ Mrs Weasley replied. ‘Poor girl seemed rather exhausted so I sent her to your shared room to have a lie down. If she can manage it, can you help her downstairs for dinner?’

Ginny nodded, and left the kitchen. Upon reaching her room, she gently opened the door and peeked inside.

The curtains had been pulled and Luna was lying in bed, her eyes shut.

She looked so pretty.

Shaking her head quickly, Ginny took a flannel from the windowsill and wiped her face and hands. She then threw off the work shirt and trousers, and began to wipe the sweat off her skin.

A few moments, she heard the creak of bedsprings and looked up.

Luna had sat up in bed, and was staring at her.

Ginny froze, feeling her heartbeat accelerate. Yes, Luna had seen the underthings that Ginny wore before, but never when she was wearing them.

‘Wow,’ Luna said, smiling. ‘You are ever so pretty, Ginny.’

‘T-thank you,’ Ginny stammered, her face burning. It was a compliment! Why was she blushing?

‘I… I should put my dress on,’ she continued. ‘Dinner will be ready soon, after all.’

Luna smiled, her cheeks dimpling.

‘Forgive my staring,’ she said. ‘I am unused to being around women my own age, especially women as wonderful as yourself.’

Thump

‘Thank you,’ Ginny replied. ‘But… you are wonderful too, Luna.’

‘You… you really think so?’

Ginny nodded, still flushing bright red. She finished wiping herself with the flannel, and quickly threw on her dress. It was an old one that was easy to do up, but she found that she was so flustered that she couldn’t work the lacing.

‘Would you like a hand?’

Ginny gulped. Luna had climbed out of bed. She was wearing an old lacy nightdress of Ginny’s, which was a little too small for her in… places.

Looking away, Ginny nodded. Luna stepped closer and began to do up the lacing on the redheads dress. Ginny felt a small shiver go up her spine as Luna’s fingers brushed against her freckled skin.

‘Your skin is so soft,’ Luna whispered, almost to herself. ‘So beautiful…’

‘T-Thank you.’

Luna seemed to freeze.

‘My… my apologies,’ she said, before continuing the lacing. ‘That was rude of me.’

‘No,’ Ginny whispered. ‘It was lovely. Thank you.’

Luna finished the lacing, and Ginny turned to face her.

‘Shall I help you with yours?’

Luna’s pale face seemed to flush slightly.

‘I… I think I will just wear a robe over this nightdress, if I may,’ she said. ‘I still feel a little faint.’

Ginny nodded, and proceeded to help the blond put the robe around herself. But… why did Ginny feel a little saddened?

 *

 After dinner, and the usual evening past-time of watching Ron beat Bill at chess, everyone made their way to their own rooms. Ginny helped Luna upstairs, although the blond seemed to have more strength in her after the sun had dipped below the horizon.

Luna slipped out of her robe, as Ginny changed out of her dress and into her nightdress. The two of them climbed into bed, and Ginny intertwined her fingers with Luna.

‘I imagine our evenings are perhaps a little dull compared to what you are used to.’

‘Oh, no,’ Luna said, sweetly. ‘I… I enjoyed myself very much this evening.’

Luna seemed to be rather short of breath. She was taking deep gasps of air that caused her chest to rise and fall sharply.

Ginny found heat rising in her face. She shouldn’t be staring at another woman’s chest, but she found it difficult to pull her eyes away.

‘Goodnight, Ginny,’ the girl said, before pressing a kiss to Ginny’s cheek. Her eyes slipped closed. ‘Thank you again for being my friend.’

‘G-goodnight,’ Ginny stammered, her stomach flipping over.

Ginny didn’t know how long she lay there, trying to control her heartrate, but she eventually dozed off, her fingers still intertwined with Luna’s on the mattress between them.

However, sleep did not last for long. Ginny became dimly aware that Luna had moved. Opening her eyes, she realised that the girl was no longer laid beside her.

The redhead sat up, and peered blearily around her. The full moon had risen, although it was clearly behind a cloud at the moment, the light only faintly peeking through the curtains of the room.

Luna was crouched at the end of the bed, her hands clenched around one of the bed posts.

‘Luna?’

The blond startled, but did not relinquish her grip on the bed post. Judging from how taunt the muscles in Luna’s arms were, she was holding on very tightly.

‘Please… please do not come any closer.’

Luna’s voice was barely a whisper.

‘Whyever not?’ Ginny replied, softly. ‘Luna, what is wrong?’

‘I.. I am terrified.’

‘Of what?’

‘That… that I will hurt you.’

‘Hurt me?’

Ginny stared at the girl, feeling very confused.

‘Luna, you are the sweetest person I have ever met. Why would you hurt me?’

‘It is not that I want to,’ Luna said. ‘I… I cannot stop myself from doing so, if you come any closer. Please… you are too wonderful to be tainted by the likes of me.’

‘Tainted? Luna, you are not tainted.’

At that moment, the full moon slipped from behind a cloud, and the room was bathed in moonlight.

As Ginny watched, Luna’s mouth seemed to open on its own accord. Luna’s eyes seemed to sprinkle with tears, and her hands clasped ever tighter against the bed post. Ginny could have sworn that she heard the wood crunch under Luna’s fingers.

Shaking, Luna’s head turned to Ginny.

‘P-please…’ Luna whispered, trembling as her mouth grew wider. ‘Do… do not come any closer.’

As Luna’s mouth opened wide, Ginny could see two huge canines growing, as if into fangs.

Vampire fangs.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

#'sweetness and light' #linny #linny fanfiction #linny fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #luna/ginny #ginny/luna #luna x ginny #ginny x luna #vampire!au #vampire!luna lovegood #ginny weasley #luna lovegood

[bitch-butter]

hello! can i request "You didn't do anything wrong, there's nothing to apologize for" for any ship of your choosing? or any AU you want? i just really love how your writing flows, it's so cohesive-- don't take this the wrong way but like. i adore sitting down and actually analyzing your stuff structurally? seeing how it works and weaves together to make a whole just makes the shriveled up eng lit major inside me really happy.

w o o f this one ran away from me a little bit, it incorporates some Things I was thinking of re: forgiveness/webgott last month, and it's bit different than pure H/C but I hope you find something to like in it! Thank you for your lovely compliment~

Yes, it's webgott bc i am chained to The Rhythm

4. "You didn't do anything wrong. There's nothing to apologize for."

He cleared the drawer once more, eyes scanning into its dark corners for any sign of a missed sock, undershirt, some hidden treasure that he had many years ago deemed worthy of being put in the back of the underwear drawer. Raising his brows, Joe shook his head at himself as he closed it resolutely, tossing his bounty into his pack and stuffing the top with the sack that contained his bathroom shit.

Even remembering the days he used to be able to leave the house with just his keys made him want to sigh like a goddamn cow in the summertime. Now he needs the bag, the car, and Web just to go across the bay.

Speak of the devil, Web padded into the bedroom with his usual September expression: weary, exhilarated, slightly frustrated. Wordlessly, he crossed past Joe to the bed and slumped face-first onto it with a groan.

“Done?” Joe questioned, zipping up the bag.

Making a soft grunt of a sound, Web curled his arms around his head. “Done,” he said, face mashed against the bed.

“Well, get to it,” Joe said, stepping over to land a light smack against Web’s ass and grinning at the outraged whine he got in response. “Don’t want to be late,” he tossed over his shoulder as he stepped back out to the hall, making for the kitchen.

Even out here he can hear the sound Web makes, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “I’ve changed my mind!”

“No you didn’t!” Joe called back, grabbing the butter left on the counter and shoving it in the fridge, letting his eyes make one final sweep around the kitchen. “If you don’t show your reputation won’t ever recover.”

“Your mother loves me,” Web toned, and Joe couldn’t help a snicker as he moved through the hall back to the bedroom, where Web had at least moved to lay on his back, knees up. “She wouldn’t care, she’d probably let me move in with her if you ever kicked me out.”

Rolling his eyes, Joe stood at the food of the bed, arms folded. “Not with Yom Kippur, you’re not allowed to fuck around. She was happy you said you wanted to come, you don’t want to disappoint her.”

Heaving out a long breath, Web folded his hands behind his head, eyes lowered as he peered down at Joe. His knees tilted just so, his lips quirking, and Joe could see the fucking thought forming in his head before he had a chance to open his mouth.

“No.”

“We have time,” Web said, extending one leg to poke his toes into the left side of Joe’s stomach.

Clicking his tongue, he took hold of the other man’s ankle, giving it a soft pull and smiling in satisfaction as Web tried to pull it back to no avail. “If you think I’m going to miss my last fucking meal just to fuck you then you have another thing coming, alright?”

With a disgruntled twist of his lips Web pulled his leg in again, a little jerk that ushered Joe down onto the mattress as well. “You weren’t this dedicated last year,” he noted lightly, free of the reproach that might have accompanied the words if his family had said them.

Shaking his head, Joe decided to throw Web a bone and settled beside him, at least staying up on his elbows. “Different places,” he said simply.

Web looked up at him fondly, hand coming up to smooth over Joe’s hairline, sweeping it back and trailing behind his ear. “So, how will we spend tonight, then?” he asked quietly, eyes still following along where his hand moved. “If not in bed.”

Breath going slow with the contact, he tilted his head into the touch contentedly. “Well, tonight we’re going to eat like kings, Rach will probably be trying to get drunk in the pantry and hoping nobody notices, we’ll sleep in the attic, then tomorrow we spend a lot of fucking time at the synagogue.”

“And we don’t eat,” Web stated, assured.

“No eating, no drinking,” Joe nodded, brow furrowing at the sight of an eyelash on the other man’s cheek, reaching for it mindlessly.

Humming, Web closed his eyes to accommodate him. “Does this have a corresponding Catholic holiday I can retrofit in my mind?”

“I don’t know, you guys got a day where you feel really guilty about everything?” he asked, presenting the lash to Web balanced on the tip of his finger.

Blinking, Web frowned thoughtfully. “Birthdays.”

“Make your wish, you prick,” Joe grumbled, holding back his smile as Web grinned up at him, pausing momentarily before blowing the lash away into the room. Indulgently, he moved in closer, cupping the warmth of Web’s face in his palm and looking down on him with a feeling as close to serenity as he ever has here, in their bed, the sunlight coming in through their window.

Web returned his gaze, his own hand tracing along the back of Joe’s neck. “Do you confess?”

“Sure.”

“Alone?”

“All together,” he corrected, absently rubbing at the spot on Web’s cheek where he had plucked the lash. “You recite it, while you do this,” he said, shifting gently to bring his hand down to Web’s chest, knocking gently against him, just above his heart, with a loose fist.

Web watched his fist, a bemused smile growing over his lips. “Why?”

Settling his hand over the spot, Joe rubbed gently at him. “To punish your heart.”

Smile stilling over his face, Web absorbed his words with quiet interest, eyes floating down along Joe’s neck to the dark burrow of his chest where it pressed against the bed. “Isn’t the sinning hurt enough?”

Trust Web to try to loop him into a conversation about semantics of all fucking things. He must be more anxious to start his classes than Joe thought. “I don’t know,” he half-shrugged, eyes on his own hand over Web’s heart. “If you’re the sort who doesn’t like hurting people, maybe.”

Web nodded, accepting, smile turning more wistful, thoughtful “That’s nice, to be able to get it all out of the way at once.”

“What, you turned in a paper late?” Joe teased.

Flicking behind Joe's ear, Web looked up at him balefully, just a touch of that familiar humor at the edge of his mouth, like a dimple made of light. “I’d apologize to you, obviously.”

Huffing out a surprised laugh, Joe looked discerningly down at him. “You got something you want to tell me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Web shook his head softly, hand curling around his neck once more and seeming to anchor him down even further, their faces close enough to see the earnest upset around the angles of the other man’s eyes. “You know.”

Web does this. Likes to see monsters where there are none, invent storm clouds heading for them, and it makes him behave like a child sometimes and a man others. He’s a contrarian, down even past his bones and into the dust of the universe that lived in his being, it is an unchangeable fact. Telling him that there’s nothing to worry about accomplished nothing at the best of times.

Not that it’s ever stopped him trying.

“You don’t have to apologize to me for a fucking thing,” Joe rebuked solidly, hand moving from Web’s heart to his head, fingers resting just north of the delicate point of his hairline. “Sincerely.”

“I do, I…” Web parried, eyes unyielding where they looked up into Joe’s, somehow free of the sort of conflict he contained when he started thinking he and Joe had different opinions. “I know that this isn’t easy, dealing with me. And you do,” he continued, and this close he can see the way his eyes are stuck on his lips, the thought filling him with affection. “And you’re amazing.”

Giving in, chest bowing in like the hull of a sinking ship, he caught Web’s lips with his own, a hot smack of a thing that stole his breath, gave it to Web, who in turn gave it back to him better, better. “You don’t have to apologize for living, doll,” he shook his head, their nose practically knocking. “That’s not the point.”

Web didn’t seem soothed by the kiss, still appearing occupied with some train of thought that sought to carry him off and away from Joe’s eyes. “I still think of it sometimes, you know.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

“That day,” Web said, as though it should be evident.

He has to pause and think. They’ve lived a lot of days together, not just these ones that they’ve spent in this apartment, but the ones they spent as voices over the phone, words on a page, men in uniforms hiding from each other like chameleons. How is he meant to know which day Web means from the thousands they’ve had?

Looking down, the blue of Web’s eyes reminds him absently of Austrian skies. Mountains.

Yes. He knows.

“I think sometimes I should apologize to you and never stop,” Web said gently, managing to keep hold of Joe’s eyes as they blinked back and forth and back and forth into the memory.

He hadn’t thought about that day in a long time. Which isn’t to say he never does, but it’s been a time. If he concentrates he can still feel the sun on his neck, the unnatural sweatiness of his palms, how his face had somehow felt cold, waxy. Picturing the house, the dark guts of it with the man inside squirming like half-digested meat, still fills him with the primal sort of rage that only visits him in his dreams. All around the periphery of the memory is Web, that day he had decided that whoever David Webster was he wanted no part of it.

“It’s in the past,” he excused weakly.

Web pulled in a short breath, face carefully open. “I know it is.”

“So let it be.”

Frown deepening, Web’s brought his eyes back down, and even this small departure felt like shrapnel. Joe combed through his hair, rubbing at his scalp, jostling him enough to win his eyes back. Web opened his mouth, struggling, before settling into the intention. “Do you still think about it?”

“Of course,” he said dully, voice still caught somewhere in his memory.

“Do you ever think I owe you an apology?” Web asked, voice quiet and eyes steady.

The question drops through him like rain. He’s thought of that day hundreds of times, thousands. When he lets his mind walk back up that hill, shining in the sun like the cover of the storybooks his mother would read to him, it isn’t Web he’s thinking of. He thinks of a forest of trees, of the way that one can become millions, and those millions become legion. That day had been about a lot of things, he hadn’t ever intended for Web to be one of them.

Web has apologized to him in too many ways to count. But this memory is deeper than they are, the kind of wound that might close over but will still carry a piece of metal, even smaller than a sliver, nestled inside of them both.

Web gives him grief, for better and for worse. But he gives him peace, too. That’s all the apology he wants.

His silence has drifted over the room like fog, but Web looks at him with the sort of clarity that only a few years ago made him feel like a bug on a pin, but now simply makes him feel known.

“I’ll punish my heart for forgiveness tomorrow,” Web said softly, smile turning up his lips, hand against Joe’s neck.

Huffing, Joe shook his head, taking up Web’s mouth once more, briefly. “You have it,” he rasped, kissing just the corner of his lips, and then the soft heat of his cheek. “You’ve had it.”

Web smiled into the kiss, leaning up to press a matching one to Joe’s own cheek. “Good.”

Swallowing, he followed Web back down, their faces close. “Will you accept mine?”

A disbelieving laugh rumbled up Web’s throat, his head giving a dismissive shake as he gave Joe’s neck a hard rub. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he criticized, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

But they haven’t always been that lucky. This sort of luck isn’t a permanent state of being.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, before pausing momentarily. “Let’s say you forgive me for the first sin I haven’t committed yet.”

Laughing, Web took his hand from Joe’s skin, holding it up beside them in some offering. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Joe confirmed, taking his hand, giving it one firm shake, enough to gather up Web’s laugh, before bringing it to his lips and laying a kiss across its back. “Now come on, let’s go.”

#technically ~rivers~ #prompt #ask #webgott

[lailyn]

At World’s End

Summary: A short companion piece to Episode 5 Journey Into Mystery

Pairing: Loki/Mobius

Tags: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

The Void, Time Immemorial

“There’s a fire inside, what the hell are you doing out here? Aren’t you cold?”

If there was one thing Loki did not miss about Mobius, it was the perpetual nagging. But for once, he had to agree.

“Yes, it is a bit cold out here, isn’t it?” Loki tucked his hands under his armpits and suppressed a shiver. “Never thought I’d still need to concern myself with weathering the elements, this is the first such post-death experience for me.”

“This is the first post-death for me, period,” Mobius said dryly, planting himself on the ground. “I’ve always believed Hell would look different for everyone. Not freezing, at least.”

“A bespoke Hel,” Loki mulled. “You have just made a very good point there.”

“I have?” Mobius quirked an eyebrow. “Now I finally believe we’re at the end of the world. Loki of Asgard just paid me a compliment.”

“Loki of Nowhere,” his companion corrected. “Every other Loki here is a greater embodiment of Asgard. I do not deserve the title.”

“Come on, what happened to that spunky guy who talked me into journeying back in time to Pompeii?” Mobius bumped their shoulders together lightly. "But come to think about it, everyone’s still got some pretty strong leather game going on, except for you.”

"Your precious TVA divested me of all my fineries," Loki said curtly, obviously still mourning the loss of his fine Asgardian leathers.

“Yeah but would you look at yourself? You’re filthy. And this was a brand-new shirt!" Mobius poked a finger into the side of Loki’s arm where someone’s blade had ripped a gaping hole in his shirt.

“Hey!” Loki recoiled with a wince. “You did give me just the one.”

“If anyone’s in need of a shower and a nap, it’s you,” Mobius said. "Did you even get that wound looked at?"

"No time. Too busy getting pruned."

“What happened to your jacket?” Mobius asked. “You could have gotten away with not so deep a cut.”

“I left it on Lamentis-1. It got ruined. See if you’d only used high-quality leather, it would have lasted longer.”

Mobius laughed. “Thank you for the constructive feedback. I’ll make sure the right department gets it.”

Loki’s entire demeanour iced over, his back a little straighter, his eyes candelas darker. “Oh no. You’re going to burn the whole place to the ground.”

Neither spoke for an immeasurable moment, tense and silent.

“I am, aren’t I?” Mobius asseverated solemnly.

“You promised her, didn’t you?”

Mobius nodded his head once, for once was enough. He knew what he promised. He knew what he owed Sylvie, what he owed Loki, what he owed all of them.

“I’m sorry I called you a cockroach.”

“It was fitting.” Loki’s voice was flat. "Kill one, a legion of us takes his place."

“That's not what I meant."

“Mobius, it's okay, it’s forgotten.”

“Damn it, Loki, I’m trying to apologise here.”

“You did get pretty angry with me back there.” Loki gave him a glance out of the corner of his eye. "As far as interrogation techniques go, I've seen better."

"Nah, I was just pushing your buttons - "

A scoff, "Pushing my buttons?"

"I couldn't help myself, you have too many."

Loki shook his head. "I can't believe you."

It was now or never.  

Mobius’ hand suddenly shot out to grab Loki by the tie. "Believe this,” and he hauled him in for a kiss.

A million memories flitted past in a blur of garish colours and sounds and scents, memories of hours spent dancing around each other in the search for answers neither was willing to freely give,

Somewhere, somewhen, he heard Loki gasp in surprise, but Mobius gave him no chance for a breather, deepening the kiss until hard enough to bruise.

Will he remember all of this? Will he remember the nights spent burning the midnight oil poring over worthless documents for what good had they done him? All the nasty words exchanged in the heat of the moment, thinking they had betrayed each other?

Will Loki be as forgiving? Mobius wondered in gut-wrenching regret. As forgiving as Sylvie?  

Mobius received his answer not a moment too soon when Loki surged against him a precious second later, body and breath; his grappling hand released the tie only to grasp the sides of Loki’s torso lest they both toppled onto the cold, unforgiving ground.

It could be Alioth roaring the sky or the promise of imminent death hanging over their heads, but the kiss tasted as sweet as hell. When they finally parted, it was with a pain Mobius had never felt before, and judging by the myriad of emotions raging in Loki’s eyes, it was a sentiment shared.

An eternity must have passed, for suddenly the sky just seemed that much brighter, the air a thousand times lighter.

Loki was the first to breach the silence.

"What was that?" he murmured.

"An apology."

“What more than that?”

"My swansong."

Loki blanched. "Mobius…"

"I don't want to regret anything.” The wind carried Mobius’ wish away, and with it, every shred of doubt.

He truly loved Loki, and reciprocated or not, he wanted Loki to know.

"I don't want to forget you." Mobius thumbed the hollow of Loki’s cheek, committing every dimple, every laugh line to memory. "However this is gonna end, good or bad, I really don't see an outcome where I don't forget you."

Loki’s face crumpled. "You won't."

For something that came as naturally to Loki as breathing, he must have forgotten how to lie; it felt like every inch of his face was giving him away, from the false bravado of his words down to the quivering of his lips. "I'm unforgettable."

Mobius had seen Loki driven to tears countless times throughout his long, long life, but he drew the line at Loki crying because of him.  

He climbed to his feet. "I should go.”

"You're leaving? Now?"

Mobius nodded. "Ravonna's waiting. It's time to finish this."

“Without telling the others?” Loki pleaded. “Sylvie’s going to kill you for leaving once she wakes up.”

“I’ve already said my goodbyes.” Mobius smiled kindly. “I came out here to see you.” One last time.

He quickly turned his back while Loki was still sitting stunned on the ground and fished the Tempad out of his pocket.

A press of a button later, the Time Door materialised in front of him, ominous and beckoning.

What lay beyond used to be home. Now? It was a death trap, but one Mobius simply must walk through. It was his duty.

But before he could take another step,

“Mobius, wait!”

A hand grabbed the bend of his elbow and against his better judgment, Mobius turned, only to stumble backward when Loki launched himself at him, locking chest to chest, lips to lips.

The kiss lasted for a while and tasted of sorrow.

"One for the journey." There were tears in Loki's eyes.

So much for not making you cry. "See you at world's end, Loki."

"Goodbye, my friend.”

#lokius #loki tv #mobius m mobius #wowki #time husbands #fic #loki x mobius

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 5

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 4,700 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

Art washes away from the soul, the dust of everyday life

Pablo Picasso

Chapter 5

Golden sunlight streams down in ribbons upon your hair, setting fire to the natural red highlights and causing the wrought iron railing to cast beautiful shadows across the floor. Marcus sits with you upon your hotel balcony in the late morning sunshine. You are now, a little more comfy, wearing your airport clothes- the high-waisted, wide-legged jeans and a mustard yellow and cream breton top that does everything to highlight the rise and fall of your curves.

He watches each tiny twitch of your face as you read notes from the meeting- your full lips pout and brow furrow as your gaze flits backwards and forwards over the words, making connections and drawing together the different pieces of information that you’d gathered from that meeting. Marcus tries to smother a chuckle when you unthinkingly roll your eyes and shake your head at the point where some idiot tried talking over you in the meeting and he can fully read from his position that you have scrawled TWAT across your notes in reference to that mediocre white man.

It’s at this sound, that you look up, “What’s up?” you ask tiredly, smiling amusedly in his direction.

“You’ve got such an expressive face as you read- I swear, it’s like your muscles are reliving all of the faces you wanted to pull in the meeting. You managed that jerk well in there.”

“I’ve been managing cockwombles like him my entire life. They’re fucking insidious,” you say turning your eyes back towards the screen, shaking your head at the memory of the all the arseholes who have gone before and all those who were yet to come. “If they had anything to actually offer, I’d accept it; but they just parrot shit back at you - the same shit that came out of your own mouth moments earlier - as if it is their fucking own, enlightened idea!”

“I can imagine.This level of work, even in the art fraud department, is such an old boys’ club,” he agrees, pursing his lips in annoyance of the invisible barriers that you must have come up against.

Nodding in agreement, you add with your head tilting to one side as you take the agent in, “You don’t seem to fall into that category, Marcus. You even handed the reins over to me in there- I should have just been your lackey today, not the one doing all the speaking. I appreciate you treating me like an equal.”

Rolling his shoulders and stretching the sides of his neck, Marcus looks off into the distance as he slightly straightens up in his seat, “My Mamá firmly entrenched the value of every human being in me, regardless of their gender. I don’t wanna bring it up again, and certainly never wanna upset you, but you should be my role in the team. Your aptitude for this role far outweighs mine,” he grins and turns towards you, “There’s a part of me that feels like a mediocre white man around you.”

“Well, at least you have decent enough manners not to mansplain my ideas back at me!” you laugh, hugely enjoying your boss’ company on that narrow balcony.

“You know, I didn’t recognise you wearing civvies in the airport? I was absolutely kicking myself for not taking a ride with you to the airport.”

“Yeah, I get that. After seeing me suited and booted, it must have been a shock to see a jet-lagged, middle-aged man in old jeans and a hoodie,” Marcus humbly chuckles, shaking his head.

“Are you digging?” Your eyebrow arches high on your brow as you interrogate him teasingly.

“What do you mean digging?” Marcus furrows his brows as his eyes widen innocently.

“Digging for a compliment, you daft thing!”

“Hah, no! I meant it honestly. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and don’t even know the reflection that stares back at me,” he replies, shaking his head sadly.

“Pssh, you have nothing to worry about. Some of us can only dream of looking as put together as you. I generally look as though I crawled through an art studio backwards even if I use an iron and put make-up on- in fact, scratch that- I look worse if I iron and put effort into how I look,” you exhale despairingly at the memory of all the other immaculate recruits and your general throw-it-on, it’ll-do appearance. “Everyone else in my family is so incredibly smart- immaculate even- and yet, I stick out like a sore thumb. Like I didn’t quite pass the expectations of what it takes to be an adult. I swear that’s the reason my aunties think I’m not married.”

Marcus huffs a gentle laugh, “I think that’s a big part of it for me. For the amount of grey in my hair and the creases in my skin, I’m not where I expected to be at this point in my life.”

“Where did you expect to be, Marcus?” You cock your head to one side, listening intently.

A buzz suddenly emerges from your phone:

« On est en bas! »

“Ah they’re downstairs- but do not think for one second that this conversation is over,” you wag your finger in Marcus’ direction as you gather your belongings, “We will continue this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Marcus mock salutes you and clicks his heels together as he rises from his chair with a huge crunch from his knees, “See, what did I tell ya? Old. I’m gonna grab my things.”

Grabbing your trusty rucksack from the floor of the balcony as Marcus departs, you feel almost reluctant to leave the balcony and the conversation that you were having with him. Since he’d helped you through the anxiety attack prior to re-entering your old workplace, the two of you had found an ease in being around each other. Whilst you are dreaming of spending a day chatting with Marcus, he’s already back with a small smile and a soft look about his eyes as he catches you staring into space.

Walking through the hotel, Marcus and you could be thought of as any pair of friends on holiday with your giggles and gentle jibes towards each other as you walk down endless corridors to find the exit. There is no way that anyone would have said that you had met barely twenty-four hours before or that you were there as business associates with the easy air you treat each other. After crossing the elegant lobby, you finally reach the doors to the outside world, a wave of relief coursing through you to see that you didn’t have to make a decision as to which way to open the door as there is someone to do it for you.

As you reach their car, Jacques takes off his seatbelt and makes to get out of the car but Marcus waves him off, opening the door for you to jump into one of the back seats.

“Oh you weren’t kidding about the stickiness,” you mercilessly tease the pair sitting in the front seats. Élodie responds by sliding her front seat back as far as it can go and you yelp in surprise at the sudden crushing of your legs, slamming your fist on her headrest in mock anger.

“Please excuse the children, Marcus,” Jacques shakes his head and sighs deeply but Élodie reaches over and squeezes her husband’s thigh in a way that makes him yelp and laugh in the same breath.

Marcus and you catch each other’s eyes and grin at the playfulness. You might be here on business but at least you can enjoy yourselves at the same time. The stresses of the morning slowly ebbing from your mind, you stretch out, resting your head against the cool glass of the window and allow the hum of the car engine and gentle chatter to surround you, lulling you off to the sleep you had missed out on the night before.

✪✪✪✪✪

Something is tenderly brushing against your cheek and you instinctively nuzzle into the warm touch as your eyes start to open and the world begins to regain its focus, “Hey, sleepyhead! We’re here,” Marcus murmurs as he strokes your cheek with his thumb to rouse you from your slumber.

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry,” you rub your eyes with your knuckles trying to rid yourself of the embarrassment of snuggling the fingers of your new boss, noticing that Élodie and Jacques have already left the car.

“No worries, your snores were pretty cute,” the agent teases you gently with a lopsided grin crossing his face.

“Lies! I don’t snore.” you exclaim indignantly at the accusations, but glad he hasn’t focussed on your reaction to him caressing your cheek, as your faculties start to kick in, reaching for the door handle to escape Marcus’ jokey impressions of your snores.

The mountain air in Grenoble strokes its icy fingertips against your neck, making you wrap the woolly softness of your cardigan more tightly around yourself. You notice Marcus also zipping up a black leather jacket over his hoodie. In the open boot of his car, Jacques concentrates on making a roll up next to a small bag of resources for you - cotton gloves, sample pots, tweezers and magnifying glasses.

“s'il vous plait, Marcus. Before we do anything else, I need to borrow your muscles,” Élodie announces to him, “We need coffee, and if I know that woman standing next to you, she will be in need of one, too!”

At Élodie’s statement, you watch Marcus’ face crease into a small smile, flashing that lovely dimple, as he crosses his arms across his chest. You wonder whether he's protecting his clothes from your next caffeine hit or trying to steel himself for the latest cheeky wink coming from Élodie. A slightly raised eyebrow is sent in your direction as his boots softly stride behind the clack of her heels upon the pavement.

A waft of tobacco drifts through the air as Jacques lights up as you watch his wife and your boss walk off in the direction of coffee.

“You left us, Nush,” Jacques scratches his nose as he looks at you through a cloud of smoke he has exhaled, “You disappeared. Literally, disappeared to the point that none of us could track you down.

“I mean, it is testament to what an incredible agent you are that you can just make yourself that invisible but…” he takes another inhale of the cigarette as he turns his shoulders to mirror your position, “But you weren’t even there for Jasper’s funeral.”

Silent rivers course down your face, “Please, Jacques. Don’t make me do this now. I can’t do this right now. Let me find my feet before we get into all of this. This is my first job since everything,” your hands trembling as you gesture wildly in the air. “I want to explain. I missed you both so much but I can’t right now. It isn’t the right time.”

Nothing more is said between the two of you as you both sit silently next to each other. Jacques nods contemplatively whilst he carries on sucking at his cigarette for comfort and release from the tension that has built upon his face. In the relative safety of the car boot, as he reaches across what feels like a chasm between you to pat your thigh, you can see the hurt searing through his eyes.

How did Imanage to destroy so much?

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus wonders how you are doing. He keeps looking back at you until you fade from his sight just to make sure that you are ok. He swears that he saw your shoulders and head drop as they seem to whenever you’re reminded of whatever those ghosts are that you haven’t managed yet to lay to rest.

“She’ll be ok with Jacques. Those two are like brother and sister, you needn't worry,” Élodie pats Marcus’ arm as she points in front of her, nodding towards a cafe. Seeing a small tic in his jaw, she adds with a small smile, “She’s special to you, non?”

After Marcus holds the door for Élodie, he shoves his hands in his pockets and pauses before saying, “Yeah. She is. I don’t think in all my years of working as an agent, that I’ve ever met someone like Anushka. Listening to her speak about art and the various different forgeries… it just transports me to a place... I’m not just in the museum seeing the original masterpieces. It’s not even just that I can see those pieces in front of me. Just by her words bringing them alive, I become part of the art. Her passion and knowledge is infectious and she cannot help but to enthuse everyone around- she is truly gifted.”

“Anushka is incredibly talented. She was born to be in the role but I would say that’s not the only way that you think she’s special,” Élodie gently analyses as she squeezes Marcus’ arm seeing a moment of panic cross his face- she tries to swallow down a laugh at how he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Nush- she can be a bit like a wild animal at times. It can take time to earn her trust. The 5 Eyes team is separate from Mi5, non?”

Marcus’ brow furrows, “Yes, we work under slightly separate parameters as we work across five agencies across the world- sort of similar to Interpol. Why d’ya ask?”

“Ok, so if you were to start anything with her- if anything were to be allowed to develop between the two of you, could it result in disciplinary action or her losing her role? Hang on,” she pauses as the assistant behind the glass shelf raises their eyebrows in Élodie’s direction, alerting her that it is time to order, « Bonjour, quatre cafés s’il vous plaît »

Marcus adds « Et je voudrais deux pain aux raisins aussi, s’il vous plaît. »

“Oh, I didn’t realise that you spoke a little French- a man of many talents,” Élodie teases with a wink as she grabs her purse from her bag, “And let me guess, the food is to try to stop Nush from burning herself or you? That woman is a nightmare with drinks.”

Reaching across Élodie,who is about to tap her card to pay, Marcus passes the cashier a couple of notes that more than cover the total, grabs the coffees and goes to leave, holding the door open with his elbow. “Why d’you wanna know about how interdepartmental relationships are viewed?”

The creases on Marcus’ brow deepen as yet another hint of whatever plagues your past troubles his mind due to Élodie’s words, “It is not my story to tell, and I’m not sure I even have half of the facts but please be gentle with her. Come what may between the two of you.”

“Oh, look who’s come to join us!” Looking up after a sharp nudge to his ribs alerted him to speak no further, Marcus sees Jacques tucking a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear, then pulling your hunched shoulders into a side on shoulder hug as Élodie grabs a coffee and mocks throwing it in your direction, to which you stick your tongue out. You are so busy messing around with the pair of them that you don’t notice the tenderness in Marcus’ eyes or the smile that creeps across his face as he watches how your friends behave around you.

“So are we ready to look at a slab of meat? I hope you’re not a vegetarian, Marcus,” Jacques chuckles freely at the thought of the tall, broad American becoming queasy at a graphic painting depicting the decomposition of a piece of carrion.

“Oh no, I love rare steak far too much, and I’ve spent way too long researching art to be weirded out by a bit of expressionism,” Marcus adds before taking a long gulp of coffee, “I must admit that I’m not terribly confident in my knowledge of Soutine other than he liked painting rotting meat.”

Jacques smiles and gestures his head in your direction, “Nush- time to shine, chérie.”

“So - Soutine was a Russian painter, who made massive contributions to the Expressionist movement whilst based in Paris. I don’t want to teach you to suck eggs so please tell me to shut up if you already know it but expressionism was a modernist movement, initially in poetry and painting, originating in Germany at the beginning of the 20th century. Its typical trait was to present the world solely from a subjective perspective, distorting it radically for emotional effect in order to evoke moods or ideas. Expressionist artists sought to express the meaning of emotional experience rather than physical reality so you needn’t worry about the depictions of rotting meat as it isn’t like an anatomical drawing you’d find in a copy of Grey’s Anatomy or anything.”

Pausing to draw a breath, you look up to check Marcus’ face- that you aren’t boring him to death- and see two dark eyes, flecked with amber, that are entirely focussed on you. His entranced gaze makes you shift awkwardly, eyes dancing around the street to try and focus on something other than him under the sheer intensity but you decide to continue, “He’s quite an interesting character in regards to our case as he was good friends with Modigliani, who we know is another one with multiple fraudulencies of his works as well as our link we made in the meeting that our main faked pieces being sold by our group are by European Jews.

“Soutine seldom showed his works, but he did take part in the important exhibition The Origins and Development of International Independent Art held at the Galerie nationale du Jeu de Paume in 1937 in Paris, where he was at last hailed as a great painter but sadly soon afterwards, France was invaded by German troops and obviously as a Jew, Soutine had to escape from the French capital and hide in order to avoid arrest by the Gestapo. He moved from one place to another and was sometimes forced to seek shelter in forests, sleeping outdoors. Suffering from a stomach ulcer and bleeding badly, he left a safe hiding place for Paris in order to undergo emergency surgery, which ultimately failed to save his life.

“The main thing that you two need to know,” you add as you reaffix your focus and run your eyes between Marcus and Jacques, ”Is that Paul Guillaume was the main dealer of his work. Straight after World War 1, he was Soutine’s biggest cheerleader and landed him a major deal with the American collector, Albert C Barnes. If you manage to track it back to either of them, you’re pretty much at ground zero- back at Soutine’s own easel- and don’t need to worry much about further certification of validity as it being one of his pieces.”

Standing in the street in front of the cafe, you discuss between the four of you who will focus on which part of the checking for verification of the piece.

Marcus and Jacques decide to focus on the provenance of the piece and to be honest, you’re relieved to be free from the paperwork trail. The idea of searching through the records of previous ownership, fills you with utter dread at missing something that would prove that it was a fake. You’d hope that each piece could be instantly traceable back to the moment where the original had been removed from the easel by the artist but that is so often far from the truth of the situation as records are often lost or aren’t even kept in the first place with only a handshake to move the piece to the newest owner. When certain disreputable organisations or untrustworthy governments seek to obscure the origins of pieces, it is nothing but doors being slammed in your face and labyrinths created from lies and deliberate obfuscation.

“Ok, so Nush and I will collect samples from the piece. I’ll then use the microscope to check the samples for any irregularities in the craquelure in the craquelure while madam here uses the stereo microscope to check the layers of paint,” Élodie gestures towards you, passing a plastic case over containing your equipment. “Obviously we won’t be able to do an x-rays, infrared or mass spectrometry tests as they aren’t so portable but if we cannot confidently say the painting isn’t a forgery, then I suggest we get a courier to take it back to Lyon for us.”

“Agreed, I think that would be the best use of everyone’s talents here,” Marcus replies, nodding, “Are we far from the auction house?” to build up a more 3D picture of the piece. D’accord??” Élodie checks as she grabs a coffee and starts to walk off in the direction of the auction house with Jacques beating a steady path behind her.

With a small gesture of his hand, Marcus waves you forward and as you take a step in the same direction as your friends, a small white paper bag with a telltale sticky stain seeping through that you hadn’t noticed being held out, taps you gently against the soft curve of your tummy. With a confused look knitting across your face.

Marcus boyishly grins back at you as he takes a bite out of his pastry, “Last set of clean clothes, gotta take calculated risks with you around.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Slightly arched windows with flaking grey paint allow a small amount of crisp mountain light to trickle into the mellow gloom of the Aladdin's cave that stretch out in front of Marcus’ eyes. As far as his eyes can see, gilt framed pictures playing out a multitude of scenes from people’s lives- some more parochial and some edging to the more abstract- bedeck the walls. A goat playing a violin, a horse in a field and a lady all in blue with sad eyes and a nose twisted closer to her ears are all jostling for positions in the party on his senses. Every single nerve in his body tingles with excitement at the treasures surrounding him on all sides. The busy-ness did not stop at the walls as every surface of the room was covered in objets d’art with exquisitely fashioned chairs, tables and armoires creating an increasingly impossible maze to step through across the floor. Even the exposed beams of the ceiling felt the need to be a part of this gentle assault upon the eyes, protruding above his head, lending an elegant set of vertebrae to the room.

Marcus thinks he’s hiding his giddiness well until he catches Anushka looking at him with an amused grin upon her face. He goes to respond but initially struggles to find the words to explain the eagerness that is written across his face, his mouth stretched in a childlike grin, eyes lit up and hands that tremble and flex with anticipation. A small smile from her and the light squeeze upon his arm told Marcus that he needn’t worry about explaining anything. Even though the touch was slight and momentary, it cut through the overstimulation of the room and it takes every bit of self control he owns to not throw his arms around her and hug her tightly. Don’t mess this one up too, Pike.

Reopening his eyes, an elegant chignon of hair and high cheekbones makes its way through the clutter of Marcus’ thoughts and extends a delicate, papery hand in greeting. The owner seems to glide through the objects around her, obviously confident of the dead ends and exit points between the items as she leads you to a small office where a tidy pile of papers and a small computer await your services.

«Madame, comprenez-vous que l'utilisation de ces méthodes scientifiques ne peut que prouver que le tableau est un faux? On ne peut pas prouver si une pièce est authentique.» Madam, do you understand that using these scientific methods cannot prove if a painting is a fake? rubbing his brow, Jacques tries to explain to the owner of the auction house, «Même si les résultats de tous les tests scientifiques indiquent qu'il n'y a pas de tromperie dans l'œuvre d'art, nous ne pouvons pas dire sans l'ombre d'un doute qu'il ne s'agit pas simplement d'un cas d'un faussaire dépassant la détection scientifique.» Even if the results of these scientific tests show that there is not a forgery in this work of art, we cannot say without a shadow of doubt that there is not simply a case of a forger out-pacing scientific detection.

Marcus nods in agreement with the agent’s words. He hates the dishonesty of it all- the obviously incredibly talented painters creating mimicries and mockeries of the original pieces. As the owner spins out of the room, Jacques notices the frown painted on Marcus’ face and the tic in his jaw as he starts to flick through the portfolio of papers in front of him.

“Hey, what happened to the giddy boy in the sweetshop back there?” Jacques teases, gently punching him on his shoulder.

Rubbing his fingers along the side of his nose before scratching the patchy scruff that lines the edge of his jaw, Marcus smiles, “Hah! That obvious, eh? Just, kinda wishing that we weren’t even necessary.”

“Yeah, it is irritating but it does pay my mortgage,”Jacques chuckles deeply, “And to be honest without it, I wouldn’t have met that woman in that lock up over there and convinced her that she should marry me or have my baby.”

A pang of jealousy hit Marcus hard, “You’ve done well then. Mine just pays a mortgage on a place in DC that I won’t even be living in for the next couple of years.”

“Never wanted to or the opportunity never arose?” Jacques quizzes not lifting his eyes as he reads through documents.

“Your setup with Élodie is something I’d love to have,” he nods sadly, “Just have one failed marriage - due to her infidelity and lack of wish to try and work things out, and a failed engagement as she was in love with another man - to my name. No, I’d love to have that vulnerability and affection with someone again. Kinda feels like a pipe dream now- not sure anyone would want to take on someone with such a creased up, greying ol’man.”

“Hah, have you forgotten my wife’s quite genuinely visceral reaction to meeting you?” Jacques laughs heartily, rolling his eyes at the mere suggestion from Marcus, “Believe me, you do not have anything to worry about there. It’ll happen. Usually- in fact, always, when you least expect it.”

With a soft huff and a slight lift from the left side of his lips, Jacques strains to hear Marcus’ whisper, “I truly hope so.”

“Hang on, whose name was it that we were looking for that would pretty much guarantee authenticity?”

Jacques’ face creases in concentration as he tries to rack his brains for the names Nush had provided earlier, “Bof...Paul something-or-the-other French and Albert something-or-the-other American, I think.”

“Hmmm, I think I’ve a document here with both of their names on it… Shall we go share it with the ladies?”

«Bonne idée. On y va. » Good idea. Let’s go.

Grabbing the pile of documents from the polished walnut bureau, there’s a sweet bubble of excitement building in Marcus’ tummy. Try as he might to convince himself that it was on account of being out of the tiny office and back around an exquisite masterpiece from the early twentieth century, deep down he knew there was another sweeter, more ancient and primal reason that made him want to be in the lock up.

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#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #ppascaledit

[keanureevesisbae]

Protection - Chapter 1

Summary: Mia Makaruku meets her new neighbor, but he isn’t at all what she expected him to be.

August Walker x Mia Makaruku (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident.

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter 

My muscles scream bloody murder, as I trudge through the hallways. Did coach Riley have to be so gruesome today? Goodness me, I don’t even know if I’m gonna make it back to my car. However, when I see the coach standing further down the hall, I quickly straighten my back and ignore the slight dulling pain I feel in my ankle and the rest of my leg muscles. ‘Mia,’ coach Riley says in a stern tone as I come closer to her.

Oh no, I think to myself. I did something terribly wrong. If she uses that tone after the first training of the week, it can only mean I’m in severe trouble. ‘Yes coach?’ I hesitantly ask.

Coach Riley’s looks indicate she is strict. Her blonde hairs are pulled back in a tight knot,  a pair of glasses with a thick black frame rests on her nose and the eyeliner that hardens her eyes. While the indication is absolutely one hundred percent correct, you eventually find out she is a sweetheart deep underneath that hard exterior.

When I first arrived in Chicago five years ago, I had no idea what Thanksgiving entailed and I was ready to spend it alone in my apartment. She invited—correction: forced—me to spend time with her family, because she did not want me to sit alone in my apartment on Thanksgiving.

With my last foster family being everything but a great success, it felt good to be welcomed with open arms into a family. I’ve had my fair share of families and while they were all sweet, the last one was a total nightmare. Being slightly traumatized by the experience, it was good to be hugged by a grandma I had never seen before.

Hugs from grandma’s do wonders.

‘You did good today,’ coach says.

Great, now I know for sure I have severely fucked up. If coach Riley starts with a compliment, she is going to break some pretty bad news within a few seconds. I have trained with her for a little over five years. I know her and her odd and slightly crude way of communicating.

‘Okay?’ I say, waiting for the bomb to drop.

‘However, I want you to take it easy, so next training you’re going to train with Tristan on the side of the field.’

‘Come on, coach,’ I whine. ‘Why?’

‘Upcoming Saturday it’s the second to last game of the year. I need you top fit then.’

‘But I am top fit. Honestly!’

Coach Riley isn’t impressed, but to be honest: when is she ever? If this woman has made a decision, she’ll simply power through, no discussion possible. ‘You take it easy during tomorrows training and you listen carefully to Tristan. I noticed a limp on the field just now.’

‘There wasn’t a limp,’ I say. ‘I swear, it’s nothing to worry ab— Okay, I’ll take it easy tomorrow,’ I quickly say when I see her cocked eyebrow that does not bode well.

She finally smiles. ‘Good. Now scocch, I don’t want to look at your face any longer.’

Just when you think she is finally a little bit approachable and kind, she thankfully does this, because her smile was nearly creeping me out. I can’t stop my chuckle. ‘See you tomorrow, coach,’ I say, holding up my hand as I continue to walk through the hallways.

The closer I get to the exit, the colder it becomes. When I’m training, I somehow forget about the ice cold temperatures. However, when I’m not training, which is the majority of the day, I remember we are nearing the winterbreak and that handling these types of temperatures, is not one of my strengths.

I tense up when I step outside and if my ankle wasn’t slightly bothering me, I’d run to my car. When I reached the vehicle, I quickly step in and start to heat it up. My car, unfortunately, isn’t the most advanced and it takes quite some time before it’s even remotely warm. I shiver in the drivers seat. My phone peeps in my pocket and I pull it out, to check the notification that popped up on my screen.

Reminder to yourself: YOU NEED TO DO SOME GROCERIES. GET YOUR FAT ASS CAT SOMETHING TO EAT.

No, no, no, I forgot. I totally forgot. I curse morning-me for sleeping in today. If I had just done groceries this morning before practice, I could’ve go home now. Why was I lazy and chose an extra hour of sleep over doing something actually productive?

I drive off the parking lot, wave to some of my teammates and go to the nearest grocery store. If I have a clear idea of what I want before I go into the store, I can actually manage to do this pretty swiftly and then go home, so I can curl up on the couch to watch yet another cheesy Christmas movie. I desperately need to buy some food for my cat, some eggs and chocolate and… Do I need more?

This is why one makes shopping lists.

‘You idiot,’ I mumble to myself, as I park the car in front of the store. I get out and walk to the entrance. While I’m strolling through the aisles, to at least get the eggs, cat food and chocolate I do know I need, I hear some girls giggling behind me.

I look over my shoulder to my right and see two young girls standing at the produce section. When they look away, I see a glimpse of their red cheeks and notice they are both wearing Chicago Red Star jerseys. I can’t—and won’t—stop my smile. ‘Hi,’ I say to them, causing them to carefully wave at me.

They shyly wave back. ‘Are you Mia Makaruku?’ one girl asks when she finally found the courage to do so.

I nod. ‘The one and only.’

They look at each other and exchange some excited looks. ‘Can we get a picture?’

This has been my favorite part of the job so far. I mean, sure, I love soccer with all my life, however seeing girls this age cheering me on during the competitions and hearing about how they watch clips of me, so they can learn from my techniques, makes me realize I love that even more. They call me their role model and with the status I have, I can actually be one for them. It’s a job I should take seriously and I do.

When kids tell me they are going to try and watch the European Championship for Women’s Soccer, because I am on the Dutch National Team, I try even harder to be the best player of the competition and be a model for them to look up to. Be someone for them I wished I had when I was younger.

I nod again at the girls. ‘Of course. I love your shirts. Tell me: whose name do you have on the back?’

They start to laugh and turn around, showing the backs of their shirts. ‘Yours of course!’

◎ ◎ ◎

Life hasn’t always been sunshine and rainbows for me. I just barely think about it nowadays, since it only leaves me with more questions than answers and I’d rather not wander in the dark like that. It’s weird to think about the things I do remember and don’t.

I do remember the second we skidded off the road. I don’t remember I had a mother or father or three brothers with me in the car. I do remember eventually taking the officer’s hand and despite repeating my name like mantra, kept asking him if he had heard my name correctly. I don’t remember any bodies on the scene, because there weren’t any and I also don’t know how their bodies disappeared.

It’s hard sometimes, knowing there is a memory inside my head that I simply can’t reach, but also not knowing what I’m missing in life. Did my parents love me? Did I have a good bond with my brothers? Was there a specific reason I wasn’t in the system? Why weren’t there other people with the same last name in the Netherlands who recognized me?

I moved from foster family to foster family, while trying to regain my memories by visiting multiple specialists. I went to a lot of places. To England, Ireland, France and Luxembourg, but no one could help me out. At the age of twelve, they simply stopped trying, because it was no use anyways and there was one family back in the Netherlands who insisted on me staying in one place for a change.

Thankfully they did, however I only stayed with them for four years, before I moved to my final family, that was a hell to put it mildly.

Finally, for the first time in yearsI wasn’t going from one specialist to another and there was one place where I was always—despite the family—welcome: my soccer team. In all those years of me visiting specialists, there was always one thing I looked for: a ball to kick around. Soccer was my love, my passion and the only thing I started to care about.

And now I have managed to not only make a name for myself in the USA, but also worldwide. When I was nineteen, I debuted in the Dutch National Team during the European Championship and my performance there was what caught the attention of the Chicago Red Stars. I could leave the small SC Heerenveen in the Netherlands behind and go to the USA. I had seen the American National Team. They were exceptionally good and now I got to play alongside some of them.

My first World Championship was when I was twenty one and the Dutch team was in the finals against the USA. Despite my two goals, the USA was too good and beat us with 4-2. Sure, I was disappointed, but still I was very pleased with the fact that the Netherlands became second and it was such a highlight in my seemingly short professional soccer career thus far.

I managed to overcome all these things and still be the person I am today. Since I can’t remember my past, I made it my mission in life to make the most of my future.

Don’t ask me how, but I managed to come back from the store with three full bags. Apparently, if you wander through the aisles long enough, you’ll find tons of excuses to buy crap you didn’t even need in the first place.

I’m finally back at my apartment building and the automatic doors slide open as I reach them. I walk towards the reception and I say with a smile: ‘Hello Harold, how are you today?'

Harold, the clerk behind the reception who is nearing his pension, greets me with his signature smile and I see the two familiar dimples form in his cheeks. ‘Hello, miss Mia, I’m doing splendid this Monday. How was your training today?’

I simply shrug. ‘It was okay, but I have to take it easy now.’ I can’t help but to roll my eyes. ‘According to my coach, I was “slightly limping” and she needs me top fit this Saturday.’

He scrunches up his nose. ‘But my dear, I think you are incapable of taking things easy. Isn’t your coach aware of that?’

I can’t help but laugh. I always like to talk to Harold, it’s so easy to strike up a conversation with him. ‘I think she just wants to bully me. Is there by the way any mail for me?’

‘There certainly is. Three envelopes for you. Almost makes you seem like a very important lady.’ He sends me a playful wink. ‘Oh, before I forget: I told you about the apartment next to you being sold, right?’

I nod. ‘Does this mean Mystery Person is finally moving in?’ I ask.

Harold nods. ‘He moved in today.’

‘Ah, it’s a man. Is he hot?’

He shrugs. ‘He is pretty stuffy and a bit authoritarian looking. I was hoping for someone as radiant as you. I think we need more people like you around here, not a copy of miss Thornhill.’

I throw my long brown hair over my shoulder. ‘Well, what can I say?’ I chuckle. ‘Not everyone is a ray of sunshine like yours truly. Is there mail for him as well? I can bring it to him.’

‘An envelope did arrive, indeed. I don’t think he will go down here to pick it up. We barely made eye contact today. I hardly even know if he is aware there is a reception, let alone that I’m the clerk.’ He hands me the other yellow envelope and says: ‘Are you sure you want to do this, miss?’

‘Absolutely positive. It might be nice to get to know my next door neighbor. Let’s hope he is not a gigolo. I really can’t use sleepless nights anymore. I have two important games coming up, I need my rest.’

‘Mister Toriello was quite the man,’ Harold laughs. ‘Thank you, my dear, for doing this.’

‘No problem, Harold. See you later!’ I walk to the elevator and hold my card in front of the scanner. The doors slide open and when I get in, I press button number nine. I look at the name on the envelope. It’s actually addressed with a sticker, no handwriting, which I find so impersonal.

A. Walker

A. Walker is probably the most generic name I’ve ever heard. This man could be anybody. Would he be bald, have a beer belly and burps all the time or would he be young, attractive and actually a chance for me to leave my forever alone status behind?

While that would be nice, Harold did say that the man was quite stuffy and authoritarian looking.

As someone with barely any date experience (none at all, actually), I’d say stuffy and authoritarian looking isn’t really my type, but never say never right?

The doors open and I step out on my own floor. I walk through the broad hallways and stop in front of apartment number 943. From behind the door, I can hear someone dragging furniture around the apartment and an occasional male grunt. I knock on the door and just hope that he can hear me. I don’t want to start banging on the door like an idiot.

Thankfully, he did hear me, because footsteps approach the door and when it swings open, my eyes widen.

The man standing in the doorway, does not match the generic sounding A. Walker name at all. He is tall, with broad shoulders and the shortsleeved shirt he is wearing, totally accentuates his muscled biceps. I mean, the body is a total A+ (I don’t think I have ever seen someone this buff, while still being proportionate), his face on the other hand… I mean, he does have a beautifully sculpted face and it looks rather perfect, don’t get me wrong, but he looks so angry with that deep frown between his brows and the mustache isn’t really my thing either. Kinda ruins his entire face, if I’m being honest. ‘Who are you?’ he asks, his voice monotone and already bored.

That is not a good start.

‘I’m Mia,’ I introduce myself with a smile, because smiles make people comfortable and this man does not look comfortable. ‘I live next door, in apartment 944. I brought you your mail.’ I extend my arm, so I can hand him the yellow envelope. ‘Thought it would be nice, since we’re neighbors after all.’

He rips the envelope out of my hand and is actually inspecting the seal on it. I am deeply offended. Why on earth would he think that low of me? As if I would snoop through other people’s mail.

After his thorough inspection, he looks at me again. His eyes take me in and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest. The shirt has a slight v neck and is that a tiny bit of chest hair I detect?

I’m almost expecting something condescending leaving his lips (he seems like the type), but A. Walker doesn’t say a word. He simply stares at me and now I kinda regret bringing his mail with me.

He looks and acts like an utter asshole.

‘What’s your name?’ I carefully ask him. Despite him looking like an absolute dick, I do think this is a man you might want to have on your good side. After all, he is my neighbor, I don’t want him to hate me, especially since from the looks of it this man can break me in half with just his pinky, which is intimidating on its own.

‘August Walker,’ he says, tilting his head, as he seems to scan my entire face. ‘Aren’t you that soccer player?’

Before I can even stop it, a smile breaks out on my face. I always like it when people acknowledge the fact that I’m a soccer player. I worked really hard to get where I am now and when people recognize me as that soccer player, it makes me happy. ‘I am,’ I say with an even brighter smile.

Maybe he isn’t so bad after all…

‘I hate women’s soccer.’

I’m dumbfounded. Why on earth does he have to be so rude? What on earth did I do to him to deserve this? What a fucking dickhead. I can’t believe I was actually trying to make a good impression on him. Maybe I don’t want him to be on my good side. Maybe I sort of miss mister Toriello now, with his late night adventures with very noisy female customers. At least he was nice enough to bring me cookies every now and then, to apologize for the noise.

I highly doubt August Walker knows how to bake cookies, let alone buy some of them to apologize for the inconvenience, whatever that may be.

‘Why?’ I ask, as my expression falters.

‘It’s stupid,’ he simply states. To make it even worse, he adds a shrug, as if it’s a well known fact and not just some stupid opinion. ‘Not as advanced as male soccer.’

I frown, as I try to cover up the fact I’m deeply hurt. ‘Well, that’s okay. To each their own,’ I say to him. ‘If we are being frank here: I think your mustache is pretty stupid.’

He simply raises his eyebrows, while his eyes still look bored and annoyed. ‘You do?’ he asks me. ‘Why is that?’

‘I don’t know. It makes you look like a pedophile, really. Have a good day, mister Walker.’ I walk towards my own door and barge inside.

Who gave mister August Walker the right to be this rude to me, someone who he barely knows? What a piece of shit.

My big orange cat Bobo walks up to me and he starts to meow, pulling me out of my racing thoughts.

The hairy companion makes me instantly forget about my new neighbor. ‘Hi, Bobo,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘I missed you too, little fella.’ I place the bags on the floor, before I lift him up, to press tons of kisses on his head. He purrs in my ear. ‘I bought you some food, so that means you can finally stop putting your head in my bowl and be a decent cat from now on.’

‘Meow.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x soccer player #henry cavill x mia makaruku #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #august walker x ofc #august walker #august walker x asian ofc #august walker x oc #august walker x mia makaruku #mia makaruku #asian ofc

[faithbetryin]

Five Hargreeves X Reader

(from my Wattpad: @FaithBeLovly)

Part 1

Pairing: Five Hargreeves X Reader

Word Count: 2,684 

The world is full of assholes. When will people stop being so fucking rude? You stand in line at the coffee shop, tapping your foot against the recently mopped floors with irritation. This guy just cut in front of you, his back taking up your whole view. You stand on your tippie toes, trying to see the menu from around his large, broad, and overweight body. You knew what you wanted, just a medium caramel coffee, but it still made you feel more sure about ordering when you knew exactly what it was you were ordering after seeing it on the menu. The anxiety of having to tell someone who's busy what you want even though you know exactly what. You fiddle with the dollar and seventy-five cents in your pocket. Stupid women's jeans don't have pockets. What if I actually wanted to put things in there like, I dunno, my hand?  You only wear small men's thrifted pants that you can fit into. The pockets are amazing. You sigh as you look down at your shoes. Black, dirty converse sneakers matched quite nice with the retro-style black and white diamond patterned tile underneath them. A hefty grunt from in front of you catches your attention. You look up to see a big sweaty back getting shoved in your face. 

You quickly pull back, making an annoyed "god-" under your breath. You peer around him to see a tall boy with navy culottes and a school jacket. He wore tall socks and what looked like... bowling shoes? You kinda liked the look, if you were being honest. You wonder if they were uncomfortable to be walking around in. The bigger dude in front of you shouts "Hey, you little shit, you just cut in line!" You make a snarky "pfft" out loud while rolling your eyes. He turns around and looks down at you. "You say somethin'?" The boy in front of you must've shoved him out of the way to get ahead in line. He turns his head back slightly, his hands in his short pockets. He had a very cunning look about him, mysterious face you've never seen around here before. His dark hair was swooped to the side, his just-as-dark brows furrowed but arched in an interesting way, to say the least. The corners of his lips churned a bit in a dismissive way, his dimples greeting your eyes. He turns back around, minding his own business. You shake your head at the guy in front of you, relieved as he goes back to complaining about the boy now in front of him. 

The boy paid no mind as he ordered what he wanted, a black coffee from what you could overhear, and walked over to the other side of the counter to wait to pick up his coffee. Your eyes watch him as he leans against the counter, crossing his arms. The man gets to the counter, but decides to spew one last "little shithead" before ordering. The boy smiles and tilts his head a bit as if he just got a nice compliment. You grin a little at his smart ass attitude. As you move up in line, he looks your way, a smolder back on his pale face. As your eyes meet his for an awkward moment, he widens his eyes a bit and raises his brow, making a face at you. You probably would've done the same if someone was staring at you in public. You look back down at your shoes and move up in line as the man in front of you leaves. You don't bother saying the usual "good" to the "how are you" from the cashier. You ignore it and continue to look at your usual order on the menu before saying it to the lady behind the counter. She presses a few buttons on the cash register before relaying the total to you. You pull out your exact change, handing it to her. She takes it and counts it before telling you it'll be ready shortly. You turn to go stand by the pickup side of the counter, but stop in your tracks like an idiot as your gaze catches the exact same gaze of the boy you were looking at before. You blink in embarrassment. He just looks at you with squinted blue eyes, finding you, obviously, weird. You drop your gaze and then walk past him, facing a different direction than he was standing. You fiddle with the plaid scarf around your neck, scratching under the itchy fabric. The boy gets his coffee and starts to drink it, taking casual sips. Eventually, you get your coffee too, putting the lid up to your lips as you're about to take that first glorious, burning hot sip. 

All of a sudden you feel your body give in to gravity as you're falling to the ground, your shoulder aching from a forceful shove. You feel like you're in slow motion as glass breaks around you, high pitched metallic whistles of bullets flying above you. In your peripherals, you see that navy blue and red jacket of the boy next to you, except he was pressed against you, his body collapsing on top of you as you both hit the floor. Your coffee shoots out of the cup, the hot coffee all over your clothes. You shriek in panic from all the action around you and the burning sting of the hot caramel coffee. You push the boy off of you and scoot away from him, instinctively covering your head with your hands as you keep your back against the base of the counter. Screams fill your ears. Wildly, you look around, your eyes searching for the cause of the commotion, getting your answer as you eye a van outside of the cafe, the doors wide open with machine guns pointed out of it. You look around to see people, glass, and debris on the floor. The boy gets your attention with his waving arms in your face. He was shouting but you weren't sure what he was saying. You regain awareness of your surroundings as your adrenaline quiets down enough for you to hear. 

"Hey! You okay?!" the boy shouts. His voice was raggedy as if he was going through puberty. You look into his widened, bewildered blue eyes as he shouts, "It's not safe here, go- Get out of here-" The both of you duck down in shock by the loud wave of gun shots hitting and breaking the glass in front of you. You open your eyes again to see the boy next to you holding his lower leg. Your eyes scan his face of pain until you realize blood was running down his leg and ankle. You stare in fear, not sure what to do. The boy sucks in air through his teeth before looking over at you, snatching the scarf from around your neck into his hands. "I need this," he says, grunting in pain as he starts to wrap your scarf around the gushing bullet wound in his neck. Your beige plaid scarf quickly turns red. He puts his hand out in your direction, trying to push you to get you to move. You quickly get the idea and get up as the gun shots stop for a moment, taking your opportunity to run. You slip out the backdoor, noticing the rude man from just a few minutes ago laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. You turn to see if the boy would follow you, but instead, you see a bright blue light that seemed to warp the way things looked around it. It was there for only a few seconds, the light disappearing. You keep moving, making it outside. You take off down the street, luckily just covered in coffee. You ran away from the cafe as fast as you could, climbing a fence to get into an ally where you'd be safe from straying bullets. Police sirens rung through the streets, getting quieter and quieter as you ran further and further away. 

I hope that boy is okay. That could've been you bleeding on that cafe floor, but he took the hit for you. You see shootings happen all the time on the news, but never in person. Your virgin ears never had to hear the booming of gunshots through the air. You make it home, shutting the door hard behind you. You rest your back against the door and let your body sink to the floor. Your eyes shut in a stressful wave of relief. You say to the memory of the boy in your head, "Thank you...”

#five #five hargreeves #number5 #theboy #five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #hargreeves #hargreeves x reader #x reader #fanfic #fan fiction #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #tua #tua x reader #imagines #umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy imagines #five hargreeves imagines