#nothing against beige people of color but you’re not brown.
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Could You Show Me?
Tiger leaned against the dark, mahogany door to Bald Bull’s guest room. He sat on the cold, beige, ceramic tile floor where one end of his rich-purple shawl that was sparingly decorated with light pink zig-zags laid across. He stared at his sleek, pointed, dark brown shoes as a feeling of worry grew inside of him.
He brought his head up, catching a glance at the tan-colored wall in front of him before he looked to his left. There, at the end of the hall, stood a window with blinds that had been closed and its deep-red curtains drawn, yet despite all that, thin, orange rays of sunlight still managed to creep their way through and fill the narrow hallway that Tiger sat in.
His eyes lingered on the window while the thin rays of light shone across his pale, dusty purple top. Despite his top having long sleeves and its bottom going past his hips, along with the fact he was also wearing long, somber-gray pants, they weren’t able to provide him any warmth within Bull’s house.
The AC vent at the left corner of the ceiling blasted cold air, its blaring fan just barely enough to drown out the shouting from the crowd outside.
He wasn’t sure how many people there were, nor what they were saying, but he didn’t want to check. He couldn’t risk it. If the paparazzis found out he was in here–that Bull had let him in here–they’d go mad. They’d start trying to claw their way through the gates and bang at the door while their shouting would get even worse. He couldn’t do that to his friend.
Tiger went back to staring at the floor. He brought his knees up to his chest and rested his head atop his hands.
Bull didn’t exactly ‘let him in’, Tiger just teleported inside after finally getting permission from Bull. Permission he only got after calling Bull several times in a row.
He felt terrible for calling so many times, but Bull hadn’t been responding to any of Tiger’s messages throughout the week. Every ‘Hope you’re feeling well!’ Text he sent? Every message he gave to Bull to let him know he could always call him for help? Every voicemail he left to remind Bull that he was there to support him? They were all met with nothing.
And when Bull finally called him back at long last? He just told Tiger he could ‘Come over if he’d like’, but he didn’t want Tiger to worry about him, and while Tiger appreciated the thought, those days of silence did nothing but make him worry.
The last time he and Bull had actually spoken was near the start of the week when the paparazzis had completely swarmed Bull’s house. Tiger had to spend most of the day keeping a lookout to make sure nobody was trying to sneak in through the garden, or climb their way past the gates, or attempt to throw things at the window just to get Bull’s attention, and when the evening came? When Tiger thought the fans would get tired and finally home? Random cars started to pull up, and even more people joined the crowd.
Tiger always knew the fans Bull dealt with were bad, but he never knew they got that bad. He’s only seen the small crowds that followed Bull obsessively every now and then, or the occasional group of fans that camped outside his house in the hopes of seeing him, and while those sorts of people were certainly annoying, they were usually avoidable. What Bull was putting up with now was on a completely different level.
Tiger and Bull spent that entire day in the dark, windowless guest room. It was probably the smallest room in Bull’s house. Most of it was taken up by a single large bed, while the rest of the space was occupied by… Boxes? A dresser? Tiger couldn’t remember all that well. It was too dark, and most of his focus was on Bull.
What Tiger did remember were the horrible bruises across Bull’s body, along with the fact that Bull hardly budged from his spot. Anytime Tiger had to quickly teleport out of the room to make sure no one was trying to break in, he’d come back to see that his friend hadn’t moved an inch.
He didn’t even get up to eat.
“Aren’t you hungry? I can make you something if you’d like.” Tiger had asked Bull.
Bull didn’t even look up from his bed, “I am not.”
“Would you at least like to go to the living room? Your bedroom? Isn’t your body aching from staying put all day?”
“I cannot let them see me.” Was all Bull muttered.
All other attempts Tiger made at talking to his friend were met with muffled, one-word replies. He knew Bull was drained, he knew Bull was stressed, but Tiger would be lying if he said witnessing Bull in such a state didn’t make him anxious.
Tiger let out a heavy sigh.
He rubbed his face as the AC continued to blow. The hallway grew colder by the second.
He then raised a hand and knocked it against the door.
“Bull…” Tiger said, his voice low, “I’m going to be leaving soon.”
No response.
“I’ll be sure to check outside and make sure no one is trying to get past the gates before I go. You’ll call me if you need anything though, right?”
Still no response.
Tiger swallowed, “Bull, you need to answer me.”
Bull finally responded, “Yes...Be careful…”
That’s all Tiger could hear. The rest of Bull’s words were too quiet to make out.
Tiger slowly stood up and placed the loose end of his shawl across his shoulder. His eyes lingered on the door knob for a moment. He reached his hand out, but stopped when the tip of his fingers touched the knob.
“I’ll be fine. Promise me you’ll be alright though?”
Tiger heard Bull mutter a ‘Yes’--at least–he hoped it was a ‘Yes’.
“Alright.” Tiger took his hand away from the knob, “I hope the evening treats you kindly. You know you can call me whenever you need me.”
It was silent again.
Tiger inhaled and squeezed his eyes shut.
His gem flashed, and he teleported away.
~ ~ ~ ~
Octave stood outside, leaning against a black lamppost as he fiddled with the collar of his white dress shirt. Once he was satisfied with how it looked, he brushed the fuzz off his black pants, and then shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark gray suit with silver pinstripes.
He adjusted his position a little, trying to get comfortable against the uneven surface of the lamp, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the slight shimmer those little pinstripes had underneath the light. They looked kinda nice.
He kicked at the sidewalk with his black dress shoes, then took a deep breath and looked at the sky. It was a wonderful, vibrant hue of orange. The thin, wispy, feather-looking clouds that stretched across the skyline had their edges traced by a brilliant, almost blinding shade of yellow that’d slowly fade into a less vibrant orange, then to a duller red, and then finally, to a very dull shade of purple. The sun itself was an intense orange color. It slowly sank further and further into the horizon, its bottom half partially warped by the clouds in front of it, making it look as though it were melting.
The city had been completely doused by this orange hue, providing a familiar sense of comfort.
As Octave stared into the sky, he found himself comparing its colors to that of an oven of all things.
He chuckled. He must’ve been hungrier than he thought if that’s the first thing his mind went to. He couldn’t help it, though. Something about this time of day always reminded him of being a kid; of those early evenings when his parents had just enough leftover money to spoil him with a package of premade cookie dough.
He remembered how making those cookies with his family–no matter how simple they were–made everything feel perfect. He’d always tear apart the dough into clunky, uneven chunks, roll them up, and place them on the pan his parents had prepared. He was never good at spacing out the dough, so his parents always had to separate them just a bit further, and after that, they’d stick the pan in the oven and Octave would sit on the kitchen floor and watch the cookies bake.
He still recalled the late night shows his parents blasted on the TV while he watched that oven. He’d pull his knees to his chest and never tear his eyes off those cookies, even when the oven’s orange light would start to burn his eyes. Sometimes he’d snack on the bits of leftover cookie dough while he waited, and oh, when the cookies were finally out of the oven? When his parents kept telling him he had to wait those extra five minutes just so they could cool? Those minutes were agonizing, but they were always worth it in the end.
Octave crossed his legs. He was making himself hungry.
Hopefully Tiger was going to show up soon.
Octave continued to stare at the sky as the sound of passing cars filled his ears–and then he heard a little bell chime.
He turned around to the two story building behind him. It was a bookstore. Apparently. It certainly didn’t look like one, though.
The outside of it was made up of dark teal–or at least, he was pretty sure it was dark teal–wooden planks, and above it was a black awning with the word ‘Delve’ written on it, its text faded and white. What sort of bookstore name was that?
As for the inside of the store, Octave had no idea what it looked like. Sure, there was a set of double doors with windows, but they were blocked off by a small group of people, so all he could really see was a dull, yellow light that filled the place.
There were also two big windows, but they were so overcrowded with decorations that Octave couldn’t see past them.
The decorations weren’t even book related, it was just a mishmash of old jewelry, plastic plants, dream catchers, vintage-looking desk lamps with obnoxious yellow glows, and salt lamps all thrown together onto white, wooden shelves that were hastily nailed to the sides of the windows. There were also white fairy lights that were weaved between the items, along with some sort of thin, dark blue fabric placed behind the shelves that completely blocked off the interior.
There were no books in sight.
Octave has passed by this street plenty of times before, and never once had he ever thought that this place was a bookstore. He thought it was one of those weird shops that sold a bunch of colorful rocks or whatever.
To the right of the bookstore was a small coffee house. It was closed–it’s been closed since 2PM. Its outside was made of light gray cement with thick, black casings around its door and windows. Octave could sort’ve see inside. Wooden chairs, matching wooden tables, and a nice little display case where they put the pastries. This was probably a good place to hang around after you bought a new book.
And to the left of the bookstore was… Octave had no idea. It was a white building, only one floor, and it looked extremely boring. The windows were tinted as well, so he couldn’t get a good look inside. He saw some strange blue logo above its black door that reminded him of an ocean wave, but that didn’t help him at all. Maybe it was one of those fancy little computer repair places?
Octave didn’t know this part of the city too well. Despite walking through here before, and despite its close distance, Octave never took the time to explore the businesses. Maybe he should do that one day.
The only reason he’s here is because Tiger wanted to meet in front of that bookstore. Octave originally wanted to meet up in front of the laundromat, but Tiger told him he had no idea where it was. Octave had to give Tiger the diner’s exact address and describe the streets nearby until Tiger could finally think of a place where he could teleport to.
“...Alrighty Miss Elysia, you have a good one.” A man with a deep voice said, snapping Octave out of his thoughts.
From the corner of his eye, Octave watched as the group of people finally left the bookstore’s doorway and started to walk away.
“You as well, you as well!” A woman responded. She sounded a little too energetic.
“You wrapping up for th’night?” Another woman asked, her voice much more monotone.
“Have to! Heaven knows my cats are probably crying their heads off cause I haven’t fed ‘em by now.”
“Shoot.” The man said, “Hope we didn’t keep you for too long.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it…”
As the conversation grew quieter, Octave looked around the block to see several other businesses starting to close their doors.
Owners were covering their windows, turning off their lights, flipping their little signs to ‘Closed’, some were putting their outdoor displays back inside, while others had already locked up and were making their way home.
Octave heard something to his right. He turned around–
“Good evening!” He heard Tiger say from above.
He looked up and watched as Tiger gracefully descended from the air, the ends of his shawl flowing behind him.
“Hey, ya made it on time.” Octave raised his brows and pushed himself off the lamp post.
“Yes, wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.” Tiger gave him a gentle smile as he landed on his feet. He tossed one end of his shawl over his shoulder before he scanned Octave’s attire. There was a little sparkle in his eyes, “Another wonderful suit as always.”
“Yeah?” Octave’s mouth hung open for a second before he went to adjust his white collar again, “How ya been?”
Tiger sharply inhaled, “Oh, I’ve certainly had a week. I’m just glad to finally have an evening to unwind with you, and I’m looking forward to that little diner! I’ve never been there before.”
“Let’s get goin’ then.” Octave tilted his head to the right, motioning for Tiger to follow along.
“Ah, of course.” Tiger clasped his hands together.
As Octave started walking, Tiger flew behind him.
“Did you have a chance to look inside the bookstore?” Tiger asked.
Octave shook his head, “Nah, some guy who was whistlin’ went inside ‘n I didn’t wanna put up with that.”
“I see.” Tiger said, a hint of disappointment in his tone, “Next time then. I think you’d like it! The owner has quite the collection of books from the late 1800s to the mid 1900s…”
Octave listened along as he led Tiger around the block.
“...A lot of the books there were donated, I believe…”
As Tiger kept talking, he looked ahead and saw a large group of people loudly chatting and taking up most of the sidewalk. He quickly raised himself higher into the air as they neared the group, while Octave simply squeezed past them.
“...I remember the first time I went inside, I probably spent a few good hours grabbing and reading whatever caught my fancy…”
Despite most stores being closed by now, there were still plenty of people roaming the streets and enjoying what the early evening had to offer. Some people were sitting at the wooden benches chatting with their friends, some were carrying groceries back to their apartment so they could finally make themselves dinner, some spoke on their phone as they walked along the path, and some sat at the steps of buildings to smoke away their stress.
“...I was hoping to find anything related to magic. Gems, spells, even something simple like learning how to make my flying a little smoother–”
“Did ya find any?” Octave asked.
“No, unfortunately. Most of it was fiction or biographies, but I also found a very old recipe book.”
“Were the recipes any good?”
Tiger laughed, “If you consider prune pie as ‘good’, then sure.”
Octave shuddered, “Think I’ll pass.”
Octave turned a right corner. Tiger kept talking.
“Anyways, even though I was a little disappointed by the lack of spells, I think you’d quite like their books…”
“Yeah?” Octave said as his eyes danced from window to window of the nearby apartments.
He could catch quick glimpses of people who were cooking dinner and had left their windows open, allowing the aroma of their wonderful, savory meals to travel through the streets and make his stomach growl. In some windows, he could see people laying across their couch with all their lights off as they watched TV, some shows being loud enough that he could hear it all the way from here. Others were on their little balconies watering their plants or taking down the clothes they had left to dry throughout the day.
“Yes! I believe I found some sort of clothes catalog in the past, it reminded me of the outfits you wear…”
The sound of wind chimes that hung from the balconies rang through the air, as the sound of distant motorcycle engines clashed with it.
“...I think they even had a book about famous musicians from decades ago? But I’m not too sure if you like music.”
“I do, just not th’type Disco plays.” Octave said as he kicked aside a crumpled cigarette. There were always a ton of those littered across the streets, though usually they were thrown into the town’s flower pots because people were too lazy to find a trash can.
“Right, right.” Tiger nodded, “Well, we should plan a day to visit that bookstore, hm?”
“Yeah, sounds good.” Octave stopped at the end of the block where a traffic light stood. Its yellow light doused the right side of the men as its quiet buzz filled the air, “We’re here.”
Tiger looked ahead, his eyes lighting up when he saw the diner and its brilliant red sign just across the street.
“My, how pleasant!” Tiger flew higher into the air then took off towards the diner.
Octave frantically checked the streets to make sure no cars were coming before he hurried across. He watched as Tiger playfully spun in the air while his shawl followed his elegant motions.
As soon as Octave got close to the nearly empty parking lot, Tiger did a loop and gracefully landed in front of the door.
He propped it open for Overload, who was only halfway across the parking lot.
Octave did a quick awkward shuffle over to Tiger.
“Ya didn’t have to open th’door for me.” Octave said when he finally reached the door.
“I wanted to.” Tiger hummed.
Octave brushed the hair out of his face, “Could’ve gone inside ‘n taken a seat already with how far I was.”
“And leave my friend out to die in the cold? I could never.”
“Awh, knock it off.” Octave lightly rolled his eyes as he headed inside. Tiger followed behind.
As soon as they stepped in, Octave took in a deep breath, welcoming in the smell of pancakes and syrup.
His mood got even better when he saw there were only two other people here. That’s perfect–that’s more than perfect. That meant tonight’s dinner was going to be quiet.
“Well, isn’t this wonderful?” He heard Tiger say. Octave looked behind him and watched as Tiger hovered in the air, observing the photos and other knick knacks that hung from the walls. He seemed fixated on a particular set of photos just above the door frame, leaning in close and stroking his beard as he studied them.
“I’ll get us a seat.” Octave said as he pointed towards the white counter. Tiger nodded as he slowly drifted to the left, looking at the array of flags, stickers, and old record discs that decorated the inside.
As Octave walked across the checkered floor, the clicks of his shoes mixing with the catchy, jazzy tune that came from the jukebox, he couldn’t help but notice he felt a bit tense.
He wasn’t sure why.
He’s been here hundreds of times before, and Tiger seemed to be liking it. Maybe he was just hungrier than he thought?
He sat at one of the red bar stools, it creaked under his weight.
He noticed there were two menus that some condiments sat on top of. He carefully pushed the condiments to the side and grabbed one of the menus.
The black door to the kitchen suddenly opened, and an orange haired waitress popped her head out, “Hey there! I’ll be with you in a minute!”
Octave nodded. The door closed again. He then grabbed one of the menus–accidentally hitting some condiments in the process–and started reading it.
He didn’t need to read it, actually. He already knew what he wanted.
Pancakes. Again. He almost always got pancakes here, it was one of the few places in this city that didn’t make them too sweet and douse them with a load of syrup. Maybe he’ll get a side as well. Maybe the hash browns? They were incredibly greasy but they were also incredibly good.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to a restaurant with so much decor.” Tiger suddenly said. Octave whipped his head to the right and watched as Tiger descended into the chair next to him, “I mean, I’ve been to places that have plenty of hanging lights, or a couple posters here and there, but they didn’t look nearly as chaotic as this.”
“Chaotic?” Octave repeated, the corners of his mouth twitched.
“Yes! In a good way, of course.” Tiger propped his elbows atop the counter, “I’m not sure if all of these items belong to the owner or not, but I love the way they’ve arranged them.” He twirled one end of his mustache, “It sort of reminds me of Bear’s scrapbook. He covers nearly every page with leaves, acorn bits, photos, notes, did he ever show you them before?”
“I didn’t even know he was into scrapbookin’.”
“Ah, he dabbles in a little bit of everything.”
Octave nodded.
His eyes scanned the diner’s interior as the word ‘chaotic’ lingered in his mind. That was a good way to describe it, now that he thought about it.
Many of the items on the walls were vastly different sizes, their colors were rather absolutely vibrant or so sun-bleached to the point they looked white, and their placements hardly had any rhyme or reason to them, but the owners had somehow managed to make everything work together. Somehow, everything complemented each other.
“I saw a photo of Popinski, I didn’t know he’d be the type to visit a little place like this.” Tiger said before he mumbled to himself, “I didn’t think he could even fit through that door with a head like his…”
Octave lowered his menu, “Wait, where’d ya see his photo at?”
“Over there.” Tiger pointed to a framed photo just next to the door. It was about the size of his face, and the top corner of it was hidden by a purple, triangular sports flag.
“Huh.” Octave raised his brows, “Yeah, they gotta photo of Sandman too. And Macho Man.” He rolled his eyes. Tiger did as well.
“They seem to be quite the fans of the WVBA.” Tiger said.
“Oh yeah, th’guys here love th’World Circuit. They even got some of ‘em old soda bottles Popinski advertised. Those fancy limited edition ones.” Octave motioned towards the drink station behind the counter.
Tiger looked up at the bottles, “I wonder how much it cost them to get their hands on those.”
“Think they got ‘em th’day they came out. This place has been here for a while now.”
“I see, I see.” Tiger stared at the bottles for a moment longer before his brows lowered, “Do they have anything with Aran, then?”
Octave scoffed, “No.”
“But he’s a part of the World Circuit?”
“Yeah, and they don’t like him.”
Tiger couldn’t help but laugh.
Tiger then reached out and grabbed one of the laminated menus in front of him, “If only the paparazzis weren’t so crazy…” He said, “I’m sure Bull would love to go to a little place like this and chat with the owners. I don’t think he’d want his picture taken, though.”
The kitchen door opened, and out came the waitress carrying a black tray full of hot, fresh meals. She balanced it on her shoulder as she happily walked over to one of the booths on the other side of the diner.
“How are things with you ‘n Bull anyways? Still helpin’ him out?” Octave asked.
Tiger’s mouth flickered to frown for a second, “It’s–this week has been hard for both of us. I’ve been trying to be there for him, but it’s…” His voice trailed off.
“He bein’ difficult to work with or somethin’?”
“No, he’s–” Tiger rested his head against his hand and took a deep breath, “He’s been having such a rough time after that fight. He hasn’t left the house, and I don’t think he’s–he’s been taking much care of himself, you know? So I’ve been trying to check in on him whenever I can.”
“What, like a babysitter?”
“No!” Tiger snapped, but he quickly calmed down, “It isn’t like that at all, he–I want him to be alright. I don’t mind lending a hand or being someone he can talk to, I want to be there for him.” He curled his hands into a fists, “I worry for him, especially when he–” He shook his head, he didn’t want to go too much into Bull’s situation, but he struggled to come up with any other way to explain this whole… Mess.
Tiger tried to continue, “Sometimes he’ll talk to me–or call on the phone–and he lets me know if he needs help. Other times I have to pry the words right out of him, and–”
Octave cut in, “Kinda sounds like ya playin’ therapist with him.”
Tiger pressed his lips together. His expression soured.
“I ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad thing for ya to be helpin’ him ‘n all that, but he shouldn’t need somebody ringin’ him up ‘n doin’ wellness checks.”
Tiger’s eyes drifted back to the menu, “I mean–don’t you ask Aran for help too from time to time? Don’t you ever call Aran just to have somebody to talk to?”
“Yeah,” Octave leaned against the counter, “but I don’t clamp up when I gotta an issue, I spit it out, ‘n when I’m actin’ like an idiot, Aran makes sure to tell me.”
Tiger lowered his head.
“Like I said–there ain’t anythin’ wrong with wantin’ to help th’guy, but he shouldn’t leave ya hangin’ by goin’ all quiet, ya know? Gotta imagine that sorta stuff would stress ya out.”
Tiger inhaled, “It can.” His mouth lingered open, “I want him to be okay, and I feel terrible for saying this–and I know he can get overwhelmed–but I wish he’d tell me what he needs. Even if it’s some time alone, or a meal, or–or anything, really.”
“Why don’t’cha tell him this?”
“Now? Of all times? No, no, no.” Tiger shook his head, “Maybe once he’s recovered. I don’t want to make things harder for him.”
Tiger then heard a pair of footsteps draw near.
“Alrighty, sorry for the wait you two!”
Tiger glanced up and saw the middle-aged waitress stand in front of them, a smile on her face and a notepad in her hand.
“Do you need some time to decide on what you’d like to drink, or are you all set to go?” She asked as she took the pen out of her hair and clicked it.
“Yeah, chocolate shake for me.” Octave said, setting his menu down.
Tiger perked up. That sounded quite good, actually.
“Do you have a strawberry shake?” Tiger tilted his head.
The woman’s smile got brighter, “Certainly do! Two shakes for ya then?”
The men nodded. She jotted that down on her notepad.
“Okay! And do ya know what you’d like to eat yet?”
Octave opened his mouth–but Tiger quickly spoke up.
“A few more minutes for me, please.”
The waitress hummed, “Take all the time you need. I’ll get those shakes for ya.”
She walked off. Tiger went back to reading the menu. Maybe he should get something for Bull while he’s here.
“I didn’t know you liked milkshakes.” Tiger commented as he flipped the menu over, getting a look at the burgers and sandwiches the diner had to offer.
Octave felt his face get a bit hot for some reason, “Yeah, just–like to get ‘em when I can. This place makes some real good ones.”
Tiger nodded. He flipped the menu over again.
The food here was simple, not that there was anything wrong with simple. They offered pancakes, omelets, waffles with fruits, plenty of sides–most of them fried–it was a nice change of pace from the usual, fancier restaurants he’d go to with the other Major Circuit men.
He found his eyes kept drifting back to the ‘Chef’s Special’ section. While it was a bit pricier than the rest of the menu, the options sounded wonderfully appetizing. ‘5 Star Steak & Eggs’, ‘The Sunrise Skillet’, ‘Strawberry Field Crepes’, and ‘The Chef’s Famous Cinnamon Roll French-Toast’.
While the crepes in particular sounded amazing, he was already ordering that milkshake, and he feared eating so much sugar would only upset his body. Maybe he’ll do the skillet? Potatoes, bacon, eggs, mixed vegetables, and it even came with a small side of pancakes if desired. Perhaps he’ll get the french-toast for Bull.
He looked over to the drink section. In the top left corner was a fuzzy photo of a chocolate shake. Despite its blurriness, he could still make out the shape of the tall glass, the mountain of whipped cream, and a red cherry on top. It did look delicious.
He then read the rest of the drinks. Tons of sodas, rootbeer floats, coffee, tea, fruit punch, not that many beers, though.
“Oh, how are things with Aran?” Tiger asked, looking away from the menu.
Octave let out a dry chuckle, “Bad.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, schmuck got suspended from th’stadium.”
“What?” Tiger blinked, “For how long?”
“Th’rest of the month.”
“The rest of the month?!” Tiger repeated, flabbergasted.
“Yeah–did ya not see it in th’paper few days back?” Octave cocked his head.
“No, no I–I was focusing on Bull! I haven’t had the chance to check any papers or watch much of the news or–! A whole month… Simply incredible.” Tiger dragged a hand down his face.
“He called me th’night it happened. Spent bout a whole hour complainin’ bout th’higher ups and yellin’ bout how it ‘wasn’t fair’. Dunno why he’s so mad.” Octave rolled his eyes, “He’s a fan favorite. They’ve shortened his suspensions before. I’ll give ‘em a week before they let him back in.” He huffed, “He wants me to meet him at some bar–again. He wanted to do it tonight, told him I was busy, so we moved it two days down.”
“I see…” Tiger tugged at the end of his beard, eyes still wide. “Those mouse traps he set up must’ve been the last straw for the higher ups.”
Octave froze.
A hot flash ran over his body.
“Mouse traps?” He finally asked, his heart pounding in his ears, “What bout ‘em? Did he grab ‘em out of a janitor’s closet or somethin’?” He rested an elbow atop the counter, his movements stiff.
Tiger furrowed his brows, “No, I don’t know where he got them, but he placed a ton of them inside of Bear’s locker–”
“Did ya see him do it?” Octave asked a little too quickly.
“No, only the aftermath.” Tiger’s mouth curled to a frown, “Poor Bear got his fingers injured. I saw one of his nails nearly come off and–” He shuddered, “Oh, it was disgusting. All because Aran got upset over Bear reporting him for that ink–ink… Ink-whatever-it-was he put in Macho’s locker!”
“Dang.” Octave clenched his teeth, “Yeah, I think I remember meetin’ with Bear just before th’poor guy got hurt. Gave me one of ‘em maple syrup bottles.” He grabbed a fistful of his hair, “Can’t believe that happened to him, not like th’big guy did anythin’ wrong. Hope his hand heals up soon.”
Tiger’s eyes narrowed, “Yes… And you know what made things ever worse?!” Tiger whipped his head over to Octave, making the man jump. “When I was trying to help Joe and Hondo patch up Bear, they had the audacity–the gaul–to accuse you of helping Aran with that!”
Octave’s shoulders tensed, “Me?”
“I know!” Tiger’s gem flashed, “As if! As if you’d ever stoop to such a level. I know you and Aran are friends, but I think it’s quite clear to anyone with a working set of eyes that you two do not act the same! When was the last time you ever tampered with someone’s locker? Or tried to break their fingers?!” His gem flashed faster and faster, “I just can’t believe them–actually, I can believe Hondo would think that. He loves to assume the worst, doesn’t he?” His expression twisted into disgust.
Octave nodded and grabbed his menu again, his grip creasing its center, “Funny ya mention Hondo…”
Tiger was about to ask what happened with Hondo–but then the waitress stopped by.
“Here ya are, boys!” She smiled as she placed two milkshakes in front of them.
Tiger took a deep breath and fixed his posture. He thanked the waitress and gave her a grin as he grabbed the tall glass and pulled it closer. Octave did so as well, and plucked the cherry off the whipped cream and popped it into his mouth.
“Have you decided what you’d like to eat? Or do ya need a few more minutes?” The waitress asked as she placed two straws in front of the men.
“Oh, no, I believe we’re ready.” Tiger said. He glanced at Overload, who nodded back.
“Perfect! What can I get you?”
“Chocolate chip pancakes ‘n a side of hashbrowns for me.” Octave said.
“I’ll have the Sunrise Skillet.” Tiger said as he used his magic to insert the straw into his strawberry shake, “And could I have the cinnamon roll french-toast as well, please?”
“Oh, wonderful choices.” She sang as she jotted down the orders, “We’ll get right to it!”
Tiger gave a little ‘Thank you’ as she walked off.
Then he turned back to Overload.
“Did Hondo do something?”
Octave put the straw into his drink and took a sip, “Yeah. Happened on th’same day Bear got hurt, actually.” He pulled the drink away, “I was walkin’ home, right? Tryna get there as fast as I could cause it was gonna rain, ‘n then I hear him call my name. Turned around, saw him standin’ at th’other side of the alley, ‘n then he started shoutin’ that it was my fault Bear got hurt!” He chuckled, “Crazy, right?”
Tiger stared at him in disbelief.
His eyes were wide. His mouth hung open.
He stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, which was starting to put Octave on edge all over again.
“He… Followed you home?”
“I mean like–I wasn’t at my house yet. Probably at th’halfway point but ya know–just kinda weird.”
Tiger kept staring at him.
“That’s… That’s very weird.” Tiger raised his voice, “That’s incredibly weird! And he has the audacity to talk bad about you when he goes and does a thing like that?! Oh, that little–!”
Tiger’s gem flashed a bright red–
He teleported away.
Octave’s eyes snapped open.
His head darted around.
He patted Tiger’s empty seat a couple of times before he whipped his head over to one of the windows.
Where did he–
Tiger teleported back into his seat, “Oh, do I have some wonderful words for that man once I see him again.”
“Hey, least it was a one time thing. Can’t say th’same for Macho Man.” He shrugged
Tiger took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down, “Has he been bothering you again?”
“Always does.” Octave took another sip of his shake, “Earlier this week I was doin’ my laundry, ‘n while I was waitin’ round, I see this limo pull up…”
Tiger finally took a drink of his own shake as he listened to Overload ramble. He listened to how Macho talked Overload’s ear off yet again when all the man wanted to do was run some errands.
As the men kept talking, one of the two other customers got up and left. It didn’t take long for the waitress to come out of the kitchen and place the dirtied silverware on a tray before heading off. The clinking of the utensils and cups mixed pleasantly with the music from the jukebox.
When Octave told Tiger about how he made Macho Man–the Mr.Big-and-strong Macho Man–practically speechless after giving him a piece of his mind, Tiger couldn’t help but snicker. How he wished he could’ve been there to see the look on Macho’s face. That man doesn’t get called out nearly enough as he should.
That’s when Tiger remembered his own little story about Macho Man. As he spoke, the waitress came back out to spritz the table with water and clean it off with bleach wipes, their subtle chemical stench mixed with the smell of hotcakes.
Tiger talked on about how the World Circuit had to do this big Meet-n-Greet a few years back, and Macho–of course–was hogging up most of the attention. Then Mr.Sandman came in, a bit late, a bit tired, and Macho Man–for some reason–decided to wrap his arm around Sandman and go off about how they were such great friends. Once he finished babbling, apparently that’s when Sandman just glanced at him and went: ‘Do I know you?’ Tiger couldn’t help but laugh again at the recollection. He knew Sandman was joking–but he didn’t care. The look on Macho’s face? His stunned silence? That will be ingrained in Tiger’s mind forever.
Octave laughed as well. After that, it didn’t take long for Tiger and Octave’s story-exchange to devolve into them sharing all the little moments that Macho’s annoyed them.
Tiger talked about Macho constantly pestering Bull, Octave talked about all his obnoxious phone calls.
Tiger talked about how Macho claimed his private jets were better than Tiger’s flying, Octave talked about the ridiculous robe Macho kept shoving in his face.
Tiger talked about the time Macho tripped and fell out of the ring in front of a large crowd after five minutes of bragging, Octave talked about the time Macho tried to play counselor and gave him the worst advice he’s ever heard after he lost a fight.
Eventually, Octave told a joke.
He didn’t even remember what he said, because before he knew it, Tiger was holding onto his stomach and laughing.
Octave grinned, proud of himself for getting such a reaction out of Tiger–
And then Tiger held onto his shoulder.
His grasp was gentle, his body leaning closer to Overload as he tried to steady himself, and Octave just kept staring at his hand.
This wasn’t like all those times Aran yanked him closer by the arm, or when Macho hoisted him in the air and carried him around, or when Bear gave him painful hugs without warning, this was…
He wasn’t sure how to describe it, honestly.
Better?
Warmer?
It didn’t make his skin feel like crawling. He wasn’t sure if it was because Tiger wasn’t being as harsh, or if it was because Octave was enjoying the night, but when he finally looked back at Tiger again? When he saw how he was still smiling and laughing? Octave’s grin only grew before he found himself laughing along.
After a few minutes–most of it Tiger spent trying to calm himself down–the food arrived.
Steaming hot, chocolate chip pancakes with a few packets of butter, a small syrup dispenser, and a side of hash browns that Octave just knew was gonna make him sick tomorrow, but he was going to enjoy all of it tonight.
Tiger looked at his skillet, rather impressed that such a small diner gave him something so big, and the french toast? It looked fantastic, but its sweet smell was already starting to make his head spin a little, so he asked the waitress if he could have a take out box for it.
“You know,” Tiger started as he jabbed his fork into a couple pieces of diced, roasted potatoes, “next time we’re together, we should go to one of those thrift stores you’ve told me about. We don’t always have to meet up and eat.”
“Not too big on this place or somethin’?” Octave raised a brow.
“Oh, no, no, no! I think this diner is very charming, but I’d also enjoy exploring other places with you.” Tiger quickly ate the potatoes before covering his mouth with a napkin. He swallowed, “Do you get motion sick?”
“Not too badly.”
“Ah, perfect.” Tiger’s eyes lit up, he set the napkin down, “There’s this library in my home country–it’s absolutely massive–and I can't help but think about it when I see the decor here. Of course, I’d have to teleport you there, which can make some people nauseous.” His eyes scanned the walls, “I believe the family that owns the library has been collecting all sorts of artifacts for decades now, along with some donations, and it’s absolutely marvelous to see. They have manuscripts hanging from the walls, shards of stained glass, plenty of old pottery–even some armor! And, well,” Tiger stroked the end of his beard, “it’s a library. Guaranteed to be quiet. If you’d ever like to go, I could gladly whisk you over there.”
Octave nodded as he started cutting up his pancakes, “Don’t gotta tell me more. Already sounds right up my alley.”
“I think they have a little section for old newspapers as well, but they have them in these little… Glass… Display box things.” He made a square shape with his hands, “You’re not allowed to hold them since they’re so frail, so–oh! Newspapers!” Tiger jumped, “You mentioned Aran’s suspension was on the paper, right?”
Octave nodded again before he gestured towards the newspaper rack by door, “They might have th’paper over there–”
Tiger flew off his chair and landed in front of the rack. He waved his hand about, sorting through the papers with his magic while his eyes scanned their titles.
A small smile appeared on his face as he grabbed a particular, slightly torn newspaper before flying back to Overload.
“My, this picture certainly doesn’t do him any favors, does it?” Tiger hummed as he brought the paper to Overload.
A large, black and white picture of Aran–whose face was shoved right into the camera, his teeth bared, and spit running down his chin–took up the top half of the paper. The large text above it read: ‘ARAN RYAN SUSPENDED FOR THE 13TH TIME!’
“Hey, I think this is th’best he’s looked in a while.” Octave smirked.
Tiger chuckled as he skimmed through the paper, “It certainly captures his rattiness well, doesn’t it?”
Octave watched as Tiger unfolded the paper some more so he could read on. His smirk grew a little more sinister.
“Hey, ya wanna see somethin’?” He asked.
Tiger tilted his head. Octave pointed towards the paper, which Tiger handed to him.
Octave then pushed his meal aside and laid the paper down on the counter. He pressed one hand atop it and used his other hand to start carefully tearing at Aran’s picture.
Tiger watched him with curiosity in his eyes. Octave kept tearing away until the picture of Aran was completely removed. He lifted the picture up, it was about the size of his hand and its shape nearly a perfect square, save for the few tiny tears here and there.
There was a look of confidence on Overload as he then set the square back on top of the paper and started folding away.
Tiger tried his best to keep watching, but Octave’s hands were blocking most of the folds. He could just barely make out a few instances of Overload folding and unfolding the paper, along with a couple of triangular folds here and there, but other than that, he hadn’t a clue what Overload was doing.
After several seconds of silence and folding, Octave’s smile widened.
“And there.” He playfully tossed his paper creation into the palm of his hand and lifted it up to Tiger’s eyes, presenting it with pride, “Now he’s really ratty.”
Tiger stared at the paper for a moment, eyes narrowing as he studied its shape, each crease and fold until–
“Oh!” Tiger’s eyes glimmered as he realized its shape was similar to a rat. It was small–nearly half the size of Overload’s palm–and its front half had a pointed, triangular fold that resembled a snout, along with two smaller triangular folds on both sides that looked like little ears. Its bottom half seemed to be much more rounded out, and had a tiny, thin paper tail that poked out from it.
“Why, Overload!” Tiger smiled, “It’s darling!” He started to wave his finger around, tracing shapes into the air until the paper rat was lifted off of Overload’s hand and started to follow Tiger’s motions. Octave jolted.
Tiger watched the little rat in amusement, “I had no idea you knew how to make something like this–”
Octave suddenly lunged in front of Tiger and clamped his hands shut around the rat, scaring the daylights out of Tiger.
Octave quickly pulled the paper rat back to his lap.
For a split second, Tiger noticed Overload’s face was frantic–but it was quickly replaced with a crooked smile.
“Yeah, just know how to make this one li’l thing.” Octave forced out a laugh, “Found some dumb newspaper with some instructions on it when I was a kid, so it’s just–yeah.” He carefully opened his hands again and peeked at the rat, “Just a stupid li’l thing.”
His face felt hot, and it only got worse the longer Tiger stared at him.
Octave was about to shove the paper rat into his pocket–but Tiger spoke up again.
“Could you teach me?”
“What?”
“Could you teach me to, you know, make a little rat like that?”
Octave hesitated, “I mean–our dinner might get cold. Ya sure?”
“Yes, of course!” Tiger pushed aside his plates, “I can always reheat this.”
“Right.” Octave mumbled, his face still warm. His hand lingered over the newspaper for a second before he started tearing it again.
He made another square roughly the same size as the first one and slid it over to Tiger. He then tore another square and held onto it.
He lifted up one of the square’s corners, “So you’ll wanna–ya wanna bring this corner to th’bottom corner over here…” He said as he did just that. Tiger followed along.
Octave kept giving out instructions. Fold the paper this way, bring an edge over here, crease the paper that way… He made sure to show off each stage of the paper clearly so Tiger could replicate it the best he could.
And when Overload noticed Tiger was struggling with a specific fold? He’d make sure to slow down and wait, occasionally repeating the instructions so Tiger could try again.
Overload then showed Tiger how to fold the paper into a thin diamond.
“This next part’s kinda tricky.” Octave said, “Ya see this li’l fold over here?” He asked as he pointed to the small, pentagon-shaped fold at the top of the diamond.
Tiger nodded.
“Alright.” Octave set the paper down. The kitchen door behind them cracked open as he kept talking, “So you’re gonna have to pull th’bottom half of th’fold up until–”
The chef popped his head out the door, “Debra! I need ya over ‘ere!” He let out a sharp whistle.
Octave immediately crushed the paper with his hand and cussed.
He stopped.
He listened to the waitress hurry past him and into the kitchen. His eyes flickered over to Tiger, who looked at him with concern. His face grew hot again as he stared at his now ruined, crumpled origami.
He pressed his lips together, muttering under his breath and pushing the paper aside before ripping out a new square from the newspaper.
“Give me a sec.” Octave quickly mumbled.
“Take your time, take your time.” Tiger said as he carefully held onto his paper.
He watched as Overload started to recreate all the folds he had already taught Tiger. His hands were fast, his fingers jumping from place to place, never stopping nor hesitating for a moment, he just kept folding as if it were second nature.
Tiger studied Overload’s soured expression before his eyes drifted back down to the paper.
“Could I ask you something?” Tiger asked.
Octave didn’t even glance at him, “Sure.”
“Why… Why do you hate noise so much?”
Octave stopped.
His hands hovered over the paper. The corner of his lips curled down ever so slightly, and his brows lowered. He wasn’t angry but… Tiger had never seen this sort of expression on Overload before.
Octave slowly went back to folding, “Why?”
“I’m–” Tiger suddenly felt a hint of embarrassment, “Curious, I suppose. They seem to really bother you and I couldn’t help but wonder if there’s a reason for that.” His eyes darted to the tiled floor, “You don’t have to answer, of course.”
Octave’s folding got even slower. He stared at the paper in his hands as a lump formed in his throat.
“I dunno.” He finally said.
Tiger brought his head back up.
“Like–I hate noise. I know I do, I just… I don’t really know why I guess? Or what started it. Just kinda came one day when I was young ‘n it just got worse.” He mumbled, uncertainty on his face, “I can just hear every li’l thing for some reason. Tappin’, someone breathin’ outta their mouth too loudly,” He let out a dry chuckle, “hummin’, people bitin’ on their forks… My folks back at home were real bad bout that. Hadda stop eatin’ in the same room with ‘em after a certain point. They always told me I’d grow outta it.”
He folded the paper into a triangle and continued, “It’s like–I dunno. I thought I’d get over it too, right? That once I was outta school ‘n outta that stupid house, thing’s would get better, but now it’s like I keep findin’ new sounds to hate.”
“And they annoy you? Is that how you’d describe it?” Tiger said with a tilt of his head.
“No, it’s–” Octave’s grip on the paper tightened, “It’s like there’s somethin’ in my head–like–like a switch or somethin’. I’ll hear a sound ‘n then that switch gets flicked ‘n I just need th’sound to stop.”
“Is that why you react the way you do–” Tiger stopped himself and sharply inhaled, “Sorry. That sounded much worse than I wanted it to. I just notice you seem to raise your voice and–”
“Yeah.” Octave cut him off, his expression souring, “Flip gets switched, and I get–I get mad I guess.” That word didn’t feel right, but he didn’t know how else to describe the sensation, “Sometimes I say somethin’ without even thinkin’ bout it. Punch stuff sometimes–luckily I’m a boxer, so it’s not…” His voice trailed off. He had no idea what to add to that.
Why did he say that?
‘Yeah, I punch stuff over noise.’ Who says that? Who does that? A maniac.
All those times he’s broken a belonging, or put a dent in a locker, or punched a wall when there were onlookers were moments that had ingrained themselves into his mind. There was nothing more embarrassing than a professional boxer who threw a tantrum over some noise.
And his thoughts.
No way could he tell Tiger about his thoughts.
The thoughts of ripping someone’s head off just because they whistled, or breaking someone’s fingers just because they were tapping, or wanting to grab the sharpest object and jab it into their neck, or the desire to bash his own head in until everything went quiet…Those weren’t normal. If Tiger heard even a sliver of his thoughts, he’d leave. He just knew it.
Octave stopped folding entirely.
He never took his eyes off the paper.
“I dunno what’s wrong with me.” He said.
His thumb carefully traced around the paper’s edge.
“I know that’s a dumb answer. I know this whole noise… Noise hatin’ thing is stupid, but it’s just… That’s all it is.” He let out a brittle laugh, “Just somethin’ stupid.”
“Overload…” Tiger slowly reached a hand out, “It’s not stupid–”
When his hand got a little too close to Overload’s, Overload inched away.
“It is stupid. C’mon, it ain’t like I’ve got any real issues. I just hate noise, ‘n–” He grit his teeth, “And it’s stupid I can’t get over it. Half th’time I gotta stay cooped up in my dang house cause at least I know there ain’t any noisy schmucks in there.”
He kept his mouth open for another moment, wanting to add more, but he shut it.
The amount of times he’s had to turn down invitations to official WVBA events sucked. There was no other way to say it. It sucked he couldn’t go to the events and hang around with the other boxers, it sucked he couldn’t stay in a large, crowded room for more than an hour without cursing at someone and storming out, and it sucked that he couldn’t block out the noise like everyone else.
He drove himself crazy.
Normal people don’t find the quietest spots in a stadium and hang around there until they feel better. Normal people don’t have to wait in their house all day until it’s late and they know for a fact most of the world will be quiet. Normal people don’t hesitate to go to stupid events that are supposed to be fun all because of a little noise. Normal people don’t have to constantly glance at people’s fingers and feet to make sure they won’t start tapping.
And maybe Octave wouldn’t have to do all that crap if everyone else could just shut up. He didn’t care if they got offended over his shouting, he wouldn’t have to shout in the first place if they just stopped making noise. It’s not his fault they only listen to him when he screams at them.
Maybe if people weren’t so loud, he could actually stay at a dang WVBA event for longer than an hour. Maybe then that stupid dinner with the rest of the Major Circuit would’ve been a night he could’ve enjoyed.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to break people’s stuff or punch the nearest object if people turned their garbage music down for once. Maybe if people weren’t so sensitive to being told to shut up every now and then, this dang city would be a better place.
But no.
People just have to get all worked up. People just have to be sensitive.
“Have you told the higher ups about this before?” Tiger asked.
No response.
“Have you told anyone about this before?”
Octave lowered his brows.
He raised his head and faced Tiger ever so slightly before raising a single finger up.
“Who?”
“Aran.” Octave said.
“What did he say?”
“Thought it was funny.”
Octave didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to. Just thinking of the way Aran’s face shifted into a smirk and asked if Overload was joking ticked him off. And the way Aran spoke to him? How he told him that ‘everyone had a sound that annoyed them’? How Octave was just ‘making excuses’? It made Octave wanna storm over to Aran’s place and clobber him.
“Some friend.” Tiger sneered.
“It’s whatever.” Octave said as he went back to folding, “I’ve told him plenty’a stuff before ‘n he’s never told anyone else. I know he ain’t th’type to rat people out like that. Even if he thinks it’s stupid, it stays between us, ya know?”
“Still.” Tiger narrowed his eyes.
As Octave slowly folded the paper into the shape where they last left off, Tiger brought himself closer to him.
“Thank you though, Overload.”
“For what?”
“For telling me about this. I can only imagine it’s not the the easiest thing to do and…” He breathed in, “I promise I’ll do my best to stay quiet around you, and I promise this will stay between us.”
“Yeah?” Octave didn’t know why, but his chest tightened when he heard that. He didn’t know what to say, what he could say, so instead, he raised his head to look at Tiger for just a brief moment and gave him a smile.
His smile then faltered, and as he leaned just a bit closer to Tiger, he brought his focus back to the paper, “Wanna finish makin’ ya rat?”
“Ah, of course.” Tiger perked up.
The two men went back to folding. Octave continued giving out the instructions, making sure to clarify whenever he needed to as Tiger watched him.
It took a few minutes, and it took Tiger a couple of unfolding and refolding, but eventually, he finished.
He held his little origami rat proudly on the palm of his hand. Octave held his rat up as well.
“It seems mine is a little lopsided.” Tiger said as he compared the rats. Octave’s had straight, sharp edges, and the rat’s ears actually looked like proper ears. Tiger’s, on the other hand, had noticeable creases as to where he messed up, his ears were different sizes, and his rat’s poor little behind was a bit crumpled. Its tail was a little short as well.
“That’s alright.” Octave said with a shrug, “Ya just gotta practice.”
Tiger nodded along as he brought his rat over to Octave’s, tapping their little paper snouts together. That got a playful eye roll from Overload.
“C’mon, why don’t we eat now? Food’s probably cold.” Octave said as he gently set his origami rat down in front of condiments.
“A little bit of cold food has never hurt anyone.” Tiger hummed.
He placed his rat right next to Overload’s, and then they enjoyed their meal.
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What is the Best Color to Paint a Cottage?
Cottages often follow fairly set (but unwritten) guidelines in terms of style. In some areas of the UK, english cottage communities can have rules about what colors building exteriors can be painted and how their gardens can be arranged.
So, if you’re looking to renovate or decorate a cottage, you might be asking, what is the best color to paint a cottage? The short answer is white for the walls if they’re rendered. If not, don’t decorate over the bare stone because it can look much nicer. For doors and window frames, go with whatever color you think most suits your cottage’s vibes.
Below, we’ll cover some of the best colors for cottages and some suggestions for how to make them work together.
What are Cottage Style Colors?
Cottage colors overlap, to an extent, with farmhouse colors and styles. As such, cottage style mostly focuses on natural colors and neutrals, such as:
· White
· Beige
· Browns
· Greens
· Grays
· Blues
In the old days, cottages would be painted whatever colors were readily available. If you go back far enough into the past, people would have mixed their own paints from ingredients they could gather from the land.
This is why neutrals play such a big part. Earth could give you browns and yellows while plants could give you greens. Neutral tones would come from wood and stone. You wouldn’t find much blue, red or purple, as these were expensive colors to make.
Of course, this isn’t the case anymore, but tradition has persisted in terms of what we associate with the cottage style. While you have more freedom with modern paints, there are still some general rules to follow.
What are Country Cottage Colors?
Many of the colors listed above are found inside a cottage, but you could use all of them for a cottage’s exterior. The most common color for the actual walls is white, though. In the past, this was because whitewash (or limewash) was the cheapest and easiest color to produce. You can read more about it here.
However, you can easily pair whitewash with literally any color – it’s one of the beauties of white! Let’s look at some of the best colors to use for a cottage exterior.
5 Colors to Paint a Cottage
You could use any of these colors inside a cottage, too, but we’re focusing on the outside in this article. This is mainly because you can do what you want inside your home, but these colors will help you to achieve that chocolate box appearance so many people desire.
1. Sage Green
Sage green is a favorable color for cottage exteriors. It’s similar enough to the surrounding plant life that it’s not jarring, but the hint of gray separates it just enough. Sage is a lovely bright color that’ll look great all year round, regardless of the weather.
Better yet, it’s suitable for windowsills and doors on both whitewashed and unrendered cottages. The gray and green tones pair well with both white and stone, giving you loads of flexibility.
2. Sky Blue
Sky blue is another great color for cottage exteriors. It follows a lot of the same logic as sage, but it contrasts well against the surrounding foliage. Many see blue as a colder color than green, and this can make it work well with a whitewashed building.
The main benefit of sky blue is that it’s much softer than something like ultramarine. It’ll arguably work better on a whitewashed building than an unrendered one, although nothing is stopping you from using it on either.
3. Yellow
Yellow isn’t a traditional exterior color for cottages, but you’d see it a lot in interior paints. This is especially the case where soil is rich in ochre, as that was the most common pigment for yellow paint.
Unsurprisingly, there are plenty of directions you could take yellow accent paint. Perhaps the best would be something like sunflower yellow, as it carries a lot of strength and boldness that would work well against both whitewash and stone.
However, if you wanted to keep things soft, a light yellow would also work well. You’ll want to think about how it works next to your cottage garden in the summer, too. For extra pop, consider prioritizing bright pink flowers in your garden!
4. Lilac
You can probably spot a theme around the most suitable colors for cottages. Lilac is a soft purple that still has a lot of pop compared to other pastels. It carries hints of spring and will contrast well against foliage and whitewash.
Make sure you use it sparingly, though, as too much will overwhelm other colors. It’ll be fine for window frames and doors, but leave it at that because it’ll draw too much attention otherwise.
5. Brown
Brown isn’t the most exciting color in the world. That said, it’s a pretty traditional option for exterior woodwork. Staining wood is as much a viable option as painting it, and it typically results in dark brown colors.
Of course, this doesn’t mean you’re limited to wood stains. After all, the chances are high that you’ll be painting over already painted woodwork, meaning you couldn’t stain it anyway!
Aim for chocolate brown or similar – something with a deep, warm, earthy hue. It’ll work well against whitewash and stone, and will complement any trees and foliage in your garden.
Final Thoughts
Decorating a cottage doesn’t require you to stick with conventional rules. However, doing so is the easiest way to achieve that picture-perfect look. While there aren’t many explicit guides on what colors you should use around a cottage, many unwritten rules relate to their historic design.
Hopefully, the list above will give you some inspiration about the best cottage style colors. Whatever you choose, use it appropriately to make existing colors pop and to keep that traditional feel to your home.
source https://villageandcottage.com/cottages/what-is-the-best-color-to-paint-a-cottage/
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Can you do a hot scene with Erwin and Zeke x f!reader with daddy kink, both of the men have a *thing* for her bc she’s such a smarty brat/ a tease. They should’ve be pissed at her but she’s way too playful🤑🤫 I leave the rest to your imagination, love your writing <33 anything you wanna add or change feel free to do it 🤍🥺
Bestie....you fr did something with this request right here. Ily for this and I’m so glad you enjoy my writing, I hope you enjoy this little Drabble!
Synopsis: Set in a modern AU, professor!Erwin and his teacher assistant!Zeke both have the hots for one of their students and decide to invite her over for dinner one night so they can all release their shared tension.
TW: Mature things obviously, fembodied!reader (she/her pronouns), face fucking, oral (fem recieving), degradation, daddy kink, teacher/student, threesome, 18+, MINORS DNI! (these are for the drabble underneath the read more)
Word Count: Google docs was trippin so I wasn’t able to get the word count, but just know it’s a 2k+ mini drabble underneath the readmore
Headcanons
Let me set the scene for you; Erwin is a professor at your college, teaching a small world history evening class and Zeke is his TA basically, acting as a teacher himself sometimes but mostly doing things like helping grade papers, helping students with their work, or working as Erwin’s fulltime assistant. Needless to say, you interact with the two of them on a daily basis quite a lot and it’s no secret to the other students that you’re most definitely their favorite, taking most of their attention away from everyone else. But they could care less, they’re not as passionate about the class or as eager to learn like you; another factor that drew Erwin and Zeke to you.
You’re a confident, strong book-savvy student who’s always ready to debate and bicker someone, snarky remarks leaving your mouth in an instant, and Zeke and Erwin always end up being the victim of those. Bickers and debates over information lasting the whole class session almost, either you winning and leaving them red in the face or them winning with a smug expression on their features and you storming out the classroom in annoyance. You all meet each other’s energy so well that you can’t help but clash from time to time, but the three of you do get along pretty well. Many times you’ve found yourself lingering after class to talk with them about everything and nothing like you’re all just good friends catching up. Your bond is definitely an interesting one.
It’s after one of these routine after-class talks that they invite you over formally for once, a dinner at Zeke’s house with Erwin and how could you possibly say no to that? A chance to be alone with your hot history teacher and his sexy teacher assistant.
You didn’t expect to be this nervous as you walked down the corridor leading to Zeke’s apartment yet here you were, fingers fidgeting with the rings on your fingers and your toes awkwardly rubbing against each other the closer you got. All the confidence that made your hips swing from left to right as you entered the classroom like you owned the whole school, the usual overtly confident y/n that they were used to was dwindling down into a nervous wreck. But you couldn’t let them see that, let them know the effect that they had on you, so you swallowed those anxious feelings as if they would be digested by your stomach and let a look of smugness take over your features as you made your way up to the door. Your hand ghosted over the cold wood, curling your fingers into a fist ready to knock but before you could even make contact with the door it was swinging open, greeting you with the sight of a smirking Zeke. He wore slacks with a beige plaid pattern going over them, a creme-colored shirt to match the brown of his pants, and an elongated dark brown coat that brought out the lightness of his round glasses perfectly.
“You look very nice tonight,” You complimented him for once as you made your way inside the apartment, “Finally you don’t look like a caveman for once.” The joke didn’t go over his head at all, him choosing only to acknowledge it with a dry chuckle. “Good evening to you too Ms. /l/n, You look mighty fine yourself.”
It was then that your confidence came rushing back to you as you remembered the outfit that adorned your body. It was a simple silky champagne pink bodycon dress with a corset-like top, but on you, it fit like a supermodel. The dress hugging every curve and dip on your body and showing off a little more cleavage than expected, your nipples even poking out through the thin fabric, but you couldn’t have picked out an outfit more perfect for this night. The constant glances Zeke took unremorsefully at where the dress stopped at the high of your thighs let you know that it was a great choice. Lips curling up into a smile as you thanked him.
“Where’s Professor Smith?”
“Just over here in the kitchen, follow me.”
Is this where being a teacher assistant got Zeke? You couldn’t help but admire the decor and set up of his home as he led you through the hallway and living room to the kitchen where Erwin was standing with his back faced to the two of you, broad shoulders contracting and going back to their original form with every shake of the pan in front of him. He was cooking? That’s something you definitely didn’t expect to see, thinking they’d opt-out for takeout for the night, but it just made the night feel more genuine than it already was.
“I thought I had heard you come in, y/n.” Erwin’s rich and smooth voice infiltrated your ears bringing you out of your thoughts. The same smile on your lips from when you thanked Zeke for his compliment earlier. “And please, leave Professor Smith for school. Call me Erwin.”
“Erwin.” You repeated with a nod, butterflies erupting in your stomach and your cheeks warming up from the wink that followed after his words. “I’m surprised to see you cooking. I was sure you two would have takeout ready on the table when I came. Probably something cheap too like Chili’s.’ You jabbed at them, taking your place at the table while Zeke situated himself against the arch of the opening of the kitchen. Most people would’ve been offended by such a remark, hurt even, but they were so used to your snarkiness that all they could do was chuckle in return.
“Chili’s? No, Mcdonald’s would’ve been more fitting for you.” Zeke messed with you back, warranting your tongue to stick out at him in a childish manner.
“Calm down children,” Erwin joins in on the teasing as he makes his way to the table with three steaks and bowls filled with sides in his other arm, Zeke going over to help him. Dinner wasn’t too eventful, but it was enjoyable. Most of the time wasted away with the three of you talking about various topics the conversation swayed towards like how you usually did.
The three of you had decided to relocate to the living room after finishing dinner, now washing it down with a glass of wine as you three sat down silently enjoying each other’s company. But silence wasn’t your forte, so it didn’t take long at all for you to move from your position between them on the couch. Both of their eyebrows raised in confusion as they watched you search around the small area looking for whatever it was you were looking for, not knowing what to expect since you were, well, you after all.
“Found it!” You announced in a sing-song voice as you shimmied your way over the vintage phonograph vinyl player sitting in the middle of Zeke’s living room that must’ve cost him a fortune. And if it didn’t then the extensive rack of vinyl records sitting next to it definitely did. You squatted down so you were face to face with the rack and if you weren’t facing the other direction you would’ve saw the way both of their eyes immediately traveled down to your ass in the squatting position you were in before blue eyes met brown ones, a silent nod signifying confirmation of some sort between the two.
Any genre or artist you could think of occupied the shelves, your finger skimming over each and every one until you found one that you craved to hear. Soon the soft melodies of the instruments on the smooth jazz record infiltrated the living room, your body contorting and twisting in a sensual way with each beat that hit your ears. The closing of your eyes really showing how into it you were, arms wrapping around your own body like the two men weren’t watching from not too far away as you put on a show like you were in the comfort of your own room. What a tease, the two men thought to themselves, shifting and manspreading to try and soothe the uncomfortable ache between your legs that you were causing. You knew exactly what you were doing because this wasn’t the first time at all that you had done it. Plenty of times you showed up to class with a shirt on that revealed just a little too much or a skirt that practically put your whole lower body on display, legs spreading purposefully whenever you saw one of their eyes travel to the underside of your opened desk. You did everything in your power to make them succumb to their--no, your desires but it wasn’t until now that they let themselves be selfish.
Zeke was the first one to move from his position on the couch to make his way over to you, calloused hands grabbing at your sides and pulling you closer to his torso as he began to sway along with you, hands moving from your hips and letting them explore the surrounding skin before cheekily slapping your ass and earning a small yelp out of you. Erwin simply watched from the couch, for the time being, still sipping on his wine waiting on his opportunity to slip himself in.
“I figured this would happen eventually,” Zeke finally spoke up, “I just imagined something a lot less sensual; you bent over the desk in the classroom or something.”
Before you could counter his words with a sassy remark he moved his lips against yours, gently letting them ghost over yours for a second or two and even going as far as teasing you by rubbing them against yours before he finally indulged you with a kiss. The taste of wine and savoriness from dinner still lingering on both of your tongues as you deepened the kiss. Swirling your tongue around in a way that had precum dripping from the tip of his cock as he thought about how good it might feel if it was there instead, slurping the opaque liquid up. As much as you wanted to keep kissing him and let your tongues explore each other he decided that it was time to pull away, trailing kisses from the corner of your mouth to your neck where he gently let his teeth graze over the sensitive flesh, warranting a gentle moan from you.
It was like music to his ears and immediately he decided that he wanted to pull more from your plush lips, letting his kisses trail farther down until his lips were over one of your nipples protruding from the silk fabric, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub at a painstakingly slow pace that made you want to shove him away from you completely for denying you pleasure.
“No bra on? What a lewd thing to do, but I wouldn’t expect anything like from someone like you.” He murmured against the fabric.
“Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” You questioned, still a bite to your tone like earlier.
“A slut.” Erwin answered for him and it wasn’t until now that you noticed his presence from behind you, chiseled chest pressed up against your back and his breath fanning across your neck distracting you from the hand he brought up to rest at the nape at it. His other hand going down to scrunch your dress up around your waist. Revealing your lacy underwear to their doting eyes and especially to Zeke who was now dropping down to his knees in front of you. “She’s soaking fucking wet. Her panties are dripping with wetness.”
“You think we didn’t notice all your advances? All the times you traded your integrity just to get our attention like the bad girl you are, huh?” Erwin’s hand moved from the nape of your neck to the front of it, gently squeezing it with his hand and forcing you to look up at him. A chastising look on his features as he stared down at you, making you feel so little and small compared to his towering structure.
You had no words to respond to him with, too caught up in a daze in your head thinking that this couldn’t be true, that this was a dream you were going to wake up from in a couple of minutes. But it was the warmth of Zeke’s tongue prodding at your clit that brought you back to your senses, eyes widening in shock as you looked up at your professor. This was really happening.
“Hm, looks like the brat doesn’t have anything else to say.”
“I think I like her better like this anyway.” The blonde between your legs mumbles, sending a vibrational tingle up your spine and leaving your legs wobbling. He was so messy with it, tongue devouring you like you were the 2nd course on the menu tonight. You diverted your eyes down to him for a second, his staring right back up at you as he feverously worked his tongue against you. Your juices mixed with his saliva already wetting your thighs up along with his beard.
“Oh god, that f-feels so good.” You let out in a choked moan, knees daring to buckle on you and make you fall to the floor, but Erwin’s death grip around your torso stopped such from happening. Which you were also grateful, but that also meant you weren’t able to buck your hips up into Zeke’s face or swivel them the way you wanted to; taking away any sense of control you thought you had. It wasn’t too long after that you were releasing all over his beard, wetting it up as your insides clenched around nothing, desperately wanting one of their cocks to stuff you up and satisfy that craving.
Even after your orgasm, he didn’t stop. The pace of his tongue showed no sign of stopping and just to add to the sweet torture you felt two slender fingers entering your hole, a loud moan emitting from your lips in response. “I can’t take it. Too much.” You let out in a ragged breath.
“Come on, sweetheart. You can give us one more. You can take it. You don’t have any choice matter of fact, you’re going to give us as many as we want from you. Maybe if you weren’t so bratty things would be different.” Mouth too occupied on you, all Zeke could do was hum against you in agreeance.
“Erwin--”
“Aht, it’s daddy or professor to you from here on out.” Oh
“Daddy,” You quickly corrected yourself with a whine, “I can’t take it anymore. M’too sensitive. I need more. I w-want you inside of me.” Luckily for you, Zeke’s tongue was getting tired from being on you and he was quick to get off of his knees at your request to Erwin. “Look at the begging slut now. You weren’t like that when you first came. Guess you really are just all bark and no bite.” He teased you, fingers going to your nipples and pinching at them. You couldn’t even reply if you wanted to because his lips were on you like earlier forcing you to taste yourself on your tongue. And to your surprise Erwin joined in as well, leaning over from behind you and inserting himself to make a 3-way kiss that had all your tongues entangled with one another’s; everyone getting a taste of you.
“Zeke go sit on the couch and let y/n return the favor.” The older man spoke up after pulling away. Everyone moving away from such close proximity of each other so you could all go to your positions over on the couch. By the time you turned around to head in that direction Zeke was already sitting on the couch with his cock free and sprung up against his stomach, twitching in your direction as he awaited your arrival. Erwin on the other hand was nowhere to be found, completely gone from your view, but you didn’t let that stop you from making your way over to the bearded mand; dropping on your knees as soon as you were in front of him.
Your hands move to engulf his thick cock with your hands, jerking it a few times and spreading around the pre-cum that cumulated on his tip before you began to lower your head. You were getting ready to bring his tip past your lips when the feeling of two broad hands gripping the crevice between your stomach and hips stopped you abruptly, presumably Erwin behind you getting ready to do something. You went to look behind you to confirm you suspicion only to be stopped by Zeke’s hand roughly grabbing at your chin forcing you to look up at him again.
“Nobody told you to stop or look behind you. Get back to work.” It was pathetic how much they were able to break you down in such a small amount of time because without a second thought you did exactly what he told you to do, slipping his cock past your lips and gently sucking on it while simultaneously running your tongue over the flushed tip. “And here I was thinking your mouth was only good for arguing.” He groaned out, earning a chuckle from the other man behind you.
Without the slightest bit of warning, Erwin is sliding his cock into you from behind, the mixture of Zeke’s saliva and your cum acting as a natural lubricant; allowing him to slip in and out of you as he pleased at a pace that made it so you were gagging on cock without hardly moving your head. Your hips also smacking against your professor’s without even moving them. It was like you were their personal sex toy and no longer one of their students, but this wasn’t even the beginning of it. They were nowhere near done with you.
#chile y’all got me writing smut with Erwin and his killer.....I enjoyed every word of it tho 🙈#this was my first fic technically so I hope you guys enjoy it#aot x reader#aot smut#erwin smith smut#erwin smith x reader#zeke jaeger smut#zeke jaeger x reader#Spicy.#erwin smitch x reader x zeke jaeger#attack on titan x reader#Asks.#attack on titan fanfiction
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Catch it (JJK x Reader)💜☁️👽
💚 Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader
💚 Genre: Alien!AU, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, smut
💚 Warnings: Mentions of war, Reader is homeless, Jungkook is kind of clumsy, he hurts her accidentally sometimes, it’s never intentional though, slavery (in a sense), sweet boy Jungkook, no smut yet sorry haha PLEASE DON'T LEAVE I PROMISE ITS GOOD
💚 Summary: The world is literally ending. In a last effort to save earth, the race of Alcor demands humanities planet to be given into their care, as humans have been slowly killing the planet for way too long. But it’s humanity we’re talking about; they never give up without a fight. Even if they should.
Part of the Alien!Jungkook series!
Catch it | Hold it | Keep it | Save it | ???
The world had officially gone to shit.
Now, that was hard to overlook at this point; with almost every street in utter ruins, every corner looking like the worst slums at this point. Humanity had lost the war they had started; and the Alcorian people had by now begun to get rid of everything, building up things from scratch, and planting new trees and other plants.
They were healing the planet, as they called it.
You'd always despised the ways your own race handled things in the past, but this time you'd genuinely thought they would do the right thing. When you'd seen it on TV, the Alcorian government speech, you'd been surprised. You didn't really know what to think of aliens if you'd ever been asked in the past, Alcorian people already known to be existent by the time you'd been in school still. Now, years after finishing and living a life of a sole survivor on the streets, you'd never truly took time to think about what kind of appearance they may had. But now you knew- and it was nothing like you would've ever thought.
From what you've seen and heard they were tall- and had much more physical strength than a regular human. Their eyes had cat-like pupils designed for their naturally long nights on their homeplanet, giving them a distinctive look. The most common color seen had been green or a very dark brown- light brown, beige, or blue eyes were a rarity. The carried themselves with a certain kind of confidence that wasn't overbearing or too pushy. They simply knew they had the upper hand.
Humanity had been simply stupid.
Or narcisstic, as you liked to call it. The government had just been too scared to have power taken away like a toddler who'd throw a fit if it was time to let someone else play with a toy. But this wasn't kindergarden, and no one was playing around.
"Do you need help?" He'd asked, and you kept your hood down low, careful not to show your face and reveal anything to the Alcorian standing close to you. He had a nice voice, you'd noticed, but the fear still crept into your bones from the very real possibility of him taken you away, just like everyone else at this point. The war had been over for a little over a month by now, and Humans were not seen that much anymore. Everyone kept themselves hidden, stories about humans getting snatched and sometimes even eaten keeping you up at night like a child afraid of the dark. "Hey- are you okay?" He asked again. Considering your very small height in comparison to him, he probably mistook you for an alcorian child, and wanted to take you somewhere safe. They were known to be protective of their family after all.
At his touch, you slowly backed away, as he grew more and more suspicious of you. His hand reached for your hood, and that was the exact moment you decided to absolutely book it, and run off.
Sadly, he wasn't at all dumbfounded by that, and you should've listened to that weird drunk guy some weeks ago telling you that Alcorian's were hunters- they loved to chase and run. And oh well, with legs like that, he totally had all odds in his favor. You're only chance of escaping was the backside of an old grocery store, old vending machines serving as a hiding spot for you every time you needed one. Your small body always fit right between the two large machines, giving you a sense of security. Not now however, as he almost ran past where you'd squeezed yourself in, hood now completely down as your face- and most importantly eyes- were exposed to be seen.
“You’re- Human!” He exclaims with wide eyes, cat like pupils contracting in shock as you squeeze yourself tighter against the wall behind you, vending machines providing a bit of distance between you and the Alcorian. He’s too broad, too tall to fit where you’re hiding, but his arm is long enough to reach you as he grabs your jacket, pulling on the fabric as if to force you out.
“No, leave me!” You demand, eyes squeezing shut as tears begin to gather. This was it; your chase was over, and this dude would be having you for dinner. Or not- you didn’t really know exactly what Alcorians did with humans after they captured them. All you knew was that you were already small for human standards- these beings were taller and stronger by nature already.
“Sto-Stop being so complicated-!” He gritted our, still pulling on your clothing to get you out of your hiding spot, grabbing a bit more for good measure. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Why did he have to be so fucking strong? The gravel and dirt underneath your shoes made scratching sounds as he slowly but surely pulled you out of your spot, not letting you go even for a second, even as you'd tried to pry his hand off, scratching his skin and making him hiss. "There we- go!" He exclaimed, having gotten you out of your spot, holding you tightly against his chest as he held your wrists tightly, leg thrown over yours to keep you from struggling. You felt your tears fall down your cheeks, as you began to pathetically breath heavier, faster, huffing as you kept your eyes closed tightly. As if you'd wake up.
"Please don't hurt me." You whispered over and over pathetically, a begging tune to your voice as he simply.. hushed you? And wait, was that hand on your head.. petting you?
"There there.." He consoled, as if you were a scared cat he had to calm down. "I'm not gonna do anything okay?" He hummed, letting you calm down for a moment, before he spoke again. "I'm gonna let go of your legs now, okay?" He said, and you nodded with hesitation as he did just as he told you, slowly moving his leg, and softening the grip on your wrists as well. You stayed completely stiff in his hold, not daring to move as he continued. "You're not claimed." He stated, and you nodded again, not trusting your voice as you agreed to his statement. It was rare by now to find an unclaimed human just like that. Something in his jacket buzzed, making him groan a bit, before he slowly stood up. "I wish I had more time to make you feel a bit more comfortable but-" He started, before he pulled out a black.. collar? You instantly struggled again. He may looked nice, but he was an alcorian at the end of the day- you never knew what he'd do. "No no no please-" He desperately tried, looking around in frenzy as he held your hands again. "Look- its nothing bad okay? I just want to help you!" He urged on, making you furrow your brows at him. "I promise you, I really do- I'll take care of you okay? Just- trust me for a bit. You can decide after we took off okay?" He said, and you became a bit less hesitant.
"Take off where?" You asked, and he genuinely smiled at the fact that you spoke to him, before explaining.
"I'm taking you home with me." He said, and you grew uneasy again. "No, don't- don't look at me like that!" He whined, before he squatted down as if to make him seem less dangerous to you. "They're collecting. I've seen you around these parts for a couple of days, and I'd like you to have a chance of deciding where you want to be." He said, and you looked at him in question. But- as soon as he would claim you, you were his property. "I'm just going to put this on you for the duration of the flight, okay? I promise you, you can decide afterwards where you want to go. But we need to move now!" He urged, and you nodded. There was nothing keeping you on this rotting earth anyways, even though you'd still hoped to stay. He beamed at you, smile reminding you of a bunny as he carefully placed the collar around your neck, before taking your hand.
You whined a bit at his tight grip as he looked back, eyes contracting again at the sight of your angrily red wrists. He looked apologetic as he seemed to think, before he simply decided to pick you up instead, carrying you to wherever he was going. "Sorry, for uh.. I didn't mean to." He said, and you simply didn't answer, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you watched the familiar grocery store grow smaller the further away you went.
This really was the end, wasn't it?
"Little one?" A voice spoke, slowly awakening you from a nap you didn't even notice slipping into. You were still leaning against the body of that Alcorian guy who'd picked you up, warm body making you feel sleepy. You moved a bit to detach yourself, as you looked at him, for the first time in proper lighting.
He looked young but mature at the same time, with wide, brightly colored eyes. His dark hair was long and straight, while his face was slightly soft in its proportions. Lips pink and arched into a soft smile seemed to fit perfectly, just like the tiny beauty mark in the middle just underneath his lower lip. He was handsome.
"You can sleep in a second." He promised in a low voice, careful not to disturb other passengers as he looked out the window. "I just thought you.. might not want to miss this." He said carefully, unknowing if this would be a painful goodbye for you.
It wasn't as bad as you thought it would be.
You held onto his jacket a bit tighter as the shuttle roared to life, slowly gaining speed on the runway as it departed, earth and the city growing smaller, until clouds blocked the way. Jungkook watched you with a studying gaze, glad that he'd managed to get you onto the shuttle before departing. He'd found you a few weeks earlier, roaming the streets like a lost animal, as he studied you. You were nice and friendly towards other humans, and agile in escaping Alcorian police forces who searched the streets occasionally. Sharing food was never something you denied when asked, and he'd also watched with a hurting heart as your small amounts of belongings got stolen one night, leaving you with nothing behind.
He just.. had to do something.
Humans were always depicted as selfish creatures only knowing their own benefit, and he had to agree to a certain point; a lot of them were like that. It was understandable to a degree, but it also wasn't, considering that his race had only tried to help. They'd never intended to start a war.
"Whats your name?" You asked in a quiet voice, careful not to speak too loud, as he smiled at you.
"Jungkook." He replied. "Jeon Jungkook." He spoke as he tilted his head. "And yours?" He asked.
"Y/N." You answered, and he nodded.
"You can keep it, if you want to." He said, and you simply leaned into him, watching as you broke orbit, earth now far away. For some reason, you didn't know if you wanted to. There was no reason to keep it, if you were leaving your old life behind like that. He seemed nice, and friendly- a bit rough, but that was to be expected. For some odd reason, you didn't want to decide whether or not to stay with him or not. He'd claimed you, end of story. You didn't even notice that you had started crying until his hand began to run over your head again, shifting a bit to have you sit a bit more comfortably.
Maybe he wasn't so bad.
"And there we are." He exclaimed, setting you down for the first time after the flight once you'd both entered his living space. It seemed- oddly like a regular apartment, with rounded windows and furniture that looked similar to what you knew. You stood still, until he gently tapped your back a bit. "You can go explore a bit- I have to make a call real quick." He said, and you nodded, taking off your shoes before walking inside further, watching as Jungkook left to go into a different room. Alcorians and Humans were similarly developed and shared a lot of technology. It was surprising however how much alike but different at the same time things were. You went closer to the largest window, watching as cars sped by- or, where those planes? It wasn't easy to tell.
"A friend of mine will stop by in a moment." He explained from behind you, as he kept a small distance from you, as if to preserve your personal space. "Just to give you a quick check up." He said, and you grew a bit uneasy, as he suddenly tried to retract his statement. "You know, nothing bad! Just, you know, to make sure you're okay and in good health-" He said, before you spoke again.
"What.. Why am I here?" You asked, and his eyes widened at the realization on what you hinted at. The tips of his pierced ears grew a bit pink at that, as he scratched the back of his head.
"Not for that- promise, I'm not like that!" He said, before he sat down on his couch. "Like I said, I wanted to, you know, get you somewhere safe." He explained. "I work with.. a few friends. We're trying to help humans find compatible people here, to live with." He said, and you nodded, rather sitting down on the carpeted floor a bit away from him. You noticed however, how he said 'people', instead of owners. It made you feel less like a pet.
"So.. you're a rescue organization for.. humans." You stated, and he nodded.
"If you want to call it that, yes." He answered, before someone knocked at the door. You sat up a bit straighter at that, growing uneasy at the visitor. "Please stay calm okay? I promise he's a good guy." He said, before he left to open the door, another tall young Alcorian walking through the door after greeting him. He wore glasses, and his hair was a light sandy brown color, while his eyes looked dark. He spotted you and you slowly began to scoot backwards. Nop, the bag in this guys hands was clearly containing medical equipment, and you were not here for it. "Y/N- No, come back!" He called after you as you ran off to the nearest room, closing the door in a hurry as you frantically searched for a place to hide, choosing the underside of his bed as the perfect place. You could fit right underneath.
"..-rmal for her to react like that. They're usually scared." An unfamiliar voice spoke through the door. "Did you tell her why I would be here?" He asked, and the other voice you clearly by now deciphered as Jungkooks answered with a whine.
"I did, and she was fine with that!" He explained, before the door opened, voices now clearer. "Well, she was a bit scared but I thought that was normal." He admitted, as the stranger sat down near the door, Jungkook next to him as if to block your only way out. Jungkook tried to reach for you only to be held back by the other guy, making him whine at him. "Namjoon, I have to get her out of there!" He said, and the other guy, Namjoon, still pulled him back to sit down.
"You can't force her out like that.!" He scolded, and it got quiet after that for a moment.
You carefully peeked out from underneath the bed, only to be met with Jungkooks smile, and the strangers gentle face. You slowly crawled out of your hiding spot, still staying a safe distance away as you watched both warily. "Hello Y/N. I'm Kim Namjoon, I'm a medical practician majorly focusing on human health." He said, and you scoffed, making Jungkook look at you surprised. You seemed absolutely different from just moments ago with him.
"So you're a vet for humans." You simply said, and Namjoon merely chuckled.
"Feisty. But yeah, you can call it that if you want to." He answered, as you still kept your scowl. "So can you cooperate with me now, or will I have to use force?" He asked, and you became even more hostile, Jungkook stepping in.
"Namjoon no- we won't be using anything like that" He tried, but Namjoon didn't seem to listen as he watched you with an amused expression on his face.
"I'm not a pet." You stated, and Namjoon grinned.
"You're certainly behaving like one." He answered, and you scoffed again.
"Then you won't be too shocked that I will bite you." You said, and the man shook his head.
"You wouldn't be the first one. Your kind loves to be difficult." He said, and your expression got even darker, as Jungkook desperately tried to find a way to diffuse the situation.
"Is that why you like to have us for dinner?" You asked, and both of them looked at you with questioning eyes. "Or is it more fun to fuck us first and then use us as slaves?" You bursted out, standing up as Namjoon looked genuinely caught off guard.
"Is that what they say on earth?" He asked, and you huffed out at that, moving into the furthest corner of the room, needing space. "It definetely does explain the hostility." He mumbled to himself, as Jungkook stood up, walking closer to you, but stopping when you yelled at him to.
"Okay, okay, I'll stay right here." He said, sitting down on the floor a few steps away from you as you hugged yourself in a pathetic way to comfort yourself. This was all getting too much. "If you don't want him here, I'm going to tell him to leave, okay? We don't have to do this now." He said, and you looked between him and Namjoon, uncertain. You may didn't have to face it now, but you had to eventually, right?
"We don't do any of that to humans, by the way." Namjoon suddenly chimed in, as you looked at him. "It's true that humans are being claimed, but they are not forced to do that. Most do it to ensure their safety, others do it out of romantic reasons, and some do it for the thrill, yes." He said. "But no, we don't keep them as slaves, no, we don't use them just for sex, and we certainly do not eat them." He said the last part with an almost humorous expression as you grew shy.
Well, this was awkward.
"Can you stop being difficult now, and let me do my job?" He asked with a more gentle tone now, before you nodded. You didn't walk over to him, however, still not trusting him as you decided to instead crawl onto Jungkooks lap, who happily took you into his arms as you looked over his shoulder at Namjoon, almost as if to say 'fuck you'. "You know, he won't always be there to-" He started, but Jungkook turned around as if offended.
"I will!" He said, holding you like a precious toy he'd just been gifted. "I mean- if she want's to." He mumbled, before Namjoon moved closer, shaking his head with a smile as he started to take your temperature first.
It somehow felt as if he was belittling you. But for some reason, that was okay in some way, considering his bright smile every time he did it. It felt a bit weird at first, but now, after a few days, you felt almost at home with him. You didn't think about earth much, not wanting to spoil your mood while you were with him for that matter.
You were growing a bit more independent day by day however.
Still with his collar wrapped around your neck, since you wouldn't be allowed to roam the streets without one without getting stares left and right, you stopped at a grocery store.
Before leaving today, you had your first fight with the Alcorian.
"I'm not trying to keep you obedient Y/N, I'm trying to protect you!" He explained, trying not to get too riled up as he knew this could scare you.
"But you do! I can't do anything by myself, you're always hovering over me!" You said, and he looked at you in disbelief at that.
You felt so bad, still.
Now more than ever, as you were walking through isle after isle, every word more complicated than the next it seemed. You'd learned some words by now, but most were still a challenge- making it impossible for you to work things out by yourself without probably making a fool of yourself.
You left the grocery store after realizing you couldn't even pay for stuff since he was the one with the money, and it made you feel frustrated. You squatted down near the entrance, calling Jungkook pathetically.
"Little one? Are you okay?" He asked, as if you didn't just fight minutes ago. You sniffled, and he became even more concerned. "Are you still at the grocery store? I'm coming, just wait-" He said, as you chuckled a bit.
"I'm fine Jungkookie I just.. I'm sorry." You explained, as you heard a door close on the other side of the line. "I was horrible to you." You said, but he cut you off.
"Let's talk when I'm there, okay?" He said, and you agreed, waiting for him patiently, trying to ignore the stares and looks you got, some Alcorian kids even pointing at you before getting scolded by their parents.
"I'm sorry." You said immediately as his figure approached you, already opening his arms to welcome you in his hug. "It was uncalled for, I was so mean, please don't hate me-" You said into his chest, as he chuckled.
"What're you doing little one?" He asked with a gentle smile as he looked down on you.
"Apologizing?" You said, and he smiled.
"I know, I'm familiar with that concept." He said, before continuing. "I mean, why? You were just stating your opinion on things." He said, and you felt even worse now.
"But I was mean, and rude to you! I shouldn't be so ungrateful, after all you've taken me in, you let me live with you, you provide me food and shelter, you keep me safe-" You began, as he chuckled again, ruffling your head.
"I do that because I want to. I'm responsible for you." He said, and you nodded.
"I'm sorry." You said again, and he continued smiling. "I managed to find some stuff like flour and Milk, but-" You started, as his eyes widened in wonder.
"You could read that?" He asked in disbelief, as you nodded.
"Yeah, but that's about it. I only picked up on a few words like caramel and stuff-" You explained, as he suddenly squeezed you into his arms, making you whince a bit at his strength. He immediately let go at the sound.
"Sorry sorry, it's just- whoah, my little human is so smart!" He said, genuinely excited over the mere fact that you could read a few words. "It took Taehyung Months to learn a couple of phrases, and here you are, already reading on your own!" He said, and you chuckled a bit at that. Taehyung was a human claimed by Namjoon and his partner Seokjin, who also had a second human by the name of Jimin. You'd met them for a bit prior, but hadn't had a true conversation with them yet. "Lets go then." He said, taking your hand into his as he walked into the store again with you.
Jungkook had slowly learned to hold your hand less tightly than he would usually do, his strength the reason for almost all of Namjoons visits to your now shared home. He didn't mean to hurt you, but it happened occasionally- and you always forgave him. He couldn't help it, and it was almost sweet to see him so upset over it straight after.
"Thats almond milk, right?" You asked, pointing at a carton with a label you thought said the words 'almond milk' on it. Jungkook beamed almost proudly.
"Yep!" He exclaimed, as he kept a hand on your back, a more comfortable gesture to show you he was by your side than holding hands. It was less likely for him to hurt you that way accidentally. "Let's get you something sweet too." He said with a smile, as you smiled back- for the first time, completely comfortable.
"Jungkook?" You asked hesitantly, as you walked up behind the couch, making him turn around.
"Hm?" He wondered, turning the TV volume down lower. "What is it little one?" He asked, as you suddenly placed a couple of papers down onto the small table in front of him. He took them wordlessly, before he suddenly jumped up, head thrown towards you as his eyes were wide open, catlike pupils staring at you as they glazed over. "You-how-" He stuttered, as you swayed on the spot a bit shyly.
"I talked to Namjoon about it the other day. He helped me get all the paperwork stuff done since I can't read much still.." You said, and Jungkook walked over to you, picking you up as he twirled you both around, making you giggle.
The bold letters on the front page clearly reading;
'Official documents for legal human ownership.'
You wanted to be his.
"Do alcorians kiss?" You randomly asked one day, laying on Jungkooks lap as he suddenly looked down towards you.
"We- uhm.. we do." He said, before swallowing the piece of sweets he was eating. "Why- why do you ask?" He wondered, and you simply shrugged.
"I kinda want to kiss you." You said.
And he almost choked.
#bts imagine#bts#bts fanfic#bts fic#jungkook imagine#bts jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook#bts reactions#Alcoria AU
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get a grip [pcy]
—summary: working for park chanyeol, one of the favorite soccer players of the entire country, is damn right exhausting. taking out his obvious good looks and his charming smile, there is nothing more she can enjoy about him when she has to walk his demonic chihuahua through his rich neighborhood and get a sightly lower than average paycheck at the end of the month.
but it’s expected. he’s rich, successful and he probably bought the dog just because he could. all she has to do is her job. she barely even sees him, either way.
a lost chihuahua later and a few excuses spewing out her lips, the least she expects is for this year’s soccer promise to say he’ll be staying at home the rest of the summer, and that she better get his dog back to normal, if not, she’ll lose her job.
as if that barking demon isn’t enough of a problem, now she has to deal with her intense yet misunderstood attraction towards chanyeol. that isn’t such a promising summer.
—title: get a grip
— pairing: park chanyeol x reader
— genre: dog walker!au ; professional soccer player!au ; boss!au ; strangers to enemies to lovers!au
— type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; suggestive
— word count: 11,196
— note: this is a gift for one of my kofi supporters. thank you!
No matter how spacious this mansion is, it always remains empty. Pine green vines curl against the grass while her cheap sneakers step on it, shortened breaths leaving her lips in hopes of releasing the stress that accumulates inside of her.
Think, five thousand square feet worth of space in this house, and one tiny chihuahua had managed to slip the confines of its collar to run away as if he was on the brink of winning the goddamned Olympics.
How difficult could it be to find a beige-toned, short-haired, teeth-baring chihuahua in the middle of Park Chanyeol’s mansion? Well, extremely so, much more when said chihuahua belongs to him and she can’t find it anywhere.
She turns to the left, watching some of the chefs taking a break by one of Chanyeol’s balconies, cigarettes slipping through their lips to let out clouds of smoke. Three of them, to be exact, one shorter and fuller, one extremely buff and tall, and the shortest one the slimmest of them all.
“Guys!” Waving her hand in the air, she tries to recollect the attention of the trio. The shortest one stops smoking, waving back as he screams out her name. “Have you seen Messi?”
Yes, that’s the dog’s name. God bless Park Chanyeol for the ironies of his train of thought.
“The chihuahua?” The chef shouts back, and she has to blink away the eye-roll that almost emits from her. As it turns out, she is the dog-walker for a reason, the only individual she’d have to deal with here is…well, Messi. Not the soccer player, but the dog.
“Yeah. Have you seen him?”
“No!” Her bones grit against each other, practically seeing it all in the back of her eyelids. Unemployed, again, with a dog missing and someone gaining way more than she has in this job once they find him, somewhere along this unnecessarily expensive neighborhood. She’s guessing thousands, that’s how important this dog is. What she’ll get? A kick in the ass. “Maybe ask Junmyeon? He’s around the household.”
“Okay. Thanks!”
The recognition should go to the architects that worked in such masterpiece or the painters and designers that turned this mansion into a daydream. Tall white walls, curling trees and flowers spread across the front yard, the sun falling across the entrance—all emit beauty, accompanied by twelve bathrooms, nine bedrooms, one cinema, a bar and whatever else she hasn’t managed to hear about. She can go around the main spot, though, going through the living room and stepping on the almost-too-pristine marble flooring as she inspects around the room.
Chanyeol is never here, a shadow whenever he passes by to change his clothing and get on another plane. Most of the time, he lives in Spain. She doesn’t know why he bothers keeping this place when all his business with soccer is dealt with over there, but his house remains intact, leaving people to grant his every wish. Chefs that work on prepping meals that sometimes he eats, sometimes he doesn’t. Dog-walkers, such as herself. Gardeners. Cleaners. Maids. The list is endless.
Maybe, his dog is not everything Chanyeol has lost.
In the second living room, on the right wing of the house, she finds the figure that the chefs had been talking about. Junmyeon hunches over a table, inspecting through a folder before he jots something down with his pen. His black hair, moved away from his face, rests just below his ears, wearing his typical sweater—this time, champagne-colored—and jeans.
Chanyeol’s physiotherapist doesn’t spend much time around the mansion. Unless Chanyeol is there, of course. But the times that he has been around, she has enjoyed his presence. Some kind of friendship had blossomed—quite ironic, to be exact. Her mouth runs on speeches of ‘eat the rich and Park Chanyeol’, while Junmyeon defends him. Something about him having a deeper heart than she could ever judge.
Yeah, right.
“Jun,” She calls out, panting when she spreads her fingers on her knees to catch a breather. “Have you seen Messi?”
The man’s rounded cheeks lift when he gives her a smile, hanging his pen from the collar of his sweater. “May want to check in Argentina.”
What’s with this mansion and the stupid jokes? “Junmyeon, I’m serious. Messi slipped away from his collar…” Her hands lift the white and blue collar up in the air, the elegant decorations making it seem ridiculous. “And now I can’t find him. He’s gone.”
Junmyeon’s smile falls, going over to where she is. “Shit, Chanyeol will lose it.”
Her world crumbles down to pieces at that moment. The chefs are always here, maids upon maids that welcome her for each walk in the morning with a chihuahua that jogs and jogs and never gets tired, but if Junmyeon is there, it’s because he needs to tend to Chanyeol.
“Fuck, is he here?!” Panic starts to creep up on her, opening the doors of the living room to lead herself to the pool place in the mansion. God forbid that little dog is swimming in a pool the size of an average family’s house.
Junmyeon scoffs, though helping her lurk through the bushes and the seats. “It’s the end of the season and his meniscus are killing him. If I’m here, it’s because I need to tend to Chanyeol—”
Smacking her hands against her thighs, she looks around the place. Where had that little thing gone? “Well, excuse me for thinking you’d be visiting me for once.” The sarcasm drips from her tone, trying to find a defense mechanism for her endless anger. “We—We walked five blocks, all the way back and just when we got to the door, that fucking Houdini decided to slip away from the collar.”
“It must’ve been loose. I don’t think a chihuahua named Messi can just go like that.” Junmyeon answers, and she shakes her head, worrying her lip between her teeth.
Job lost. That’s it. She may want to start to buy the newspaper again just to check what’s available.
“It wasn’t loose.”
“Okay, damn, don’t use that tone on me.” His hands spread on his waist, harsh rays of sunshine falling upon his olive skin before he sighs deeply. “Where did you see him last?”
“Blasting towards the gardens.” She points towards the entrance door. “But I checked there, Jun. He’s not there.”
“He’s hiding or he left. Let’s hope it’s the first option.” The man is already walking ahead of her, getting out of the pool area and returning to the living room as she follows after his steps. He seems to have a plan, and she was starting to run out of options. “His favorite snacks are in the kitchen. We’ll just make a trail of food for him to follow and he will. He just came from a jog, he’ll be hungry. Or thirsty, we could add some water there.”
Bonus points for the man who actually graduated from university. Light transcends through her body, relaxing her every muscle as they get towards the kitchen. The chefs are not there, so the embarrassment will lessen, as well.
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Because you never think when you’re panicking.” A year of working in this household does that much. Hours spent with Junmyeon, waiting for Chanyeol to arrive because of his early appearances and her late outings with the chihuahua had led to some friendship to blossom there.
“You know how much I need this job.” Seriousness bathes over her statement, dragging through every syllable of what people don’t notice. They see the woman with the graphic t-shirts and jeans, looking unfitting in this exquisite place, that walks the dog every morning. They don’t see the reality of why she needs this job, and why she’s never as put-together as the others.
“I do.” He pushes the wooden doors of the kitchen open, turning around to give her a relaxing smile. Those that make his brown eyes twinkle, pushing his lips closer together. “And Chanyeol just left, so he’s not going to notice Messi gone.”
“I’m sure. It’s not like he ever pays attention to his dog either way.” She pushes the door of the kitchen open with her back, continuing to walk backwards as she speaks. “Seriously, why does someone get a dog when they are never going to take care of them? He doesn’t even live here, and when he does, he’s out and about. That’s like having a child and never taking care of it.”
The shadows in Junmyeon’s face cast down just like the smile that falls down from his features, widened eyes concentrating on whatever is inside that kitchen. She stops when her back collides with the island in the middle, turning around upon his horror. There, with its barking ways and humongous eyes is Messi, hugged tightly to Chanyeol’s chest.
Which, speaking of the man, he doesn’t seem pleased.
What’s the part that bothered him? The bad father part? Or the part where she questions why he even got a dog on the first place?
Messi doesn’t stay still on Chanyeol’s trained arms. He twists and turns until Chanyeol drops him on the floor, and she takes this time to stare at him. Sure, she has never been too fond of people in surprisingly well-established positions, and those who live such lavish lifestyles when others are completely devastated in what consists of economy, but Chanyeol is a sight to look at, nonetheless.
Brown hair that falls just over his forehead, tossed from practicing, his skin a bit tanner than when he stays in on winter. Protruding ears tinge in a blush thanks to the frown on his features, wide eyes dead-set on her. His lips push together, stifling whatever curses he wants to throw her way, arms crossed over his toned chest. A black t-shirt covers him, and she sees the strength of his calves in his basketball shorts.
“Ah, Mr. Park—” She tries to laugh through the issue, pointing towards Messi. “He was giving a walk on his own.”
“I found him barking at my car when I parked here. I forgot my phone, thankfully.” Never had he looked so serious, fire flaming from his eyes when he steps forward, spreading his hands on top of the island to look at her face to face. “I didn’t hire you to lose my dog, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t.” She responds after swallowing thickly. “He just slipped away—”
“Well, that’s my child. You can’t just let it slip away and expect me not to notice because I’m never here.” Ouch. The words must have hurt him, a long sigh leaving his nostrils when he shakes his head. “He’s developed anger issues.”
Her eyebrows raise on her forehead. That dog has always been one little barking thing. He’d bite, grunt and scratch whatever gets in his line of sight. He was like that one year ago, when he was a mere puppy, and the story goes on.
“He’s always been like that…” She replies, parting her lips in an amused smile. “That’s not my fault. I’m not a dog trainer, I’m a dog walker.”
Chanyeol points at the dog, now growling at him and scratching at his legs, as if trying to get to the top of the Everest. For someone so small, Chanyeol’s legs must be the road to heaven, too close to the sky for him to even try to get on him. “He never did this before. He’s—he didn’t even bite me in the past!”
Maintaining her stance, she crosses her arms across her chest. It doesn’t matter that half the country has popularized Chanyeol with a fame that even himself couldn’t control. Gold never blinded her enough not to realize the stain on a ring—so, that won’t be the case with Chanyeol. “Try thinking like him. He doesn’t recognize you. He doesn’t even recognize me. He must be acting up because he is always left on his own.”
Frowning deeply, he shakes his head: “No. You’re the one who has been with him the longest. You must have put him through some shit if he’s running away like that—”
Junmyeon lifts his hand in the air, like a student in the middle of class, staring at his two bickering teachers, practically throwing daggers at each other from their positions on that island.
Fuck Park Chanyeol, and not in the good kind of way. Fuck him in the sense of fleeing him away to a far, very far island where no one can find him and cannot hear his absolute bullshit.
Seriously, Messi developed anger issues because of her?
Junmyeon’s theory is a bit more factual. “Maybe, he’s just acting up because he is alone a lot of times.” He complements, shrugging in the process. “You know, like how kids do when their parents are never home. They start, I don’t know, not going to school, biting kids in elementary, probably thinking they’re a dog? I know those things happen.”
Chanyeol shakes his head, kneeling down to try and pat Messi’s short hair, but the dog clings onto his fingers, not biting as harshly to cause him pain, but enough to stick to the skin. “He wasn’t like this with me when I was here.”
“What, a trillion years ago?” She mumbles, widening her eyes when Chanyeol connects his gaze to hers. Fire radiates from those brown irises, standing up and moving to her side of the island.
Bye-bye dreams of a bigger apartment.
Farewell her curriculum.
Goodbye to her dignity.
See you later gossip mornings with Junmyeon.
“Sorry.”
His taut and trained arms cross over his chest, pushing his hair away from his eyes before returning to his scolding position. “If you know so much about my dog, why don’t you teach me how to be a great father?”
She snorts out a laugh. “It’s a dog, Mr. Park. I’m sure he doesn’t have enough braincells to—”
“He does.” Chanyeol utters, quirking one of his eyebrows. “Now that I’ll stay here for the summer, I want you to reconnect me with my dog. I’ll walk him with you every single day if I have to, but Messi…Messi changed with you and that fact stays.”
“Just listen to yourself. This is ridiculous!” She exclaims, expanding her hands towards the dog. “He was like that when I met him. Just—I don’t know, you’ve got money. Hire a dog psychologist or—or, I don’t know? A family counselor? A therapist? Don’t include me on this—”
“You want to keep your job?” The jab of his tone has her closing her eyes tightly. Okay, so she has to keep the job, but walking goddamned Satan on a leash every morning is not the job of her dreams. She hums, opening her pupils to show him her interest. “Well, stay and teach me how to be a dad. If by the end of the month it doesn’t work, I’ll have to find someone else for your spot.”
Eat the rich.
They are fucking ridiculous with the things they wish for. It’s a dog. All he wants is food, attention and a bone thrown his way from time to time. He can’t connect with him because Chanyeol is never here. Period.
Or because he’s a chihuahua. Shit, Paris Hilton’s dog mustn’t have the best attitude either.
But she extends her hand, interlocking it with his to give it a shake. “You’ve got it, Mr. Park.”
“Great.”
“Excellent.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He swings his hand towards the door, absentmindedly and relaxed. “We’re done here. Thank you for…uh, walking my dog and almost losing him?”
Poor dog doesn’t know what kind of person he just came back to. She tries to give a tight-lipped smile, nodding once and turning around to get out of that goddamned kitchen, cursing Chanyeol’s name inside her head endlessly.
###
Give life a mask and a stage and it’ll take anyone’s breath away, dramatic as it gets, bleeding out the pure execution of a wrongly written script. It’s a comedy, one of those dark ones that have people on the brink of feeling bad because they laughed.
Hell, but everyone has been laughing at him for the past week. The gin burns with the friction it leaves on his throat, clearing it once or twice when he leans back on one of his plenty of couches in his mansion. The King of Red Cards, the media had called him—and sure, Chanyeol knows not everything is fair in soccer, and most players use dramatics to earn the others some extra time or simply, when the shot of competitiveness settles inside of them and they use every touch against their skin to win the game.
Chanyeol? He doesn’t do well with red cards. They match his face when someone points it at him, and he’s all shouts and widened eyes. He knows where he touches, how he does it, and while he may seem like it, he’s not malicious. His body isn’t trained to extend his leg far enough to hurt someone non-accidentally.
But the media has done two things with the last three matches of his team. Mock him with endless pictures of his angered face as he tried to explain himself. Blame him for his team’s loss, and, how to forget? Tell him he’s not worth the money he earns.
That has him tipping his head back and downing the rest of the gin, listening to Sehun’s laughter as he tells him what had happened this morning.
Sure, the championships are over, he’s back home, there is nothing to worry about…but here’s the thing: he hasn’t been home, every day, since well over a year. The couches are practically new, the bed is spacious enough to hold five people in it, and he hates it. He had been taken for so long that his somber thoughts almost irk him.
Jesus Christ, how does one turn off that voice inside his head that repeats: An entire summer, Chanyeol, you can’t leave this mansion for an entire summer—?
“You really made that scene just because of your dog?”
Sehun has a point. He’s not half as tipsy as he is, still downing his first drink, one leg crossed over the other when he speaks. Amusement had covered his enigmatic features, long nose scrunched up after hearing him speaking about the fucking dog-walker.
Sure, Chanyeol had just gotten the news of his long-vacation, as announced by his manager, that morning…but he really shouldn’t have taken it all out on the girl.
Red card for that one, too.
“Messi wasn’t like that.” Chanyeol says, putting the glass down on the white coffee table, matching his leather couches and spacious bookshelves, filled with books that bring a tinge of color to this white lounge room. “You know, the dog.” He intensifies with some hand movements. “…I…He wasn’t like that when I was with Sohyun. When we adopted him—”
“And left him to be taken care by other people? Yes, that’s when he was tiny and sweet.” Sehun chuckles at his own words, leaning forward when parting his legs and serving himself some gin. “Chanyeol, be honest with yourself. Sohyun was a little, petty, spoiled bitch and you bought her a chihuahua because she wanted one. None of you were home to take care of the pet equivalent of a child, come on.”
His lips part, lifting his index finger in the air to form a debate before lowering it slowly. “Sohyun was here for the first three months of Messi’s life.”
And she really shouldn’t have picked that name, now he thinks. The poor dog is probably made fun of when with other dogs, in their own language.
One thing that should be known about Sehun, his best friend and actor, is that there is not a single hair on his tongue. He uses it to get women, and he definitely uses it to put Chanyeol in his place. “Tell me,” He starts, taking a sip of his newly served drink. “When was she taking care of Messi? During those three months, when she lived here, and all she did was cheat on you…or was it when she, clearly, put the dog away from her room to fuck your publicist?”
Talk about harsh.
His life should have never intercepted with Sohyun’s. With her long-bleached hair, small shoulders and wide hips, she had made her way through the world of modelling. A socialite with pretty lips, a soft voice and the most sensual of touches had practically put him to his knees in the matter of seconds. One week of dating, a month of locking himself up in his room after practice just to spend hours and hours between her legs had turned into a relationship.
He should’ve never gone to that party he met her to. Shouldn’t have moved in with her so soon. Shouldn’t have given her the benefit of the doubt when she promised she’d stay by his side while he was in Spain.
This mansion is haunted with the ghost of the plenty of men that passed by this couch, his bed, his rooms, his kitchen, the bathroom.
Someone, call the ghostbusters, because he’s not entirely pleased with still living here.
“I know I overreacted.” Chanyeol says, tracing the outline of his empty glass. “But…he really wasn’t like that. She has made him more aggressive.”
“Says who?”
“Me. I say so.” His eyes widen, resting his hand against his forehead when he leans back. “Sehun, I’m having the worst day of my life and I have to live in this fucking mansion for an entire month, just…let me be.”
His friend squints his eyes, inspecting his features for a few seconds before humming.
“Is she, like, the woman that comes around here every morning…at around seven, and takes Messi with her?”
Chanyeol scoffs. “That’s what a dog walker does, ain’t it?”
With that, he’s settled. Sehun melts into his chair, pleased with the scent of his gin when he closes his eyes and tries to muffle his laughter. “You’re being a kid.”
“Why?” He asks. “She—I may have not been good with my words, but my point stands. He’s—”
“Let me remind you, Chanyeol, I was with you when you hired her.”
He doesn’t recall the exact day but he uncovers his forehead to look at him properly. “What about it?”
Sehun shrugs. “I don’t know, bro. You were looking through the pictures of all the people trying to walk your dog to hell and back if you asked them to, and you only hired her because you thought she was hot.”
Oh, now he remembers.
Maybe, it was one of those judgement-clouded, ego-hurt, post-break-up decisions that he had made. Sohyun’s bags packed, she had left their dog behind, wanting to do nothing with him now that they were separated, for good. Of course, some ties unite him to the small, little puppy that now hates him to bits, but at the time, he had to go back to Barcelona.
His manager arranged it all, and Sehun was planning on helping him with the interviews when he came across her picture. All he had to do was point and say:
“I said she was cute, not hot.” Chanyeol corrects, half-drunken in his slurred voice.
“Same thing.” Sehun fights back, but Chanyeol shakes his head.
“It’s not the same thing.” He says. “Besides, she’s a back-talker and extremely disrespectful. There’s this air of arrogance to her—”
“That battles yours? What a match!” Sehun claps his hands together, laughter escaping his lips when he shakes his head. “Park Chanyeol, look at you. Haven’t gotten laid in a while and now you’re not sure how to get a girl. Have to act like a kid pulling at his crush’s braids.”
Chanyeol scoffs. Sure, she’s not half bad looking in her simple clothing with that troublesome smirk on her lips, but she is definitely not enough trouble for him to be spending every single day with her just because. “Dude, seriously, I would never do that.”
“You wouldn’t have done that before, but you haven’t been in the game for a while.” Sehun stands up, tugging at his jacket to put it on before giving a sugar-sweet, teeth-rotting smirk. “I’m betting my sweet little ass something is going to happen, and not on her side of things, but in your side.”
“Why?!”
Sehun opens the door, cackling in the process. “Because it’s obvious, douchebag. She hates your guts!”
He grabs one of the pink cushions on the couch, throwing it towards Sehun only to be stopped by the man closing the door behind him.
“That’s it, go away, asshole!”
As if he could really absentmindedly go all those extra miles just to get some…some arrogant dog-walker that thinks he hasn’t tried to establish a relationship with his dog.
Sehun’s really on some hard shit. He’s betting acid—with his sweet little ass, as Sehun would say.
###
Books are a bunch of bullshit. Crap. Manure. Shit.
Or, maybe she’s just thinking about her breakfast—that also looks like absolute shit.
Some mixtures just don’t go well. The soft texture of black beans, somewhat dulcet and creamy on top of a crunchy, half-bitten toast is not what anyone would call an ideal breakfast. It doesn’t bring any source of happiness or energy to her day, much less when accompanied by lukewarm water. Her small bed works as her dining table as she munches on her breakfast as quickly as she can, reading a romance book once of her friends had given her to pass time.
If life was good, she’d have a house as big as Park Chanyeol. Another thing that doesn’t go well with her morning. She sighs deeply, leaning back on the bed and bringing the book up to her eyesight. The bodyguard, meaning the main man, has decided to leave everything to protect his princess, rushing through fields of people just to get to her before the bad guys do. Heroic, so inherently…false. No one is like that.
The neighbors next door have decided to prove her right. It’s six in the morning, and it seems like the couple is still on their honeymoon phase. Her bed’s headboard slams against the wall when she hears the first few moans and whines, the neighbor’s old bed squeaking with each word that escape the couple’s lips.
“Oh fuck, right there—”
They’re on their fifties. Maybe, they don’t know it’s six in the fucking morning.
“Harder!”
And the headboard actually slams harder against her wall.
Who would have thought old Mr. Lim still had it in him?
“Har…der!”
Okay, time to get to work earlier.
She grabs her hoodie, pulling it over her head and pushing her phone inside her pocket before getting out of her apartment. Even in the hallway, consisting of equally as small apartments, she can hear the Lim’s going at it like rabbits. Good luck for the other neighbors who have to wake up to realize that Mr. Lim doesn’t have an erectile disfunction. Not yet, at least.
That dick is up-and-at-them.
The book was left behind, because if life was like a book, someone would have already come save her—or there would have been some nice man, looking like he is Leonardo DiCaprio’s long lost relative, telling her that he’ll pay her whatever thousand or million dollars just to pretend to be his girlfriend. Life would be good then, because she’d have a happy ending and she wouldn’t have to worry about putting bad food on her plate.
But it’s not how life works.
Luckily for her, she doesn’t have to wait long by the bus stop, getting inside it to greet the driver. From then on, she concentrates on the atmosphere, the most dangerous part of the city melting into the center, far more packed and prepared for the day. From then on, she has to get off and walk towards Chanyeol’s rich neighborhood. The muscles of her thighs thank her for the workout but it’s damn right exhausting—this routine, that is.
Crisp air wraps around her arms, moving her hair when she finally crosses the gates to Chanyeol’s neighborhood. Fifty minutes later, but she’s there. The neighbors are not more normal than others, even when they are rich, living in their grand mansions. A woman is taking the sun in in her front-yard, pinned back hair and almost nonexistent bikini cladding her body.
Good for her, she looks nice.
Kids are rushing in mini cars. Men are working out where everyone can see them. It’s all about image in this place.
The white walls of Chanyeol’s spacious mansion finally welcome her, sweat pooling at her forehead when she wipes it off and greets the guards by the entrance. She doesn’t even ask if Chanyeol is here—of course, he is not going to be here. A ghost in his own home, he probably exaggerated when speaking to her yesterday.
So, she opens the doors of the mansion, inviting herself in when Messi comes rushing towards her.
“Hello, my boy—” Her voice heightens because he may be a headache and the devil at the same time, but Messi looks cute with his big chihuahua eyes and his swinging tail early in the morning. “I need to find your leash first, babe. Follow me.”
He does as she says, at least, he seems to be happy today. She moves towards the main living room, humming a song under her breath. Some rock tune from the eighties that she can’t quite recognize, but she doesn’t pay much attention to it, getting to the corner of the expansive living room and opening the drawers to get one of the many leashes out.
She feels like pink today. Perhaps, she needs to feel like she’s the main character of Legally Blonde today.
Yet, when she closes the drawer and she turns around, she hears a guttural groan. Mr. Lim is nowhere in sight, and he would kill to sound like that, so that only leaves her with a few options.
A man lays on the couch, half-dead, maybe, he doesn’t move much, but she knows exactly who it is. One of his toned, muscular arms spreads on top of his eyes, covering the light that rakes through the glassed doors and windows, his dark hair done a mess on top of his head, lips plump and swollen from the amount of alcohol he had taken. Shit, it stinks like whiskey or gin in here—
The empty bottle of gin on the table tells her it’s the latter.
Her eyes go towards his worked, toned stomach, uncovered…because of course someone like Chanyeol just had to sleep without a shirt on, and his long legs spread on the otherwise tiny couch—at least, for him—, cladded in gray sweatpants.
He opens one of his eyes, groaning at the sight of her once again and she closes her eyes tightly.
Forget the sound.
She’s not there to think as Chanyeol as anything other than fucking annoying.
“What are you doing here?” His voice has a rasp, barely lifting his head to look at his phone on top of the coffee table before dropping it again. “It’s seven in the morning.”
“I’m doing my job. I always walk Messi this early.” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Messi rushes towards the living room, swatting his tail like a maniac. “Don’t worry, Mr. Park. You can keep sleeping, I’ll walk the dog and leave.”
But Chanyeol doesn’t take it, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair, and it takes all the will in the fucking world not to look at his contracting biceps.
“I said I’ll accompany you, and I will.” Though, when he stands up, something switches in Messi, barking uncontrollably towards the tall man. “Yes, boy. Who’s a good boy? You are!”
Even those words don’t seem to tranquilize Messi, and she does her best to kneel down and take it in between her hands, but he slips away easily. “Hey, come back here!”
Just like yesterday, Messi scavenges and she’ll give him something—
Boy got quick legs.
He runs away from the living room and towards the entrance. Her eyes connect to Chanyeol’s momentarily, rushing after him only to hear his loud footsteps behind her.
“See? He can’t see you because he already goes crazy!” Chanyeol exclaims behind her, and she swears she hears his little paws tapping against the flooring. He may be going to the entrance door, again.
“Excuse me?” She questions, seeing the swing of the dog door on the entrance door before shaking her head at Chanyeol. “He went crazy when you woke up.”
“Then, you plotted him against me!”
“I didn’t do shit, Mr. Park.” She opens the door before looking around.
Chanyeol moves quicker, thinks faster, asking the guards by the entrance of his mansion. “Have you seen Messi?”
One of them frowns. “…In Argentina?”
If she wasn’t so worried about the goddamned dog, she would’ve laughed.
Chanyeol spreads his hands on his hips, elbows crooked. “No! My dog!”
“Oh, by the pool!”
“Thanks!”
Her boss is already a few steps ahead, speaking to her as he waits for her to follow after him. Shit, some people just are really insufferable—
“Stop cussing me out all the time. You don’t know me.”
“Well, you don’t know me, either.”
“I know you don’t like me. I think that’s enough.”
“It wasn’t a requirement for the job to be your absolute fan, Mr. Park. I’m just not very fond of how you point fingers at everyone when—”
“Shh!”
Upon reaching the pool, they see Messi swimming with his little paws, the sun raking down his small body as he enjoys the summery day.
She spares him a glance, as if asking him if he thinks the same way as her, and he nods. Okay, so he agrees, she’ll be the one to catch him.
Only that when she moves forward to grasp Messi in between her hands, Chanyeol does so at the same time. And then, everything she feels around her is water.
When she rises up from the pool, she feels someone���s body pressed right to hers. In front of her, she realizes after pushing her hair away from her face, is Chanyeol, in all his half-naked glory, droplets of water clinging to his face and chest as he frowns at her.
“I was going to get him!”
“Sorry for not knowing silent language…” Asshole is how she wants to finalize the sentence, but when she sees Messi paddling away by their side, as if laughing at their antics and enjoying his time by the pool. Her hands wrap around his small body, caging him in between their chests. “Nu-uh, my boy. You’re not going anywhere else.”
Each breath Chanyeol takes connects to her body, moves her as he tries to catch his breath. Sooner than later, he’s no longer pointing fingers—at least, not directly, but worried over anything else he feels.
“Why does he keep running away?” In his voice, the deflated optimism is noticeable and she looks up at his eyes before sighing.
“I think he just wants your attention.” Prompting, she looks away from the man. It’s not the first time that she realizes Chanyeol is above average-looking people, but that doesn’t give him in the benefit to just barge into her head like that. “You know, you gave him a hard time by leaving him with the sitter for so long and now he wants revenge. Or, he’s holding a grudge. One or the other.”
Messi bites at her hair, pawing at it to see the wet strand of her hair.
“But what do I do?” A pout takes over his features when he leans forward and his dog bites at his finger. “Ouch, Messi, bad boy!”
She huffs. “Maybe, try changing his name? No one is going to take him seriously if you call him Messi.” With that, she moves towards the edge of the pool, getting out with the dog between her hands. “I think he senses you and feels like running. Maybe, you could leave us on our own? At least, until he gets used to you again.”
His wide shoulders deflate. “That’s it? I can’t do anything?”
“I’m not sure.” She answers, sitting at the edge of the pool and wrapping the collar around Messi’s neck. “I’ll go walk him now. Just…let me do my job?”
Though, once she stands up, her skin becomes aware of the fabric of clothing clinging to her body, uncomfortably outlining every curve and imperfection.
“You want to walk around the neighborhood like a wet dog?” A charming smile takes over Chanyeol’s features and all she wants to do is wipe it off. Get some Kleenex and poof, clean it away before he continues with that confidence that both irks her and interests her.
She lifts Messi up slightly, who is blinking back at him as if judging him. “That’d make two wet dogs.”
“No, no.” And God, he makes a show out of getting out of the pool, his arms flexing when he pushes himself away, running his fingers through his hair to push the strands away. “I’ll lend you some of my old clothes and you can leave after.”
“It’s not necessary—”
“I wasn’t asking. I was offering.”
“And I’m denying. Thank you, but no thank you.”
Chanyeol rolls his eyes, tugging her by her arm to pull her with him. She doesn’t hesitate to go after him, after all, she knows he could very well drag her away. “Pride, pride, pride. It’s a bad thing to hold onto that, you know?”
“…Are we talking about you or about me?”
The warmth of Chanyeol’s mansion makes her sigh in delight, briefly letting go of him to lock the dog’s door and let go of Messi. He shakes his body before sprinting away with his barking ways.
Sure, he’s not usual, but he’s cute in his own way.
Chanyeol goes up the set of curved stairs, too long for her own good, but perhaps one of the many reasons why Chanyeol’s legs are to die for.
“You.”
“I’m not prideful, Mr. Park.”
“If that lets you sleep at night…”
Gasping, she catches up with his steps, walking alongside him, cringing at the squeaking of her shoes. “I’m sorry that everyone but me would die to have your clothes on them, but I’m not sure I want everyone here to think I’m just wearing your clothes because we—” She stops herself then, pressing her lips together because she may be bantering with her boss, the man that signs her paychecks…and now, he’s chuckling at her words, low and deep and somewhat, alluring.
“You don’t want anyone to think you’re fucking me?” Chanyeol questions, and she hums. Then, his shoulders lift in a shrug, moving through the hallways to get to his walk-in wardrobe. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing someone could think of you.”
She breathes out, almost wheezing: “Over my dead body.”
He opens the doors of the closet then, turning to look at her. “Is that really what you think? Am I the most undesirable man in this world for you?”
Okay, she really does try to not swallow thickly when he says those words, because one thing is difficulty—and another thing is having Chanyeol, shirtless, asking her if she deems him attractive.
“Yes.”
His eyes inspect her features, walking into the closet with a waltz on his steps. “Lies.” While he mutters that simple word, he looks through his clothing, racks after racks of fabrics pushed around by his big hands.
“Think what you want.” Tiredness takes over her mind because she’s damp and smells a little bit like a dog. All she needs to do is finish her job.
“I just know you’re lying.”
“I’m not.” She bites back through gritted teeth. Chanyeol snatches something away from a hanger, then something else from his folded clothing before tossing it her way. Quite a master looking through this closet when it’s three times bigger than her apartment.
“Either you lied or you had a basketball in your throat. That swallowing ain’t covering up well for you.”
“I have a sore throat.”
“May want to get it checked up.” With that, he moves towards the door, taking the handles between his hands and only closing them when he says: “I think it’s an allergy. It only happens when I am the one around.”
With that, he’s gone.
And thankfully, he’s not there when she goes out wearing one of his black sweatpants, tied around her waist, and a violet hoodie, miniscule scarlet letters reading out ‘sexual fantasies’. The worst part? It smells like him.
She walks seven blocks wearing an outfit Park Chanyeol may have sported some other time, with his dog and his scent lingering on her.
What a curse.
###
“Your friend is a feisty one, isn’t she?”
What the hell is Chanyeol doing thinking about his employee? He has no idea, much less when the question lingers with a hiss when his physiotherapist bends his knee to the side slightly, having him curse and lull his head back. The pain takes his curiousness away for once, too early in the morning for him to even be thinking about the woman that has been the reason behind his headaches for the past five days.
Worst part is that his dog, sleeping soundly on his bed as Junmyeon works on his knee, is tranquil before his walk of today. Messi always picks her instead of him, rushing away whenever she passes by those doors.
Junmyeon looks up from his knee, one that isn’t entirely injured…but Chanyeol overworks himself with practices at times, much more with the latest championship that had taken place.
“She kind of has to.” He describes, simplistic as ever and guarding a few secrets, shrugging his shoulder when he folds Chanyeol’s long leg and brings it up to his chest, then extending it and repeating the process. A huff leaves his lips when he tries to get used to the pain, worrying his bottom one between his teeth.
“Why?” He questions, and he swears he is just trying to concentrate on something else. It isn’t like he’s curious—
Because he isn’t.
“Lives in a bad neighborhood, I guess. She’s tough as bricks if you ask me, but she’s gotten tougher this past year.” Those words have him frowning. Sure, her paycheck is not the best…but it’s enough to live somewhere in the center of the city, like the rest of his workers.
Truth be told, Chanyeol feels bad at times. He was recruited for soccer since he was a child—grown and prepared to be one of the best players in any team he found himself in. Never alone, always cheered on for, Chanyeol knows what difficulty means—but the conceptualization is different from one person to the other.
“Really?” Chanyeol questions, looking up at the chandelier in the ceiling before he frowns. “Is the paycheck not enough?”
“…Chanyeol, if you’re really curious about her, maybe try to be more approachable and ask her yourself?” Junmyeon retorts, shaking his head as a laugh leaves his thin lips. “Seriously, you’ve been bitten by your dog enough times for it not to hurt if she does decide to bite back.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to me!”
Junmyeon sighs deeply, putting his leg down on the soft mattress of Chanyeol’s bed before rubbing his hands together. He seems to be finished with his therapy. “She doesn’t know you…and what she knows is that you’re here, and then you’re not.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Not really. It just isn’t her cup of tea, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders, putting his equipment inside his spacious dark leather bag before turning to look at Chanyeol. “If you really want to know why she doesn’t like you, don’t ask me. I can tell you the path she walks every day to get here…but nothing else.”
Chanyeol purses his lips, looking over to the side before extending one hand to try and pet Messi. He’s asleep, so he probably won’t even bite him. “I don’t want to know.”
Then, the small dog growls and grasps one of his long fingers between his teeth.
“Okay, I’ll leave now.” Junmyeon instructs, moving towards Chanyeol’s bedroom door until he hears him speak again.
“Wait—!”
He stops on his tracks, turning around to quirk one of his thick eyebrows. “You want me to tell you where to find her?”
“…If you don’t mind?”
Okay, so maybe his vacations are boring and he just needs a distraction. One with a bite in her tone, amusement in her pretty lips and that will help him not lose a finger to Messi’s bared teeth.
###
The day is perfect for a cup of tea under an umbrella, cladding her from the sun as she reads a book. Instead, she’s jogging down the sidewalk, late to her job and now she knows Chanyeol is waiting for her at home. Her chest heaves up and down as her shoes clank over the pavement, the wind and harsh sun clashing against her hair and skin, highlighting in her most atrocious stance.
Turns out that the Lim’s work for something. They are helpers for when her alarm doesn’t even dare blast off in the morning, but they had either fallen asleep today or, for some reason, sex wasn’t on the table today.
Or, they took it to the table, just it wasn’t on the bed.
Whatever. She doesn’t think she has ever been this bummed about being late to work.
Though, just as she is starting to lose her footing, far too tired to continue, she hears the sound of a car honking by her side, loud and clear. She would’ve continued with her stance, forgotten all about the eyes inspecting her, probably some creep trying to get a hold of her, but when she sees that charming smile that she has tried to erase from her brain the past week, she really stops on her tracks.
“Chanyeol?!”
She’s not in his neighborhood yet, but she’s well into the city, his Ferrari blending into the gray buildings surrounding him far too well. One of his hands rests on the steering wheel, the other spread on the seat next to him, his striped shirt clinging to his chest when he lifts his dark eyebrows up.
“Come on, get inside. Someone is going to crash my car if I keep standing here.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Chanyeol sighs, looking up at the ceiling of his car. “Certain bird called Kim Junmyeon told me you took the bus and then walked all your way over here and I felt bad.” He tilts his head to the side, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk before he adds: “And then I remembered that you would probably die to ride on my Ferrari, so I took the chance.”
She scoffs. “Get a grip, Park Chanyeol. I wouldn’t die to ride on anything that belongs to you.”
She knows how to stand up against people. Debt had brought her lower and lower, from one bigger apartment to a medium one and finally, the lint she dares call a home now. With neighbors that fuck like rabbits and one or two robberies happening once a month, she acknowledges that Chanyeol is just…annoying. Not bad. Not malicious. Just plain out stupid.
He opens the door of the car then, a barking dog seated on the passenger seat, practically jumping at the sight of her. Messi. “Do it for the kid.”
And she looks around the sidewalk, thinking about all the kilometers she has to walk just to get to Chanyeol’s place, and there’s air-conditioner in his car. Definitely so.
So, she takes Messi in between her hands and takes a seat on the warm, soft leather of Chanyeol’s car. A smile taking over his features when his fingers spread on top of her head to pat her hair. “That’s it.” He replies, only starting the car when she crosses her seatbelt on top of her body, sparing one glance at her before chuckling. “You know you just called me Park Chanyeol, right?”
She stops for a moment.
Get a grip, Mr. Park. No, that’s not what she said.
Oh fuck.
Her hands come cover her mouth, as if stifling what had already been told. “Oh shit.”
“And that you wouldn’t ride on anything that belongs to me.” Then again, maybe that was a bit too harsh. If Chanyeol dared pass in front of a group of people, there would be at least one person who would jump on his lap if he dared invite them. Though, she’s not quite accepting of the idea that crosses her head—the one that tells her that if he asked nicely enough, maybe she would think about it.
“I—You have to understand me here.” She replies, petting Messi’s fur as the dog lulls into a deep slumber on her lap. Today, he’s tranquil. “You like teasing me a bit too much.”
“Because your replies are good.” Chanyeol announces, turning on a corner away from the road towards his home. “I’ll take you to some breakfast before we go home, though. I think Messi doesn’t mind the ride.”
Pensive, mindful and a little bit of a charmer, Chanyeol seems to have it all together this morning. “Thank you.”
“Continuing on…” Chanyeol trails his voice, looking over at her for a fraction of a second before returning his gaze to the road. Everything about him is polished, relaxed, tapping his free hand against his thigh to the rhythm of the soft song on the radio, the other driving them to whatever place he had deemed welcoming for breakfast. “I have the feeling that you hate me.”
“I have the feeling you reciprocate it.”
“Something that soccer teaches you,” He starts, a smile on his face. “If someone fights you, you fight them back. And you fought me first.”
“You were the one pointing fingers!”
“You were talking shit about me.”
Well, guilty as charged.
She looks down at the dog on her lap, rubbing her lips together as she voices out the one thing she would have never imagined herself saying:
“I think I’m envious of you.”
The world clashes in so much silence that it almost echoes around her. Envy, a sentiment that lingers within us, inside of her, burning and snatching away the pretty parts of her. There is always one lingering look, a diamond too bright, a sigh too loud that takes her attention away from her own road and she sees the mud in comparison to the complete cleanliness of someone’s life.
Chanyeol has it all together, and maybe, that made him pompous inside her head. Privileged, and the worst kind at that.
“…You are?” Chanyeol breathes out, a confused frown taking over his otherwise dulcet yet attractive features when she sighs.
“It’s one of those things I can’t explain.” She tells, scratching the back of her head. “You spend so much time in debt that you look at everyone who is rich as the same thing. I’ve had people take me away from my home, give me deadlines when they know I’m unemployed. I’ve seen the divisions of class, and I guess I just assumed you’d be the same.” A scoff leaves her lips. “You told me I made your dog have anger issues, and that was enough to make me lose it. I had made a mistake once and you immediately lashed at me—”
His fingers hook around the steering wheel a little too tightly, smiling in the process. “You know, it’s one of those things…” His grin is not similar to the ones he sports. This one is uptight, as if forced. “When…When everything goes wrong and you want to lash at the first person you see.”
“Bad days for both of us?”
“I guess.” He replies, humming at the sound of the song on the radio for a few seconds before looking at her from his peripheral. The day is gorgeous, matching him in every way, beaming sunlight and growing flowers. He blends well with summer, makes his skin shine brighter, his eyes look fuller. “I don’t want this to be a bad summer…but I don’t know what to do in that goddamned house.”
She turns on her seat, her cheek pressed to the leather as she hears his every word, inspects his profile with utmost interest. “You want someone to live there meanwhile? Because I could get used to a mansion, for sure.”
That steals laughter away from him, but she knows better than to poke him. Even with his money, he must have some issues of his own. “The championships went terrible. I was…I guess I just wasn’t in the best mood and got three red cards.”
“Oh yes!” She widens her eyes, reminiscent of the days she spent laughing at the pictures she had seen on her phone. “With your face all red and all.”
“You find it funny?”
“Hilarious, but go on.” She swats her hand, only to have Chanyeol breathing in deeply.
“…I’ve lived in Barcelona for well over a year. I thought I wanted to keep this mansion because Sohyun wanted it. I did everything I had to just to keep it to myself. I didn’t sell it, didn’t have anyone else live in it, just because I wanted to have something she didn’t.” The revenge in his tone reminds her of that name. Sohyun, she has heard it before.
“Your ex?” A model passes through her head, but she isn’t quite sure she remembers her features to utter perfection.
He nods. “She cheated on me a bunch of times. With my friends, my publicist, people I didn’t know about. All in that mansion.” The somberness in his voice is different, deep and tranquil, as if he has learned to live with this. “So, when I came back, I expected it to be all glued together. For my heart to be back, for my dog to love me, for every memory to be trashed away…and…you were there at the wrong time.”
“As per usual.”
Chuckling, he says: “Maybe, I’m the right-timer between the two.” Pointing with his long fingers in between their bodies, he explains. “I came to pick you up when you were Usain Bolt-ing that sidewalk.”
“Right time, right moment, wrong guy.” She replies, turning around on her seat to stare towards the road ahead.
With his lips pursed, like she has learned he does when he pretends to be angry, he asks: “Who would be the right guy?”
“If you get me his number, I swear you’ll be the best boss ever.”
“Who is it?” Chanyeol questions.
“Son Heungmin.”
“No.”
“Wait, why?”
“Because…no.” He replies, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to be with Heungmin.”
“He’s hot, successful, kind, a soccer player. Got legs for days…”
The man in question squints his eyes, parking in front of a very famous, yet unvisited by her café before unhooking his seatbelt. “…Are you sure you’re not describing me?”
Therefore, more words can’t leave her lips when she realizes that the descriptions fit him a little bit too well.
“Get a grip of reality, Park Chanyeol.”
###
“I’ll teach you how to kick some balls today.”
“Oh,” Placing her hands on her waist, she quirks her hips to the side, smiling at Chanyeol’s presence in his own wide field for practicing at his home. “I know how to kick some balls. Want me to show you? I’m not sure about soccer-balls, but the hairy ones, kind of soft? Those, I do work well with.”
Trees swish around him, blotches of red appearing on his cheeks and ears thanks to the harshness of the sun, holding a soccer ball in between his expanded hands. Though, he rests it against the hard surface of his abdomen, chuckling at her words.
“You work well with them?” He asks, inspecting her features up and down. “What kind of working are we talking about?”
“Definitely not the kind you’re thinking of.”
“Bummer.” Chanyeol rests the ball on the grass in front of him, trapping him with his Adidas shoes before sighing. “I’ll try to score a goal and you have to stop me, I want to see what you’re made of.”
“Isn’t it enough that you drag me for coffee every morning?” She wants to continue fronting, pretend that there isn’t a small, numbing warmth that has her staying in the same spot by the sidewalk for him to pick her up in. Maybe, there’s spot for friendship in whatever mess they have been part of for the past two weeks. “I don’t want to.”
“I’m training you.”
Her hands clasp together, a faux smile appearing on her features. “To meet Heungmin?”
His jaw tightens, a frown appearing on his features. “I am not introducing you to him.”
Though, he moves towards her side, sprinting with the ball and catching her off guard, her hand extending in the air as she exclaims his name. “Hey! Stop! I need to keep up with you.”
“If you really want to meet Heungmin, you better start getting in shape.”
One would never think about it, but Chanyeol is more than the pictures catch of him. He’s not the competitiveness or the frown that overtake him on the field. He’s not the polished suits he wears or the tight smiles he sports when taking pictures with people equally as rich as him. The beam on his face when he scores goal after goal, even breaking some of the rules of real soccer to let her have fun, is exactly what she would imagine the real Chanyeol is like. Far away from the own judgement he has of himself or the way he has fitted his big frame into a tiny box of misconceptions and pretentiousness.
Time is one of the most beautiful things in life. We fear it, but who doesn’t? It’s in the wrinkles around our smiles, in the weight of our shoulders, in the imminent fear of an end that is not as happy as we want it—so unknown that it makes us scared, but it’s the only thing that is promised. Time with another person, whatever short or long, is important…and she notices that with the time she spends with Chanyeol every day. That his banter makes her feel lightweight, and his instructing ways bring something out in him. Something that even his dog manages to realize.
For the first time in a year, Chanyeol is not thinking of the time he lost. He’s thinking of the time he has left. Of enjoying the ‘now’.
Limbs spread on each side of her body, she lets the sun engulf her when her lungs expand to take a breather. Chanyeol remains fresh, a shadow cladding her body when she looks up at him. Her eyes don’t squint, but they almost burn at the harshness of his beauty. The raw side of what is left within him that still palpitates with hope. The child in him that had all this as a dream, not as a job.
“You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”
“Compliment?”
His dog steals a breath away from her when he plops his tiny body on top of her abdomen, her fingers absentmindedly coming down to pet him. “Pretty much, yes.” Chanyeol comments, his hair falling on top of his forehead when he asks: “Why Heungmin?”
“What?” She asks, a smile appearing over her features. “Are you really asking me that?”
“If you want his number, I’ll really give it to you. I’ll set you up, even.” Chanyeol’s voice becomes tranquil, hitting her bones in soft trembles, making her shake underneath him, eyes widened, smile dulled. “…But why him?”
Because he’s not you.
Because everyone is not as dangerous as you are, as close as you get, as burning as your smile.
Because it feels impossible, but you’re right here.
“Because I like to tease you.” She sits up then, fluttering her eyelashes to him before looking to the side. “He—He’s not really my style, I guess.”
“He’s not? You just said—”
“I know what I said.” With that, she stands up, giving Messi over to Chanyeol before shrugging. “I guess he’s not really my style anymore. I want more bite, less boy-next-door.”
She wants more of Chanyeol, but she won’t ever admit that.
###
“You have to take five things with you to an island. Just physical matters. What do you take?”
Pouring rain flashes against the windowsill, down to the glass, hammering their way down until they fall into a puddle. It’s well over the afternoon and the pet she should be taking care of is long asleep on Chanyeol’s lap, on her third week spending every day with him—and the rain has come, made a home out of this mansion to keep them trapped, seated with warm mugs in between their fingers, staring at the perfectly ruined day of summer.
He’s there, pensive, trailing after his train of thoughts to organize them, with his hair recently washed, raking the scent of jasmine and vanilla, sweetening her. She would’ve never thought she’d get used to his presence, his existence, the way he breathes in before answering:
“Three survival kits, my guitar…and a blanket.”
“You’d die of starvation.”
Chanyeol’s eyes twinkle when he looks at her, nudging her side as they sit close together, the wood creaking under the weight of fire in the fireplace. “Good thing I’m not being left on an island, isn’t it?” He questions, falling into silence when he licks his plush lips. “It’s…I don’t know. I would’ve said my phone before, or asked to have some sort of entertainment…but physical matters are not as important to me anymore.”
She chuckles, taking a sip of her warm drink. “Because you have it all?”
“Because having it all never made me better, or never made me feel less lonely.” Chanyeol confesses, looking into her eyes before giving her a small smile. “Without knowing, you’ve made this summer one hell of a lot better.”
“I know I have,” She tries to shrug it off—pretend that she doesn’t care that he is saying those words, but each one pierces through her with more force, claiming a spot for Chanyeol inside her brain, her heart, the core of her being. “…But why?”
The question is so small that it feels like a whisper between their bodies, a hum leaving his body. “Because I’ve gotten to know someone who doesn’t care about who I am, but cares about me enough to stand going out for breakfast with me every morning.”
Coffee cups shared along with stories, Chanyeol’s puzzle has started to take some shape—to rearrange itself into something she wants to know. “…Well, that’s going to change once you leave.” Once again, she stares at the droplets of rain, watching them fall…like how she doesn’t want to do with Chanyeol. It’s an abyss, and she doesn��t have the sources to put herself together. “You will have someone else to have breakfast with.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not…they are not like you.” He instructs, putting his cup down in between his crossed legs before sighing. His hand splays behind him, his vision burning the side of her face. “They won’t bite me in the ass if I do wrong.”
“And you like that?” She questions, a smile appearing on her features before she sighs. “Chanyeol, you’ll leave to Barcelona once this summer is over…and…and I don’t…I don’t want to get attached to this, you get me?”
Chanyeol shrugs his shoulders, biting his bottom lip as he thinks of his words. “You know what’s magical?” He says. “Trying. Living. It’s a thing we just…don’t think about. We’re so set in our routines, in the things we know and what we think is fitting for us that we never try. Shit, I thought Sohyun was worth giving it a try—and maybe, I’m damned, I like trying things, like a new drink or a new meal…but I don’t want to go one day thinking: ‘I wish I had been better. I wish I had done that. I wish I had made that mistake so I would have learned’. I want to think I always do my best to live the life I want.” Chanyeol answers, extending his hand towards her and planting his palm on top of hers, warm skin scalding her own, leaving her breathless at the mere touch. What’s with him today? “And I want to try, having breakfast with you until we get tired of it, get to know each other so much that we never stop bickering…I want to get a grip of what reality is like…just for once.”
“You’re serious?” Her voice becomes vacant, soft in its approach when Chanyeol wraps an arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to his chest. Sturdy, tranquil, there for a moment but then gone—it’s in the magic of trying, of letting the flame die down if it has to…feeling something real and raw for once, though unexpected. That’s the magic of the world.
“Why not?” Chanyeol asks, leaning his cheek against her head before pressing a kiss to her hair. “If it rained during summer, why can’t we try to go out on a date? The world is filled with impossibilities, let’s be one.”
###
Chanyeol doesn’t leave with the passage of the harsh sun of summer. Time passes by and falls like the leaves of the trees that scatter around the mansion. One she’s staying in at the moment, reading a book with Messi laying somewhere on the bed that she shares with Chanyeol.
Some would call it quick, unexpected; they would say it’s an atrocity for opposites to be together, but they don’t feel what she feels with him. Confidence, control, warmth, even with the patter of the rain right outside the mansion.
The world is tranquil, only cutting through the silence when her throat gasps out at the words written on the last page of the book, scribbled in black ink. Fuck Park Chanyeol and his ways of always ruining her books with some words of his own.
This time, it’s a romance. He bought it for her when they were going out on a date last month, right before he left for another soccer event. Now, he’s miles away, but she swears she can hear his voice, right next to her ear, thanks to his messy handwriting.
“I hope our romance makes you swoon like this one day. Love you, Chanyeol.”
Little does he know, it already does.
#chanyeol scenarios#chanyeol#exo scenarios#exo#kpop scenarios#writing#exo fluff#exo angst#exo au#chanyeol fluff#chanyeol angst#chanyeol au#soccer player!au#dog walker!au
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Experience
Basically, a collection of moments from dating Spencer. Features Spencer learning how to knit, his little tummy, a few mishaps, and how much he loves you.
gn! reader, 2.7k
“Did you know that it’s believed knitting originated in the Middle East around the fifth century?” Spencer asks you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.
You feel a small smile growing on your face. “I didn’t know that, actually.”
“Since knitting is largely defined by the yarn used, it’s also interesting to note that early Egyptians used cotton fibers instead of wool. However, by the time the practice made it to Europe, wool was the primary material used.”
“What’s got you looking into knitting?” You turn around in his arms, pressing a kiss to his nose.
He blushes, which is exactly what you wanted. Since the beginning of your relationship, you always try to foster an environment where Spencer feels comfortable talking about his interests. You hate the way his face falls when he gets cut off or when he realizes that the person he’s talking to clearly isn’t interested. The team loves him, you know this, and you also understand that the middle of a case isn’t the best time for him to ramble about something random, but you do wish they’d be better about it when they weren’t on a case. So far, little acts of love are the most effective way to let Spencer know that you care.
“I wanted to try it.”
“Yeah?”
His blush gets deeper. “According to a few studies I’ve seen, knitting can be considered a psychosocial activity that encourages stress relief. It can also improve fine motor skills, cognitive anchoring, and reduce awareness of pain. Some therapists are even using it as a technique with their patients.”
You hum. “Sounds cool. Do you have all the stuff you need? What do you even need, just needles and yarn?”
“No, not yet,” he says, pausing. You wait for him to continue. “Can you come with me?”
“Duh.”
An hour later, the two of you are at Michael’s. It’s the first time either of you has ever been in, and frankly, the store is huge. You look around with wide eyes. “Good thing the aisles are marked, huh?”
You take Spencer’s hand, letting him trail behind you as you find the aisle with all the yarn. There are so many colors to the point where it seems overwhelming. “Any clue what colors you want to start with?”
To your surprise, Spencer seems to know exactly what he wants. Without saying anything to you, he heads toward the yellow section, pondering for only a few seconds before grabbing a few and heading back to you.
“Yellow?” You question, holding out the basket you’d grabbed. “I figured you’d go for like...neutrals or something.”
Spencer places his pick in the basket. “Greys, blacks, beiges, browns, and whites are generally considered neutral colors.”
“And you got yellow.”
He nods.
“Do I get to know why you picked yellow?”
He shakes his head, some of his hair falling in front of his face from the action. “Eventually.”
You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Secretive. Let’s go get the other things you need.”
…
Spencer continues to be oddly secretive about the entire knitting thing. He tells you about it, sure, but he tends to work on his projects when he’s off on cases and won’t let you see them after.
“Eventually,” he keeps repeating, even after you try to bribe him with cupcakes.
Because you’re a weak human being, you give him the cupcakes anyway. You’ve never been able to resist his puppy eyes.
After he grabs a cupcake, he joins you on the couch, pulling you against him with his hand on your waist. “These are really good, bub,” he tells you. “I’ve missed your baking.”
You adjust so that you’re laying down, head resting in his lap. You kiss his stomach, smiling when he lets out a little giggle. God, you’re so in love with him. You’ve loved watching him become more confident, you’ve loved watching him become comfortable in his body, and you’ve loved watching his smile come out more and more. When you first started dating, you never thought he’d be the giggling type.
“I’ve missed baking,” you admit. “Work’s just been crazy.”
"I know," he says, tangling his hand in your hair. "You've been more stressed."
Sighing, you shift again so your face is practically buried against his stomach. "I know. And it's stupid. It isn't like my job is even that hard. Nothing like hunting down a billion serial killers."
He doesn't say anything for a moment, just long enough for shame to start burning through you. Before you can start backtracking, apologizing for being stressed over nothing, he pulls you up, settling you so you're seated in his lap. "Y/N," he says, shaking his head. "Your job is important. And you're allowed to be stressed over it. You help people in a different way than I do, but that doesn't make it inherently lesser."
You hum.
"I'm serious!"
"Be a weird thing to joke about," you mutter. "Look, it's fine. Seriously. You don't need to try to make me feel better."
He kisses your forehead. "I love you. I'm always going to try and make you feel better."
…
Spencer has a bad case. You can tell the second you see him, the brief moment the two of you lock eyes before he slams into you, rocking you back on your heels as his arms wrap around you.
"Hey, hey," you soothe, rubbing circles along his back. "C'mon, Spence. Breathe with me."
He sucks in a few panicked breaths, his grip on you tightening. You make sure to keep your breathing even, coaxing your boyfriend to follow the rhythm. Eventually, he settles down enough that you feel okay pulling away a little.
"Do you want to talk about it?" You ask.
He shakes his head. "Can we just go to bed?"
You've never been one to say no to him, so you don't. Instead, you let him lean on you as you make your way to bed, helping him strip off his clothes and get into something more comfortable before sliding under the sheets.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers, voice sounding raw.
"You'll never have to find out."
…
Significant others are always allowed at team hangouts, so you, Beth, and Will are all gathered at a table with the BAU at their favorite bar. Morgan and Penelope are off dancing, Rossi’s chatting up a confused looking bartender, Hotch is glued to Beth's side, JJ and Emily are playing darts, and Spencer's standing behind you, letting you rest against him.
"I love you," you blurt out randomly, twisting in his arms. You think you can hear Beth's "awww" from where she's seated. "Like, a ton."
Instead of answering, he kisses you. It sends an electric current through you, just like it always does. His hands come up to cup your face, tilting your chin to allow you better access. Your arms go around his hips. Every time he touches you, it always feels like you're on fire but in the best possible way. You'd let yourself burn like this for an eternity, you'd let yourself stay in his arms and melt away.
"Whoa, there!" Morgan shouts, making you smile into the kiss and ruin it. Spencer's smiling too though, so it's okay. "Keep it PG, you two! Mom and dad are here!"
"Mom and dad?" Will questions.
You don't let go of Spencer, but you do turn your head to look at Will. Spencer's hands drop down to your shoulders, like he can't stand not touching you either. "Hotch and Rossi," you explain.
He nods, even though he still looks pretty confused.
After an hour, Spencer wanders off with Morgan, asking the older agent something about Star Trek that you don't quite catch. You trust him well enough with your boyfriend, so you make your way over to JJ and Emily. "I have an important question."
They both turn to look at you, eyebrows raised. For people who were so drastically different, they have a lot of the same mannerisms. You wonder if they got them from each other.
“Do you know what Spencer’s been knitting?”
JJ gives you a small smile as Emily starts giggling.
“That’s your very important question?” Emily asks.
You nod. “Sure is.”
“He said we aren’t allowed to tell you,” JJ shrugs. “I’m sure you can figure out why.”
Frankly, it takes you an embarrassingly long time to allow the dots to connect in your brain. When it does, you can feel your entire body soften. “Oh. He’s making me something.”
Emily rolls her eyes. “Did it take you this long to realize that? I thought Spencer liked smart people.”
“Em!” JJ chides gently before refocusing her attention back on you. “She’s kidding. Spencer will give you what he’s been working on once he’s happy with the final product.”
As you walk back to your table, you ignoring the warring feelings in your gut.
…
“Why do you always ask me “did you know” before you start rambling about something?”
It’s late, and your question catches Spencer off guard. He rolls over in bed so that you’re facing each other. “What do you mean, love?”
You bite your lip, chewing at it as you think. Before you can even answer him, he reaches out and pulls it free.
“You’re going to make yourself bleed if you do that.”
He’s right. He’s always right. “I was just wondering if, well. If you’re going to get bored of me, since I’m not nearly as smart as you.”
Spencer sucks in a breath. “Y/N, where is this coming from?”
You shrug one shoulder. “Dunno. Look, why don’t we just forget-”
“I’m not going to forget about it,” he interrupts, voice surprisingly stern. “Even if my mind allowed me to forget about things, I wouldn’t want to forget about this. Because honestly, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
When you go to speak again, he takes one of your hands and brings it up to his face, kissing it gently, effectively shocking you back into silence.
“I love you,” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He’s still holding your hand. “You make me happier than I thought I could be, happier than I thought I deserved to be. And I know I’m not always great with words or emotions, but you need to understand how important you are to me. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. When I’m feeling down, I know that I can turn to you and you’ll help soothe me and I hope you know you can always come to me, too. When I talk, you listen. And you aren’t even listening just to placate me, or out of pity. You’re really, truly listening. You engage with the conversation, and you do your best to remember the things we converse about. When I learn something new, I’m excited to talk about it with you. When we’re together, I count how many times you’ve smiled. One, because it’s gorgeous. Two, because I need to make sure you’re happy, and if you’re not, I need to help as much as I can, becuase you always deserve to be smiling and happy. I just- I trust you in a way I’ve never trusted anyone else, Y/N. With my mind, my body, with everything. I don’t need someone with the same IQ as me. I don’t want someone with the same IQ as me. I just want you.”
“Spencer,” you breathe, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.
“I know it can be hard not to doubt yourself. It’s a natural human emotion. But I just need to make sure that you’re aware that I’ve never doubted you, okay? And if you need a reminder, just let me know.” He wipes at the corners of your eyes, catching the tears.
“I love you.”
He smiles. “I know.”
…
Spencer laughs when you jump on his lap, a soft exhale of breath escaping. “Yes, dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Guess what I did this morning?”
“What?”
“Made you cookies.”
His eyes light up. “Chocolate chip?”
You give him a quick kiss. “Of course. Let me go grab them.”
In one quick movement, Spencer stands, sweeping you into his arms. You shriek, lacing your fingers together behind his neck for extra security.
“What’s happening?”
“We’re going to get the cookies you made,” he tells you, starting to walk toward the kitchen.
You laugh. “I guess working out with Morgan has been going well, huh? As long as you don’t lose your tummy.”
He blushes. He knows how much you love his entire body, but he also knows how much you love that one area in particular.
Once you’re in the kitchen, he puts you back on your feet, but still wrapping his arms around your midsection. By now, you’re used to his tactile nature, but it had come as a shock to you back at the beginning of your relationship. Spencer had told you a million times that he wasn’t particularly touchy, and that had been fine. You’ve seen him dodge other people’s handshakes and hugs. After a few months, though, you figured out that he loved affection from the people that he cared about. It’d been obvious in the way he always stood a little too close to Morgan and JJ, in the way he let them ruffle his hair with a smile on his face, and the way he hugged them like the thought of germs or cross-contamination never even entered that big brain of his. When he started getting like that with you, it had made you want to weep.
The cookies are in a tin on the counter, so you don’t have to separate from Spencer to grab them. “Here,” you say, opening it up. “Here’s the result of my day off.”
…
“Okay!” You announce loudly, covering Spencer’s paperwork with your hands. “I was under the impression that a certain someone isn’t allowed to work from home when he’s injured?”
Spencer glares at you, not that there’s any real heat behind it. “I’m bored.”
“You’re injured, honey.”
Last week, you’d gotten the most terrifying phone call from JJ, who told you in a shaky breath that Spencer had been shot. She assured you that he’d be okay, but you didn’t breathe again until you were in his arms, his voice filling all your senses.
Despite him continuing to protest, he doesn’t stop you as you pack up everything on the table, placing it on the counter. “I know you don’t like to let your mind wander,” you acknowledge “But you need to let yourself rest a little bit. C’mon. Come sit with me in the living room, I’ll get us takeout.”
Five hours later, the two of you have binged the worst reality show you’ve ever seen. Spencer had watched most of it with his mouth slightly open, like he couldn’t even believe what he was watching.
“Hey,” he whispers. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“Always.”
…
On your birthday, you get to find out what he’s been knitting.
It’s painfully early in the morning, but you and Spencer had agreed to celebrate early, since you were both nervous about him getting called away on a case during the day. He hands it to you with a blush coloring his nose and you unwrap it gently.
It’s a winter set. A hat, a pair of gloves, and the softest looking scarf. They’re all the same shade of yellow he picked out when you went with him to Michael’s.
“I know it’s kind of stupid-” he starts.
You interrupt him with a kiss, pulling him against you and letting him deepen it. He smiles against your lips. “Does that mean you like it?”
“I love it, Spence.”
He’s standing above you, so you put the gifts on the table to give him room to sit on your lap. He does almost instantly, pressing his forehead against yours. “The color reminds me of you. Sunshine.”
You don’t think you can ever be any happier than you are at this moment. You bask in it, in him. “You’re perfect.”
#here's the result of me learning how to knit#spencer reid x you#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fic#spencer reid reader insert#criminal minds reader insert#reader x spencer reid#you x Spencer reid#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#i didn't proofread this soooo#dorothywrites
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Autumn // Draco Malfoy
A/N: Hey guys! I was writing a request but then I put on soft jazz and lit a fall candle and I just felt the need to write a little drabble about the fall season. Enjoy!
Summary: Y/N, who is pregnant, and her husband Draco spend a fall day together.
Waring(s): None!
Word Count: 1.7k
Y/N sighed in content as she watched the orange flames flicker in the fireplace. She took a small sip of her hot apple cider and dug her feet further into her fuzzy brown socks. The sweet jazz her husband had put on their record player soothed her soul. She felt at peace, she felt cozy, she felt safe. After all, autumn was her favorite time of year. The soft sweaters and pumpkin carving and the beautiful changing of the leaves never failed to fill her with joy. The fall season was special to Y/N for many reasons, but perhaps the biggest one was that she had met her husband, Draco, in the fall. They’d also gotten married in the fall. She remembered that day, vividly. The smell of the crisp autumn air, the orange and brown leaves scattered on the ground. Her long-sleeved wedding gown to shield her from the cold. Oh, how she missed that day.
However, she had bigger things to look forward to. Much bigger than her wedding day. See, Y/N was pregnant with her first child. In late March, she found out. Since it was November, her baby was due any day now. Draco was over the moon when she told him. He hasn’t stopped fussing over here since that day. And now, with the day growing ever closer, he hardly ever left Y/N’s side.
Y/N took another sip of her cider, nearly dropping it as she did since her daughter decided to give her a little kick, successfully catching her off guard. She chuckled to herself and rested her hand on her bulging belly, rubbing softly. “Is she bothering you, love?” Draco asked, amused. Y/N looked away from the fireplace. She stared at her husband, who was cozied up on their couch with a book, and smiled softly. “She wants out,” she replied. Draco looked at his wife’s belly. He felt an overwhelming wave of love every time he did. His daughter was inside there, his first daughter. Draco set down his book and stood up. He walked over to his wife, gently got to his knees, and placed his head against her stomach. He said nothing for a while, solely seeping into that precious moment. Soon, his child would be here. The thought of it brought tears to his eyes. He looked up.
Y/N was smiling down at him fondly. She reached out her hand and caressed her lover’s face. How lucky was she to be with a man like him? He’d been her rock throughout the entire pregnancy, dropping everything to come to her aid. There had been a few times when Y/N was sure she was going into labor, and Draco had left work and apparated to their home without a moment’s hesitation. If he ever faced repercussions at the Ministry, he never let Y/N know about it. “Don’t worry about me; you and our baby are the only things that matter to me,” he’d always say whenever she asked.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft, “I love you,” from Draco as he stood up again. Y/N smiled and pursed her lips, signaling she wanted a kiss; Draco delivered. The smell of snickerdoodles filled the air as he sat back down on the couch and wrapped a green blanket around him. His wife looked at him. She could tell by his face he had something on his mind. The fire crackled as she studied him. “What’s troubling you?” she asked.
Draco shrugged. “I’m just a bit stressed, is all,” he replied. He rested his head on the arm of the leather couch, slowly letting his muscles relax. “About?” Y/N prompted. Draco waited for a beat before responding. “What are we going to name her, Y/N? I know we’ve talked about it, but we still haven’t made a decision. It could be any day now that she decides to pop out, and I-I guess I’m a bit worried, is all.”
Y/N gazed at him with adoration in her eyes. She didn’t think it could be possible to love him any more than she already did, but here she was, feeling her heart swell. “I think we’ll know when we see her. We’ll look at her and just...know.”
Draco stared into the fire. He knew she was right; he was just so anxious for her to come. What if he laid his eyes on his daughter for the first time and couldn’t think of a name? It’s something other parents have had happen to them. What if it happened to him and Y/N? Would they just bring home an unnamed baby girl? The thought didn’t sit right with Draco.
“I know you want everything to be perfect, but you don’t have to stress so much about it. If you put too much pressure on yourself, we’ll never be able to make a decision. Let’s just see how the next few days play out, okay? Let’s enjoy the time we have together. Soon it won’t be just you and me, you know?” Y/N reminded him. It suddenly hit him that in a few weeks, there would be another human in his house. No longer would it be Draco and Y/N. The realization gave him a sudden burst of energy. He jumped to his feet and rushed to the entryway closet. “What’re you doing?” his wife called out to him.
He turned around and smiled. “Getting my shoes on, we’re going on a little trip.” Y/N stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Draco Malfoy, if you haven’t noticed, I’m nine months pregnant. There’s no way I’m going anywhere, not unless we use muggle transportation,” she informed him. Draco had a mischievous grin plastered to his face; he was up to something. He stood in front of her with her shoes and jacket in his hands. She looked at him incredulously, unsure about whether or not she trusted him. But he paid her no mind. Kneeling to the floor, he slipped her shoes onto her swollen feet, making sure they weren’t too tight. Then he stood up and helped her off of the rocking chair she was in. She reluctantly put her arms in the jacket he held out for her. It was a beige color and big enough to wrap around her pregnant belly. Y/N busied herself with her hat while Draco rushed to the kitchen. She thought nothing of it, simply assuming he wanted to grab his keys should they run into a muggle.
Draco held out his arm for her. Once she took it, he led her to the front door. “Where are we going? You still haven’t told me,” she complained. Draco responded with a kiss on her temple, successfully silencing her. They walked out the door and down the sidewalk. Y/N took her mind off of what Draco was planning and instead admired the scenery around her. Her hand felt heavy in Draco’s as she began to relax. They walked in silence for quite some time.
Soon the sidewalk came to a dead end. In front of them stood a large tree. It looked familiar to Y/N. She turned to Draco to see he was smiling. “Why are we here?” she asked. He turned to her. “Well, I came across this tree when I was coming home from work one day. It’s an oak tree, like the one in the Hogwarts courtyard.”
“You mean the one people used to carve their initials into?” Y/N asked. Draco nodded. “That’s the one. When I saw this one, in particular, it reminded me of our school days, and even though we didn’t sit at this tree very often, we spent a lot of time in the courtyard,” he said. Y/N chuckled. “We did. Lots of picnics out there,” she said happily as she stroked her stomach.
“Exactly. You mentioned these being our last few days of it being just the two of us, so I thought it might be fun to have a little picnic, for old time’s sake.” Draco stared at his wife expectantly. He looked pleased with himself. Y/N laughed and let her head fall onto his shoulder. “You’re a dork. But I am starving, whatchu got Malfoy?” she asked. Draco winked and let go over her arm. He looked around before taking out his wand and wordlessly making a red and orange blanket appear on the autumn dirt. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a towel. He placed it on the blanket and gently unwrapped it to reveal the snickerdoodles Y/N had put in the oven earlier that afternoon.
Draco made sure the cookies weren’t going to move, and then he walked over to his wife and helped her down onto the blanket. She sat down and got herself as comfortable as she could, and Draco followed suit. They wasted no time digging into the sweet snickerdoodles. Draco looked up in between bites to see Y/N stuffing her face. He smiled to himself; he remembered her doing the same thing when they’d share lunch together on a Sunday afternoon. Y/N had a tendency to eat as if someone was going to appear out of thin air and snatch her food. Draco found it adorable, often jesting and calling her his little chipmunk. She sensed his eyes on her and glanced up.
“Not a word from you, I am a pregnant witch, and I can eat however many I please,” she declared, causing her husband to chuckle. He continued to watch as she munched on the cookies. She looked as beautiful as the day he first saw her. Perhaps even more beautiful now, as she had that glow about her.
“I love you, Y/N,” he said suddenly, yet gently. Her eyes flickered to his. “I love you too, sweetheart. Thank you for dragging me out of the house to eat cookies,” she said sweetly. “Your daughter is enjoying them just as much as I am.” Draco scooted closer to his wife and placed a hand on her belly. Almost instantly, he felt a kick. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her bulge. And then it hit him.
“Autumn,” he whispered with a gasp. He sat up to look at his wife. “Autumn,” he repeated. Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Draco, that’s the season we’re in.” He shook his head. “No, no. Autumn. We should name her autumn,” he said, his eyes wide. Y/N looked down at her stomach. She saw it stretch as her daughter kicked again. She lifted her head to look back at Draco.
“She likes it,” she said with a smile.
#draco lucius malfoy#Draco Malfoy#draco fanfiction#Draco#draco malfoy x yn#draco malfoy imagines#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy imagine#draco malfoy dad#harry potter fanfiction#pregnancy#autumn#fall drabbles#draco imagine#apple cider#snickerdoodle#hogwarts
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Bura na mano, Holi hai!
This is my submission for @darkmcuficswap’s Dark MCU Festive Fic Swap 2020! My giftee is the lovely @searchforanotherway / @saaracha. Thank you so much for your patience. I hope you enjoy this!
Summary: This year’s Holi Festivities would’ve been your best yet...if not for a handsome stranger.
Paring: Soft Dark!Thor x Desi!Reader (Fem)
Holiday: Holi (Festival of Colors)
Word Count: 2,022
Rating: 18+/Explicit
Warnings: Kidnapping, Smut, Loss of Virginity, Non-Con, Oral (f receiving), Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Swearing, Age Gap (reader is of age), Light Bondage, and Breeding Kink
A/N: This is my first time doing a Desi!Reader. Thank you @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for hosting! Translations will be at the end. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics!
Back to Masterlist
“So, I guess you won’t have to tease about my poor gulal throwing skills since I’m coming back.”
You shrieked into your phone so loudly that you feared your Aunt Malati would stick her head in with a disapproving look again.
Harshad, your brother, was finally coming home after four years abroad! You had missed him dearly. He had called you twice a month for at least two hours talking about your novel idea. You were writing a sci-fi novel about a girl, Kanti, going on space adventures. You never thought you stood a chance since there weren’t many people who looked like you in the space, but Harshad was your biggest cheerleader.
Everyone was preparing for the festivities, getting the gulal, cooking all of the food (you were constantly salivating from the aroma), and making sure everyone has lotion for Rangwali Holi.
You and your best friend, Hema, were returning from an errand when a sleek black car passed your path. Luckily, neither of you were hurt and went on your way, but you were blissfully unaware of the occupants.
You always loved your neighborhood’s Holika Dahan. Your grandmother used to regale you and the other children with tales of old. Your mother and aunts would hand out Gujiya, Barfi, Malpua, and other sweets. The bonfire always meant new things were coming for you. It was at the Holika Dahan that you had your novel idea two years prior.
This year you helped pass out the sweets to the crowd and shared a serving of Chana Marsala and Malpua with mango when you saw him.
On the other side of the bonfire was a man who was staring intensely at you. He could be described as some kind of supreme being in your sci-fi novel. He was 2m (6’6.75”) tall with short dark blond/light brown hair and beard, electric blue eyes, plump lips with laugh lines, broad shoulders and chest, and mostly had a defined midsection and legs. All of this deliciousness was wrapped in a tasteful royal blue Dupion Silk Kurta, a beige Churidar, and a pair of golden silk Mojari.
You never thought that a man like him would give you the time of day. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him-
“Hey! Hello, anyone in there?” Hema snapped you out of your musings, “I asked you if you want to come with the rest of the girls.”
You nodded and left with her not noticing your mystery man talking with Harshad.
“Rangwali Holi Mubaarak, Auntieji!” Bushra exclaimed as she jumped on your bed. She did this every Holi since she could crawl.
“Alright, alright Bushra. I’m awake.” You grumbled as you gave her a hug, “time to get ready.”
Nilam, your older sister, handed you a cup of Thandai from your favorite vendor as a bribe to watch over Bushra this year. Slightly annoyed, you accepted the cup and hummed at the flavors noting the extra pinch of cardamon they added just for you. You made sure that Bushra didn’t get near the Barfi (not wanting a repeat of last year) and made sure that she moisturized herself.
Once you and Bushra were ready, you met up with Hema and had a blast at Rangwali Holi. You smiled at Bushra running around with her friends with her playful yelps and laughter. Hema got you square in the face with gulal so you chased her until Harshad stopped you.
Afterward, both you and Hema helped your mother and aunts prepare for the party. The party was wonderful and you may have had a few more Gujiya and Barfi than you should’ve. Though you did catch a glimpse of the striking man from last night.
After the festivities, you walked around your neighborhood with Hema talking about clothes, boys, and music (nothing major). You got another cup of Thandai from your favorite vendor once Hema decided to retire for the night.
You went against your grandmother’s warnings and took the shortcut through the dark corridor. You got about ten steps in when you started to feel incredibly dizzy. Someone caught you before you fell and the last thing you saw a pair of plain gold Mojari.
Your eyes fluttered open then snapped open once you realized that you weren’t on your bed. You found yourself in a red embroidered art silk Lehenga with gold and ruby studded earrings and bangles.
The room itself was an immaculate hotel room with reds, blues, and green adorning the walls and surfaces. It felt unreal. It was like in your story where the protagonist got stuck in her adversary’s lair.
You were about to reach the window when the door opened and in walked the man from Holika Dahan.
He only wore a royal blue Dupion Silk Dhoti and the gold Mojari. And Fuck, he was a vision of masculine beauty and power. He had a powerful build with rippling muscles, rich tawny pink skin, broad shoulders, plump pink lips, long medium brown eyelashes, chiseled chest and abs, and a super defined Adonis Belt.
You could only imagine what was underneath his Dhoti.
The man strode in like a king, confidence and charisma came off of him in waves.
“How do you like the room, priya?” You nearly swooned at the smooth, deep timbre of his voice.
“Wh-who are you? Where am I?” you asked slightly terrified by the way the man was ogling you in your outfit.
He chuckled at your actions, “My name is Thor Odinson, but you may call me Thor, jaanu. As for where you are, well, you’re where you belong. You’re with me.”
“But I can’t be your jaanu! We’ve never met-”
“I would watch your tone, priya.” Thor warned as his nostrils flared and his eyes darkened.
“I jus-I just want to go home.” you nearly sobbed as Thor raised your head with a bent forefinger.
“It doesn’t matter now. You’ll see, mera pyaar.” Thor murmured as he kissed you.
You would’ve gasped at the sudden action. This man stole your first kiss, but it could’ve been worse. The kiss was soft and demanding getting more passionate by the second.
Thor moaned when he got his tongue past your full lips. You gave him a tepid response with your own tongue which only egged him on with the knowledge that he would be your one and only.
He scooped you up in his arms and gently placed you on the plush bed like a feather once he broke for air. Your clothes were gone in an instant and you felt helpless under the ravenous gaze of your captor.
Thor started with a kiss to the top of your forehead, inhaling the Damask Rose perfume he got from Kannauj. “You smell divine, jaanu.” He descended upon your face, neck, and shoulders kissing and marking your skin with love marks.
You tried to push him off of you, but he bound your wrists to leather handcuffs and returned to his foreplay.
Thor hummed at your moans and gasps loving how responsive you were. His kisses sent shivers down your spine and waves of heat to your lower abdomen, sometimes simultaneously.
“P-Pleas-”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Thor tutted at your incoherent pleas, “You need to use your big girl words, jaanu.”
You begged him to release your wrists and he only did once you promised not to fight you. He released your wrists and gave each wrist three open kisses while making eye contact. You shyly ran your fingers through his hair and his smooth plains of muscles while Thor praised your efforts noting that you will get better in time.
He stopped at your breasts and loved how they filled his hands musing on how much bigger they’ll be once you’re round with his seed.
That scared the shit out of you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want kids at all...you didn’t want kids now.
Thor alternated between sucking and pinching your nipples and covered your chest in love marks. He moved to your midsection and hips, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful jaanu.” he murmured as he kissed your hipbone.
“Please, Thor, I can’t-”
Thor pressed a forefinger to your lips, “It’s fine, jaanu. All will be well.”
“I’ve ne- I’ve never been touched down there.”
Thor chuckled, “I know, mera pyaar. I’ll be your one and only,” He kissed and nipped your inner thighs and gave your slit a long, slow lick. Thor moaned at the taste, “Better than the finest cuisine,” and dove in like a starving man at a feast after only knowing years of famine.
Never in your life had you felt such a rush tear through your body. Each movement brought you to a new level of pleasure. You weakly grabbed his hair and arched your back to him begging him to continue.
Thor kept you on the edge for what felt like an eternity, “Come, mera pyaar.”
The floodgates burst at his words and he made sure to slurp up every drop of your juice that squirted.
You were in a euphoric daze when Thor removed his Dhoti. You would’ve gasped if you could because the man was a sculpture of near hyper-masculine perfection with his form glistening with sweat.
Then you saw his cock. Fuck! He would split you in two!
You begged him to stop once more, but he kissed the corner of his mouth and said that the pain will pass.
Thor pushed into you as gently as he thought possible. You wanted to scream but he swallowed them in a passionate kiss and even took you biting him in stride.
“You feel amazing, jaanu!” Thor exclaimed once you calmed down and he filled you to the hilt. He started thrusting at a good pace and the feeling of pain soon turned to pleasure,” Isn’t this better, mera pyaar? Being under me, taking my cock like a good wife?”
You were too fuck-hazed to respond.
It didn’t take long for you to come again. Not a minute later, Thor came with a roar with thick ropes of cum shooting into you.
You thought it was over only to see Thor inside you...and hard.
“Did you think that was it, jaanu?”
After a couple more rounds, Thor let you fall asleep and had someone get you ready for the jet.
It was all coming together. Odin neither liked nor trusted his playboy lifestyle and threatened to disown him and cut him from the company if he didn’t find a wife. The woman had to be someone he approved and he had two years to do it.
Seventeen months into his search, he met Harshad. Thor thought the man bright and amiable so he got the man a job in the company as a Data Engineer. He kept an easy-going friendship with him, but all that changed when Harshad talked about you.
Harshad talked about your interests and dreams like a sibling is wont to do. Thor thought you were a lot more interesting than his usual lays. Your brother showed him a picture of you that your mother took right before he left.
Thor was hooked.
You were softer, plumper, and much more genuine than the models he dated. You were simply breathtaking.
Thor almost snatched the photo from Harshad.
Thor started to search for you that night. He scoured your social media presence captivated by your smile and words. He hired a private investigator to get more information about you and he convinced Harshad to let him celebrate Holi with your family. His cock hardened when he saw you walking with your friend, Hema, on his way to the hotel. He almost came on the spot when he locked eyes with you at Holika Dahan. Thor had his agents watch you during Rangwali Holi and take pictures and bribed a worker to give you a drugged Thandai.
Now he had you.
Sure, you will be rebellious at first, but you will accept this. Perhaps he could help you with your book series. He hoped his children would be as creative as you.
Maybe one day you’ll laugh.
Taglist: @giorno-plays-piano @lookiamtrying @jtargaryen18 @sapphirescrolls @jobean12-blog @sweeterthanthis @gotnofucks @mcudarklibrary @saiyanprincessswanie @golden-ariess @navegandoaciegas @stargazingfangirl18 @opheliadawnwalker3 @tilltheendwilliwrite @imanuglywombat @bucky-the-thigh-slayer @navybrat817 @anyatheladyclown @buckysbunny @nacho-bucky @donutloverxo @stephanieromanoff @threeminutesoflife @angrybirdcr @angrythingstarlight @chixkencxrry @hurricanerin @marvelfansworld @the-soulofdevil @captain–barnes @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thebanprincess @winteralpine @leslie2898 @buttercandy16 @propertyofpoeandbucky @hevans-angel @thorfanficwriter @afriendlyblackhottie @avintagekiss24 @syntheticavenger
jaanu => my life
mera pyaar => my heart
priya => darling
Bura na mano, Holi hai => Do not mind, it’s Holi
#dark!thor#thor#thor x reader#dark!thor x reader#dark thor#dark thor x reader#thor odison x reader#thor odinson smut#thor odinson imagine#thor x desi!reader#desi girls#desi women#holi#dark mcu#dark!mcu#dark marvel#dark!marvel#mcu smut#mcu imagine#marvel fanfiction#marvel superheroes#marvel smut#chris hemsworth
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six to six - sakusa x reader
a/n: i haven’t written fluff in forever it seems,, its only been a few days. in any case! heres some self indulgent sakusa! i hope youre all having a wonderful day!
genre: fluff
warnings: timeskip!jobs
word count: 1.6k
enjoy!! <3
6:00
Sakusa wakes up for his morning run to an alarm that plays quiet, exclusively piano music. He kisses the shell of your ear as his eyes open, shifting your body slightly to get his arm out from under you without waking you up. You tend to sleep as the little spoon--it makes him sleep soundly knowing you’re fully protected in his embrace. He takes the cream colored comforter off of his larger frame and tucks it up to your chin, planting a kiss on your forehead before he gets changed into his running clothes. He walks around your shared apartment, turning the kitchen light on on his way out.
7:00
You continue to sleep soundly as the sun sends beams of yellow light in through the curtains. The warmth left in your bed from Sakusa’s body is still present as you sleep much lighter than the hours before. Your almost awake mind can tell he’s no longer there, but is too sleepy to start your day. You absent-mindedly take fistfuls of fabric up to your face, just over your nose, as your eyes and nose scrunch closed from the incoming light.
8:00
You hear the door unlock and the sounds of Kiyoomi’s lighter steps. Despite his height and the expectation, he takes very cautious steps as a habit. He walks like the top of his head is being pulled up by a string, and you probably wouldn’t have been able to hear if you weren’t waiting for the sound. A few minutes pass and he’s standing over your body, stroking your hair with a freshly washed hand as sweat dries on his forehead. He speaks in a quiet voice, almost like he doesn't want you to hear him. He doesn't want to disturb your peace, but knows he needs to. “Wake up, love.”
9:00
You’re both sitting around your kitchen island. Sakusa’s hair is being dried in a t-shirt to protect his curls while you sit next to him, still in your pajamas and refusing to get dressed like a small child. The grey granite countertops are adorned with plates that used to hold omelettes. You didn’t have anything going on that morning, so you decided to make a considerably nicer breakfast than usual. Sakusa watched and made sure you washed the raw egg off of your hands every time you cracked an egg.
“Who taught you how to crack an egg? Those things are full of diseases. Make sure you actually wash it off, don’t just rinse them.” Sakusa leaned forward to grab the soap on the kitchen sink and squeezed it into your hand; both to be sure you used soap and so you didn’t “get the egg goop on the bottle.”
10:00
Sakusa left for volleyball practice and you went with him, planning to watch MSBY in their natural habitat and maybe poke some fun at Atsumu while you’re at it. He wore what you’d expect, but you had since showered and dressed up, wearing fancier, beige pants and a bright red button up shirt under a long brown jacket. Your shoes matched your shirt, the red of both pieces being fun without being overbearing. Sakusa told you he thought you looked “ravishing, love.”
His hands were in the pockets of his jacket and your arm was interlocked with his. He preferred having his hands tucked away if they could be, so this was always how you walked places. Besides that though, you looked like a power couple when you walked arm in arm. You looked like you both had it all together.
11:00
“Get it Omi! When’d you learn to do that?” They were having a little in-team practice game and you couldn’t help but shout from the sidelines. Today was seemingly a free day for more than just you as you sat down next to Akaashi in the stands.
“L/N, I hate to say this again, but stop yelling!” The coach was not fond of your passion, but in the same second he said that, Bokuto shouted to Akaashi about something he did, asking the latter if he saw with the proudest smile on his face. Akaashi did, of course, even when writing vigorously, and shot a small but noticeable smile back at the excitable Bokuto, saying he did see and was proud of him. Bokuto beamed for the rest of practice.
12:00
You left the gym to get yourself lunch, walking confidently down the sidewalk looking for something that tickles your fancy. You settled on a crepe from a street vendor, regretting nothing as you ate the thin, chocolate covered pancake. As you continued your stroll, you walked into a small shop riddled from one side to the other with small trinkets. The back wall of this small, colorful shop was covered in socks of all kinds with random prints on each one. You thought the ones with small aerosol cans of cleaning products were hysterical and decided to buy them for your boyfriend, knowing he’d love them just as much as he’d hate the teasing.
On your way back to the gym to continue watching, you stumbled upon a small flower shop and decided to walk around, smelling some of the flowers before you complimented the owner on their work and continued on your way.
13:00
Technically, practice on this simple, Saturday afternoon was over--but you found yourself setting volleyballs into Kiyoomi’s hand as you listened to the rhythmic slamming of those same balls to the floor. You had never properly played volleyball, but you had become decent at setting over the years you had known Sakusa. He was one with a fighting, passionate spirit. He’d always do whatever he needed to win. This meant, though, having arm muscles you never actually need and having volleyball skills that could rival an over-confident middle schooler.
It was thrilling though, and you’d never say you weren’t absolutely enthralled with his abilities. He was a very cold, distanced person, but seeing him in his element made you meet a whole different version of him. It excited you to no end.
14:00
You and Sakusa were both dripping with shower water. He went in to rinse off his sweat, and you joined him with a devilish grin on your face. He massaged shampoo into your hair as you closed your eyes and melted into the feeling of his hands and the warm water, blissfully forgetting the outside world for as long as you possibly could. He made you feel safe and at home, and nothing felt nicer than when he showed physical affection; especially as that affection was few and far between sometimes.
15:00
Your living room had a white leather sectional in it. You always took the corner, aiming your feet towards the tv, while Sakusa either sat next to you with his feet on the glass coffee table or with his back against the arm, aiming his feet towards you. You sat and wrote while you listened to your favorite record as it played softly, occasionally moving your head to the beat. Sakusa scrolled through some random social media app and read every stupid thing he was shown, giggling sometimes to break the comfortable silence. Your favorite song came on, and the second Sakusa heard the first beat he stood up and outstretched his hand to you, asking you to dance with him. He was different in private. Far more confident and a lot less scared, and when he was with you it was like nothing mattered at all. He was truly at home with you, and you were more grateful for that than you could explain.
16:00
With that one dance came plenty more, changing the record when one ended to another with more spunk. Both of you were worn out though, laying on the perfectly clean, white carpet in your living room while trying to catch your breath. Sakusa’s back was on the floor while your head was comfortably on his chest. You curled up against his frame as he stroked your hair.
“Hey, Omi?” Your voice was soft and kind. You spoke in a way where even if other people were around they wouldn’t be able to hear you. Just you and Kiyoomi.
“Yes, Y/N?” He propped himself up with his elbows and looked into your eyes as you turned to look into his.
“I kinda really like you.” You still spoke softly, a small blush going over your face as he giggled at what you said.
“I kinda really like you too, dork.”
17:00
You and Sakusa always cooked together, especially when raw ingredients were involved. He stayed away as you dealt with the uncooked food, and you stayed away as he worked on the rest, mouth watering as he made you wait. Sakusa wore an apron when he cooked. It was one you found at a shop full of handmade goods. It had watermelon on it.
You walked up to him as he slaved over the stove, asking to taste the rice in the pan before he told you no and to turn around. You pouted in response, but sat again at your spot on the kitchen island, holding your head up by your arms as you almost tasted the flavors in the air.
18:00
Both of you were full after eating and you sat again on the couch. Sakusa cued up an episode of the objectively terrible show you were binging together and put his arm around your shoulders, allowing you to nuzzle your face into his chest. You both laughed hysterically as you made jokes jabbing at the plot, becoming completely present in the situation one stupid sentence at a time.
Sakusa Kiyoomi was holding you in his arms, and even though it took a long time for him to get to that point, you’re thankful everyday for the end result. He was yours; this was the bliss you always wanted.
#sakusa#sakusa kiyoomi#sakusa x reader#sakusa fluff#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu sakusa#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu#hq#sakusa kiyoomi x reader#ellie domestic days
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Read Your Mind | KTH (M)
♦ Summary: You just want to find your friends and enjoy the party, but instead you find out that maybe you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.
♦ Pairing: Vampire!Taehyung x Human Female!Reader
♦ Genre: Vampire AU, supernatural AU
♦ Rating: NC17
♦ Warnings: Cursing, teasing, implied sex
♦ Word Count: 2.9k
♦ A/N: For @btsholidaybingo | Bing Square: Vampire | Songspo: Read Your Mind - Avant
This has been 98% done for weeks, but I couldn’t write a proper ending for the life of me. Huge, giant thank you to Mars (@joheun-saram) and Danna (@unoriginal-username15432) for beta reading this and helping me try and scrounge up an ending I didn’t hate! ❤️❤️
You can swear that Mingyu texted you the right address. The house number on your phone clearly reads 1230, which matches the numbers on the beige paneled house in front of you. The street is quite dark for it to be nearly 10:30 pm on Halloween night, but the music is loud enough that you can hear it from the sidewalk.
You glance at your texts once more and make your way up to the porch, music blaring as soon as you open the door. The inside of the house is not as dark as it looked from the outside, but it’s still dim, and there aren’t enough lights. Surprisingly, it doesn't smell like cheap beer and weed, which you’re used to smelling, having been to many house parties. Instead, the air is reminiscent of burning incense and something that you can only describe as a coppery scent.
Squinting, you see if you can recognize any of the nearby faces, but you can’t place a name to anyone around you. You pull your phone out of your clutch and shoot a quick text message to the group chat to see where your friends are.
Y/n: Hellooooooo I just walked in. Where are you losers?
Mingyu: Wow and only an hour and a half late
Wonwoo: We’re in the kitchen
Vernon: I will literally down all of these jell-o shots if you don’t get your ass in here
Y/n: IF THAT INCLUDES THE CHERRY ONES I WILL END YOU CHWE 😡
Vernon: 🍒👅
Y/n: 🔪🔪
With nothing but cherry jell-o and strangling your friend on your mind, you miss the multiple sets of eyes staring at you until you put your phone away. A group of costumed party-goers is watching your every move from where they’re standing near the staircase. At least two of them have glowing red contacts, which doesn’t help your unease. Eager to leave, your eyes scan the room, and you decide to venture to the left of the house, away from most of the crowd.
Upon reaching the kitchen, you don’t see Mingyu, Vernon, or any of your other friends. The kitchen itself is empty altogether. After sending a quick text telling your friends to stop fucking with you, you decide a drink is in order.
A quick survey of the dismal spread tells you your only options are clear bottles of red wine and a punch bowl of what you can only assume is jungle juice or another alcoholic punch concoction.
Deciding on the punch, you ladle yourself a cup. It’s oddly thick when you scoop it, and it drips instead of pours into your plastic cup. Taking a sniff, you notice it’s the same coppery smell that got your attention when you first walked in. Up close, the scent makes you gag, and you recoil. What the fuck is in this drink?
Before you can take a cautionary sip, the sense of a presence has you halting and whipping around, only to knock into the solid body that appeared behind you. Two sturdy arms belonging to the man who caught you wrap around your waist, keeping you from busting your ass completely.
“Shit, I’m so sorry!” You laugh awkwardly and try to remove yourself from his arms, but his grip is much stronger than yours.
“No need to apologize, doll. It’s an honor to be this close to you.” You narrow your eyes at him. Something about his tone is off, and you don’t like it. With a quick survey of him, you see that admittedly, he’s extremely good looking. Between his dark, curly hair, thick thighs, and tattoos peeking through the sheer sleeve of his grey shirt, he’s definitely your type, but again, something is off, and you can’t pinpoint it. Even in a bunny-eared headband and a painted-on pink nose, it doesn’t seem right to be here with him like this.
“Well, uh, thank you,” Again, you attempt to wiggle out of his hold, but instead, he pulls you closer, burying his nose into your neck. “What the f-”
“Do you have any idea how divine you smell?”
“Thank you? Look, just l-let me g-go,” A sudden fuzzy sensation takes over your body, and your ability to form coherent sentences seems harder than earlier. You hadn’t even taken a sip of punch, so you know it can’t be that.
The mystery bunny man uses your lethargy to his advantage and places a few kisses on your neck. His lips are cold and send a chill through your body. You want to shove him away, but your mind is hazy.
“This’ll only hurt a bit, doll, but you’ll like it, I promise,” he murmurs into your skin. Your mouth won’t let you ask what he means, but then you feel the sharpness of his teeth grazing your skin. Your brain is screaming, but no sound leaves your lips. This is wrong. Very, very wrong. Are you seriously about to be bitten by a vampire?
“Jungkook, what do you think you’re doing?” A deep voice ringing out through the kitchen has the man you now know as Jungkook pausing before his teeth pierce your skin.
He lets out a scoff and pulls away from you. “Oh, come on, Hyung, what does it look like?”
The man enters your vision from behind Jungkook, and you make eye contact, doing your best to plead with him without words.
“Let her go and stop using your powers on her. Poor girl’s eyes look as dead as your heart.”
Jungkook mumbles something you can’t hear under his breath and releases the hold he has on you. You slump back, and in an instant, the fog that was swirling around your head lifts. You blink a few times as your senses return.
“You’re no fun.” Jungkook pouts at the other man before stomping out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.
After watching Jungkook go, the man turns back to you, his chocolate eyes scanning you from head to toe. You can’t help but shrink further under his gaze. His vibe is different from Jungkook’s, less menacing, but he is just as attractive, which still makes you nervous. Slicked back black hair showcases intense eyebrows and a chiseled jaw. He’s tall and not as muscular but can still clearly throw you around like a doll if he wanted to. And honestly, you kind of want him to.
“I do apologize on behalf of him. He’s the youngest of my brothers and still behaves recklessly sometimes.” He smiles widely, and you see fangs poking out, even though he is very clearly wearing the signature purple suit of the Joker. “I’m Taehyung, and I like your costume, by the way. Are you a leopard?”
You adjust your leopard print jumpsuit, suddenly very aware of how form-fitting it is. “Y/n. And no, I’m Scary Spice. You know, from the Spice Girls?” This makes him chuckle.
“Of course, my mistake.”
You point towards his outfit. “If you’re the Joker, why isn’t your face done up to match?”
Taehyung shrugs. “It’s an old costume that I threw on last minute. I didn’t have much time for the whole thing.” He’s still smirking at you. “What’s the matter, kitten?” He asks, but his tone suggests that he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
You do your best to ignore the way his use of the pet name affects you. “I just want to find my friends. They should be here waiting for me.”
“Oh? Who are your friends? I know everyone at this party.”
“Uh, do you know Mingyu, Vernon, Wonwoo, or Seungcheol? They’re dressed as the other four Spice Girls, so they’re not hard to miss.”
After a few seconds of thinking, the man shakes his head. “Nope, can’t say anyone by those names are here...but I think you knew that already.” He starts to advance towards you, trapping you in place. “It seems you’ve stumbled into the wrong Halloween party, kitten.”
You dig your phone out of your clutch and double-check the address, showing it to him. He shakes his head. “That’s the next street over.”
Something had told you before even walking into the house that something was wrong, but hearing Taehyung confirm it proved that you weren’t just paranoid. The smell of copper and the red liquid in the kitchen, the alleged glowing contacts of people in the front room, and the fact that Jungkook nearly took a literal bite out of you all pointed to what this was. You believed in the supernatural, sure, but it was never at the forefront of your mind that you would run into a supernatural person. Until tonight.
“How interesting,” Taehyung starts. “The realization that you’ve shown up to a party hosted by a house full of vampires doesn’t seem to stress you out nearly as much as it should. Why is that?”
You’re honestly not sure, and when you tell him that, he laughs. “You know, you humans are always so fascinated with the supernatural, especially with us. We’re truly not that different than you all, you know.” Taehyung has you pressed against the counter, and you know he can hear how fast your heart is beating. You watch as his eyes flicker from brown to a deep red color.
The way he’s looking at you is different from Jungkook’s earlier gaze. The latter made you feel helpless since you had seemingly lost control over yourself. It was scary, and you are more than glad that Taehyung swooped in when he did. With him, though, the way that he’s hovering over you and studying your face is exhilarating.
Maybe you’ve finally lost it. Maybe every failed relationship you’ve had has finally gotten to you. Perhaps you’re that desperate right now. Either way, being in the arms of a vampire is better than any human you’ve been this close to.
“Your heart is racing right now. I already know the answer, but tell me anyway; what are you thinking?” He’s so close to you that his lips graze your earlobe. All of your senses are on high alert in the best way possible.
“About you.”
“And what about me?”
“Kissing you.”
Taehyung chuckles and licks his lips. Slow and deliberate. “Oh my, how forward of you. We’ve only just met, kitten.”
You stutter as a blush creeps up your neck. “I-I’m-”
“I’m only teasing you.” Taehyung’s nimble fingers come up to toy with one of your bra straps peeking out of the neckline of your jumpsuit. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you walked through the front door.”
He watched you walk in? How long had he been watching you? Before you can ask him, his lips are pressing into yours with a sense of urgency as he brings his body closer to yours. The marble countertop digging into your back is insignificant compared to the way your body buzzes in response to Taehyung. His mouth tastes sweet, and his lips are so soft, which are both heavy contrasts to the way his broad hands are gripping your hips so tight you’re sure you’re bruising through your outfit.
The way his teeth nip at your bottom lip elicits a soft moan from you. He uses the opportunity to suck your tongue into his mouth, and your quiet sounds grow louder, as does the stickiness in your panties. His sharp canines graze against your tongue, and you’re so close to begging him to take you on the kitchen floor of this strange house. Just as you begin rutting against his muscled thigh between your legs, he pulls away, leaving you panting and whimpering.
“You’ve got to go now, kitten.”
“Wh-What?” Your body is still buzzing while Taehyung looks much more composed.
“Your friends are waiting for you.”
“But I don’t want to.” You whine out, sounding childish, but you don’t care. You can’t believe he’s just going to leave you like this.
“Just close your eyes for me. Can you do that?” He’s whispering in your ear again, and your knees nearly buckle.
“Taehyung, I want you so bad.” Your words echo, and they sound slurred. It’s harder to open your eyes.
“And you’ll have me, kitten. Soon.” He places a kiss on your neck, and the same woozy, disconnected sensation you had felt with Jungkook washes over you. You can’t open your eyes, and you want so badly to say something to Taehyung, but your tongue feels impossibly heavy, and you seemingly have forgotten how to speak. Before you can gather any more thoughts, everything goes quiet and dark.
“Y/n? Wake up.” Hearing your name brings you out of your sleep-like state. As your eyes open and adjust, you anticipate the chiseled face of the vampire you were just kissing, but instead of seeing Taehyung’s piercing red eyes, you’re met with Mingyu’s brown ones.
Sitting up fast, you see your friend kneeling in front of you. Vernon, Wonwoo, and Seungcheol stand behind him with matching looks of concern mixed with annoyance.
“What’s going on?” You ask, thoroughly confused.
“We’ve been looking for you for like an hour! You stopped answering our texts, so we practically turned the house upside down, trying to find you!” Vernon explained.
“Come to find out you’re just here in the living room. Passed out on the couch.” Seungcheol deadpans.
Looking around, you see that you’re lying on a grey cloth couch. Around you is the rest of the party. A few people are glancing your way in concern, but for the most part, the remainder of the partygoers don’t notice you or your friends. The room is well lit and reeks of beer. The complete opposite of the house full of vampires you had just been in.
Or that you thought you had just been in.
“Where’s Taehyung?”
“Who?” Mingyu offers you his hand, which you take.
“Taehyung. Dark hair, dressed as the Joker.”
“The only guy here I’ve seen dressed at the Joker is Minghao.” Wonwoo gestures to another mutual friend across the room whose tongue is currently down a Harley Quinn’s throat.
“Well, now that we know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere, are you up to actually enjoy the rest of the party?” Vernon asks as he adjusts his Sporty Spice track pants.
You agree and follow your friends over to another group of people you all know. Your head doesn’t hurt, and the fog over your mind is completely clear, but you’re still confused. Recalling the handful of shots you threw back before you left home to pregame, you try to remember if it was enough to cause you to blackout on the couch. Your dream felt so real, from how Jungkook influenced your mind to the pure need that Taehyung filled you with. You can practically still feel his grip on your body and his mouth on yours.
When Vernon offers you a glass of water, you down it in less than a minute to calm your vivid memories of Taehyung and the dull ache between your legs.
Only another hour goes by before you, and your friends say your goodbyes and pile into your respective Ubers. Once you’re home, you get ready for bed with your mind still stuck on your dream and Taehyung. You think of him as you undress and shower, not able to resist touching yourself at the realistic sensation of him.
He’s still on your mind as you settle into bed and attempt to distract yourself by scrolling through Twitter. You’re so caught up in your head that you don’t even notice the figure reclining on your couch across the room until he clears his throat.
Nearly jumping out of your skin, you sit up and whip around, ready to fight your intruder. You abandon this quickly when you see him stand up.
“Taehyung?”
“Hello, kitten,” his smooth, deep baritone echoes through the quiet room. He is at your bedside in no time, your studio apartment not leaving much space between the two of you, to begin with.
“I-I thought, uh, I thought you were a dream,” you stutter as he crawls onto your bed. You notice he’s no longer in his Joker costume, but a pair of black slacks and loose, white button-down instead. He still looks breathtaking. “I was with you...but then I wasn’t? I was with my friends, and you were gone, and I-”
“Ssh,” he places a finger over your lips. “Don’t worry about that right now, kitten. I’m here now, and we need to finish what we started.” His hand travels up your thigh as he speaks, fingers dangerously close to your core. “I heard you in the shower a little bit ago. I know how much you missed me.”
Did you fall asleep with your phone in your hand? Is this truly happening?
You aren’t entirely sure, but the way Taehyung suddenly tears your shirt open and latches his lips around your nipple feels very real to you. The number of times he has you orgasming into the night is also very real, and the soreness you feel throughout your body stays with you even as you wake the next morning.
It’s obvious Taehyung is determined to make sure you stop doubting his existence and thinking your time together is some sort of dream, even if it takes him the entirety of the day and into the rest of the weekend.
#btsholidaybingo#btsnoonanet#ficswithluv#heartsforbts#btswritingcafe#bangtanarmynet#bangtanhq#thebtswritersclub#bangtanuniversity#btsbookclub#btswriterscollective#magicshopnet#thebtsficarchive#taehyung x reader#kim taehyung x reader#vampire taehyung#taehyung fic
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Little Pierce || Part 1
part 2 | masterlist
pairing - stefan salvatore x fem!reader
type - fluff, angst
summary - you are katherine pierce’s little sister and you meet stefan salvatore for the first time (takes place in 1864, AU where stefan and katherine were never together, and she chose damon, so the lines will be switched and alterd a lil from the scene where the show first shows Katherine and stuff)
warnings - none
————
*gif isn't mine*
"Stefan!" Damon smiled and ran out of the house with the ball.
"Wait, where did you learn this game?" Stefan asked and went across the yard from his brother.
"Camp outside of Atlana. One of the officers picked it up from Harvard. Catch!" Damon answered and threw the ball to Stefan.
Stefan caught it with ease, another question forming in his brain. "What, wait. What are the rules?"
Damon smiled and ran to Stefan, trying to take the ball from him. Stefan dodged his brother. His hold on the ball was firm.
Then, Katherine Pierce exited the house. The two boys looked over her fondly and smiled. She looked stunning in her lavender-coloured dress.
"Who needs rules?" Katherine smiled at them.
Both brothers stopped in their tracks. They went over to Katherine as she walked down the steps of the porch.
"Mind if I join you?" She asked.
"Uh, well, you could uh- you could get hurt," Damon said. "We like to play rough."
"Well, I'd like to think that I play rougher," she giggled and took the ball away from Stefan.
Damon ran after her while Stefan stood and admired the couple. They were so happy. So full of passion and love. Stefan wished he had someone like Katherine.
As if the world could read his thoughts, a carriage came through the gates of the Salvatore house. The horses stopped in front of the three. Katherine gave the ball to Damon, lifting her skirt and walking over to the carriage. Stefan watched in confusion as a young girl stepped out. Stefan couldn't believe his eyes. She was absolutely gorgeous.
She was wearing a baby-blue dress. The sleeves were puffed out, much like Katherine's. Dark blue lace lined the sides of her dress and the hem of the skirt. Her lashes were curled and framed her eyes seductively, her lips were painted maroon red.
"Looks pretty, doesn't she?" Damon asked and nudged Stefan.
Stefan blushed and nodded. "She's beautiful."
Katherine turned to the boys and held the girl's hand and walked to them.
"Gentlemen, this is my younger sister. Y/n Pierce," Katherine introduced her to them.
Y/n looked over the boys. She already knew Damon. Not from meeting, but from her sister talking about him. She recognized the other boy, Stefan Salvatore, from Katherine also mentioning him while talking about Damon. Stefan was the one who caught her eye, and it was apparent that she caught his.
"Hello," Y/n smiled and curtsied.
"Hello. It's lovely to meet you, Miss Pierce. Katherine has talked about you a lot. I'm Damon Salvatore," Damon smiled and bowed.
Y/n nodded and held her hand out.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Salvatore. My sister has talked a lot about you, too." she smiled.
Damon shook her hand. "You can call me Damon."
Y/n nodded and turned her attention to Stefan. Her eyes scanned over him and she couldn't help but smirk at his burning stare. He was handsome, that was obvious. His light brown hair was combed back, a few strands resting on his forehead. He was wearing a white-button up with beige pants and brown suspenders. He had a warm smile resting upon his lips. It made her wonder what his lips tasted like, and if he was a good kisser or not.
"Hi, I'm Stefan Salvatore. It's nice to meet you, Miss Pierce. You can call me Stefan," he smiled and bowed.
"It's nice to meet you, Stefan," Y/n smiled and held her hand out.
As Stefan shook her hand, his heart fluttered when she said his name. He loved the way his named rolled off her tongue with such ease. He also loved the way his skin tingled when their hands touch, and so did Y/n.
"You two can call me Y/n. It can be quite confusing between Kathie and I if people call us 'Miss Pierce' when we are together," Y/n said.
Both of them smiled and nodded. Stefan and her held eye contact, both raking their eyes over each other.
Katherine noticed both of their gazes on each other and smiled. “Damon, why don’t you show me that new suit of yours.”
Damon nodded and took Katherine’s hand, leaving the two alone.
“Oh! And Stefan?” Katherine called from across the courtyard.
“Yes, Katherine?” Stefan turned to her.
“Show Y/n the garden, will you?” She smiled and winked.
Stefan blushed and turned back to Y/n. He held out his arm for her to take. “Shall we?”
Y/n nodded politely, but her smile showed excitement. She hooked her arm around his and held her dress-skirt up with her other hand. Stefan walked them both in silence. The silence was nice, but a tad awkward considering two were still strangers. So, Y/n decided to make a little small talk.
“So, how old are you in contrast to Damon?”
“I am 7 years younger than him,” he said.
“Ah. Did you just turn 16?” You asked.
“Yes,” he smiled. “How about you?”
“I’m 16 as well,” you said.
“Lovely. What is your favorite color?” Stefan asked. “Hmm, purple. How about you?”
“Blue,” he smiled.
You smiled and leaned into him a little. “What are your ambitions?”
“I would love to be a doctor. You?” Stefan asked.
“A doctor, as well. It’s hard to find work, though. With the war and all. You’re very lucky you can do more things. Be greater,” she said sadly.
Stefan nodded, “Yes, but, the Pierce family is wealthy. Who says you can’t be a doctor?”
“The world, Stefan. Katherine. My father,” Y/n laughed sourly.
“Well, I think you could do it. You’d make an amazing doctor, Y/n.”
She looked at Stefan and stared into his forest green eyes, and smiled. “Thank you, Stefan. I appreciate it.”
“Of course. I can already tell you are an amazing woman.”
“A bit forward, are we?” She giggled.
Stefan blushed, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite alright. Kathie is pretty forward, too. The things I’ve seen her say to men over the years have left them speechless, and her giggling for hours,” Y/n chuckled.
“Yes, I see that with Damon,” Stefan chuckled.
Y/n hummed and looked around the garden. Her eyes lit up as she saw a Madonna Lily.
“Oh! These are my favorite!” She exclaimed. She ran over to the flowers, slowing down and smelling them.
“They are quite beautiful,” Stefan said behind her.
Y/n hummed in agreement.
“But not as beautiful as you.”
Y/n stopped smelling the flowers and turned slowly to Stefan. She put her hands on his biceps, feeling his muscles from under his shirt. It made his heart flutter and more nervous since using the pick-up line.
“Oh, really?” Y/n smiled.
“Yes,” he smiled back at her and leaned in.
Y/n leaned in more, their lips almost touching. Her eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips. Her heart quickened and veins grew under her eyes. She quickly hid her face from him, not wanting him to find out her secret.
“Y/n, it’s okay. I know about you,” Stefan said and put his hand on her cheek.
“You do?” Y/n asked, surprised.
Stefan hummed and turned her head gently to him.
“How?” Y/n asked.
“Katherine told me and Damon. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me,” he said.
Y/n looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but the truth. She knew he could trust him and therefore, promised herself to never compel him. Not like Katherine did to Damon.
Y/n nodded and leaned into him, again.
“Mind if I kiss you, then?” She asked.
“No, I do not,” Stefan smiled.
Y/n smiled and leaned in to press her lips against his. Fireworks exploded in their minds. Stefan put his hands gently on her waist, not wanting to overstep his boundaries, but pulled him close, their bodies colliding. She smiled as she felt Stefan’s surprise.
Y/n was the first one to pull away. She ran her fingers through his hair, messing it up in the process.
“Would you like to accompany me to a party at my house next weekend?” She asked.
Stefan smiled and nodded. “I would love to.”
Y/n smiled and kissed his cheek. “Perfect. Walk me back to my carriage, Stefan?”
“Of course, Y/n,” Stefan smiled at you.
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your name. (pt. 4)
❄️📚 tsukioka tsumugi
part 1 — part 2 — part 3 — part 4
summary: your first day out in tokyo allows you to meet a friend
warnings: food, skipping class
author’s note: bunnie is so happy to release the 4th installment to her first series! please enjoy the first time tsumugi (well, you!) go out to the city! the next part will be posted tomorrow~ thank you! ₍₍ ( ๑॔˃̶◡ ˂̶๑॓)◞♡
word count: 3,030
You didn’t have enough time.
Or, enough money. You followed the train tracks to the station, only to realize you’ve barely used the shinkansen to know enough about it. Back in Itomori, everyone knew each other so it was safe to walk everywhere. It wasn’t like that in Tokyo, apparently.
As you stood at the machine, looking back and forth to the IC card, you truly understood what it was like to actually be broke. While yours was a smaller, less-known company, Tsumugi’s train card held the common Pasmoa. It further emphasized that you were truly in Tokyo. Unbeknownst to you, a line was forming behind you as everyone looked to see what was taking you so long.
You tried to read the train map, but it was much more complicated than normal. Typically, you’d take out your smartphone to look up the directions, but the flip phone suddenly felt heavier in your coat pocket now. After a minute or so, you were muttering about ticket prices and hoping money would magically appear in your wallet before someone said a polite “Excuse me!” out of nowhere.
You glanced up before doing a double take at the most professional business man you’ve ever seen in your life. The man was clad in a beige suit that did wonders for his already thin physique, a red tie around his neck neatly. Blonde hair fell over his forehead perfectly, and his pink eyes examined you with a customer-service smile upon his face. As you got lost in how handsome he was, he bowed lightly with his hand tightening around his leather briefcase.
“I’m Chigasaki Itaru, nice to meet you. Is there a problem?” Itaru introduced himself, and you tried not to fall in love immediately with how he practically glowed. You hurried to do the same, almost falling over as you stayed in a bow for way too long. You didn’t notice how the line tried to keep in their sighs of disappointment when you continued hogging the counter.
“Um, I’m… Tsukioka Tsumugi! I’m just… struggling with the train?” You blanked, noticing how your voice went way too high for Tsumugi’s liking. Itaru curiously tilted his head anyways. It was… rare to find a Japanese person to be finding problems with the shinkansen. Were you a foreigner? Itaru questioned, but bit his tongue to avoid being rude.
“Oh? Are you out of money?” Itaru read the screen as you felt the second hand embarrassment for Tsumugi. City folk were brutally honest, huh? Before you could jump to defend Tsumugi’s honor (and empty bank account), Itaru swiped his card and input an amount that was large for both you and Tsumugi’s minds.
“There you go, make sure to be prepared next time.” Itaru smiled again, guiding you out of line as it finally progressed forward. You were still a fish out of water, your jaw dropped and mouth open as you tried to find the words to thank this stranger. Out of sight, Itaru’s annoyance was no longer concealed as he set his eyes on you with a frown.
“I just wanted you to hurry up. Don’t keep the line waiting, or it will be a very bad morning for you, Tsukioka-san.” Itaru advised truthfully, although not meanly as you nodded dumbly, feeling incredibly ashamed for putting Tsumugi in this situation. You dropped into a bow again, clutching the IC card with both your hands together.
“T-Thank you, Chigasaki-san!” You said and Itaru uncomfortably shifted on his dress shoes, looking around as he whispered for you to stand back up. As you did, Itaru took another look at your plain state with a groan, as if he was about to regret what he was going to ask next.
“Where are you going?”
“Um… Omi's House, Chigasaki-san.”
“Really? Me too. What are the odds?” Itaru checked to confirm the route once again, and contemplated something before looking at you again.
“I have no reason to help you, but you seem… like a nice guy. Come with me, we’ll go to Omi’s new cafe together.” Itaru offered and you thanked anyone listening that you met Itaru that morning. Out of reflex, you immediately wrapped the businessman in a tight hug that was too close for meeting someone less than five minutes ago.
“Thank you so much, Chigasaki-san! You’re the best!” You felt so relieved at the rare act of hospitality in the city, that you forgot Itaru wasn’t Tsumugi’s close friend. Itaru tensed in your arms as he beared the curious looks from strangers passing by their corner in the train station. Before Itaru could say anything, you were hit with the fact you were hugging a random person. When you let go and profusely apologized, Itaru tried not to sigh; he did not sign up for this whatsoever.
“Let’s go before we’re late.” Itaru coughed, fixing his collar as he tried not to rock back and forth on his heels from the sudden intimacy. You nodded gratefully, following Itaru into one of the fastest trains you’ve ever seen in your life. The platforms were crowded with hundreds of thousands passengers and it was the busiest place by far. On the way to the station, the streets were equivalent to your hometown, but Tokyo was another league of its own. You constantly moved your neck, trying to see everything at once as Itaru half-dragged you to the correct train.
“Have you never been to Tokyo before?” Itaru asked politely, to which you shook your head quickly. Although Tsumugi was a Tokyo native it seems, you definitely weren’t. You were so amazed by the sight of one of the busiest train stations in Japan that you forgot you were still in Tsumugi’s body. Itaru let out a sound of acknowledgement, as if it all made sense now. With an amused quirk to his lips, Itaru waited for the train to arrive as you ogled at every new thing. (The bento boxes here were way overpriced but there were so many! Not only that, but there were all sorts of people here. Students, businessmen, employees!)
“All on board train #6!” The announcer’s automated voice cheerfully said over the intercom as train #6 pulled in perfectly on time. Punctuality at its finest. You waited for the hundreds of train riders to leave first before you were the first one inside, rushing in with a sense of urgency. Others may have thought you were late to something, but you were just excited to ride your first bullet train! Itaru strolled in a few moments later. It seemed as if he didn’t rush himself for anyone, what a cool guy.
Luckily, you had saved a seat beside you for Itaru and as soon as he sat down, the train doors closed and off you both were to the heart of the city. While Itaru had already done this a million times, you were energetically bouncing your leg up and down, staring outside of the window like your life depended on it. Itaru didn’t mind, as long as you didn’t bother him as he played with something on his smartphone.
(“What is that?” You asked, leaning over his shoulder to see some game graphics. Itaru quickly shielded his screen, as if it was some big secret. “Nothing.” Itaru defensively replied, before putting back on his typical pleasant smile. “Oh, okay…”)
That was that. Itaru was charming, to say the least. When the train reached its final destination, Itaru pocketed his advanced phone neatly and gestured for you to follow. However, when you stood up, you forgot about the brown bag and its strap hooked around the seat. You felt yourself get pulled back and before you hit the ground, a pair of arms quickly caught you. As everyone departed, you could feel Itaru’s hold like a true prince.
“You’re lucky I found you, or else you’d be dead.” Itaru said simply, and you nodded again. He wasn’t wrong. Itaru quickly let go of you and you two headed out into the intercity of Tokyo. It was even busier this time around, and you loved every second of it.
“Welcome to Shinanomachi Station.” You read out loud as you passed the giant sign above. Welcome to Tokyo, indeed. Itaru introduced you to his fully functional car (“Why didn’t you just drive to Omi's House?” “No parking back at the apartment.” “Oh.”) and you both took off into the morning traffic. Funny enough, the car was the same exact color as Itaru’s two-piece suit.
It was about 7:15 A.M. when you saw Omi's House. Perhaps, it was more accurate to say you smelt it first over anything. Cooking just like your grandmother’s wafted into the streets and if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine Itomori again. It was a sense of comfort in the middle of the bustling city. As the crowds of people passed, Omi's House was illuminated in a warm glow above a natural exterior. It felt like home, Omi wasn’t wrong in naming such a place.
Itaru parked naturally like it was nothing. You almost pushed your face against the glass with anticipation as you watched servers pass back and forth in the display windows. Because it was so early, you could practically hear the sound of the coffee machine behind the register. Without warning, you almost collapsed out of the car when Itaru opened the door for you. Whether it was on purpose or not, you had no idea. Itaru must’ve been a city boy through and through, because the mere presence of the cafe didn’t faze him like it did for you.
You let out a soft “Wow…” at the place as you stumbled out of the car. It was your first time ever seeing a cafe, but it felt so familiar that you didn’t even question it at first. Itaru didn’t care to ask why you were like this and entered the cafe, holding the door open for you. The bell above your head rang a single chime, and you were about to figure out why it awakened something in you before a charismatic voice called Tsumugi’s name.
“Tsumu-Tsumu! Did you bring a friend?! I didn’t know you had any other than me!” Kazunari jokes, already sitting in a window seat. Itaru held up his hand in a professional wave, before departing to someone on the other side. Itaru rushed for only one person, and it was his boss. A green-haired man with thin glasses glared at his employee, seeing right through his lies. (“Utsuki-senpai! I was late because I wanted to help someone new to Tokyo—” “Bullshit, Itaru. You just used them as an excuse.” “Senpai…”)
You sat down across from Kazunari and took in his vibrant bigger-than-life appearance. Kazunari’s green eyes shined like the sun even if there were prominent college student shadows. His hair was stylishly blonde with hair spray keeping the perfect shape; on top was a fedora, which had his name bedazzled in cyan gems with a star. When Kazunari winked whilst grinning, you definitely could see how Kazunari was the star of everyone’s show.
“Good morning, Miyoshi-kun.” You bowed lightly and Kazunari huffed childishly, crossing his arms. “Aw, what the heck! You just called me by my first name today! I thought we were becoming soulmates, ya know?” Kazunari pouted like a little kid, sinking into his chair as his knee bumped into the table, nearly knocking over his frappuccino. You immediately stabilized it, letting out a sigh of relief when nothing spilled. The foam jiggled for a bit before staying still, the caramel grid design perfectly okay. Phew.
“Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly and Kazunari just waved his hand like it was nothing; of course he was just being dramatic. Everything was in good fun when Kazunari was here, apparently. Before Kazunari could begin talking, another man appeared at the table in a navy blue apron labelled “Omi’s House”.
“Kazunari! Welcome to Omi’s House, once again. Who’s this?” You had to look up to see that this was in fact, Fushimi Omi, owner of the cafe. His nametag reflected the sunlight from outside and his smile lines shined through. Omi didn’t look like he’d run a cafe, but his eyes were made of amber honey and his smile sparkled like the clean countertops at the front register. When you slightly bowed your head, a hand immediately ruffled your hair with extreme fondness.
“This is Tsumu-Tsumu! Best T.A. ever! He’s saved my butt so many times in class, Omimi~ What’s your best thing on the menu today?” Kazunari giggled, already on familiar terms with the owner of the cafe. Even though Omi and Kazunari seemed to be unlikely friends, they still shared an easy conversation with one another as Omi pondered the question. Adjusting the notepad in his hand, Omi didn’t even have to take a look at the menu before having a lightbulb moment, using his pencil to point at the breakfast foods section.
“Do you like eggs? How about eggs benedict?”
You didn’t know Tsumugi liked eggs so much.
It was almost instinct to wolf down the eggs like they were your last meal on Earth. When Kazunari took out his high-end smartphone to post a story to his Instagram, he turned the camera only to see “Tsumugi” finishing his steaming hot plate. Luckily, you found out Tsumugi didn’t have any social media, so it was a video that couldn’t hurt his reputation in the long run.
Still, Omi’s eggs were perhaps the best food you and Tsumugi have eaten in a long time.
“Hey, Tsumu-Tsumu! You’re so different today! I didn’t even know you could eat that much, you rarely order anything when we go out!” Even though the tone was lighthearted, you swore Kazunari’s eyes darkened for a split second before returning to his bright expression. You slowed down your chewing, unfamiliar with this intense feeling of hunger. Just when was the last time Tsumugi had eaten something?
“Aha… I apologize, Miyoshi-san.” You mumbled, realizing there was nothing left to eat. Kazunari had nothing but another sugary concoction. Apparently, the drink was so complex and elaborate that Omi named it the “Kazunari Special”, even if no one really ordered it. (When Kazunari asked if you wanted a sip, you didn’t need Tsumugi’s better judgment to decline politely).
“Hmph, don’t go back to being so shy! This is the most I’ve seen you even interact with me. I think you’re sleep-deprived like hell.” Kazunari pat your head again and again, like an overly affectionate owner would do to their dog. You took it like a champ, feeling yourself blush under the loud attention. At least you were full, that’s what mattered.
“I feel fine, thank you, though.” For some reason, Tsumugi’s tone came out sharp, something not suited for an easygoing breakfast in a cafe. It must’ve struck a nerve, one you weren’t exactly aware of. Kazunari seemed to realize this as well and his lips fell from their usual smile, settling on a firm line. Yet, it wasn’t out of annoyance, but concern. It was that look of pity that made Tsumugi’s body become smaller, as if willing to disappear.
“Tsumu… you don’t have to pretend around me. We’re friends, right?” Kazunari smiled gently when you nodded without thinking. Tsumugi might have not been the closest of friends with Kazunari, but there was clearly a soft spot for him in both of you. So boldly, you rather harshly stabbed the last piece of egg and held it in front of Kazunari expectantly, as if it was some sort of silent apology.
“Eat… uh, please. Let me take care of you, too.” You stuttered embarrassingly enough, wishing you were as effortlessly cool as Kazunari. He seemed to be wishing the same thing as Kazunari dropped his facade and became… flustered? For a moment, Kazunari’s eyes were warmer, as if slowly opening the curtains to reveal what was truly behind his “glass-like” exterior. Then, he took a big bite of your breakfast, flashing a giant grin at your rather surprised blush.
“Hehe, is my Tsumu shy again~? Nonsense, it’s just me.”
But, I don’t even know you, you and Tsumugi thought at the same time, and it became clear that the friendship between you and Kazunari was undeniable but impersonal. How come Kazunari didn’t order any food? Were his hands so jittery from the coffee he must’ve drank often? Why was the coffee so sugary, did he need it to stay up? So many questions from this meeting alone, and you weren’t satisfied with having no answers.
“Skip class and hang out with me, Miyoshi-kun.” You rushed out, hiding your anxious expression nonchalantly as Kazunari nearly spit out his coffee. Well, it was practically just whipped cream at this point, but still! Kazunari put his mug down with some sort of apprehension, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You didn’t blame him, considering how studious Tsumugi appeared to be. The Bachelor degrees, the filled-out calendar with no room to breathe, and the multitude of dried out red pens in the trash. Someone like Tsumugi asking one of his students to forget about their studies must’ve been something that could only happen in their wildest dreams.
“Skip class?! Tsumu-Tsumu, you must be super out of it.” Yet, Kazunari didn’t seem to be against it. In fact, he looked just about ready to do anything right now as long as Tsumugi was involved. It put a smile to your face how endearing Kazunari truly was. “But, I’m in. How can I say no to my favorite T.A.?”
Kazunari didn’t ask why for this sudden request, but you tried to communicate the answer as much as you could regardless. You hoped by leaving a generous tip (one that surely would have consequences later on), asking what his favorite places to go were, and insisting your schedule was cleared for the day that it revealed everything you needed it to.
We’re supposed to be friends, right? So let’s get to know each other without the boundaries between us. Let me in, Kazunari. Who are you, really?
#tsukioka tsumugi#tsumugi tsukioka#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game#mankai a3!#mankai company#a3 x reader#a3! x reader#tsumugi x reader#a3! tsumugi#a3 tsumugi#your name
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If He Was Your Fan, Chapter 61: Britainization, Part 2 (A Henry Cavill Fanfic)
Chapter 61: Britainization, Part 2
Henry announces that he is driving you and Stella to a place for breakfast. You and Stella are both relieved you got dressed up a bit. The name Lanes of London Mayfair is a big indication that you should. You are dressed in a fluffy burgundy fisherman’s sweater and black leggings with brown riding boots, looking ready for a day of shopping but not at the gym. Stella is in a white shirt and beige jeans with dark brown sports jacket and ankle boots. You are happy you left your usual athletic gear behind.
After that, Henry takes you and Stella to a place that is not even listed.
“Henry?”
“Hmm?”
“I looked up London Trench,” you tell him. “They are online orders only, aren’t they?”
“For the general public, yes.”
You and Stella look at each other. She looks excited but you feel sick for some reason.
With a knock on the door, and Henry telling his name and time on the intercom, you are buzzed in. You step into a boutique that almost looks hidden.
“Mr. Cavill?” a woman bows.
“Hello,” he nods. “This is my lady and her friend. My lady needs a few trenches.”
A few? Did he say few? A few trenches was like…rent money! You look at him incredulously, and he only gives small smile.
“Must make it worth their while,” he shrugs.
Within an hour you are in selections called the Queen Classic, a straight cut, and the Goddess, an A-Line for dresses. You opt for the Goddess, and he takes you to Burberry’s for something shorter and surprisingly more expensive than that. You are cringing inside, and Henry hasn’t flinched. He is happy to see you try on coats. You feel the looks of the sales people at both stores. Face to face they are amicable and friendly, but you see the looks in the reflections of the mirrors when they do not think they’re looking. They don’t think much of you, maybe they think you’re a flavor of the month? Maybe it’s all in your head?
“Well, that’s that,” he sighs. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” you smile. “yeah.”
“Sweetheart?” he says slowly, his blue eyes searching yours.
“I-I didn’t realize they’d be so—”
“Good coats are required here, love, I won’t have you getting sick,” he nods, tipping your face up for a quick kiss.
You nod and smile in understanding.
“Alright, you two, don’t get into too much trouble,” he winks. He gets in his car and is gone.
“Gotta be at work today by four for the dinner rush,” Stella said brightly. “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s just hit a mall or something,” you say. “and we can’t go someplace Henry would.”
“I know, the places he took us!” Stella laughs. “He’s…he’s kinda out of it, isn’t he?”
“Childhood weight problems aside, I don’t think he realizes how hard it is out here, no!” you laugh back. “Experience is the best teacher on those things.” You get slightly serious. “I hope he never suffers like that. No one should.”
You both decide to go to Victoria’s Secret several blocks away, opting to start walking off that massive breakfast you just had. When you arrive, you ask for what they have in emerald green.
“That his favorite color?” Stella asks.
“No, it’s actually blue,” you say. “hey do you have any blue green?”
“Hold on, let me see what we have,” the clerk smiles and leaves to check.
“You seem to buy a lot of that stuff,” she says softly. “Do you wear it?”
You are looking on a rack, but you are thinking of the previous night:
“It’s tomorrow,” Henry said softly and pinned you against the door to kiss you.
You instinctively put your arms around him, welcoming his kiss, his touch. You raise your leg and he semi squats to help you wrap it around him. You both pulled at each other’s clothes hungry to feel skin to skin, your kisses passionate and breathy. You pulled your sweater over your head as he wrapped your other leg around his hips, kissing your chest and licking the skin between your breasts that your bra left exposed. He carried you up the steps to your loft bedroom and laid you on the bed, pulling your jeans off. He smiled at your navy blue bra and panty set. He returned to kissing you, and you pull at his sweater as he unbuckles his belt, slid it off and threw it carelessly on the floor. He slid his jeans off, and stood in nothing but boxer briefs that did not hide his arousal. He crushed you into the sheets and you arched to him, wanting nothing more than to feel him…
“It’s a lot easier to always wear bra and panty sets,” you joke softly.
“How many do you have?”
“Uh….I really don’t know?” you answer honestly.
After getting lingerie and clothes, you catch the tube to Angel Central Mall, and do some shopping there. You feel terrible that there isn’t time for a mani pedi, so you find a massage place that does shoulders and neck, promising to do a pamper session on another day.
As you both make your way back to Brixton, you look at the sights out of the window, try to remember the exchanges. You are so grateful to Stella for being your friend, smiling at her as she steals a nap during the ride home. You notice that some young people are staring at you. You sigh. You may be recognized, you have to get used to that.
youtube
Back in Brixton, walk back to your building together.
“There were people staring at you?” Stella gasps “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“There was no danger,” you tell her smoothly.
“Why haven’t you posted yet?”
“What?”
“Why haven’t you posted yet?”
“I post all the time—”
“Never pictures of yourself, though.” Her eyes narrow. "And never of you and Henry."
“Even before I dated Henry, I never posted much about my love life online,” you shrug. “My s/o’s asked to take pictures, so I didn’t deny them, but I’m not big on my love life on social media. Special occasions or requests sure but—”
“I get it, you like that your relationship is between you and Henry, not you, the world and Henry.”
“Yeah, it’s more intimate that way,” you smile. “I have pictures of Henry and me on my phone. Besides, it’s lots easier if there is a breakup.”
“Breakup?!” Stella chortled. “Break up? You and Henry? I don’t think so.” She pauses and turns you around in mid walk. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. He has no intention of letting you go.”
“I know,” you nod. “I’ve had the rug ripped out from under me before, that’s all.”
“You have?” she asks. “How bad?”
“Engaged,” you shrug, earning a small gasp from Stella. “he thought the ring on my finger, though not the marriage one, meant he could treat me any way he wanted. He cheated, he lied…it was like he thought the commitment gave him carte blanche to act up.”
“That’s shitty.”
“Yeah,” you shake your head. “Rings can be a symbol of love that will never end, but for some it is ownership or cuffs.”
“Kinda dark, there.” she says softly. "I don't think Henry is--"
“Sorry, it’s in the past, and I’m over it, but I learned that commitments mean different things to different people.” You take a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way, Stella.”
“What do you mean?”
“The last time I was in love was my ex-fiancee,” you tell her. “and that was a long, long, time ago.”
“So you are in love with Henry!” she cheers.
“Yeah, of course, I am!” you laugh at her. “He’s intelligent and fun, has a good degree of common sense. He’s a natural leader and he is protective of and warm to those he loves. I need that, all of it. I have never felt so safe before, never..”
“He’s not bad looking either!”
“His looks can only go so far,” you shrug. “I’ve dated men who were good looking, even a model and an athlete. You’d be surprised how little that all matters if they are thick or coldhearted. Or even worse, a man with money who thinks he can treat you any way he wants because he buys you things--”
“Thick.”
“Yeah…” you giggle, realizing you’re using a British term. “thick.”
You both drop your stuff and go back to Market Row, Stella to work and you to do more shopping. Upi check out some of the surrounding stores, hoping for some really special finds that could liven up or make you feel more unique.
You finally make your last huge purchase: a bicycle. You head to Brixton Bikes for that, and get the lights, the helmet, anything you need. Strapping your bags to the rack in back and no longer a single walking moving target, you head home.
Just as you get a good stride on, your Bluetooth starts to play the instrumental version of “Addicted to Love.” You smile, clicking on. “Hey, love.”
“Hey….are you out and about?”
“About to head home,” you say.
“By yourself?”
You don't miss the edge in his voice. “On my new bike,” you tell him. He is quiet. Ooh, that’s not good. “Sounds like you’re in pub.”
“Yeah, yeah, very good, I'm at the pub, " He says. You can hear the smile in his voice for not using the word bar. "just for a pint with friends,” he says. “I just wanted to see how your day went.”
“Pretty well, but we didn’t have time for spa,” you say. “but I did find some nice things.”
“Good, glad to hear it,” he says. “I’ll stay on till you get home.”
“Awwwww.” Some men sigh dramatically in the background.
“Shut up!” Henry laughs.
You talk until you are safely inside your studio. “Alright, I’m locked up tight.” You feed Luna.
“Good,” he exhales. “they say it isn’t safe for women—”
“I am a moving target now, Henry.”
“Alright, alright,” he exhales heavily. “Talk to you later?”
“Definitely,” you sigh, sitting on your couch and starting to unpack your purchases. “Love you.”
“I love you, too.” He purrs, earning another round of catcalls from his friends. He laughs.
“Good night.” You shake your head at him and his friends.
“Good night.”
The first forty eight hours in your studio have been anything but calm, but now there is quiet. After unpacking your things and washing them for wear, you finally get ready to go to sleep. You take a shower and make your way up the steps to bed. It suddenly looks too big to you. You suddenly notice there is something under your covers. You pull them back and find the t-shirt he wore under his sweater last night. You squeal and throw off your nightshirt, trading it for this one. His scent surrounds you as you pull it over your head and you fall on the bed, your impact setting off the scent of him in your bed. You inhale with a smile as Luna jumps up and sleeps at the foot of the bed opposite you, where she usually nestles by Henry’s feet. You look at each other and you sigh dreamily, closing your eyes and letting sleep claim you.
BULLETIN: With this new beta thing, I may have to start a new master list. I will be sure to put the link to 1-60 if I do. Love you, thanks for your support and especially for your comments, likes and reblogs. You truly give me life, people, you really do.
@mistress-of-ward @nuggsmum @messyinsomnimaniac @jencanbeyouryengeralt @sweetdreamsofgelato @mary-ann84 @omgkatinka @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae @henryobsessed @summersong69 @sunshine96love @michelehansel @thelastsock @tumblnewby @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocks @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @kaatelyynn-blog-blog @alphacancrii @liquorlaughslove @designerwriterchic @nikkilynn303 @circesgirl1 @xoxohannahlee @fckdeusername @maan24 @kaatelyyynn @absentmindr @introvertedmouse @sassy-pelican @griscka75 @angelcavill66 @marantha
#henry cavill#henry cavill fandom#henrycavill fanfiction#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill smut#henry cavill fluff#henry cavill x reader#henry cavill x you#lovestory#august walker#captain syverson#clark kent#geralt#sherlock#superman#walter marshall#will shaw#witcher#Youtube
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About S2 PV CH 10-13
Yes, it is a belated post, since the chapters are out. But you still might enjoy reading this 😄😄
Starting with Kiro/Helios with a mullet (I can’t believe that he’s wearing a mullet).
He is in a seemingly abandoned venue with a fading microphone. Maybe he is imagining himself on the stage again? Someone has also pointed out that he might be deaf, because of the hear aid, but the singers always wear one on stage, so I don’t think that’s the case.
And then we switch to the embodiment of awesomeness goes by the name Gavin in a rooftop bar, chilling with a bottle of Tiger beer. Greeting MC with a “I am not here for you”, which is ironic, because in the previous PV 6-9 he said the exact opposite:
The way I see it, Gavin is giving us the good old push and pull treatment. Thanks babe :/
---
Victor is probably overseas (San Francisco maybe, it looks like the Golden Gate bridge in the background) and is buying a New CLA? (the letters on the background). But its a Maybach you’re leaning on Vic (and nobody buys them with the Mercedes star anymore btw, its too old school, but because it's a Maybach I'll let it slide unnecessary info)
His smile while texting with MC is very cute (probably his inside voice his calling her dummy but as long as it cant be heard from the outside we’re cool).
And the way the picture suits to the melody in those 4 single piano notes is really nice.
Lucien is back to his assassin mode, stealing stuff and going behind people’s backs, playing all sides against each other, scheming and such. Same old same old. Gotta admit though, that I like him like this the most. especially when he gets caught by the MC and keeps his composure like “Haven’t you heard? I am the lizard king in this no horse town” Smooth.
Nothing on Shaw. Sorry.
Joker is finally getting a sprite and is out there to get our LIs. Gathering proof on them etc. Let’s see where it goes.
Enter the angst:
Victor warns MC about pretending not to know him. Probably because he is already aware of the facht, that they are being watched, so he might be trying to conceal his relationship to MC, but I have no idea, how he is planning to do that, when they are both working for the BS.
But more importantly. Victor, a beige suit, with a black/brown shirt and a blue tie?!! You are an extremely rich guy, don’t you think that you should have the fashion sense which goes with it? Just because it looks good on Gavin doesn’t mean, it would look good on you too. Try something like this maybe?
While I am busy criticizing Victor’s Printemps ‘21 prét á porter look, this scene pops up out of nowhere accompanied by the melody going all crescendo, hitting me HARD:
I don’t even know where to start in this 4,5 seconds of heartbreak. Bullet points help:
- Symbolism is very strong with this scene. MC is shown falling into an inferno-like abyss with all red-fiery colors. And Gavin is responsible for it.
- Gavin is wearing his trench coat from S1 CH1, reminiscence to the start of the story. Also the red ribbon part of MC’s pullover might have been put there to symbolize the red string of fate. Having read @cheri-translate s translation on Gavin’s R&S earlier today about their inevitable attraction, it doesn’t feel like a far fetched speculation. Their souls are bound together and yet their hands are pulled apart in a way. We are so used to seeing Gavin and MC hand in hand or embracing, this feels like being hit by a truck. It also gives me some break-up vibes. Specifically because MC is reaching out for his hand but Gavin doesn’t move an inch.
- I need to say this though, his body and his face tell us two different stories. His body is stiff and doesn’t move, but look at his face:
Two things that stand out is 1) Ohmaygadheissohandsomeitmustbeillegal just kidding, not Gavin-stan gotta Gavin-stan swh 1) He is slightly biting his lip (the down curve on the edge of his mouth), so he is restraining himself from holding her (though I am almost certain that he would still subtly soften her fall with his evol). And 2) His eyes are filled with mixed emotions and his brows are furrowed very very little. He is showing only micro mimics so I am guessing that he is also trying to hide his relationship to MC, much like Victor.
Helios cutting MCs hair makes me only think about the Halloween 2020 event. No other comment on this. Again, PG is giving us some good throwbacks.
And the final blow with Lucien. The way its shown and the filter thats put on the scene hints towards a dream sequence. I don’t think it happens in the real world. Because for Lucien to lose the only source of color in his life is probably his worst fear. So having such a nightmare will probably lead to him distancing himself from MC even more.
OR, MC is going S1 CH11 all over again but this time around with Lucien. OR OR S2 CH 10-13 is S1 11-14 all over again, thus history repeats itself. Victor and MCs’ scene reminds me of this:
Helios threatening MC is much like MC finding out about Ares and as Areas threatens her not to be caught by him again.
MC falls again, but this time Gavin doesn’t catch her mid air.
Pretty sure its such my mind going to odd places, but the parallels are there, right? RIGHT?
Anyways this post didn’t come out as I desired it to be, probably because I took my sweet time contemplating it and the new chapter are out, so many of you must already know where I am wrong lol.
But above all CH32 falls tomorrow!!!!The most anticipated moment is right around to corner guys and gals!!!!
#mlqc#mlqc lucien#mlqc gavin#mlqc victor#mlqc kiro#mlqc shaw#mlqc ling xiao#mlqc zhou qiluo#mlqc li zeyan#mlqc bai qi#mlqc haku#mr. love queen's choice#pv 10-13#PV 11-14#mlqc second season
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“you are my soulmate.” || dazai
lyric prompts are still open ^.^
➤ Requested by: nonnie (I accidentally deleted the ask instead of saving it)
➤ Lyric prompt: "You are my soulmate."
➤ Pairing: Dazai x Reader
➤ Genre: fluff, romance, soulmate! AU, friends to lovers-ish(?)
➤ Warnings: none
➤ Word count: 2k
The remains of steam trickled down the foggy bathroom mirror while you were busy rubbing your wet hair dry, the smell of showering gel and shampoo lingering in your nose and relaxing your tense nerves. It had been quite the rough week at the agency; a couple of fights, tons of paperwork which your back hated you for and more than enough complaints from the neighbors about the noise and damage. Of course, you couldn't help but reward yourself with a nice, long shower.
Wiping the steam away from the mirror, you tilted your head at the monochromatic reflection staring back at you. There were no colors whatsoever, only a gloomy mix of black and white painted your world once again. Suddenly, you were reminded of the time your mother had told you about soulmates who would paint you a clear blue sky overtime, but what the hell was blue? What did it look like? You were already in your 20s, you doubted that your soulmate was close by - for all you knew, they could live across the globe or died already. Fate wasn't always kind, after all.
Shaking these memories away and wrapping a fluffy towel tightly around your torso, you finally stepped out of the comfort of your bathroom only to be greeted by a pouting mummy lazing around on your couch. "[Name]! Good that you finally finished your shower, the remote control isn't working anymore!" Dazai whined dramatically and held the defective device in his hands as if it had committed a felony. "I've been stuck having to watch a documentary about dogs! Dogs of all animals! Only your beauty can cure my eyes from what they had witnessed-"
Embarrassment heated your cheeks up while your hands were clutching your towel to your chest, your friend's words fell on deaf ears. "What the hell are you doing here?!" you yelled at the brunette and swung a trained leg at the suicidal man whose hand easily grabbed your bare ankle. "My sweet [Name], don't you know how lonely I am without a pretty lady to spend a Saturday with?," by then, you were already used to Dazai's flirty antics and only rolled your eyes at his sugar-coated words for they were nothing more but just that. "That gives you no right to break into my house while I'm showering!," you were beyond flustered, although even this wasn't exactly new. Dazai had seen you half naked numerous times over the course of your friendship and it had never gotten under your skin so deeply. "It's not breaking in when you showed me where the spare key is," a smug expression settled down on Dazai's handsome features as he showed you the glimmering key which was usually hidden in the flower pot in front of your door.
Just as you were about to give in, something weird happened.
For a moment, you could see Dazai's eye color, the shade of his hair and clothes. It was a mere flicker of faded paint filling your vision before your world went back to its monochromatic state and left you staring at your friend like a deer caught in headlights.
"Earth to [Name]," Dazai snapped his fingers in front of your eyes and whipped you back to reality where everything was very much black and white and not colorful. "Wait here, I need to get dressed," pulling your leg from Dazai's grasp, you made a run to your bedroom, slammed the door shut and let your back collide with the cool wood, small gasps leaving your lips as your breathing picked up in a horrifying realization.
The one person you were closest to made you see colors. The one person who knew you better than the back of his hand, knew every little flaw and imperfection and was the epitome of a suicidal womanizer.
No, it had to be a mistake. A simple miscalculation, a cheap trick of the eye. Yes, nothing but a mistake - you had heard of some people seeing colors from birth or they randomly gained the ability to see them without developing feelings towards anyone.
This would be a disaster.
_____________________
And oh boy, were you right.
With each passing day, the dreary monochromatic life you were used to, gradually disappeared and tainted your vision with colors you didn't want to see, because you could finally see that everything your co-workers had told you about Dazai was indeed true.
"What does Dazai look like?," doodling on a random sheet of paper and with coffee resting next to your computer, you threw the sudden question at Naomi who was one of the few people at the agency who could see colors. The ravenette raised a fine eyebrow, looking at you like you had lost your mind. "You don't suffer from long-term memory loss, do you?," a teasing cadence laced in her voice. Letting your body slightly slide down the chair, you leaned your head back against the furniture and pouted. "I know what he looks like! But like..what colors is he made up of?," it was a funny question - you considered Dazai your best friend and yet, you didn't know the color of his irises, of his coat, of the silly pendant he always carried around his neck. You wanted to see your friend.
Naomi's gaze softened at that, a tender curve finding home on her lips which made her eyes smile. It was a question so trivial that only few people worried about, and yet there you were, oblivious to the feelings that were so painfully obvious to everyone at the agency.
And so, Naomi told you about every color that was Dazai Osamu: from the black shoes, to the beige coat, to the blue pendant and his brown locks.
"I envy you for seeing so much more, Naomi."
Those words turned out to be a blessing and a curse alike.
On one hand, you could faintly make out the sparkle in Dazai's coffee-colored orbs but on the other hand, that sparkle was reserved for the pretty waitress of Uzumaki's whose hand he was currently holding, his mind smitten with the mere idea of committing a lover's suicide. You wish you wouldn't see them light up even though the color you saw was barely there, washed out.
"Would a fair maiden such as yourself allow me the honor of you accompanying me to the afterlife?," a moonstruck smile stretched Dazai's lips, his calloused thumb stroking the delicate knuckles of the waitress who remained unfazed by Dazai's attempt to woo her. It was a typical sight, yet why did it bother you? You had witnessed such scenes countless of times and even acted as the brunette's girlfriend just so he could get rid of another woman's unwanted affection. "Hmm, maybe if you have a life insurance," the waitress twinkled, clearly uninterested in Dazai's proposal.
You realized that not even a soulmate could tie Dazai down.
"Are you alright, [Name]?," Atsushi pulled your attention to the matter at hand which was assigning several cases to different colleagues, but even Atsushi could tell that you weren't really with him. He saw the way your gaze would travel to the counter where Dazai was keeping himself busy with the waitress, he noticed the way you'd only ever give him an occasional "mhm" or a short "yes".
"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm good. Don't worry, Atsushi," you waved a dismissive hand in front of your face and put on the ghost of a smile which never reached your eyes.
"I was just thinking about how blue the sky is today."
_____________________
"Have you ever seen colors, Osamu?," mindlessly, you stared at the sake in the small cup held by your fingers, your body resting on Dazai's floor with the wall supporting your back. It was a lazy night of having a few drinks at the brunette's place, talking about anything that came to mind or letting silence and unspoken words fill the space.
Dazai effortlessly downed a shot and let the liquor burn his throat. At least, the drinks were less bitter with you around. "Well, have you?" Ah, that bastard once again avoided your question by asking his own and putting the spotlight on you. It was such a painfully obvious tactic to dodge personal questions, but it still worked every damn time. Or maybe you just needed to get some thoughts off your chest and run the risk of Dazai figuring out the secret you had only told Atsushi about.
"What do you think about it?," stupid how the two of you danced around the topic like it was poison which could bring death upon the both of you.
Sitting down opposite of you, Dazai scanned your face. The way your gaze was fixed on him like a magnet, the missing makeup, the slightly disheveled hair from work and the way your lips shone thanks to the lip balm you always carried with you. "You're a curious thing, aren't you?," a chuckle caressed your ears and you wished it was a bit more lighthearted, a bit less closed off. Dazai rested his elbow on his propped up knee in a lazy manner as he gathered his thoughts; it was something he had never talked about.
"I don't think I like the concept of a soulmate. After all, your soulmate can be dead or be against the beliefs you hold on to so tightly. It'd cause unnecessary conflict over and over again until both individuals grow tired of each other and eventually break up, no?," Dazai paused then sighed, his eyes drawn to the night sky outside. "Isn't it a bit mean to gift color only those who feel something like love towards someone?"
Those words were as bitter as the liquor scorching your throat, but could you really disagree? A soulmate was only a partner suggestion given by the universe and whatever created it. Many soulmates eventually got tired of one another, yet no one broke things off since having someone to come home to was comfortable. It was comfortable, but it was no longer love. "It is. I've been dying to see what colors you are," you admitted softly, hoping he couldn't tear through the lie and discover that you saw the color of the cut that he got from an earlier fight.
At that, Dazai smiled at you with tender eyes and tilted his head to the side, brown strands of hair framing his stupidly dreamy face. "Honestly? I've been wondering what your eye color is."
You swore the world just got more colorful.
_____________________
The day the colors reached their peak of vibrancy was the day your heart skipped a beat for the first time in quite a while.
In the background, you could hear Kunikida scolding Dazai and threatening to kill him with his own bony fingers jus because the brunette was trying to shove his reports to Atsushi. "I swear I'll make you see the end of your life!," the blond man yelled, clearly fed up with his colleague's antics and non-existent work ethics. "At least let me die with a beautiful woman by my side!"
You couldn't help the chuckle that left your lips. Their arguments never failed to squeeze a laugh out of your lungs even when you didn't feel like laughing at all. The agency was your safe place, it was your home.
"Oh, I spent an entire minute dealing with your crap although we should get going. Let's go, Dazai," Kunikida let go of his partner's collar, dusted off his pants like nothing happened and grabbed the keys for the car; no way in hell would he ever let the suicidal maniac drive, again. "Punctual as always, Kunikida," Dazai mock praised the blond and crossed his hands behind his head, a smile on his face.
"Ah, good luck, guys!," you called after Kunikida with quite the stack of paper in your hands and smiled up at Dazai who just..looked at you. You were about to tell him to hurry up and head out before Kunikida would scold him again, when he spoke in a hushed tone which was only meant to be heard by you.
"I like your lip balm. Red suits you."
#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs imagines#bungou stray dogs x reader#bsd#dazai osamu#dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader
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2020's finally over. Can we not go into 2021 pacifying texturism w "It's just hair" tho?
It was "just hair" until Black Women started exercising the freedom to discover the unique needs & maintenance beneficial to our hair. Then as soon as non black women got wind of it & the nerve to lurk on platforms the natural hair community was uprising thru, nowadays you've got all these non black women bandwagoning & hashtagging literally everything under the sun w/ this fake ass inclusiveness, advocacy, relatability & support for textured hair. Like all women have suffered oppression around wearing their real hair 😒. Like all races of women have been socially targeted in blatant discriminations against their hair texture, complexion, & how acceptable they are or are not together. I hate the "All Hair (Matters/Is Beautiful/Is 'Good Hair')" clout bc it talks over & totally overwrites the foundational issue around hair & toxic femininity that, at its misogynoir core, has always been that textured hair is unprofessional, unkempt, unmanageable, & ugly. Colorism also erases the initial creators of the movement — which were Monoracial Brown & Dark Skinned Black Women; put some respek onnat, period. Straight hair is not oppressed; wavy hair is not oppressed; all hair is not oppressed. Black hair is. This "all hair is good hair" bullshit is so monotonous & inconsiderate bc its almost like a passive aggressive refusal to acknowledge what antiblackness imposed on Black Women alone. None of you non black know what it's like in depth to be the descendants of a race of ppl who's features, traits & harmless existence have always been insulted, hated & envied by the whole world. Esp not all at once. That is something totally unique to us inflicted & imposed by everyone else since the beginning of time. So why be out here chasing clout under tags & movements & in spaces you are no real part of? Why wanna be a part of the Black Girl Experience that bad? Yall have identities in everything outside of us. Why vulture off of this like you even have reasons to be there? We were investing in ourselves & trying to teach generations of Monoracial Black People how to manage their hair texture & develop cathartic habits thru self care. Nb ppl ruined that.
Looser hair textures have omnipresent representation & acceptance all, over, the, world. There is no lack of being seen, romanticized or exemplified for having texture 1a-3b hair; esp on the prevalent basis around colorism we see regularly on social media & on tv. Yet what remains of the community as it stands is today the furthest thing from textured or Black at all. At this point we owe the decline (if not death) of the natural hair community to the parasitic latching of non black women, the infiltration of "pick me's" & antiblackness generally — but I still be feeling like even that's not direct enough. We're talking ab something authentic & wholesome for Monoracial Black Women created by us for us being straight up sabotaged by races of women the cause was totally irrelevant to & in regard of. Bc that's how cosmetic industries have been towards us for centuries. Bc we were always excluded & thought of least & last. By other women. By all other women; don't get it twisted. So we set out on figuring ourselves out. Doing research on our own. Incorporating self care & beneficial habits in our lives to nourish & feel better ab ourselves & disprove the racist shit non black cultures & ppl either ignorantly surmise, make up or project ab Black Girls. That includes Black Men too in case yall thought yall were safe. Yall are some of the most toxic & prevalent faces behind colorism, antiblackness & misogynoir among black ppl specifically.
But anyhow. At first a lot of the initiation of the vulturing in the nhc light skinned women were the face of. Esp w the clout around having 4c hair amongst the beige-est, most ambiguously or straight up non black individuals, good lord. Then it went mainstream for huwight ppl, whom enevitably invited themselves, & following were the masses of non black women looking to pillage for themselves while the community was being swallowed by the crowdedness & irrelevant content being put out there (specifically on YouTube, Twitter & Instagram) by "hair gurus" of the light skinned, biracial or non black texture 1a-3b variety. Hair gurus who literally may as well've fallen from the sky & met social media stardom overnight based on their hair texture & complexion alone they're so brand new. Hair gurus who aren't even in the community for legitimately informative reasons or purposes unionized in Blackness. They're whole natural hair niche be — as a favorite natural of mine put it — manipulating textured hair into a sort of submission to appear or behave like looser textures do. They'll swear by 'game changer' products they both mention & only use like once & insist you should invest in a $30 8oz. bottle of clarifying shampoo or a $35 cowash if you want your hair to behave & look like theirs. Again, mind you, these types of individuals casually claim having texture 4 hair when they're anything but, just for the attention it brings from both ppl who will gullibly follow their every word & who know what kind of scamming to look for & won't.
If it's "just hair", how come so many of you that are non black are riding the wave? If it's just hair, why have so many of you found refuge in using the hashtags & participating/contributing uninvited? How come so many ran to get a seat at the table w Black Women only to kick them to the side the more popular it became if its just hair? How come nobody was calling it natural hair before Black Women created the nhc & started growing their own? Why was there no natural hair community before Black Women coined it, reminder, for ourselves? If it's just hair, how come so many ran to youtube to begin w to start channels for their own non-textured journeys? If its just hair, why is the nhc so damn obsessed w defining curls & length than overall health & gradual growth? If its just hair, why are white girls anywhere near this? Yall are the most out of place of anyone, honestly. Even if you're curly. Why do light skinned girls get to both represent textured hair & "good hair"? How does that even make sense? Thats just putting monoracial black girls in isolated boxes they're not even allowed to be symbols of or in. If its just hair, why's it so unheard of to see the roles of Black female characters in just ab anything played by actual Black Women? If its just hair, why have so many non or partially Black women worked in ignorant succession to water down & essentially wash out the Monoracial Black Women vital to the community's relevance at all? I really do not get the involvement of non black women in this movement at all — esp when culturally you have no reason to call your hair natural. There are no & have never been prejudice notions around having or growing texture 1a-3b hair. There's nothing oppressive ab it, either. Yall have gotta stop w that. You've already made a mockery of something that was supposed to be beautiful by making yourselves comfortable in & hijacking our space itfp. Theres far too much misrepresentation of textured hair to keep up w now. This is why i say the nhc (as well as culture vulturing generally) has just become nbwoc copying white women copying light skinned women copying Black Women, bc the audacity is unreal.
Its not just hair tho. To those it applies to, yall proved that the minute Black Women started going public w their growth journeys. The minute conversations ab "shrinkage this & 4c that" broadened & went mainstream. Yall couldn't move all at once fast enough when you realized you weren't as special as you thought & had always been told — esp w melanin at its modern value. Now all yall either "natural", seeking black men for either casual sex or cultural infiltration via fetishised reproduction, certain you have texture 4 hair or know the best tips for a DIY silk press 🤭😂 yall can't sit w us. You don't belong here. I'm calling yall out on allll the bs around this "All Hair Matters" garbage, cus yall are now sputtering the same shit while literally wearing your own non black hair in black styles. Be consistent. Make some fucking sense. I don't wanna be part of this fake ass girl squad propaganda that says every other woman never looked at Black Women's hair like it was bottomest of the barrel, foh. We're not on the same team & yall know it.
#natural hair community#black tumblr#black twitter#blm#black women#protect black girls#protect black women#misogynoir#antiblackness#mixed girls#white women#cultural misappropriation#black hair#colorism#natural hair movement#textured hair#mine.txt#dark skin#texturism#culture vultures#nbwoc
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