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teawaffles · 3 years

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Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 2

Two days after that. The normally-unused hall had undergone a complete transformation — and Fred was stunned.

“Wow……”

Sitting before him were three large water tanks, roughly five metres wide. Within each one were some aquatic plants, as well as 20 to 30 fish in a range of vibrant colours and distinctive appearances. They swam through the water, sometimes gracefully, sometimes powerfully — the beauty of the aquaria was simply overwhelming.

“What do you think, Fred?” asked Louis, as he walked up to him.

Without taking his gaze off the tanks, Fred shared his thoughts.

“I’ve never seen such beautiful fish. Are they all from other countries?”

“Indeed. Southeast Asia, Africa, and South America — I heard that they were collected from these three regions and brought here via special channels. There was a concern that the quality of our local water would not be suitable, hence even the water has been directly imported from their native rivers and lakes.”

“The scale here sure is different……”

Even the water that filled these tanks had been procured from the fishes’ native habitats: once again, the thoroughness of this endeavour left Fred in awe.

“I’m planning to bring in more of Herder’s equipment at a later date; but for now, all I can do is to watch over them like this…… Oh?”

Noticing something strange, Louis peered into one of the tanks.

Before his eyes, a small pufferfish was biting the fins of its tank mates. Looking at the other aquaria, it was clear that other tiny skirmishes had broken out.

Seeing the colourful fish engaged in unbecoming violence, Fred looked puzzled.

“It seems even fish need to be compatible with one another.”

“Indeed. It looks like it isn’t enough to simply divide them by their native regions.”

Hesitating a little, Louis slowly put his hand into the tank, and broke up the fishes’ fight as gently as possible. [1] Confirming that the conflict had been resolved for now, he breathed a sigh.

However, Fred spoke up in concern.

“If it’s already like this from the start, Mr Louis, then it looks like it’s going to be quite difficult for you.”

“Still, it must be done. ——For the sake of William’s plan.”

Hearing those words filled with conviction, once again, Fred could feel the strength of Louis’s emotions toward his brother.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Two days after the fish had moved into the mansion, the hall underwent another transformation.

The curtains had been drawn, and the entire room was dim. The large water tanks had been removed, and around twenty small aquaria were now lined up in their stead. Each tank was outfitted with the latest cutting-edge machinery to assist in the fishes’ upkeep.

In charge of their care, Louis quietly strolled among the tanks, scrutinising the fishes’ appearances one by one.

“Yo, Louis. How are they?”

Just as he’d completed his round of checks, Moran and Fred entered the hall.

Looking at his notes on the conditions of his charges, Louis answered in a businesslike manner.

“There are no problems at present. I’ve finally managed to understand their individual dispositions, hence their care should proceed more smoothly from here.”

“That’s great — though, it has gotten a little crowded in here.”

Moran looked around the room. Beside him, Fred was staring curiously at a device attached to the top of the tank.

“Is this machine necessary for taking care of them?”

“Yeah, it’s called a filter: it serves to improve the water quality,” Louis explained briefly.

In order to ensure he'd covered all bases, Louis spared no effort in his research, making detailed reports to Herder as he employed a variety of equipment in the fishes’ care.

Certainly, for the aquaria to be mechanised to such an extent, the level of technology required was several steps ahead of its time. To use such revolutionary technology for the sole purpose of rearing tropical fish: one could even call it extravagant.

As Moran watched the machines in operation, a dubious look crossed his face.

“These guys have been living in the wild up to this point, so it does feel a bit pitiful for them to be shut indoors all day. Why don’t you let them swim in the big pond outside once in a while?”

But Louis gently dismissed his proposal.

“I understand where you’re coming from; but we have to consider issues like how they would adapt to the water, and so I have refrained from doing that.”

“Then, at least bring the tanks outside so they can enjoy the sun.” 

“That can’t be done either. If the aquaria were to be placed under direct sunlight, there would be other problems such as algal growth and spikes in water temperature. Hence, the day-night cycle has been replicated using artificial light.”

“An artificial sun, huh. All thanks to the development of industry,” Moran muttered.

Louis turned his gaze toward the lights installed above the tanks.

“These incandescent bulbs and other electrical technologies are still yet to be widespread — one can really feel the portent of Mr Herder’s work.” [2] [3]

As the two men made small talk, Fred watched the fish in the aquaria, his face aglow.

Then, the door to the hall opened.

Rhythmic footsteps echoed, and in came William.

“Nii-san.”

Louis broke off his conversation with Moran, and turned to face his brother.

“How has your work been?”

“It’s going well. Once we convey to Stapleton that we’re keeping tropical fish, I’m sure his interest will be piqued.”

“That’s good to hear. I hope your contact with him will be a success.”

“Thank you. And I’m glad to see that the fish are doing well. As I thought, it was the right decision to entrust their care to you, Louis.”

“I owe that to both your and Mr Herder’s help.”

Even as his reply was modest, Louis puffed out his chest.

Watching how close the two brothers were, the elder Moran smiled. But as he looked at the aquaria again, a tiny doubt suddenly struck him.

“By the way, we’re keeping these fish so we can meet with this Stapleton guy, right? Then when that’s done, what’ll happen to them?”

Louis tilted his head slightly as he pondered.

“Well…… As far as I understood his nature, in all likelihood, he’ll want to take the fish. In that case, we’ll probably hand them all over to him.”

He’d said that with a straight face, and Moran was stunned.

“Really? Don’t you think we should keep at least one of these tanks in the mansion?”

“No, not at all. These fish were collected for the sole purpose of my brother’s plan — they are simply a means to an end, and I hold no greater affection for them beyond that.”

“I-I see……”

For Moran and Louis, even as they shared William’s ambitions as his comrades, they knew full well they were but one of his chess pieces: if he were to order them to die, they were prepared to lay down their lives at any moment.

These fish were also no more than tools — everyone in the room understood that. But upon hearing how bluntly Louis put it, the older man could not hide his astonishment.

Next to them, William glanced over the fish.

“Still, they do look rather healthy, swimming around like that. For one, the colours of these Puntius rhomboocellatus are rather vibrant.”

“Ah, so that’s their name? It’s quite a mouthful.”

What William had just mentioned was the scientific name of the fish. In the event that Louis was unable to care for the fish, Moran and Fred had also familiarised themselves with their names just in case; but since they felt rather formal, Moran didn’t use them very much.

At his brother’s satisfied expression, Louis beamed with joy.

“You have a wonderful eye for aesthetics, nii-san. Besides those, I would also recommend the Mikrogeophagus ramirezi.”

“Hm, they’re a beautiful shade of blue. Though I personally like the Neolamprologus brichardi over here as well.”

“I see. Then what do you think about the Julidochromis transcriptus and Pelvicachromis taeniatus? Both are from Africa too.”

“……You know, it’s great that you guys get along so well — but can we leave it at that?”

Moran’s eye twitched. But they ignored his puzzlement, and continued their jargon-filled exchange.

“Still, taking the practical view, I quite like these Corydoras paleatus for cleaning up remnants of food from the tank. On the other hand, these Laubuka dadiburjori will jump out of the aquaria if they’re left uncovered, and I had a hard time finding tank mates for the Boraras urophthalmoides.”

“Speaking of utility, Louis: I suppose you would fancy the algae-eating Siamese flying fox as well?”

“Fufu, you see through everything, nii-san. Oh, please look over here: the Nannostomus beckfordi are spreading their fins.” [4]

“——Stop! Stop! No more of that talk!”

Reaching the limit of his patience, Moran stepped between the two brothers, yanking them out of their own world.

Their conversation interrupted, Louis looked puzzled. “What’s the matter, Mr Moran? I was just about to show him the Triple Red Apistogramma cacatuoides.”

“You guys are getting completely carried away, and leaving the rest of us behind! And what’s with those bloody names? This isn’t some university lecture!”

Beside him, Fred was pointing at the fish one by one, murmuring the names that had come up in the brothers’ exchange. Clearly, he was making sure he remembered their names properly.

Quizzical, Louis responded. “They might be troublesome for you…… But my brothers and I memorised them in one shot.”

“Y-You’re kidding, right?” Moran paled.

“They really are on another level……”

Astonished, Fred also stopped what he was doing.

Hailing from a noble family, Moran himself was an Oxford graduate; in addition, Fred also possessed an above-average intellect. But when confronted with the intellectual abilities of the three Moriarty brothers, who were able to memorise such complex names in just one go, the two men were unable to hide their amazement.

“I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to give them nicknames instead?”

At Moran’s suggestion, Louis put a hand under his chin.

“Nicknames, hmm…… I haven’t had any problems so far, but giving them simpler names might be a good idea.”

“Right? It’s insufferable to have to listen to those curse-like words every time I come here.”

“Let’s try it then. But I will be rejecting any distasteful ones,” Louis quipped.

Moran looked around the room, his gaze landing on a tank with a school of guppies swimming within.

“Alright….. Then how about we call these ‘Fred’?”

Behind his glasses, Louis’s eyes widened.

“We’re giving them our own names?”

“It’s fine, innit? It’s a lot better than calling them ‘Mr Guppies’ or something.”

“It’s certainly easy to say—— But even so, why call the guppies Fred?”

“Because they’re small and agile, aren’t they?” Moran grinned.

Fred shot him a dubious look. “Is your reasoning that simple……?”

That logic did seem a little problematic; William, who’d been watching from the side, made a troubled face.

“Since you’re adept at disguising yourself, Fred: if we were to name a fish after you, it should something like a leaffish that uses mimicry. Moreover, guppies already have a rather simple name, so I don’t think it’s necessary to give them another one.”

“It’ll be fine — it’s best to go with your gut for such things. Anyway, it’s decided then: the guppies will be called ‘Fred’.”

It seemed that for once, Moran was unwilling to listen to William’s words.

Then, another aquarium caught his eye. Fascinated, he gazed at the sole inhabitant within.

“Ooh, this guy has the tank all to himself, eh? I like that feeling of aloofness — this one’s gonna be called ‘Moran’.”

The fish Moran had just given his own name to, was in fact the tiny pufferfish that had to be isolated on the very first day, after attacking the other fish.

“Ah, about that one……”

Louis did want to explain why the pufferfish was all alone; but seeing how excited Moran was, he hesitated.

However, Moran seemed to have taken that pause in a different light.

“Oi oi, did you like this one too? Sorry, but it’s first come first served — so I get to name him.”

“R-Right. If you’re fine with that one, then……”

Moran looked like he was really enjoying himself, and so Louis decided to keep his silence on the truth about Moran’s new namesake.

Along with Louis, Fred had also witnessed what the pufferfish did on the day it arrived. It pained him a little to see Moran blissfully unaware of that, and he looked away.

Then, a certain tank caught his eye.

“These are quite like Mr William and his brothers.”

“Eh?”

Intrigued, William and Louis followed his gaze.

Dancing before their eyes was a group of beautiful fish with an almost divine air around them — ones that could even be called kings of the aquarium.

“——Angelfish?”

Within the tank, three angelfish were swimming in close formation. They had glittering silver scales, with black stripes running vertically down their sides. That closeness truly reminded one of the Moriarty brothers, bound to one another with firm ties.

Their name brought to mind angels, and William could not help but chuckle in self-mockery.

“I think that’s the last thing we should ever be called.”

“Not at all. In a way, you three are angels — but more of the ones who sound the trumpets in the Book of Revelation.” [5]

At that ironic turn of phrase, William let out another meaningful laugh.

Beside them, with a somewhat absent-minded look, Louis admired the fish he’d grown so familiar with.

“Though, just as Fred said, their elegant appearance certainly befits both William and Albert nii-sama.”

“No need to be modest, Louis: you are just as noble as they are.”

“T-Thank you very much, nii-san.”

Louis turned a little pink at that. Looking at the three fish swimming together, Moran nodded enthusiastically.

“Then starting from the front of the group, their names will be ‘William’, ‘Albert’ and ‘Louis’.”

“It’s a bit embarrassing……” William smiled bashfully.

Moran walked away from the tank. “Both Louis and Fred agree with it, so it’ll be fine. Anyway, I’ll be off.”

“Eh? What about the rest?”

Fred called out to him just as he was about to leave the room, and Moran ruffled his hair as he replied.

“Now that I think about it, there’re just way too many of them. We’ve already named five of them after ourselves — that should be fine for now.”

“I guess……”

Faced with Moran’s overly freewheeling attitude, Fred was lost for words.

“…………”

Under normal circumstances, Louis would saddle Moran with some chores at this point. But his attention was still drawn to the tank with the angelfish.

He had yet to notice it himself; but their three names, now conferred onto those fish, had set off tiny ripples in his heart.

Footnotes:

T/N: Yuumori is set in the early 1880s — you can read more about that here.

[1] Yes, Louis did just put his hand into a tank with a pufferfish 😥

[2] Edison’s first light bulb had been invented less than ten years prior, and this used a carbon filament — tungsten filaments would not be developed until the early 1900s. (Wikipedia)

[3] At this time in history, electricity really was the preserve of the rich and few — even in 1919, only 6% of UK households had electricity (Science Museum UK). Interestingly, AC (alternating current) power systems were starting to be adopted in the UK around this period. (Wikipedia)

Aside: The ‘artificial sun’ gave me flashbacks to the manga Letter Bee… (Wikipedia)

[4] This is a form of threatening behaviour between fish.

[5] Moran is referring to the seven angels that blow trumpets to bring about seven cataclysmic events, as described in the New Testament (Wikipedia). Seraph of the End fans would be familiar with this one :3

Translator’s notes

Louis’s honorifics

I know I used “Louis-san” in the manga scanlation, but I’m just going to go with my gut and use “Mr Louis” here :x

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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temilyrights · 3 years

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ask her out

Summary: Alex Blake x Fem!Reader. Your crush on Alex is getting out of hand, so the team calls you out on it and tries to convince you to ask her out.

A/N: Hello! This is my first time writing for Alex, but I’ve been rewatching season 8 and completely feel in love with her all over again. I definitely will continue writing for her if people are interested. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated :) Enjoy!

Fluff, light angst, and a little nsfw/smutty. James doesn’t exist in this fic but she’s still referred to as Blake because I forgot her maiden name was Miller.

Alex’s eyes flick to you as you step into the room, the door shuts behind you with a click that earns the attention of the students in the hall. Her speech doesn’t falter, drawing back the students to her lecture, she smiles at you though, subtlety telling you she’d be done in a few minutes.

You lean back against the wall and watch. This was the first time you’d seen her teach. You didn’t get the art of linguistics like she did, but you couldn’t help but be captivated by the passion in which she taught. She looked comfortable, confident, and relaxed. It was nice to see. At work there tended to be a constant furrow of her brows due to the stress of the cases, but here, none of that was present.

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was attractive. The way she controlled the room and quizzed her students with such confidence...Your schoolgirl crush had been active since the first time you met her but by god, this was going to spin it out of control.

“Okay, that’s all for today. I’ll see you next week.”

The students quickly pack up their stuff, the rustle of paper and bags along with the screeching of chairs filling the room. A few of them shoot you interested looks as they exit, their eyes falling to the gun strapped to your waist. You don’t pay them much attention as you push yourself off the wall and make your way to where Alex is packing up her own things.

“You were early.” She says in way of greeting. You lean against the table beside her and shrug.

“Wanted to finally see the legendary Dr Blake in action.”

She shakes her head with a small laugh, slipping the last papers into her bag before putting it onto her shoulder. She looks at your gun and arches her brow. “And you couldn’t leave that in your car?”

“Habit.” You shrug. You really hadn’t thought much about it to be honest, but the half-smile on her lips makes you happy you were wearing it. You liked making her smile.

“Right.” You stand up properly and you fall in step with her as you make your way out of the room and down the corridors towards your car. “So, what did you think?”

You tilt your head, a guilty smile crossing your lips. “Still not my thing, but if I was going to attend a linguistics lecture, you’d definitely be the tutor I’d pick.” oh my god were you flirting?

She looks at you with interest, humour in her eyes as she hums. “Well, there’s still time.”

Your cheeks tinge pink and you quickly avert your gaze, laughing lightly to try and cover up your reaction. Luckily, you’re at your car now, so you unlock the doors and slide in and by the time Alex has moved to get in the other side your cheeks are back to their normal colour.

“Thank you for this again.” She says as you strap your seatbelt on and put the keys into the ignition.

“It’s not a problem.” You smile. Her car had broken down a week ago and she’d been stuck relying on the subway and cabs to get around. It sucked, especially when she had days that switched between lecturing and at the BAU, so you’d ended up offering to give her lifts. She’d tried to refuse but you knew how frazzled she’d been every time she arrived. She’d eventually relented and accepted your offer to pick her up from Georgetown.

“Still, you didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Alex smiles, her eyes soft. The way your heart thumps in your chest has you scrambling for a change in conversation.

“Plus, it’s not for free.” She arches a brow as you smirk. “I want coffee and you’re buying.”

She breaks out into laughter as you pull out and onto the road.

---

After that, it becomes harder to ignore the butterflies in your stomach every time you see her. You felt ridiculous for letting the feelings take control, but you couldn’t help the way your eyes always travelled to where she was in the room. Her desk being opposite yours did not help.

It’s about two weeks later after she’s left for a class (she finally had her car back) that Spencer hesitantly approaches your desk. You look up at him with a frown, noticing the way his fingers were drumming against his leg.

“Is everything okay with you and Alex?” He asks sadness and concern deep in his voice. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“You keep sending her these sad looks, and you won’t stop watching her. Do you not trust her? Did something happen?” He pressures, a slight dread to his tone. You knew how important Alex was to him, the idea that something was wrong would not do him good.

“Of course, I trust her. Nothing has happened. I promise.” You look around the room to make sure no one else is listening. JJ’s lips are sitting in a subtle smirk, but her eyes remain attached to the paperwork in front of her. She was obviously listening, and you didn’t know whether to be grateful or not that she hadn't joined the conversation. You look back to Spencer who’s frowning.

“Then why do you keep staring at her?”

“I don’t.” You try to refuse, but your cheeks are already turning pink.

“You do. When we’re in here working your eyes flick to her roughly every seven minutes.”

“Seven minutes? No that’s ridiculous.” oh god. oh god. oh god.

“Hers is about every 10. Although last Tuesday it nearly halved in time. She never looks sad though whereas you do.”

“Alex doesn’t stare at me.”

JJ chuckles from her desk, and finally stands up and makes her way over. “Game is over Y/N. You’ve been called out.”

“Game?” Spencer frowns, “What game?”

“The game is which both Y/N and Blake pretend they don’t have a thing for each other.”

“I don’t have a thing for Alex.” You bristle, but your cheeks betray you as they turn pink.

“Right, uh-huh.” JJ laughs.

Spencer’s eyes widen as the realisation hits him. “Oh.” He seems to turn an almost pale shade of green, obviously thinking about the woman who was practically a mother figure to him with someone wasn’t the nicest thing. “Well, uh, I think she feels the same.”

You scoff, “No she doesn’t because there isn’t a thing.”

Spencer smiles genuinely, “Last Tuesday, you wore a shirt that was a lower cut than normal. That was the day Alex wouldn’t stop staring at you. I didn’t make the connection until now. If she’s getting coffee, she’ll almost always offer to get you some too. On the jet, after a bad case, you always sit next to her because she makes you feel safe and relaxed. You listen to her talk about linguistics even though you find it boring. You both are constantly aware when the other is in the room. When-”

“Okay, okay, okay!” You shout, cutting off his ramble. “You win. There may be some feelings but it’s just a crush and I’ll get over it.”

“Or you could just ask her out?” JJ laughs.

You shake your head, “No. We work together. It would be unprofessional, and really uncomfortable for everyone if it didn’t work out. Plus, just because she looks at me occasionally doesn’t mean she likes me like that.”

You did silently feel proud that Alex hadn’t been able to stop looking at you when you wore that shirt, but you could find someone attractive without wanting to date them so really it didn’t mean anything.

“You smile more when she’s around. You should ask her out.” Spencer says, rocking on the balls of his feet slightly.

You sigh and shake your head, but he continues before you can speak. “We should tell the people we care about that we care about them. You both deserve to be happy.” A shadow crosses his face before he pulls a smile back to his lips.

JJ clears her throat, “Spence is right. Ask her out.”

You look between them for a moment and then release a long dramatic sigh, “Fine. Okay. I’ll do it.”

JJ claps her hand while Spencer smiles. You can only groan.

---

The next morning the team is called to Colorado for a case. JJ keeps sending you looks, and Derek won’t stop smirking which means he knows and by extension, Penelope probably too (though she’s yet to say anything). She’s terrible at keeping secrets which means your days are numbered until Alex finds out.

“Why do they keep looking at you?” Alex asks quietly from beside you on the jet. You shoot JJ a glare and turn to face Alex. Your heart immediately starts pounding in your chest when you realise just how close her face is to yours. You clear your throat as you turn away.

“Who knows.” You shrug, burying your face into the book in your hands. Alex watches you for a moment longer before turning back to her own book.

You glare at JJ again over the top of your book and Alex pretends not to notice.

The second the jet hits the floor you’re in case mode. It’s not until the evening that you finally get to sit down properly. Everyone’s still at the police station waiting for the dinner that Rossi and Derek had gone to collect.

You collapse into a chair and yawn, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

“Here,” Alex says as she approaches, holding out a fresh cup of coffee.

“You’re a godsend, Alexandra Blake.” You release a satisfied sigh as you accept the cup and take a sip. Alex moves to sit in the chair beside you arching her brow.

“Alexandra, huh? No one has called me that in a long time.”

You shrug, “It’s a pretty name.”

“It means-”

“Defender of Mankind.” You cut her off and enjoy the impressed look she sends you. “Did my research.”

“I’m proud.”

You roll your eyes, “Please, looking up a few name meanings isn’t exactly difficult, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“My hopes are officially low, don’t you worry.” She smirks and takes a sip of her own coffee before looking back at you. “What other names did you look up?”

“Mine and the rest of the teams. Couldn’t have you thinking you're special.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She holds your gaze, and it isn’t until JJ enters the room saying something about the food being here that she looks away.

---

The case only lasts a few days and before you know it, you’re back on the jet on your way back to Quantico.

Penelope’s waiting in the squad room, practically jumping on her feet as she welcomes you all. Her eyes flick between you and Alex with absolutely no subtlety and you have to suppress a sigh.

She follows you to your desk and you pray she doesn’t question you with Alex still in the room.

“So?” She asks as you take a seat at your desk. She’s trying to talk quietly but in Garcia’s terms, that’s just normal volume. You look at Alex who’s standing by JJ’s desk, her eyes meet yours and she smiles at you with a slight furrow of her brows. You look back to Penelope.

“No.”

Penelope’s face drops, “Why did she say no? You’re amazing and wonderful and-”

“She didn’t say anything. I didn’t ask.” You turn back to your desk, busying yourself with papers that didn’t actually need your attention. You just wanted her to drop this before Alex’s suspicions that something was wrong were confirmed.

“Well, why not?” She moans.

You release a frustrated groan, “We were on a case, I couldn’t exactly ask her while standing over a dead body.”

“Obviously not, but there were evenings. You could have asked her over dinner or on the jet or literally any other time.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” You growl, dropping the papers to your desk and turning around to glare at Penelope.

“You said you would!”

“Seriously? Do any conversations stay private in this place?”

“Not when you have them in the squad room,” Alex says as she approaches, Penelope spins around her face frozen in a way that tells Alex she was definitely the topic of conversation. “Everything okay?” She focuses on you, her brows furrowed in concern and you have to look away.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. It’s late and I’m tired so I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You push yourself up from your desk, grabbing your bag and avoiding both their eyes as you hurry out of the room.

You’re nearly at the elevator when Alex catches up with you. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You shake your head, your eyes not leaving the elevator as you wait for it to hurry up and arrive. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I give you a lift home?” Alex offers.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you though.”

“Please. You shouldn’t drive home if you’re that tired.” You meet her concerned gaze and after a long moment of consideration, you sigh.

“Okay. Sure.”

You expect her to start questioning you the second the doors close, but she doesn’t and you’re relieved. Instead, you both just talk like normal. The conversation comes to an end on the drive home though, and you fall into a comfortable silence. Your eyes remain fixed to the window instead of on her as you debate asking the question everyone wanted you to ask.

You frown when she drives past the turning to your house, “Hey, we just drove-”

“I know.” She cuts you off, eyes not drifting from the road. You release a resigned sigh and sink back into the chair. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with her.

You’re only half surprised when you arrive at her house. She parks and turns off the ignition without a word, and you follow her lead as you make your way into her house. You take your shoes and coat off just as she does and follow her through to her kitchen.

“Tea?”

“Sure.” You agree, leaning back against the counter as she begins making it. It’s silent between you and her, the only sound is the whirring of the kettle and the nervous tapping of your fingers against your arm.

“Here you go.” She passes you the cup before leaning back on the island counter opposite you.

“Thank you.” You take a sip and hum, “Is this from Emily’s tea of the month thing?”

“Yes, Penelope gives me some every time it arrives. This one is my favourite so far.”

You nod, not sure how else to respond. It’s silent for a moment before Alex speaks. “So, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

You sigh, “It’s just the team trying to get involved in stuff that isn’t any of their business, and you know them, Penelope especially, the second they get their hands on a bit of gossip…” You roll your eyes.

“The bureau thrives off it.” She places her cup of tea down on the counter beside her before crossing her arms and looking at you with a thoughtful expression, “You didn’t quite answer my question though. This gossip, it’s about us, right?”

Her tone leaves no room for argument. You sigh and place your own cup on the side. There was no point in lying to her, and you didn’t want to. “Spencer came to me a few days ago because he thought that we weren’t getting along.”

She frowns, “That wouldn’t cause this amount of gossip because it’s obviously not true. Why would he think that?”

“I know.” You sigh, rubbing at your neck and not quite meeting her eyes. “Uh, so, apparently I look at you a lot and he thought that that meant I didn’t trust you or we’d had an argument or something. I explained that wasn’t the case, but he insisted something must be wrong and then JJ was there and teasing me about it all and it all spiralled out of control and before I knew it, I was agreeing to something that I didn’t want to agree to, not because I didn’t want to ask, but because I was scared that if I do ask that it’ll change things or ruin things and I don’t want-”

“Y/N,”

“-that to happen. I knew you’d find out anyway though, I’m terrible at lying and Penelope can’t keep a secret to save her life and you’re an amazing profiler and I just don’t want to ruin things between us just because I have a giant crush on you and am scared to ask you out on a date. I understand if you’re uncomfortable now.”

“Y/N, honey, look at me.” She comes closer, her hand touching your chin to try and get you to lift your head. You resist. “Please.”

The plea gets you to lift your head. She’s smiling and your heart flutters.

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” You can only nod and then she’s gripping your neck and pulling you in. The first brush of her lips has your heart pounding, and then there’s another and another and another and your hands grip onto her blazer and her fingers brush the hair at the base of your head and all you can breathe, and smell is her and it’s amazing.

She pulls back all too soon, and you make a small noise of protest which has her smirking. Your cheeks are flushed and both of you are breathing a little deeply. Her hand leaves your neck to wrap around your waist.

“W-why?”

“For a profiler, you suck at reading the cues when someone is interested in you.”

“I don’t, I just didn’t want to assume or-”

“Y/N, my first case in Seattle, one of the detectives spent the whole case trying to flirt with you and you didn’t see it.”

“She was just being friendly.”

“Right because it would be totally normal for me to tell Dave he has really pretty eyes while touching his arm.”

“I-fine. Okay.” You pout. Alex suppresses her smile by biting on her lip and your eyes immediately zero in on the action. Your tongue swipes over your lips. “I need you to kiss me again.”

Her own tongue swipes over her lips before she dips her head, her nose brushes against yours. Her breath hitting your lips. “I think it’s your turn.”

You take a heavy breath as your hand slides up to grip her neck. Your eyes flick to hers, enjoying her darkened gaze before you close the final bit of distance between you. There’s none of the hesitancy of last time, just kisses that quickly heat up as your hands move to grip at her hair and she pushes you back into the counter.

Her leg slides between yours causing a whine to escape your lips. Alex wastes no time in taking control of the kiss, her tongue sweeping against yours as you begin to squirm against her knee.

“Alex.” You moan as her lips begin to leave a trail of kisses down your neck. “Please, Alex.”

“Please what?”

“I-uh, oh.” You groan as her teeth scrape your neck and her hand begins to make its way under your shirt.

“Use your words.” She smirks.

“Bed. Please.”

“It’s not a sentence, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

You hum as she captures your lips in a toe-curling kiss before completely stepping away. You feel lost without the contact.

“Come on honey, follow me.”

You don’t need to be told twice as you quickly hurry after her, grabbing her hand and twisting her back into you before kissing her deeply. It’s her time to moan against your lips.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Follow me.” You smirk, stepping away before quickly making your way to her bedroom as Alex follows behind you.

#alex blake x reader #alex blake #criminal minds #cm #reader-insert #fanfiction #writing #ask her out #regal-roni

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getcooler · 3 years

Text

Three Heartbreaks & a Rose

Kim Seungmin (Skz) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, some crackheadery

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: mentions of a car crash, of hospitals; some crying; unnecessary jealousy caused by lack of communication

FLOWER STORE!AU where Seungmin is an annoying regular at your flower store but he sort of grows on you, eventually.

A/N: Sorry for not uploading more often :( But this is an extra long fic by our standards so maybe it’ll make up for it. Originally, this was part of a larger series of different fic based all around this business street and you might find mentions of it in the fic, but I’m not sure I’ll ever write the other members’ parts :( Nevertheless, enjoy and maybe maybe maybe leave some feedback somewhere :)

“Hello, I’m— Oh, it’s you again.”

It took you less than two seconds to identify the clear distaste in Seungmin’s voice as he walked into the store.

The tone of his voice made you roll your eyes, “Yes, it’s me again. Like every Saturday for the past 3 years.”

“And yet nothing ever seems to change,” he sighed, face void of any emotion. In a leisurely pace, he made his way over to the counter of your grandmother’s flower store and asked, “What do you guys have here this week? Anything pretty or are all the flowers here as tired-looking as you?”

“I’ve got some daisies fresh from the garden across the street,” you offered with a glare in your eyes, but he scrunched his nose in distaste.

He mumbled, “Too lazy.”

“Lazy?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It would seem very lazy of me to take daisies to the home of the elderly.”

In all the years of him coming here, you had never once heard what he was planning on doing with the flowers. Every Saturday he came in, bought a giant box (yes, a literal box) of flowers and left after bickering with you for five minutes or more. Somehow this was the first time you found out that he’s taking the flowers to the house of the elderly.

“Okay, so what type of flowers would you like to buy?” you prompted him while silently begging any deity that he wouldn’t start a fight out of it.

Seungmin looked around, seeming to think for a moment or two before speaking, “I want something bright but not too over the top.”

“Something simple?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, agreeing with you just this once, “Maybe something that would remind the elderly of their home gardens? That kind of feel.”

You chuckled as you pushed yourself to your feet behind the counter, “You seem to be pretty clear on your decision.”

“Not really,” he sighed. “What do you have to offer?”

“Well, it is early autumn,” you pointed out while walking through the store, pretending to think and ponder. “It’s the perfect time to buy asters.”

“Asters?” he frowned in confusion.

You nodded without hesitation before lifting up a vase full of fresh asters, “They grow in most gardens and they look very pretty and colourful yet simple.”

“You do have a point,” he nodded slowly, eyeing the flowers in your hands. “I’ll take fifteen.”

“Great choice,” you said out of habit and Seungmin couldn’t help but snort as he reached for his wallet.

As you picked out some prettier and fresher looking asters, you cheerfully told him his total.

“Do you have to be so chirpy all the time?” he groaned as he pushed his card into the terminal. “You sound like a cartoon character. It’s going to scare away your customers.”

Without much thinking, you shushed him and handed him the receipt with a fake smile, “Please do come again.”

“Do yourself a favour and stop applying for customer service jobs,” he joked with a teasing smile before picking up the flowers and walking out, “I’ll see you next Saturday!”

“I hope not!” you called after him while cleaning the counter of fallen petals.

Just a week later, he walked in once again. This time he was dressed in a patterned button-up shirt and had his hair styled neatly, which was very unlike his usual attire which consisted of a random t-shirt and a baseball cap. He offered a smile as he walked in, “Do you ever get a weekend off?”

“As long as you keep buying flowers every Saturday – no,” you answered with a sigh before putting on your best smile. “How can I help you on this fine day?”

He looked around, just like every previous time, and spoke, “I need three roses and some more flowers.”

“Which colour?” you asked while walking past him towards the rose display.

“What’s the colour of happiness?” he thought out loud and you grumbled underneath your breath. He had the dumb tendency to act like an idiot just to make you speak more. You absolutely despised because it gave him several reasons to pick a fight.

“I believe pink roses are said to represent happiness,” you told him through gritted teeth as you opened the display’s door.

Seungmin smiled brightly behind you, “I’ll take the pink ones then.”

“Which shade of pink? Peach, bubblegum, rouge, watermelon?” you asked him, fully intending to offer him the best client service despite being annoyed by his presence.

“I mean pink,” Seungmin replied without much thought. A small frown had appeared on his face, “Also, I’m pretty sure at least three of those pink shades are actually food and-”

“So, peach?” you interrupted him delightfully.

Seungmin sighed and shrugged. “Just pink will do.”

“Whatever you prefer,” you sighed and handed him three of the pinkest roses. “How about these?”

He eyed the roses, twirling the bouquet in hand for a second before nodding, “These will do perfectly. Now for my other flowers.”

“Asters? Peonies? Poppies?”

“I was thinking something more,” he hummed in thought before deciding, “extravagant?”

“What the hell is happening in that home of elderly today?” you asked him with a raised eyebrow.

Your handsome customer spoke, “One of the older ladies there is turning 95 today. They’re having a little celebration.”

“That sounds lovely,” you replied in a rather monotone voice. “Would carnations do the trick?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned. “I’d like twenty, please.”

You couldn’t help but sigh. Did Seungmin have any idea how heavy twenty carnations were?

“I’ll pay you well today,” he laughed at your reaction. “I promise I won’t even nag you if you give me back the wrong change.”

“You’re paying in cash today?” you were surprised.

“Yeah,” he nodded with a nervous chuckle, “Lost my card when I crashed my bike on Wednesday.”

“Ouch.”

Another week passed. You expected him to come to buy flowers on Saturday but as the clock ticked on, you didn’t catch sight of him.

All-day you waited for him to come. There was not a single joke, not a single order of an outrageous number of peonies. There was simply nothing.

The only customer you got all day was the new music store owner from down the street (Chan was his name, you believed). Even someone as new and unfamiliar as he noticed your sullen mood and expectant glances out the window.

The young curly-haired business owner chuckled and spoke softly, “I’m sure he’ll come. Maybe something just came up.”

“What if something bad happened?” You sighed as you wrapped Chan’s red roses in an old newspaper. “What if he never comes by again?”

“He will,” Chan told you without hesitation as he handed you the money. “Keep the change.”

He left the store and you didn’t see another human walk into the store all day. A sense of worry went through you as closed the store that evening.

You didn’t see Seungmin until Monday.

Focused on re-arranging the lily display, you barely noticed him enter. Truth be told, you didn’t even recognize him until he handed you the money.

Dressed in his school uniform and his face all serious and sad, he was nearly impossible to recognize.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at you.

Seungmin merely walked into the store, picked up a bouquet and handed you the money before walking out.

The next day he came in again, this time dressed in a large hoodie and his baseball cap low on his face. You couldn’t believe how much of a mess he looked.

“Is everything okay?” you asked as you calculated the price of the three gerberas he had picked out.

Seungmin hummed in response, but it didn’t sound like him at all. It was almost like a part of him had gone missing. A part of essential to his being. Once again he walked out without saying a word.

The same thing happened the day after.

“If you want to talk about it,” you spoke hesitantly on Wednesday when he still continued ignoring you, “I’m always here ready to listen.”

To your surprise, when you handed him back the change, you heard a sniffle. Though his head was still hanging low and his cap hid most of it, you could tell that he had begun crying.

Within seconds his sniffles turned into sobs and he leaned against the counter to stay standing. In shock, your eyes widened and for a moment you doubted what to do.

However, when he reached out his hand to you and whispered “Can I take up that offer now?”, you couldn’t help but walk around the counter and pull him into a tight hug. Instinctively, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and let his fingers tangle in your shirt as you wrapped your arms around him and let him cry.

Your grandmother, having heard the crying, walked out from the backroom and gasped in surprise. Holding her hands over her heart, she motioned for you to lead Seungmin to the back, whispering, “I’ll take over your shift. Offer him some tea.”

Gratefully, you led Seungmin to the break room and let him continue crying. When he stopped crying, only half an hour had passed. To you, it felt like much longer. It felt like he had been crying for days, your shirt wet with his tears and your own eyes burning sympathetically.

Suddenly, Seungmin let go of you, as though realizing what he had done. Rapidly —roughly even— he started wiping his face with the back of his hand. He seemed embarrassed about his emotional state, about his willingness to cry on the shoulder of the one person he annoyed every week.

“It’s okay,” you whispered and it was like the valve of his heart had given in and all emotions came flooding out. There was no stopping them.

Without another second of hesitation, Seungmin pulled you back into his arms, resting his head on your shoulder and relishing in the words of comfort you whispered in his ear.

And just like that your heart broke for the first time, in unison with his.

“It’s my mother,” he whispered weakly as your grip on his hoodie tightened. “She’s in hospital. Has been for the past week.”

“What happened?” you asked hesitantly, afraid of triggering more tears.

Seungmin sighed deeply and squeezed his eyes shut, willing his crying to cease, “She was caught in a car crash and she hasn’t woken up still.”

“That’s why you’ve been buying flowers so often,” you realized and he nodded.

He mumbled, “I want her to wake up to the prettiest sight so she could smile again. I really miss her smile.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered again as another set of tears began running down his cheeks. “I’m sure she appreciates it. But she wouldn’t want you to cry.”

“Will you come with me?” he asked in a weak voice after a moment of silence. “To see my mother?”

To say you were surprised at his request would be a major understatement. You were beyond baffled and so you asked, “Why?”

“I don’t want to go alone,” he whispered. “It’s too difficult.”

“I’ll go with you. As long as you wish,” you sighed into his hair as he hummed in appreciation, his tears slowly drying.

That day you walked with him, flowers in hand as you entered his mother’s room. There she lied and at the sight, you felt Seungmin’s hand grip yours tightly. He let out a barely audible whimper of despair before walking up to her and beginning to quietly tell her about his day.

You stood in the doorway, watching him and offering him encouraging smiles whenever he seemed to falter. He seemed too fragile, so gentle compared to the Seungmin who came in every Saturday. This was a side of him you never knew existed.

After an hour of talking and even singing a bit, Seungmin finally pushed himself to his feet and walked back to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your shoulder. He whispered, “Thank you for coming along.”

It repeated for the whole week: every day he came in, bought some flowers and took your hand so you would accompany him to the hospital. In that week, the two of you grew close. You guessed crying with someone really brought people closer. It definitely was the case for you and Seungmin.

The sadness and exhaustion in his eyes slowly began to fade, being replaced with hope and appreciation.

Finally, on Friday, he practically waltzed in, a large smile on his face and his eyes shining with happiness. You could barely react when he ran over to you and picked you up to spin you as his arms remained around your waist. A delighted giggle left his lips as he spoke, “She woke up. She woke up this morning.”

“She did?” you asked, sharing his excitement.

Seungmin nodded enthusiastically, excited to tears as he hugged you tight and sighed in relief, “She’s going to be fine.”

When he came in next Saturday, it wasn’t for his mother.

“Good day,” he cheered as you walked into the store, dressed in a black t-shirt and a jacket. The weather was getting harsher and his clothing style was proof of that.

You hummed in response before focusing back on your crossword, “What would you like today?”

“I’ll have a look around if you don’t mind,” he chuckled, not wanting to bother you when you were so focused on another task. Partly because he cared, but mostly because he recalled a painful experience from the last time he attempted to tear you away from a crossword (let’s just say, he learnt exactly how painful a rolled-up crossword collection could be in the hands of an angry florist).

“Be my guest.”

At that, he began humming without a second of hesitation. He was in a good mood and he tended to display that by singing and today’s song just so happened to be “Be Our Guest” from Beauty and the Beast. You rolled your eyes at the realization.

After some minutes of consideration, he opted for sunflowers. He picked out ten of those and made his way over to the register. He spoke quietly, as not to startle you, “I’ll have these, please.”

You looked up from your crossword and offered a smile. “Sunflowers. My favourite.”

“You like sunflowers?” He raised his eyebrows but you snorted.

“Kind of,” you replied, “but it’s more of an automatic response now. Gotta encourage those customers somehow.”

Seungmin laughed at your honest response. “Do I look like I need more encouragement?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “ten seems kind of a weak number for you.”

He laughed at that and reached out to flick your forehead gently. “I’m already spending half of my weekly pocket money on flowers. How much more do you need?”

“I’m just saying,” you teased him as you wrapped the sunflowers in a newspaper. “Anything else, oh dear customer of mine?”

“A hug would be nice,” he seemed sheepish to admit.

You were taken aback but not one to protest. If there was anything you learnt about Seungmin the week before, it’s that he loved a good hug or twenty. Not only that but he gave incredible hugs.

You chuckled after a moment of thought before opening your arms wide to invite him to hug you. He gladly walked around the counter and wrapped his arms around you. He sighed in content, feeling safe and happy.

“Oh, before I forget,” you pulled back from the hug. “We’re getting a shipment of cacti next tomorrow. Do you want one?”

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Are you trying to bribe me with cactus right now?”

“We only get those shipments once a year. The nice ones are usually bought within three days of arriving,” you told him before mumbling quietly, “I’ve seen you look at the cacti before. Figured you’d like one.”

Seungmin chuckled before humming in appreciation. “Sure. If you’ll be kind enough to put one cactus to the side for me to pick up later, I’d be very happy.”

“All I’m asking in return is you’ll buy me lunch next Saturday.”

“Deal.” He didn’t even hesitate. “But I have to go now. Minhee invited me to her tea party.”

You snorted, “What a perfect young man.”

“Shush.”

You hated Mondays. For several, relatively obvious, reasons.

This Monday though? This Monday you were looking forward to. Why? Because a new young florist would be joining the ranks of your tiny flower store.

You could barely contain your excitement and nervousness as a rather short yet athletic-looking young man dressed in all black walked into the store, holding in his hand a small paper and his phone. He looked up from the note to check the large banner above your head.

“This has to be the place,” he mumbled to himself after checking it twice. Feeling your gaze on himself, the young man walked over and offered a smile, “Hi, I’m Seo Changbin. I believe I was hired?”

“(Y/n)!” you heard your grandmother’s voice from behind. “It’s the new florist! Show him around!”

Normally you would’ve grumbled a bit, not being a big fan of the store’s layout. However, this was a relatively handsome young man in front of you, waiting for a quick tour and instructions. A new co-worker. (New eye candy.) You couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

“Sure!” You smiled and began showing him around, telling him everything he needed to know. As you had predicted by his looks, he wasn’t big on flowers usually. But the job had a good salary and he had rent to pay and school to attend.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to click. Within hours, the two of you were in perfect sync.

“You’re pretty good at this,” you told him on Saturday morning as the two of you attempted to arrange a bride’s bouquet. It wasn’t uncommon for locals to order bouquets and flower arrangements from your store, seeing as you grandmother and you had managed to make a good impression on almost everyone (this doesn’t include the rival store’s owner).

Changbin chuckled as he placed a pastel pink rose in the bouquet, doing so carefully as not to disturb your own work. He spoke, “You’re better than me though.”

“I’ve been doing this for years, Bin,” you told him while doing your damn best to not blush under his gaze. “If I wasn’t any good at this, I would’ve lost my job ages ago.”

“Still,” he continued, “this might just be the prettiest bouquet I’ve ever seen.”

“The roses from across the street are the secret ingredients,” you half-joked. “The gardener’s daughter has been sneaking in all types of roses from around the world. So we have a large variety of those, unlike some other places.”

“The pale blue ones are a nice touch,” he mumbled quietly and you couldn’t help but agree.

As he was about to say something else, the bell on the door rang. In walked Seungmin, once again dressed in a random t-shirt and a jacket. But this time he was missing his usual baseball cap.

“Seungmin,” you cheered, looking up from the bouquet, “What would you like today?”

“I think I have a cactus to pick up.” He smiled brightly before looking around. “I’d also like some lilies, please.”

You hummed before asking, “Which colour and how many?”

“White and red?” Seungmin thought out loud and you nodded before patting Changbin on the shoulder. You teased the new florist, “Your time to shine, Bin.”

“White and red lilies?” Changbin didn’t miss a beat and walked around the counter as you walked to the back to get Seungmin’s cactus, one you had picked out to your best ability.

Seungmin seemed a bit surprised to see your new co-worker but if it bothered him, he didn’t voice it out loud. He didn’t have to. His eyes said it all. Still, the moment Changbin turned to him, Seungmin’s glare was replaced with another bright smile.

“Would you like anything else?” you asked as Seungmin and Changbin made their way back to the counter.

“No, that’s all,” Seungmin replied, his eyes remaining on Changbin who kept sneaking quick glances at you.

What was this feeling in his gut? Jealousy? No. Definitely not jealous. Seungmin didn’t get jealous.

When he left the store and took one last look through the window, he saw you giving Changbin a back-hug and messing with his hair, a shy blush on Changbin’s face. It was decided. Seungmin was absolutely jealous.

Every Saturday from then on, Seungmin found himself fuming with spite when he walked into the store and found you and your co-worker practically linked at the hip.

You hadn’t noticed how close you and Changbin really were, seeing his hugs and teasing and occasional flirting as friendly. Seungmin, on the other hand, saw it as a threat to his very being.

How dare a new guy hit on the florist he never knew he had a crush on?!

The following weekend, Seungmin didn’t come in with the usual enthusiasm or playful insults. He actually hesitated to enter. You know because you watched him stand outside the door for 10 minutes, biting his lip and fidgeting with the sleeves of his slightly too large of a varsity jacket. Even his gaze was hesitant as it wandered around the building.

Finally, you had enough.

You marched over to the door and all but threw it open. Without giving him even a second to think about it, you grabbed him by his sleeve and dragged him inside. “It’s raining outside, idiot.”

“Barely a drizzle,” he mumbled in response as he obediently followed you to the counter. “Hello to you too, by the way.”

“Hi. Nice to see you!” you spoke after letting out a short disbelieving scoff. “What would you like today?”

Instead of replying, Seungmin looked around the room. It was almost like he was looking for something.

A minute passed before he turned back to you. The look in his eyes almost startled. He asked, “No loverboy today?”

“Loverboy?” You blinked.

He puffed out his cheeks and raised his hand to around his chin to indicate a height and spoke, “You know, the guy’s about this tall. Kind of looks like he should be working in a Hot Topic instead of a flower store. Always attached to you.”

“Oh!” you squeaked in surprise. “You mean Changbin? We’re just friends.”

Seungmin had the irresistible urge to roll his eyes. “And he’s not here today?”

“No. I trained him well so now he’s working shifts alone.” You leaned over the counter to pinch his cheek. “It’s just me today.”

“Great!” It was as though a switch had been flipped: Seungmin seemed oddly happy all of a sudden. He grinned and declared, “I’ll take some thirty of gerbera daisies.”

You sighed. Of course, he would place an order this large. “You know, my life would be much easier if you just placed your orders a few days ahead of time.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see your pretty face red in anger,” Seungmin replied easily and you were stunned. He had just called you pretty.

“If- If you say so,” you stuttered out and walked over to the gerberas. “Colour preferences?”

Seungmin hummed in thought. “Red and peach. Half and half.”

“You finally figured out that there are different shades to pink?” you teased him but began picking out the flowers.

Seungmin merely chuckled at that and watched you. For a moment he wondered why he had been so hesitant about coming in.

“So, are you going to pay or not?”

“What?” Only now did he realize he’d been lost in his thoughts. Your little giggle snapped him out of the daze and his face felt hot all of a sudden. “Right. Pay.”

You chuckled at that and asked, “Are you okay, Seungmin? You seem a bit distracted.”

“Don’t,” he warned half-heartedly as he handed you the money.

“Do you have a crush on Changbin or something? You seem kind of upset that he’s not here,” you teased him and this time he scoffed.

His glare settled on you but it wasn’t harsh. No, you could only read playfulness out from his gaze. “Sure, that’s why I come here every Saturday. To see your boyfriend.”

“We’re not dating!” you laughed and walked around the counter to throw your hand over his shoulder. Seungmin felt his heartbeat pick up as you rested your head against him while pushing the bouquet into his hand. “Besides, I prefer you to him any day.”

“Lies.”

“Are you calling me a liar, Kim Seungmin?” you gasped and punched his side gently. He laughed at that.

Before he could reply, the door to the shop flew open and Changbin ran in. A wide smile on his face, the short man rushed over to you and pulled you into a tight hug, twirling your around the room after tearing you out of Seungmin’s grasp.

All hope and joy Seungmin had held in his heart for so long vanished in 5 seconds flat. He couldn’t help but glare at the two of you as you laughed in Changbin’s arms, the small man’s face hidden in the crook of your neck. He scoffed loudly and marched out, flowers in hand and heart burning with hatred.

You could just stare after his retreating figure as he walked out, fuming with anger and distaste as Changbin squealed, “She said YES!”

Another week, another Saturday. You were in the flower store, sorting flowers when the door opened and Seungmin stepped in. The usual bounce was gone from his step and he solemnly made his way to the counter where you were seated. Without a single smile or a hum, he spoke, “I’ll have a box of yellow roses.”

“Not asking me for suggestions this time?” you wondered out loud but began fulfilling his order either way.

You attempted to engage in small talk but he seemed to be having none of it. When you asked him a question, his only responses were quiet hums or shakes of his head. Not a single unnecessary word said.

You tried to shake it off. Maybe he was just having a bad day and was taking it out on you. Or perhaps he was trying not to take it out on you. But you couldn’t convince yourself. This just wasn’t like Seungmin at all and it bothered you.

“Could you hurry up?” he spoke after a while. “I’m kind of in a hurry.” The harshness of his tone made you flinch in your spot but you forced yourself to continue to be hopeful.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t order a box of roses on such short notice,” you suggested teasingly. The chuckle at the end was meant as a sign of goodwill but Seungmin only seemed more irritated by it.

He grumbled something under his breath and leant back against the counter. A moment passed before he spoke, “I’m leaving.”

“I’m not even done with your order yet, Seungmin,” you scoffed at that.

“No, you don’t get it.” He cursed quietly, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. Then he tried once again, “I’m leaving Korea.”

Your heart stopped. The two roses in your hand fell to the ground. “You’re what?”

“I signed up for an international student exchange program two weeks ago,” he spoke quite clearly but refused to look you in the eye. “I’m leaving for America in three days.”

“That’s kind of last-minute.” Shakily you picked up the fallen roses and continued sorting them.

Seungmin shrugged. “They had a free spot and I’d been considering it for a while. Figured I’d give it a go.”

“When will you be back?”

He didn’t answer. “Are you done with the roses yet?”

“Yeah,” you finally sighed and placed the box on the counter.

He left after paying the total, never once looking back. Your heart grumbled as you realized - he never answered your question.

“(Y/n), did you order new gerberas?” Changbin’s voice broke you out of a daze.

You looked around, feeling a bit disoriented as you tried to recall what he had just said. You couldn’t and Changbin could see it in your eyes. He sighed and walked over to you.

Bitterly you stared at the couple ring in his hand. He had what you didn’t - the person he loved by his side. Despite the distaste radiating off you, Changbin pulled you into his arms and pressed a comforting kiss to your head. After all, as your self-appointed best friend of three months, he knew what was going on and could read you like the back of his hand.

You quietly grumbled and got lost in your thoughts again. In the months of not seeing Seungmin, you had come to three important realizations:

ONE: you missed Seungmin’s visits to the flower store and his idiotic habit of buying a worrying amount of flowers with no warning.

TWO: you absolutely did not like the fact that Seungmin was in America and you couldn’t communicate with him.

THREE: you were ridiculously smitten with Kim Seungmin, the annoying flower store customer who had left you alone in Korea for the sake of a student exchange program.

“He’ll be back,” Changbin tried to comfort you but you merely scoffed. “I’m serious.”

“I doubt he’ll come back to the store when he returns to the country,” you mumbled. “He’ll have new friends, new habits.”

Changbin rested his head on yours and sighed. “If he cares for you as much as you care for him, he’ll come back and never let you out of his sight again.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he’s obviously an idiot and I will personally beat him up for you.”

For the first time in what felt like months, you let out a laugh and Changbin couldn’t help but smile upon hearing the sound.

In the six months of not seeing Seungmin, you had made friends with new business owners and staff on the block. The Ninth Street had become a very popular business sight thanks to the advertising that Changbin and Jisung, a boy from the record store down the street, had done over the months as a project for their marketing course in university.

Not a single day went by lonely. Every time you started to feel even a bit of boredom, a familiar face would walk in. Today it was Hyunjin from the photo developing shop at the very end of the street.

His tall model-like figure was not difficult to recognize even in the heavy rain pouring down from the sky. A wide smile appeared on his face as he walked in and greeted you. “Thought you’d be lonely on this rainy day.”

“You know me too well, Hwang Hyunjin,” you laughed and turned on the kettle placed under the counter. “Tea?”

“Yes!” he agreed immediately and enthusiastically. “I wanted to bring cookies but I thought the rain might soak them too much.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got a stash right here,” you proudly declared and pulled a bowl of your grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies out of a drawer. “Eat up.”

Hyunjin stared at you in awe. “I love you.”

“Keep that love talk for your girlfriend.” He scoffed at the mention. “How is she anyway?”

“Annoying as always,” he pointed out. “How many times do I have to tell her that I don’t want to model for her to understand that?”

You shrugged.

“Speaking of girlfriends,” Hyunjin’s eyes suddenly lit up in mischief. “Why aren’t you?”

Not quite understanding, you stared at him in question.

“I mean,” he choked and coughed on a cookie, “why aren’t you dating anyone? Are you not interested in anyone?”

“Not really.”

Hyunjin scoffed once again. “Lies. There are like 7 different, incredibly good looking guys working on this street all year round and you’re trying to tell me you’re not attracted to any of us?”

“Don’t half of you have girlfriends?”

“I get that Chan is a big guy but not even he is big and intimidating enough to make up half of us,” Hyunjin glared at you. “And I’m still single and so is everyone else on this block.”

You offered him a pointed look and he quickly corrected himself, “Alright, so maybe Changbin is in a dedicated relationship and maybe Jisung sort of kind of has a girlfriend but other than that we’re all single.” When you continued looking at him with that look, he finally sighed, “And maybe Minho’s off the market too. Geesh, just tell me.”

“There is this one guy,” you mumbled and Hyunjin’s ears immediately perked up.

Looking almost like a puppy who’s caught sight of a treat in his owner’s hand, Hyunjin asked, “Who? Tell me. Tell me!”

“You need to stop that,” you blinked. “It’s annoying.”

“Just tell me who you like,” he whined and stretched out his arm to flick your forehead. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Your cheeks heated up as you spoke, “There’s this one guy but he went away and I haven’t seen him since.”

The kettle clicked to let you know that the tea water was ready. Without much thought, you poured water in both your and Hyunjin’s designated mugs (which only existed courtesy of Felix who thought that everyone working on Ninth Street should be friends and exchange gifts - he got everyone personalized coffee mugs).

Enjoyable silence filled the store as the two of you waited for your tea to get ready. Hyunjin twirled the tea bag in his mug and suddenly asked, “Is it Seungmin?”

You almost spilt the contents of your mug. “How did you-?”

“Chan is not exactly the best at keeping secrets,” he mumbled sheepishly. “Maybe you should keep that in mind for future reference. Write it on a note somewhere.”

“I’ll keep that in mind from now on,” you grumbled and wiped down the counter. “But it’s not a big deal. He’s not coming back for a while.”

Hyunjin snorted. “He just came back to Korea last night. Jisung said so.”

“Jisung is friends with Seungmin?”

“They’re classmates,” he replied and lifted his mug to his lips to get a taste of the tea. He scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Gosh, this is awful.”

“You forgot the sugar, idiot.”

Seungmin felt like the weight of his feelings was trying to push him down, right into his grave six feet under. His heart was heavy and his head was filled with 20 different ways to speak to you.

During the long walk to the flower store, he came to the conclusion that he should just try to be himself. Sure, it had been 6 months but there’s no way everything had changed so much that he could no longer just be himself.

When he turned to Ninth Street, he was surprised at the number of people walking around. In the past, the street had been almost empty on weekends. He had found comfort in walking down the somewhat abandoned street and ordering a box of roses from you. The thought of you not having anything better to do was what had kept him from feeling guilt about placing such large orders on short notice.

How could he ever ask for a box of yellow roses now when the street was filled with hundreds of curious people.

“Seungmin!” Jeongin’s familiar voice sounded. “You’re back!”

“Yeah,” he laughed somewhat awkwardly. “Got back just two days ago. Slept all through yesterday.”

Jeongin hummed in understanding. “Maybe you should’ve rested today too. You look kind of exhausted.”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” Seungmin couldn’t stop himself from saying and Jeongin merely laughed at that. “Sorry. Old habits.” He cleared his throat and looked around. “What happened here? It’s so lively all of a sudden.”

“Ah, Jisung and Changbin had a marketing project for uni and they decided to advertise the Ninth Street as an ideal hub for small businesses. It worked wonders,” Jeongin told him happily. “Now not a single day goes by quietly. There are so many customers and new people. It’s incredible.”

Seungmin had only one question. “Does the flower store still exist?”

“Yeah,” Jeongin smiled. “(Y/n), her grandmother and Changbin are all so busy these days. The store’s become so popular — everyone goes there nowadays.”

Bidding farewell, Seungmin smiled and walked to the flower store. The building was bigger than he remembered and the sign above the door seemed to shine brighter than six months ago, yet the place held an air of comfort and familiarity. With a sigh of relief, he entered.

True to Jeongin’s words, the shop had more customers than Seungmin could recall ever seeing in the place. There was a couple discussing flower arrangements for their weddings in the lily section, a young man choosing roses to buy for his significant other and two elderly women gushing over the quality of the gerberas that they were trying to buy for their grandchildren’s birthdays.

Seungmin could barely recognize Changbin as he approached the counter. The short male still looked the same for the most part, but he had grown more muscular and the earlier vibe of ‘I’m only here to earn money’ had been replaced with an obvious genuine love for what he was doing. There was a wide smile on the man’s face as he handed a young lady her small potted cactus.

“Have a good day and visit us again!” he called after the lady as she left with a wide grin on her face.

Changbin’s smile only slightly faded as he cleaned the counter. As he finished that, his eyes landed on Seungmin. He couldn’t help but grin and call out, “Yo, Kim Seungmin!”

“Seo Changbin,” Seungmin chuckled somewhat awkwardly. “I see you’re busy.”

“Jisung and I did such a good job on advertising this street that now we get no rest. I’m starting to regret that school project,” Changbin joked.

“How’s (Y/n)? Is she here today?” Seungmin asked. “I thought she worked all Saturdays.”

Changbin clicked his tongue. “She and I switched shifts after she found out that you were coming back. I think she’s upset with you.”

Seungmin bit back a curse. “Do you think I could get her to stop being upset with me?”

“I might have an idea,” Changbin smirked.

It was unusual to work on a Monday. Usually, you avoided this day in favour of sleeping in and maybe going to the theatre. However, your fear of seeing Seungmin again had made you switch shifts with Changbin (who had been more than glad to do so because he wanted an extra couple of hours of sleep before the emotionally draining advertising tactics class in the evening) and now you were suffering the consequences.

“Would you like a ribbon with the flowers? We could arrange it in a bow,” you suggested to the customer as he stood in front of the counter, looking somewhat dumbstruck. Your guess was the guy didn’t visit flower stores very often.

“I- Uh- Sure,” he finally decided and you smiled.

Fiddling with the velvet ribbons, you asked, “Should we do a light blue ribbon to match the flowers or a dark red one to contrast them? Red would also give off an air of passion and love while the blue would give more of an innocent and pure vibe. What do you think?”

The man blushed and mumbled, “The red one should be fine.”

You obediently wrapped his flowers and finished the transaction before smiling and waving him goodbye. The blushy man left and for the first time that day, the store was void of customers.

You sighed in relief but soon put on a smile again as the bell rang. Without a second thought, you turned from the computer screen to the door. Your smile faded.

“Hey there,” Seungmin’s familiar voice greeted you. There was a shy quirk to his lips and you couldn’t help but stop breathing for a second. Instead of delving further into a conversation, he strolled over to the counter as demanded, “I’d like your best red rose. One.”

“Right, of course,” you broke out the miniature daze that had hit you when he entered. “One red rose, coming right up.”

Seungmin watched you quietly before adding, “And maybe a welcome-back hug from my favourite florist?”

Without thinking, you replied, “Sorry, Changbin’s not working until Wednesday.”

Seungmin scoffed between giggles and you melted. He looked you straight in the eyes and spoke, “I meant you, silly. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you couldn’t help but whisper as he rounded the counter and pulled you into his arms. Despite not seeing him for six months, you couldn’t help but cuddle into him. His familiar scent just pulled you in and the familiar beat of his heart calmed you down until your heart matched its speed with his.

Seungmin only pulled back from the hug long enough to mumbled, “I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re back,” you whispered. It would not be a complete lie to say that you were surprised at how fast you were caving in. How was it possible to be this infatuated with a person even after this long?

“Let me make it up to you,” Seungmin suddenly decided and pulled away from you. He seemed almost frantic as he suggested, “Let me take you out on a date and make it up to you. For all these six months that I was an idiot.”

You blinked. “How do you even know if I like you back?”

“Changbin can’t lie to save his life,” he joked, “and I had a feeling. Nothing to do with your computer’s wallpaper.”

Your eyes widened. You had almost forgotten that you had set your wallpaper to a photo of Seungmin. The sudden memory made your heart and breathing stop for a second but Seungmin was quick to comfort you, “Don’t worry. You’re my screensaver too.” He rested his forehead against yours. “So, about that date?”

“What about that rose you came to get?”

Seungmin chuckled, reach out his hand, picked out a rose and placed it between the two of you, never once letting his forehead leave yours.

In a low voice, he spoke, “It’s for you.”

You accepted it without a moment of hesitation.

#inkidz #skz #seungmin #seungmin scenarios #stray kids scenarios #kim seungmin scenarios #admin vy

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47-shades-of-hitman · 3 years

Text

Twelve days of Agent 47 | Day 2

Day 2 - Home for Christmas

[Originally posted here]

[12 days Masterlist]

You visit your parents for the holidays and assure 47 of some things.

Warnings: Implied sex

Agent 47 straightened his tie, fingering the silk of the accessory admiringly. He found it most endearing that you had picked it out for him with so much love and care.

The silver cufflinks looked wonderful on his sleeves, and combined with the shimmering pin on his new tie, it was a complete different look from what he was used to. He looked sleeker, even more elegant than usual.

You appeared on the doorstep of the bedroom, abashed by the handsome appearance of your lover in front of you. It was surprising how often the sight could still take your breath away. Fiddling with the skirt of your dress, you mused a soft: “How do I look?”

47 looked away from the mirror to face you, and his heart leapt in his chest. The colour of your knee-length dress matched the colour of his forest green tie perfectly, being the exact shade, as if it had been made out of the same material. And then, the jewellery he had gifted you. You were picture-perfect – still, to him, you always were, jewellery or not.

“Absolutely beautiful.” he said, his voice warm and laced with a sincere tone reserved purely for you. You smiled softly and stepped towards him, laying a hand on his smooth cheek, rubbing at his jaw gently.

“So do you.” you sighed. “Are you ready to go?”

“Whenever you are.” he replied.

You pressed your crimson-painted lips to his and you giggled upon pulling back and finding them stained with your lipstick. You thumbed it away and gleamed up at him.

“I’m just so happy that we finally get to celebrate Christmas with all of my family.”

Saying it out loud made you realize that the pair of you hadn’t seen your family for such a long time, let alone together.

You were the oldest out of three and your siblings were way further on the area of relationships – your brother Daniel had welcomed a second baby with his wife about three months ago, and your sister Maisie had recently engaged herself to her girlfriend. Being the oldest, you would get bombarded with questions about when 47 and you were going to tie the knot, but you had learned to let those questions slip off of you.

Heading to the hall, you fetched your coat. Agent 47 donned his and grabbed the car keys off the dresser near the door. Upon your way outside, 47 halted you by putting a hand on your arm. “There’s some lipstick on your…” he pointed at your cheek and you quickly brushed it away. He mused a soft ‘no’ when you asked him if it was gone, and he rubbed his index finger over your skin.

The gesture made you blush and you thanked him. Finally making way to the car, you stepped outside in the crisp snow, feeling it creak under your heels.

“You’re looking ravishing, 47.” you breathed as you sat down in the shotgun seat, fastening your seatbelt.

“Well, I do have to look good if I’ve got such a gorgeous girlfriend. Those are the rules.”

The flirty comment was unusual and caused your heart to crawl into your throat. You flushed almost as red as your lipstick.

“Oh, you’re being sappy.”

He quirked a rare smile and drove off.

The trip to your parents normally took roughly half an hour, but thanks to the snow, it took ten minutes longer. It was already becoming dark outside when 47 pulled up into the driveway.

He turned off the engine and the pan with leftover stew you had placed in between your legs on the floor of the car rattled a bit as the engine's soft vibrating ceased. You put a hand on his thigh and softly squeezed.

Behind the doors of your parents’ home, his name was Tobias Rieper. He was ten years younger than he actually was, because otherwise your parents would question his outstanding physique and lack of aging on his face. And for his work, he was a spokesperson for a prominent company, hence why he had to travel so much and why he was rarely home.

Who knew what your parents would think if they found out that you had invited an assassin into your home and bed five years ago…

He put his hand on yours and squeezed it just as tight – a final reassurance right before entering.

Getting out of the car, you grabbed the pan and was greeted with a creak of hinges – the front door stood open, welcoming and bright like it always had been, whenever you needed anything.

The scent of food flooded your senses and your nephew soon stood at your feet, hugging your legs tightly.

“Auntie (Y/n)!”

“Hey there, Jules!” you greeted the four-year-old boy, “Look at you, in that fancy suit!”

He shyly giggled up at you. “Did Santa bring you presents, too?”

“Of course,” you said, “Uncle Tobias is grabbing them from the trunk. Why don’t you go say hi to him? I’m going to bring this food to granny now, okay?”

He didn’t answer you, instead running over to 47, who was already holding a bag filled with carefully wrapped presents. You smiled as you heard Jules happily greeting his uncle whilst you headed to the kitchen. You felt at peace upon seeing your mother checking on the turkey and you placed the pan onto the stove gingerly.

“Hey, ma.” you greeted, and she put her hand on her heart, as your sudden arrival had spooked her a little. Sharing a home with a hitman had made you almost forget that your footsteps were quiet – at least to ordinary people.

“Oh, sweetie, you startled me.” “I’m sorry ma.” She hugged you tightly and you inhaled her familiar scent, something you missed quite often if you were being honest.

“You look beautiful. Oh, and your necklace! It brings out your eyes beautifully!”

A bashful smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you, ma. You look dashing yourself!”

She waved her hand in the air. “Oh, stop it, you!” Your mother wore the same dress she had been wearing on Christmas day for the past thirty-five years, at least as far as you remembered. You had never seen her in a different fancy dress, but you didn’t mind. It made you nostalgic, if anything.

Agent 47 appeared next to you and your mother smiled at him. “Oh, Tobias! How have you been, darling?”

She embraced him and he awkwardly hugged her back. “Ah, I’ve been wonderful, thank you Mrs (L/n).”

“How often do I have to keep saying it? It’s Guinevere. You’ve been part of the family for long enough!” She patted him on the nose with the back of the wooden ladle she was holding, soon turning back to her pans. 47 shared an unsure look with you, but you could only smirk in amusement.

“You two go check on your siblings, alright? I believe little Tilly has just awoken. She has been sleeping in pa’s arms so cutesy, really (Y/n), you need to see the pictures!”

“Of course!” you laughed, taking 47’s hand and leading him to the living room. The fireplace was blazing brightly and your brother was just keeping Jules well away from it when you entered.

“Hey everybody, Merry Christmas!”

“(Y/n)!” your sister Maisie cheered, leaving her fiancée’s side to hug you tight. “You two are looking like a dream!”

She gave 47 a quick hug – he wasn’t one for physical contact and she knew that. Maisie’s lover Charlotte stood and greeted you too, albeit a bit unnaturally. She was still a bit shy around you, even though she had been around for two years now.

After greeting everyone, your mother called everyone around the table. With the growing family, it had been expanded with a small table on the side of it, where Jules sat with his mother Sarah, so she could keep an eye on both him and the baby.

On the menu was turkey, salad, mashed potatoes, and a whole lot of other things you absolutely loved. Under the table, your hand rested on 47’s lap, squeezing his leg every so often to remind him that you were aware of his presence despite your small-talk with your family.

As you had expected, the subject of marriage came onto the table quite soon, seeing as your mother became entirely engrossed in the silver engagement ring around Charlotte’s finger – and it didn’t take long for her to divert her attention to your relationship with 47.

“Say, (Y/n), what do you think of the ring?”

“I think it’s pretty.” you said, talking a sip of wine.

“Wouldn’t you like one of your own, then?”

You sighed mentally and shrugged. “Tobias doesn’t need to give me a ring to prove to me that he loves me.” 47 hummed out a pleasant sound that made your toes tingle, soft enough to be heard only by you. “He does it through different ways.”

Your sister whistled through her teeth, smirking, and it made your mother a bit flustered. “Oh, Maisie, you’re thirty years old, grow up!”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “It’s alright, ma.” 47’s hand came to rest atop yours and you turned your palm so that you could intertwine your fingers. “I just love him for who he is. A ring won’t make a difference in that.”

It was true – time and time again, you had proven that you loved him unconditionally. And if 47 eventually decided to put an official title to it, sealing your relationship with marriage, than you’d take it with both hands.

But for now, this was all you ever wanted, and even more than that.

#Agent 47 #agent 47 x reader #hitman #hitman series #David Bateson #self insert #reader insert #twelve days of christmas #io interactive

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justimajin · 4 years

Text

It’s a Reverse Basket ◍ Part 13

⇝ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⇝ Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst

↳ Basketball AU, Crossdressing AU

⇝ Words: 3.4k

⇝ Summary: Basketball is your everything; your passion for it running deep and wanting nothing more then to play the sport. Problem is, the sport isn’t offered competitively to girls and with that, all your hopes immediately fizzle away… …but who ever said that was going to stop you?

⇝ Warnings: pg13; I was smiling like crazy while posting this so there’s your biggest warning

gif credit.

⇝ Previous Parts: Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

⇝ Next Update: Tuesday, June 9

The park is insanely crowded.

Parents, children, couples, the elderly; all of them populate and flood the area. Some choosing to sit on the benches with frozen dessert filled cones underneath the humid sun, while others are occupied in either flying kites or conversing with one another, too lost in thought to notice the grand tree that sits in the middle of the recreational area.

Thankfully, it’s length provides more than enough shade from the blazing heat outside, a deep exhale of relief passing by the seams of your lips. The dancing wind in the air whistles by you, weaving through the locks that fall down from your shoulders and drape all the way to your waist. You unconsciously straighten your posture, the high elevation of your shoes barely stabilizing your body’s weight and leaving your feet to be stuck in between the cracks of the concrete. A hand remains firm on the dangling bag hanging off your shoulder, resting right on top of the brightly coloured skirt that hugs your thighs.

Glancing up, your wide eyes roam around until someone walks past you, flinching and hiding your face beneath the confines of your giant floppy hat. Another sigh manages to leave you, arms tightly hugging your form when the reminiscence memories of your current situation begin to surface.

***

It starts off with a mere question.

Yoongi stands before you after practice, a smile drawn out on your lips despite the heaving exhaustion reigning high on your limbs and the excess of water clinging to your skin. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, rather he opts out for keeping his gaze fixated on the ground as a hand comes up to rub the back of his neck.

“Do you–…..” A sigh escapes him, shoulders shrugging down. You almost want to ask if there’s something wrong, words soon becoming forgotten when Yoongi suddenly turns and holds seriousness in his stance.

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

“Oh, now?” You place your basketball into the cart, dusting off your shorts and jersey before glancing at him curiously. Yoongi deeply sighs, lightly shaking his head.

“I meant alone.”

“Alone…?” You ponder, observing around to see that everyone had been long gone since your practice had come to an end. Even Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t manage to stay behind, too famished from the tiring session to wait any longer.

Yoongi sighs again, your eyes darting everywhere when you can’t seem to string together his collection of thoughts. He also appears incredibly annoyed, something that causes you to ramble with a series of your own inquiries instead.

“Did you need to tell me something? We can talk here, we’re alone and–“

“I-I mean…” Yoongi exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Outside of this court, alone, going out somewhere together.”

You naively blink at him, appearing even more confused than before and Yoongi sighs for what feels like the fiftieth time, hands raising to completely cover his face. It’s only until you see the light hue of pink spreading across him that a bulb finally begins to regain some light, eyes are big as a deer’s and words sputtering out jumbled.

“O-Oh…” You lightly laugh, unsure of what to do in the circumstance. When Yoongi glances at you with hopeful eyes, it dawns on you just how much he’s been wanting to ask you this.

“Sure.” You softly smile, “We can go somewhere together.”

His shoulder slump down from the giant exhale of relief that escapes him, a blinding smile on his features that you have to admit has your heart fluttering a bit. “Great, meet me at the park near the school tomorrow.”

You nod, following him outside of the gym. As soon as you wave him off, you whirl around to head back to your dorm, the brightening smile on your lips being far too evident when the giddiness rushes over you. You’re practically gleaming with joy until you head outside.

The sound of immediate water bulleting onto the ground makes you frown, the ill prospect of having to walk through it occuring in your mind. However, not even the weather manages to dampen your mood when you splash around the puddles forming in between gaps of the cement, a dazed look still in your eyes.

When you plop into a certain puddle that has a large amount of water bursting over your shoes, you giggle until the water settles back into its original place, eyes falling onto the way it whirls and pools around to transform a blurry reflection of you into a clearer one. Your smile drops, feet slowly padding forward to get a better look.

Your soaked hair barely falls down onto your cheeks, beads of water sticking to skin that hasn’t been taken care of in exchange for rigorous practices. The jersey you wear is completely oversized, glancing down to see the baggy shorts it meets and the beaten-up shoes that have been roughly laced up.

Tired eyes stare at the puddle again, traces of doubt emerge upon your face. You start to slowly back away, immediately rushing back to your dorm as fast as you can.

***

“Helloo~” A voice calls out into the abyss of the dorm, eyes falling onto you slumped on the couch. Her brows furrow, brown locks wrapped up in a bun and a large bag secured in her hands. “Y/N?”

You glance up, not even noticing her arrival until she had called you from the doorframe. Scurrying from the couch, you immediately apologize.

“It’s great to see you again.” You move to hug her and Hyerin laughs.

“Of course I’m back.” There’s a snicker in her voice when she parts from you, “My best friend’s going on a date after all!”

You lightly chuckle at that and she glances around, hugging the bag closer to her form.

“Is anyone here….?”

You shake your head, “Jungkook and Taehyung are out.”

“Great!” She hurriedly unzips her bag, emptying out the contents within an instant. You look over with wide eyes to see an array of clothes, cosmetics and accessories.

Hyerin smirks, “I had to come prepared.” Whirling around, she hands you a mountain of clothes, “Quick, try these on!”

Nodding, you head into your room and set the flourishing pile down onto your bed. Moving to close the door, you pause as you catch sight of the mirror hanging on your wall, eyes latching onto the reflection.

Hyerin dips into your room, head poking in. “Y/N! Come on, why aren’t you trying them on?”

You smile at her warily and she frowns, shuffling closer to you, “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know…” You honestly admit, “I kind of wonder if Yoongi’s even attracted to me….”

“Attracted to you?” Hyerin stands in front of the mirror, “What do you mean?”

You nod over to your reflection, “This is what he sees all the time, this hair, this jersey.”

You gesture to yourself and concern takes hold of Hyerin’s eyes. Although you’re glad she’s here to help you, you can’t help but wonder. Admittedly playing a sport all the time doesn’t help either, being in a constant state of sweaty exhaustion that doesn’t leave much to the beholder’s eye.

“Y/N…” Hyerin whispers, “Listen, he definitely likes you. I mean, we’re talking about a guy here who’s seen you wearing a god-awful fake wig and then practicing basketball every single day with him.” You softly smile at that, “Maybe we shouldn’t do this if you’re not comfortable with it….”

“No!” You hurriedly say, shaking your head. Although you had initially asked Hyerin to help you look like yourself for this, a part of you just misses the natural appearance as well. It had been something you’ve wanted to show Yoongi too, growing tired of constantly concealing your identity around him and living in the fear of someone finding out. “I-I want to do this…you’re right.”

She spins around with a smile, glancing down at the clothes she’s picked out for you. “And besides, he’s already kissed you so I’m definitely assuming there’s some attraction there.”

Her comment leaves you entirely flustered, skin brightly flushing and her laugh ringing through when she knows the remark has gotten to you. After breaking you out of your embarrassed state, Hyerin gives you some time to try out the clothes she’s brought and you faintly smile viewing the clothes you used to once upon a time constantly wear.

You end up picking out a white sweater and a light blue skirt from the abundant pile, something you would have casually worn on a normal day. After some endless persuasion from Hyerin, you’ve given a flashing silver purse and matching heels as a result, trying the ensemble on and spinning around to show her.

“I feel like we’re missing something….” You remark. Hyerin knowing smirks, grabbing a long mop of locks from her bag and combing them out.

“And I think I know exactly what it is.”

You laugh as she places it on your head, her eager eyes being grateful to have some form of your long hair back, even if it wasn’t permanent. When you stand up to glance at the mirror again, your lips stretch out wide when you’re staring at the you from so long ago, the one that didn’t know where her future would have eventually taken her.

Once Hyerin places a hat on your head to conceal your face, you wave her a goodbye as you prepare to leave and she wishes you good luck, remarking that if Yoongi doesn’t pass out at the sight of you she’ll make sure he will.

***

You spare a glance at your watch again, quickly scanning the area without leaving the shade. Pursuing your lips, it’s only until you recognize the faint jogging from a distance that hopes fills you.

Yoongi plants his hands on his knees, heaving for a second as you wait with a soft smile. When he stands up, you can see the slight flush in his cheeks, exhaustion weighing heavy on his eyes. He’s dressed in a plain white shirt and ripped jeans, a blue beanie sitting on top of his head and his red locks poking out underneath.

You watch his expression contort from relief into astonishment, eyes wide as he takes a step back.

“Y-Y/N?”

You’re puzzled by his reaction, the realization of your appearance suddenly dawning on you and a light laugh escaping your lips.

“I figured since we’re not at school…”

“Right, right.” Yoongi shakes his head far too many times, standing next to you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. When abruptly he starts walking, you slowly shuffle behind, careful not to trip over the stones in the gravel.

Yoongi pauses as you catch up to him, a silent stare in his eyes when he lifts his hand out of his pocket. You look up in surprise when he laces his fingers with yours, breaking all eye contact with you.

“J-Just so you don’t get lost.” He mumbles under his breath, steadying his pace more to meet up with your own. You can’t stop the soft smile that curls up on your lips at that, remaining glued to his side.

“Where are we going?” You question, a little confused since he never mentioned the exact place he wanted to take you.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, simply pointing in the direction ahead and your eyes narrow where a large field is located. It’s swarmed with people, many walking alongside you towards it in groups and the realization only strikes you once you enter through the large metal doors, roars and screams echoing into your ears.

Your eyes are enlarged, almost transfixed with the giant stadium and the large scale. You begin to tremble a bit as well, so overwhelmed that you accidentally bump into someone, Yoongi being quick to catch you before you stumble.

“T-Thanks.” You sheepishly whisper, still stuck with awe as Yoongi chuckles. His grip on your hand becomes firm, practically racing to get you a quick seat on the bleachers.

As you plop down on a spot that is emerged within the large crowd, Yoongi can only stare at you with a smile when your eyes fluctuate, taking in every single detail like it was the last time you were ever going to see any of it.

He leans in closer to your ear, “Like it?”

“Like it?” The words seem too less to describe what you’re feeling right now, “I-I love it….I didn’t know there was going to be a game here, I’ve always wanted–“

He’s grinning when you face him, a laugh stifling out from you, “I’ve always wanted to come here, thank you.”

Yoongi nods, already understanding the excitement. He was initially nervous when the idea first struck him, caught up in debating if you would like it or if he was making a horrible mistake.

However there was no questioning that spark he’s noticed in your eyes when you talk about basketball, a glimmer of hope for him that more than anything else, this something you would end up truly loving.

The lights flash and your eyes widen, Yoongi moving to point over to the players entering in. The crowd begins to shriek, the lights following each member as they take the center stage.

Anticipation practically bubbles in you, head darting back and forth with impatient eyes to see the referee strutting into the middle. Once the whistle is blown, the players instantly begin to sprint, racing after the bright orange ball that becomes difficult to trace with every impending minute. One of them, the one currently grasping onto the basketball, dribbles it rapidly in between his feet before sending it over to one of his other members, the action being so quick that your eyes can barely keep up.

“A crossover dribble.” Yoongi whispers, your eyes lighting up when he shuffles closer. You don’t even realize the proximity, too keen on understanding, “If he waited a minute longer, he could have tripped and the game wouldn’t have been counted.”

You hum, watching another member do it but much quicker, picking up on the fact that speed was crucial in order to do such a pass. The member then spins rapidly, launching the ball behind him as a way to confuse the defense of the opposite team.

“He caught his attention first but then threw the ball away, his team needed to be prepared to do something like that.” Yoongi points over to the member that was standing behind the first one, ready to receive the basketball when the ball suddenly is launched from behind. You hum again, the initial anticipation of the game wearing out when you become more interested in picking up how the team before you was able to stay so on top of their game, swiftly gaining a point.

Yoongi thankfully continues to explain any difficult passes and techniques, your questions also considering the fact that your team hasn’t learned most of it. He then explains that certain techniques required too much training, so he and Namjoon instead focus more on strengthening the basic skills first before jumping towards levels where the entire team can struggle. It’s admirable to hear, comprehending that organizing such a giant team made up of your members with different strengths, can prove to be a lot difficult when the entire team needs to be on the same ground instead of varying ones.

A soft smile curls on your features when your attention is captured by one of the members, his intense speed and stroke of observation enabling him to soar over to the opposite end of the goal, swiftly ducking through all the members after him. When he passes the ball to another member and they score, he grins and runs over to them to give a high five, a giggle being earned from you.

“What is it?” Yoongi curiously questions, your hand pointing over to him.

“That guy, he kind of reminds me of Taehyung.”

Yoongi chuckles, pointing to another one, “There’s a Jungkook too.”

Surely the person Yoongi points to is the one that’s constantly latched onto the basketball, intent on scoring as fast as possible but being continuously halted by the other team who recognize him as a target. His appearance is similar as well, something that only has you further agreeing with him too.

“But we don’t have any of the other members….” You sadly whisper, but Yoongi smirks.

“I think I found a Y/N though.”

You raise an eyebrow when he points over to the shortest member, one you’ve noticed appears to have the most energy and determination as he quickly dusts himself off and rushes to assist other members of his team. Although his mannerisms and vibe are very similar to you, his arms and legs ripple with huge muscles and his face is completely covered with a beard.

You make a face at that, which doesn’t allow Yoongi to hold back his stifling laughter. He goes on and on, making you pout at the implication.

“Yoongi….” You exasperatedly whine.

“I was just teasing.” He reassures, but then he starts making comments about how familiar the man looks, pondering if he was really a girl disguised as a guy.

“Yoongi!” You whisper louder this time and he keeps snickering, failing to keep the smile that crosses you under bay as well. You laugh alongside him when he debates if you should ask for an autograph and how the story could be inspiring, eventually stopping his ramble when you lean your head against his shoulder, a comfortable silence overtaking you as you both continue watching the rest of the game.

***

Night falls by the time the game ends, a large volume of people rising from their seats instantly and having you stick closer to Yoongi, afraid you’ll get mixed up within the chaotic crowd. Although he still keeps a firm grasp on your hand, your heels manage to get caught up on some grass and you get pushed back. Yoongi whirls around, attempting to catch a glimpse of you through the sea of people and your waving hand from afar greets him. He grits trying to make his way across, grabbing onto you and hastily yanking so you don’t get lost again. Unfortunately, he ends up tugging a little too hard, resulting in you stumbling and falling right against him. Your arms enclose around his torso and your head rests on top of his chest, but he doesn’t seem to mind the position as you slowly make you out.

Once all the people disperse, you eventually have to clear your throat to make Yoongi realize he’s literally hugging you, his arms hurriedly breaking away with a quiet apology.

He walks you back to your dorm, the slight breeze in the air making you shiver and wanting to get into the warmth of the building right away. Turning around, you’re about to thank Yoongi for taking you to watch the game but he beats you to it.

“Y/N I–…” His mouth clamps shut when he gazes at you, lips downturned.

Crossing your arms, you pad closer to him in concern. “Yoongi, what is it?”

“Maybe you’d like to go out like this some other time? You know, like a…?” He gestures in between you two, nose scrunched as if the words themselves weren’t reaching his voice just yet.

You can’t help the question that bubbles out, practically blurting it out.

“L-Like a couple…?”

Yoongi still can’t seem to retort anything to that, so you immediately take the opportunity up and give an answer.

“Sure, I uh,” You smile, “I’d really like that.”

You miss the way his eyes light up, features softening already from the prospect as you grace him with a tender smile. After bidding him goodbye, you calmly head back into the building and smoothly enter the elevator. Once your floor arrives, you quietly pad into the room knowing that your roommates are probably asleep by now, however the moment you enter your room, you’re forced to instantly cover the spreading blush overtaking your features, the huge smile on your lips already straining against your cheeks.

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lakesandquarries · 3 years

Text

Baby Shoes - Chapter 3

Bubby has been a doctor at Black Mesa for 20 years, living there for 50. He’s been bouncing around from project to project, working on whatever needs most help. He doesn’t have any opinions on his work or his coworkers or anything like that, preferring to keep to himself.

Then he meets Black Mesa’s newest project.

AKA: Bubby is Benrey’s dad au.

title from “Baby Shoes” by Bad Books.

SIDE NOTE please look at this FANTASTIC art by my friend @8redphoenix8!!!! thank u SO much i love u

also happy seventh night of hanukkah!!!!

AO3 Link

Dr. Elkern is, apparently, dead set on having Bubby continue work on the arm prototypes. But he does allow them to spend most of their time over in Biological Research, only needing to check on the arm project occasionally.

It’s something. He spends most of his time with Dr. Zeki, who has made her dislike of him quite clear. But she does seem to appreciate a new perspective, even if she ignores it most of the time.

He also spends a fair amount of time with Dekkard - whose first name is apparently Derek - as well. He’s new, fresh out of college, the son of a friend of someone high up. He’s quite forthcoming about his complete lack of qualifications, and fully expects to be fired within the next month.

Dekkard is...refreshing, if Bubby is being honest. He lacks the fear the others in Biological Research have of Bubby, willing to speak his mind and joke around and actually listen when Bubby speaks. Currently Dekkard’s little more than a glorified secretary, keeping track of the various projects happening in the Biological Research Department, who’s working on them, and their schedules. He also makes excellent coffee.

“You should quit,” Bubby says by way of greeting as he approaches Dekkard’s desk. Dekkard spins in his chair, smiling at him.

“And lose all these benefits? Hm, not yet.” He slides a disposable cup over to Bubby, who sips it approvingly. It’s dark, bitter, and slightly burnt, just the way he likes it.

Bubby leans on the desk, nudging the ever-present slinky. “Do you know the agenda for today?”

“Dr. Zeki has four meetings, three of which are back to back.”

A slow smile spreads across Bubby’s face. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.”

“I’m gonna cover all her stuff in tin foil while she’s busy.”

“Oh, you’ve made it even better.”

“Wanna help?”

It’s tempting. But Zeki being busy means he can see Benrey, actually see them and not just stare wistfully through one way glass.

“Another time, maybe.”

Dekkard nods. “Well. See you around, if I don’t get fired first.”

Bubby nods, tossing his empty cup into the trash. “Good luck with your project.”

He has, somehow, started figuring out his way around Biological Research. The various creatures make good landmarks. Take a left at the carnivorous bees, keep going straight when you see the ice squirrels, and the acid slimes tell you you’re going the right way. The room is blessedly empty, devoid of any scientists besides Bubby himself.

On the other side of the glass is Benrey. Bubby steps closer, placing a hand on the glass, watching them. They’ve barely moved since Bubby first saw them in this cell. The only time they have any sort of reaction is when they’re fed, which happens exactly three times a day. It’s a simple process from the scientist’s end - open door, slide in food, close door - and has given Bubby a very good view of the keypad and the code needed to open it.

He gives a quick glance into the hall before he types the code in. The door opens.

Benrey doesn’t respond to the noise, pale yellow eyes still staring blankly at the floor in front of them. Their skin, already a strangely desaturated shade when Bubby met them before, seems nearly grey now, and the dark smudge around their eyes has darkened like a bruise.

He takes a few steps forward, shoes clacking against the floor. Benrey flinches as much as the chains will allow them to, squeezing their eyes shut tight. Bubby crouches down so he’s roughly eye level with them, a good distance away.

“Benrey,” he whispers.

Their eyes open. Their head shoots up, looking around frantically before realizing where Bubby is. They strain against the chains, trying to move closer, making a faint whining noise when they realize they can’t.

Bubby shuffles closer, reaching a hand out, and Benrey leans into the touch.

“Hello again,” he says softly. “I’m sorry our previous meeting got cut short, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come see you again.”

Benrey makes a rumbling noise, almost - no, exactly like a purr. Bubby has never seen a cat, but he’s seen videos, heard them described, and he’s fairly certain the noise and vibrating are the same. Benrey opens their mouth, those coloured bubbles Bubby saw previously tumbling out, this time a bright yellow. Sweet Voice, Benrey had called it. He reaches out for one, feeling it dissolve in his hand with a wave of pure joy.

Happiness, then. Yellow...a happy fellow?

It astounds him how Benrey can express happiness like this while still chained up, barely able to move.

“I’ve been reassigned,” Bubby says quietly, moving closer and running his hand through Benrey’s hair. “I work here now. Mostly. I’ve been talking to the other scientists, I’m hoping I can...improve things here, at least a bit.”

He gets the impression Benrey isn’t really listening, focused more on the feeling of Bubby’s hand in their hair. Well, that’s fine with him. He moves closer again, close enough to gather Benrey onto his lap, letting them bury their face in his shoulder.

They’re so small.

He spends a few minutes just sitting there, petting Benrey’s hair, the room silent aside from their purring. It’s the closest thing Bubby has had to peace in a very long time.

Eventually, though, he does need to speak again. Zeki may be busy for most of the day, but time is a limited resource here in Black Mesa.

“I had a few questions for you,” Bubby says softly. He doesn’t move his hand away from Benrey’s hair. “How long have you been here?”

They tense up. “Forever.”

“Forever?”

He can feel Benrey nod against his chest. “Basically forever. I’m from somewhere else but I don’t really remember it.”

“Xen?”

Another nod. “The sky was pretty there. Lots of colours.”

Bubby’s only seen the sky in brief glimpses. He’d managed an almost-successful escape attempt once, in his teens, that had him outside in the middle of the night. The sky has been nearly black, but the moon was bright and full and the stars were one of the most incredible things he’d ever seen.

“I think you’ll like the sky here. I won’t - I can’t promise you anything. But perhaps at some point we’ll go see it together.”

It’s a silly daydream, Bubby knows, but it’s one he’s been clinging to over the last few days. As a child he’d dreamt of escaping, going somewhere far away from Black Mesa, living as a regular human being with no tubes or tests. He still dreams of the same thing, but lately, in his daydreams, his home has an additional occupant.

He doesn’t share any of this with Benrey. It’s nothing more than a pipedream, a small fragment of hope, and it’ll do nothing to help them if he makes a promise he’s doomed to break.

“I want to try and make things easier for you here,” he says. “As I said, I can’t make any promises, but I’m going to try. ”

Benrey nuzzles their face into his shoulder with a soft hiccuping sound. “You’re nice,” they mumble.

Bubby huffs. No one has ever called him nice before. He’s capable of being polite, yes, but his temper is well-known amongst Black Mesa staff. His pyrokinesis and accidental habit of setting things on fire when annoyed cemented his reputation. Dekkard is about the only employee that isn’t working on a project with him willing to be around him for more than ten minutes.

Of course, Benrey’s quite different from any of the scientists.

They pull away from his shoulder suddenly, yawning. Bubby is not an expert on teeth, but he’s fairly sure there’s not supposed to be that many.

“Are you tired? Do you need to sleep?”

“I’m, uh -” they bite their lip, face scrunched up with the effort of remembering something. “I don’t need much sleep. Don’t like it.”

“I can stay here while you rest. I’ll need to leave in a bit, but I have…” he pulls his pager out of his pocket, glancing at the time. “At least a few hours. If you’d like to nap.”

“You’ll stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Benrey leans forward again, resting their head on Bubby’s shoulder. “Mmm,” they mumble, more of the sweet voice slipping out, this time a pale, icy blue. When Bubby touches it he’s overwhelmed by the feeling of exhaustion.

It takes Benrey a moment to relax, but eventually they go limp, making small noises in their sleep. It’s - well. If Bubby were the type of person to describe things as cute he would say it was absolutely adorable.

He does, however, wish he’d brought a book.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #bubby hlvrai #benrey hlvrai #benrey #bubby #cora writes #bbs #baby shoes au

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reynesofcastamere · 4 years

Text

Broken Shards[β]

(A/N: This fic is for @awryen, who I also asked for prompts/requests and was given the option of a slightly more dark/cynical Ahsoka working with Maul, or him helping her deal with her nightmares. Once again, having no self-control-and a lot of free time-, I chose both. Also, smut was not requested but it wound up in here anyway! XD. Mention of previous Ahsoka/Barriss. Warnings for disturbing imagery, violence, death, depression/intrusive thoughts, blood and possible dub-con.(Potentially triggering sections will be marked with ****) Absolutely Not Safe For Work and unbeta’d as usual.)

****

How could you do it?

The Temple burns, and the Jedi with it. But they do not fall. They stand, mouths gaping open in silent screams, empty eye sockets weeping blood in half a hundred colours. Her Master cuts them to pieces, again and again. He is not alone. Barriss stands beside him, eyes filled with grim conviction, the clone troopers flanking this tableau of horror and carnage like mindless automatons. Ahsoka can only watch, helpless and immobilized as the people she loves are burnt, broken and mutilated by their own comrades. Even the younglings...Her stomach churns.

There is only one body, one face that remains undefiled in all of this. Senator Amidala smiles, serene and welcoming. But she is just as dead as all the rest. Did you kill her too? The woman you loved, the one you trusted with your life: Did you even care, in the end? Anakin Skywalker stops to look back at her, eyes corrupted, turned to sickly, acidic yellow rimmed in old blood. ‘You weren’t here, Ahsoka.’ He pronounces with utter certainty, that her leaving was the one thing that sent him toppling into the Dark. ‘But it’s not too late.’ Black segments crawl, beetle-like, over him and Barriss, transforming them into her waking nightmares. Vader and the Seventh Sister. ‘Join us. And seize your destiny.’

NO!

****

“Ahsoka.” Her lids snap open, breathing stuttered and rapid, heartbeat going into overdrive as she sees another pair of awful, venomous eyes looming over her in the semi-darkness. She lashes out blindly, determined not to go down without a fight. The hands that catch her wrists are bare and callused. Strong. She needs to fight harder, to get out, get away- “Naak, cabur. Gar racin kyr’adiise munit dar. [Peace, guardian. Your pale corpses (are) long gone].” Her eyes well up with unbidden moisture, suddenly overwhelmed. Ahsoka is relieved at hearing a ruthless killer speak Mando’a to her in a hushed, hypnotic tone. Because it is better than the hiss and wheeze of the machines powering the...abomination that her Master has become. She can feel Maul’s hands move to cup her face, the pads of his thumbs brushing the tears that managed to escape. He seems more curious than anything else, head tilted slightly as he examines her. “Have you never seen anyone cry before?” Her voice is weak, despite the attempt at humour. “Not this close. I lost the ability some time ago.” He replies, calm and completely untroubled. As if it were normal, and she is somehow the strange one for not being able to control her body’s response to the terrors plaguing her sleep. Perhaps she is. Her Master has willingly chained himself to a monster that devours galaxies to satiate his hunger for absolute power. Most of her friends and comrades-in-arms are either dead or missing, a fellow Padawan and former lover is hunting down Force-sensitive children for slaughter or brainwashing; Her current lover-enemy-ally is a former Sith assassin at the head of a criminal empire. And Ahsoka....Ahsoka lies, steals, and kills while she bargains with slavers and worse for anything that will help keep the Rebel Alliance alive and undetected just one day longer. What is the point? Even control of the Force eludes her because she cannot find peace. The closest she comes to it these days is the brief oblivion of climax or a few hours of dreamless slumber. The rest is bitterness and pain wrapped in a dull grey haze.Which is why she is here. Maul at least makes her feel something. The sharp bite of anger, the rush of drive and ambition, the raw red strength of clinging to life and refusing to let go. She pulls away then, turning over and presenting herself to him. “Are you certain?” “I’m not in the mood to beg. Now-aaaaaAAAaaah-” Before she can issue an order, he has grasped her hips and is entering her roughly. She is not quite ready. Every shift and thrust hurts, but this is what she wants. To be used hard enough that she aches for days afterwards, just to hold on to some sliver of what keeps him burning so fiercely. Maul presses her down, forcing her to turn her head to avoid being smothered by the pillow, the peaks of her breasts rubbing against the sheets as she is made to lift her backside higher. The change in angle is enough to provoke another long, mangled stream of vowels. “Touch yourself.” He hisses, and oh, it feels as if he could pierce right through her and keep going.Every sharp plunge impacts her cervix, the sound of their bodies meeting only becoming more and more crude as her arousal builds. Ahsoka pants and reaches for herself in a half-dazed state as he growls and fucks her harder. The base of him slides against her fingertips a few times before she finds her nub, circling it with her middle finger as her other digits spread her folds open. “Now. You will tell me what is wrong.” Her stomach sinks even as he makes her moan. “W-what are you talking about?” “Your presence in the Force is practically non-existant, despite the ghosts that cling to your shoulders.” Maul snarls. “You are lost, listless, submissive...Before, you would have made me struggle for the privilege of having you like this.” She is trapped, something he emphasizes by leaning over, lips brushing against her jaw with each word. “You were glorious, Ahsoka Tano. And now you are a ruin, waiting to crumble.” He still hasn’t let up his pace, as if to discipline her for these ‘defects’. Her lips tighten as she buries her face in the pillow. It is none of his damned business why she is different, now. Besides, why should he care? Ahsoka expects him to keep going, and is mildly shocked when he stops, withdrawing from her core with a speed that borders on violent as he turns her over and yanks her upright. “Look at me.” A demand which she blatantly ignores until he manipulates the Dark Side to hold her chin in place, his hands gripping tightly to her upper arms.

There is anger in his sunburst gaze and in the power that roils and snaps around him, but beneath that...Oh. He is afraid...For her? The revelation hits with the force of a sudden blow to the chest, and only grows more solid as their foreheads come to rest together, his stare softening by slow degrees. “I-” Ahsoka swallows a choked sob. “You were right. Anakin- he-he was Sidious’s apprentice all along. I didn’t want to believe it, but Vader-” She can’t bring herself to say the words. “I failed him. If I hadn’t left-” “No.” Maul’s snarl cuts into her self-recrimination. “Your Master failed. And continues to fail every day that he allows Sidious to live.” He releases his grip to trace the outline of her lekku, then up her throat and along her jaw. “They think themselves untouchable, but they forget...The dark is generous, and it is patient, and soon, very soon, their stars will burn out.” His words are silk and poison on the air, and she wants- “Join me.”

“What, no offer to rule the galaxy this time?” She retorts dryly, trying to cover up the fact that she is wavering, kept on the edge of a steep cliff by the barest sliver of rock.

“You have rejected power, revenge, and almost every other shade of temptation placed before you. I can only offer myself.” There is some scrap of cautious hope in his gaze as he answers, the words devastatingly simple. Yet for someone like him, secrets and vulnerabilities so carefully safeguarded, it means everything. If she accepts, if she falls, her life will change irreversibly. There is no guarantee that she will be able to hold onto herself once she takes that final step. Maul has never been a moderating influence. And Rex...She’s not certain what he or anyone else she still calls ‘friend’ would think of this. Perhaps...it is not impossible to find a middle ground. “Show me?” Ahsoka asks, breathless and uncertain, but willing to extend some degree of trust. “Breathe.” His hands sweep downwards to rest lightly at her sides, ribcage expanding and contracting under his fingertips. “Focus on your passions, your fury...And let them out.” Her eyes close as she matches his pattern of breathing, positioning herself on his lap and bracing her hands on his chest. She takes him inside her again. Gradually, gently as the Dark Side seeps in. It is cold at first, almost numbingly so. But after the first adjustment...Ahsoka can feel Maul much more intensely; The difference of being on the same wavelength as opposed to different signals. There is even a dizzying moment where she sees herself through him, sees her eyes open, burning gold with a ring of blue flickering around the pupil like a candle-flame. The surge of wonder-possession-desire-protection from her lover threatens to sweep her away for a moment. “Is...Is this what you feel all the time?” When he’s with her, at least. Considering his default state is prickly at best and downright murderous at worst.

“The intensity is the same, yes.” His head lowers to let his mouth pay homage to her breasts as they move together. This feels...right. A slow build-up of pleasure as emotions, thoughts, and sensations twist and weave together. There are words lurking within his head that have her dragging her nails over his torso. He really...Wants that, with her? Strangely, the idea isn’t repulsive. At the very least, it means that he desires an equal partner, not a subordinate. "Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde. [We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.]" Their voices merge in ancient oath, parting only when something else speaks through them.

“There is no Light-” “-without the Dark.” “Through passion, I gain focus.” “Through knowledge, I gain power.”

“Through serenity, I gain strength.”

“Through victory, I gain harmony.”

“There is only the Force.”

There are no words to describe what is happening to them right now. No defined point where she ends and he begins. Their awareness is scattered across galaxies, caught in the endless cycles of birth, death, and renewal before everything is once again narrowed to a single point and they cannot handle it... It feels as though years have passed when Ahsoka opens her eyes again.The Light practically hums without her even needing to reach for it, but the Dark is there too, vibrating in harmony. She is not...free from her burdens or her ghosts, but she has another purpose, now. And perhaps more than that. “I can feel your ambition, my Lady.” Maul’s voice is a teasing rumble next to one of her montrails. “Whatever are you planning?” “To lure Vader into a trap. He can either fall in line...Or get out of the way.” If she cannot persuade her former Master to topple Sidious, she will have to kill him. There is no other option. Of course, she will need to plan carefully to have any hope of success. But if the risk pays off...She kisses him one last time, brief but passionately, his grin full of visceral pleasure as they part. “I may have some...suggestions to that effect.” “Mm, I’m not surprised. But first, my Lord, I think we’re due another round of celebrating.” (A/N: Whoo! Okay, so going in order. Barriss Offee is the Seventh Sister in this fic and her and Ahsoka were previously involved because I’m a sucker for tragedy. The ‘dark is patient’ line is taken and bastardized from Matthew Stover. Yes, Ahsoka and Maul are married by Mandalorian custom in this fic and they’re speaking the version of the Gray Jedi code that I like best because it flows well. *insert ‘That’s not how the Force works!’ joke here* Also Ahsoka’s eye colour is back to normal after they ‘finish’;). Hopefully this works as a suitable compromise between the tropes that I wanted to incorporate. Cheers!)

#maulsoka #this took a bit longer than I expected but hopefully you're happy with the result #despite technical issues bcuz tumblr's app is shitty #NS.FW

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

sabotage {Machine Gun Kelly}

Summary: MGK has a Lot of tattoos, and Tommy Lee does not, at least not for most of when The Dirt is set. It’s no small task covering them all, but being assistant to the man who does cover them means you’re spending a good deal of time with the actor himself, and he’s not what you’re expecting... that is, if you actually knew what to expect.

A/N: 6477 words. alright so i went to im-fucking-db for Accuracy; shout out to: Christine Wada (costume designer), Corey Castellano (makeup department head), and Jorie Malan (key makeup artist). i reference these people in the fic, and i’ll be sure to explain who they are in the fic, but just in case you need a reminder, they’re also here. requested by my dear @luciana-galvez. under a read more because it’s a Monster of a fic. Please give me feedback, and also let me know if you want a part 2??

“You want me to order how much foundation?” It’s nine in the morning and you’ve barely stepped foot into the production meeting when Corey, the head of the makeup department, is tasking you with buying far more foundation than any one production should reasonably need. There’s overestimating and then there’s... this. “What shade?” It’s with an air of defeat that you accept the company credit card and open your laptop.

“Not now; the cast have a fitting at midday, we’ll get shade match them then.” Corey assures, but you keep your laptop open anyways to make notes during the meeting. It passes by fairly uneventfully, at least for you, and by the time you break, it’s already eleven and you’re starving. The corner store a few blocks away serves as a good a place to get lunch as any, and when you turn up to the fitting, half an hour early, you sit yourself in a corner to wait, and start on your sandwich of questionable quality.

You’re pricing bulk order foundation on your phone, still marvelling at the estimate you’d been given for how much you’d need, when the cast starts to filter in, well, the leads. Aside from being one of the makeup artists, you were also Corey’s assistant, which essentially just made you a glorified errand girl for the rest of the makeup team.

Half the costume department was already here, buzzing and agitated like wasps whose nest had been disturbed, and you’re careful to stay out of their way lest you get stung, or smacked for touching the wrong thing. So you’re grateful when the key makeup artist, Jorie, bursts in with ten minutes to spare, and gives a sigh of relief when she sees you. She’s holding a makeup kit in her hands, and when she begins to set up by a mirror out of the way of the costume department, you can see it’s mostly different shades of foundation, a few tubes of lipstick, more smokey eyeshadow-quad pallets than you can shake a stick at, some eyeliner, and a few face paint sticks.

She’s sticking photos to the mirror of the original band in full makeup, and that’s when you start to accept the fact that it’s going to be a very long day.

“You’re late.” The costume department is not about to fuck around, and despite the fact that there’s still five minutes to midday, the costume designer is already reprimanding the newcomer. “And you can’t smoke in here.”

“It’s not midday-” whoever’s walked in is already arguing back, though as you look up, you see him - god he’s so tall, all limbs - backtracking to stub his cigarette out on the screen door frame outside, you think you recognise him. Well, recognise him beyond the fact that you know he’s playing Tommy; you’d seen his bleach blonde head shot with the drummer’s name beneath it on the document Corey had sent out a few months ago, not that you’d given it a detailed look over. You just did what you were told, you could get to know the actors in the process. But as you’re looking at him, something about him does seem... familiar.

“On time is late; five minutes early is cutting it too close,” Christine, the costume designer was fierce, fiercer than any of the actors had expected, though the rest were already trying to hold back their snickers as he got reprimanded before they’d even started, “ten minutes early is on time; gives us all time to get ready.” She finishes, and disappears into another room to start collecting costumes.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, rolling his eyes and running a hand through his hair, as the tension dropped the moment she had left. The others were grinning, poking fun at him for getting in trouble before they’d even gotten on set.

“’Stina,” Jorie shouts to the costume designer, “who can we start with?” There’s a long pause, and much shuffling and clicking of coat hangers from the costume department.

“The tall one,” Christine shouts back, and reemerges with an arm full of outfits, “Mister Booth, you first.” And the guy playing Nikki Sixx is lead to a dressing room. After a moment, an assistant carrying another set of outfits makes her way towards you and Jorie, but stops short, gesturing for the guy who had just been getting yelled at to step towards you.

“She meant you, Mister - uh, Kelly?” The nervous assistant doesn’t stay long, and scurries off to collect the two remaining actors, leading them through to the costume room as ‘the tall one’ gives a thin smile as he makes his way towards you.

“Not a fan of being called Mister Kelly?” Jorie asks with a knowing smile, and the tension breaks as he sits in the chair in front of the mirror, half smiling, “what about the tall one?” And he actually laughs at that.

“Fuck no, just Colson’s fine,” he relaxes into the chair, gaze meeting yours where you’re scrutinising him in the mirror, partially because, damn, he really is familiar and you can’t put your finger on why, and partially because you’re trying to figure out what foundation he’d use.

“Where do I know you from?”

“Y/N tell me you’re kidding,” Jorie mutters to you, looking up from where she’s leafing through a stack of photos of Tommy, “did you not read the brief-”

“Dude,” you hissed at her, ducking your head and bobbing down to rifle through the makeup box, “I read it months ago, sorry I don’t remember every actor whose name and headshot I see once.”

“You’re so clueless sometimes; you’re meant to be the young one. Hip to the jive, etcetera?” Jorie’s laughing at her own phrasing, not that you can blame her. When you resurface, holding a makeup sponge and five little bottles of foundation all roughly the same shade with slight variations, she’s looking expectantly at you, one eyebrow raised, hand out and gesturing to the blonde in the makeup chair. “It’s- what is it? - Machine Gun Kelly?” She says it like it’s meant to mean something.

“Gesundheit.”

“It’s his name,” she sighed deeply, pulling out a black stick of facepaint.

“Oh. Your parents hippies?” You ask, kneeling beside his chair and gently taking his arm so you could begin swatching the foundations on the back of his hand. After a beat you reconsider before he can get a word in edgewise, “I guess not if machine gun is in there.”

“Stage name,” he explains, but there’s a smile you can hear in his words, amused, and it doesn’t leave his face as he watches you work in the mirror as Jorie is applying the face paint in two stripes on both his cheeks.

“Hence, Colson?” You ask, not looking up, feeling a little foolish, though the stage name is starting to sound familiar to you.

“Yeah, hence, Colson.”

“Stage name for what?” You ask, but the thought is quickly taken over by the next and words spill from you before he can response, “were you all over Twitter a few months ago? I know I know you from somewhere.”

He’s quick to clarify; he’s a rapper, sort of an actor, yes he was ‘all over twitter’ a few months ago because of a ‘thing with Eminem’, his words not yours.

“So you’re kind of famous, huh,” you muse, which makes him chuckle, “well sorry for my terrible introduction; I’m Y/N, by the way.” And you hold out your hand to shake his free one.

“Flirt on your own time, Y/N, did you get a colour match?” Jorie snaps, advancing on him with an eyeshadow brush held threateningly before her. He closes his eyes, but not before seeing you fluster at the accusation. “You’re the one with all the tattoos, aren’t you?” Jorie’s voice is quieter as she focuses on her work, and Colson tells her he is. The makeup artist steps back for a moment, her gaze appraising as she looks him over. “Could we get you to take your shirt off so Y/N can make sure she’s got the right colour foundation for your chest?”

“I wasn’t flirting, I was shaking his damn hand, this isn’t the forties.” You fire back playfully, sitting back on your heels as Colson pulls off his sweater.

“The forties? How old do you think I am?” Jorie squawks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“For your sake, I’m not going to answer,” you say sweetly, accepting it as the makeup artist cuffs you gently on the back of the head, though both she and Colson are laughing at the exchange.

As you look to him, it all starts to finally make sense, recognition dawning on your face as you take in the tattoos painting their way across his skin. All of it would need to be covered for certain scenes in the movie, which would require a lot of foundation.

“You mind if I-” you awkwardly gesture to his chest with the sponge in your hand, and he sits back in the chair.

“Go for it,” and he closes his eyes again as Jorie comes in with the eyeshadow once more. As you apply the foundation near his collar, where there was a patch of uninked skin large enough to get a good comparison from, from the corner of your eye you see his lips twitch into a grimace for the barest moment.

“Sorry it’s cold,” you murmur, and he gives a smile, shrugging it off easily. You find a colour match easily, and it doesn’t take long, so you hand him a makeup wipe as Jorie starts talking at you, about how Corey himself would be handling the tattoo covering but that he wanted you there to help out. Of course you knew you’d need to be there, you’re his assistant after all, and after you note the shade required, you stand back and watch Jorie do her work.

“I wish we had one of the wigs,” she muses, finally stepping away after she’d finished touching up his eyebrows, and you join her where she moves to stand behind his chair, all three of you looking at him in the mirror.

“You did good though,” you nod approvingly, leaning in a little to compare Colson’s reflection to the picture of Tommy taped to the mirror.

“‘Stina,” Jorie calls, “do we have hair coming in later today?”

“At three,” Christine calls back, and finally you look to where she’s standing by the changing room, putting pins into a leather harness that Douglas was wearing; it looked equal parts uncomfortable and sexy, though you know the second part was on purpose the first part would probably be helped by being surrounded by everyone in their own eighties, bordering-on-fetish costumes. You give him a thumbs up, expression pensive as you look him over, and look back to the photo of Nikki by the mirror. It does not seem to ease his discomfort.

“Alright, sounds good, are you ready to send the next one over to us?” Jorie calls back, and after Christine tells Douglas to get changed out of his costume, you send Colson over to her.

“Don’t wipe that off, we can touch it up but we wanna see it with the wig,” you instruct, and he gives a mock salute and a grin, and you feel yourself smiling back. He was a lot... less than his stage name lead you to believe; he had a lot of energy just under the surface, that much you could tell, which meant he had great potential for his role as the over the top drummer, but he had an easy confidence, a level of professionalism that you’re grateful for, and a tattoo of a spider over his nipple, which you’re not sure of the significance of but it amuses you.

And, not to be shallow, though in this industry sometimes you can let yourself be, he’s hot. Though maybe you just had a thing for guys in eyeliner.

Stop.

You were going to be getting up close and personal with him for the next few months as you would probably be helping Corey cover all his tattoos; thirsting over him in eyeliner is the last thing you’re allowed to think about doing. Above all else, you had to stay professional.

And, as the weeks went on, you were successful in that.

Mostly.

“What’s that one about?” You ask, poking at the tattoo of a London bus on his side. He jumped a little at the prod, giving you an amused but rather tired grin as Corey said your name like a warning. It was almost eight in the morning and he was trying to airbrush an even base coat of darker makeup across Colson’s back that you could apply foundation on top of. It was one of the days where he’d be filming shirtless, and ‘even’ was hard to achieve if he kept moving.

“I got hit by a bus.”

“No you didn’t; shut up!” Your eyes shine bright with amusement as you give him a disbelieving grin. He smiles back, sharp, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Did you think I got it immortalised on my fuckin’ body for fun? It hit me full force; I cracked the windshield,” and he sounds almost proud of it, and maybe he is, but you don’t seem to notice how his smile gets a little wider when he hears you laugh.

“And what about this one?” You poke at the spider over his nipple and he squirms a little. Corey says your name, more insistent this time, and you mutter out a half-assed apology, moreso waiting for Colson’s reply.

“That one’s just cool.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you spend three hours with him a day at least, being weirdly close, which is par for the course when you’re applying foundation to his whole chest and sometimes his legs, but you’re becoming fast friends. Corey’s adamant that you don’t need to come in for the full three hours every day, but you’re there with a smile; rain, hail, or shine, just proclaiming that you enjoy your job when Colson asks about it. He calls you dedicated, and he’s mostly right; though if you’re being honest, part of you just enjoys spending time with him.

“Do you listen to any rap?” He asks, curious one day; Corey’s finished the airbrushing stage and has stepped out to grab a coffee from craft services, leaving you to start on the foundation.

“You mean, do I listen to you?” You smirked, not looking away from where you’re dabbing the foundation down his arm.

“I know you don’t listen to me; you didn’t even know who I was ‘first time we met,” he snickered, and you considered for a moment, humming as you turn his arm over gently and start working on his forearm.

“Well, okay, you’ve got me there, it’s just not my style, you know?”

“That wasn’t really the question,” he’s smiling a little, and you huff out a laugh, conceding.

“I mean, I don’t hate it; if you’re really twisting my arm I’d say I sometimes listen to some of The Beastie Boys earlier stuff; Slow Ride, Posse in Effect, Paul Revere? That I can jam out to.” And you look at him, guaging his reaction, biting back a laugh at his exaggerated wince.

“Not even Sabotage; so you really don’t listen to anything from this century?” He’s teasing you now, and you have to chuckle at that.

“Sabotage is okay.” You roll your eyes, looking back at your work. “When you guys stopped using a brass section as accompaniment, that’s when you lost me; it just adds a certain...” you hum thoughtfully for a moment, taping your chin as if in deep thought. He actually laughs at that, and when you look up, you think your heart might skip a beat at the sight of his smile, “gravitas? Je ne sais quoi?”

“So what do you listen to? What modern music has that,” and he puts on a terrible french accent to gently mock your earlier words, “je ne sais quoi?” You shove him lightly, though there’s no malice in the move, or in your grin as you’re moving to stand in front of him. You start dabbing makeup across his chest and collar. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your thoughts professional when you’re so damn close to him, and he won’t stop smiling at you like that.

Listing off a few bands from this decade seems to placate his curiosity enough, even if he rolls his eyes at some of your choices. Pausing for a moment, you tip your head side to side, considering.

“And classic rock, of course; not just the music, like the people behind it are fascinating, you know?”

Surprisingly, he’s quiet for a long moment.

“You must be enjoying this then,” he muses, though you can hear the suggestiveness in his tone and you swallow hard, refusing to take your eyes off your work.

“This production?” You deliberately refuse to read into his tone, though he was making it difficult when you could hear his smirk in his words, “yeah it’s been pretty great. Get to listen to a bunch of Crue all day? There’s definitely worse jobs in the world.” Snickering, you chance a look at him, though he’s not meeting your gaze, he’s still smiling as watches you work in the reflection of the mirror.

“What about you? Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s a challenge at times, but it’s a good one, you know? And I’m getting up at six every morning which is kind of a drag,” he grins though as you mutter out a quiet apology, “nah, don’t worry about it, ‘just part of the job. It’s good, it’s one-hundred.” And he’s looking at you, gaze a little unreadable where you’ve gone quiet as you work, focusing.

It becomes a routine that you fall easily into; wake up at some ungodly hour, smash a coffee or an energy drink before spending three hours covering Colson’s tattoos with Corey, spend an extra hour and a half helping paint on Tommy’s tattoos if the scenes calls for it. Once he’s done, you tell Corey you’re going to get breakfast but you actually take a nap before you’re woken up by one of the production assistants telling you that you have twenty minutes before you need to be on set, so you race to the corner store and grab something cheap and eat it in a distracted haze as you head back to Corey’s trailer to pick up your makeup bag, before heading to set to be on standby for if any of the boys need touch-ups as filming starts. You’re there longer than most of the cast, staying back after filming’s wrapped for the day to help Colson take off his makeup and get the workspace prepped for the following day, crashing into bed almost immediately after getting home to rinse and repeat all over again. It was fun to begin with, but it was wearing you down quickly.

“Dude, you look dead on your feet.” Colson frowns as you yawn loudly, haphazardly blotting foundation onto his back.

“Y/N, it’s looking patchy, I need you to focus,” Corey’s frowning, but for a different reason as he looks over from where he’s made a start on the actor’s shoulder. You wave Corey off with a mumbled apology, rubbing at your eyes before recentering yourself and getting back to work. You meet Colson’s gaze in the mirror for a beat; he actually looks concerned, but you’re too tired to really care.

And okay, maybe, just maybe, seeing pretty girls drape themselves over the cast, over Colson, over all your hard work, it got irritating. Not that you begrudged those beautiful girls their job, it’s just that sometimes the oil or body glitter they’re covered in to play strippers would end up exposing some of Colson’s tattoos as they were all over him in certain scenes. Next to them, you were the one wearing jeans and a sweater, carrying a tote bag and looking like a child when you had to touch up his makeup. Everyone was always kind to you, of course, and you to them, but you think it’s more pity on their part; it’s common knowledge within the first week of filming how early you had to arrive, and how late you stayed back.

Some of the girls were incredibly talented actors. Probably. They were wasted in this film, reduced to eye candy and sex dolls, pretty beyond belief but not with any real substance. More than a few of them were dismissive of you, mean and sharp, because you weren’t the one responsible for their makeup, so you didn’t matter, and yeah, they were in intense, physically demanding scenes at times, but some of them seemed to just be catty for the sake of being catty. You tried not to let it get to you.

You really fucking tried.

Some of the extras had formed a sort of clique against you, which you found absolutely ridiculous, but they seemed to resent the fact that you and Colson got along. It had been a few weeks, starting with just snide comments in your general vicinity, but by now it had moved on to straight-up bullying. It was never around anyone important, least of all Colson, and when you’d told Corey about it, he’d just advised you to ignore it, as if it would help.

So you were tired, both physically and mentally, and this actor had the gall to come up to you and call you desperate. For doing your job.

“Hey, can you kindly fuck off?” You snapped, fury blazing in your eyes as you fought to keep your tone level, “I’m trying to do my fucking job, it’s not my damn fault the director won’t give you any screentime-”

“Wow, harsh.” Colson’s voice comes from somewhere to the left of you, and he doesn’t sound impressed. Of course he has to come in at the worst possible moment, just when you sound like a villain. It feels like you’re on the verge of tears, exhausted and stunned, and the extra’s expression flickers to something smug for the barest moment before looking almost painfully innocent.

“I’m really sorry,” she sighs softly, hanging her head; it’s an act, and not a very good one, but she’s pretty, “I just know you work in makeup and I thought you could help me find someone in costume to talk to; it’s okay, I’m sure I could find someone else.” It’s painfully scripted, and she plucks at the string of the bikini she was wearing nervously for effect, turning and heading away.

“Take a break or something, you’re acting like a tool,” Colson says, and doesn’t let you get a word in edgewise, going after the girl, whose ruse had manipulated him just as she’d wanted. He’s introducing himself and you feel like death standing; you hear a snicker from behind you, and when you turn there’s one of the extra’s friends, another from the clique, smiling triumphant.

When you get back to Corey’s trailer, he pauses where he’s eating a sandwich from Craft Services, and raises an eyebrow at you. You bite back your bitterness and pull your sweater from your bag, balling it up and using it as a pillow as you resigned yourself to napping beneath the row of makeup mirrors. Corey goes back to his lunch.

“You wanna talk about whatever this is?” Corey asks. You’re struggling to untangle your earphones after pulling them from your pockets.

“Unless you can do something about the asshole actors on set, no, I don’t want to talk about it.” You sigh, resigned and resolute. Corey nods, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Fuckin’ actors.” He muses.

“Fuckin’ actors.” You agree. It’s not an honest statement regarding your feelings towards actors as a whole, but sometimes a few bad apples really did spoil the bunch, even if it was only for a moment.

You get to nap, heart aching where you’re pretty sure Colson thinks you’re some work-obsessed asshole who thinks you’re better than the actors you work with. Which you obviously don’t, but daily bullying can wear down the nerves. It only takes a moment, one careless comment that came out too harsh for the likes of onlookers, and any good will you’d been building up seems to evaporate. Not to mention the lies you know the extra had probably been feeding him since the moment you left.

When Colson comes in to get his makeup removed for the day, the tension is so thick that to you it felt solid. You’re sitting in one of the makeup chairs, spinning idly, scrolling through your phone when the door opens; his gaze finds yours the moment he steps in, but he gives you a look, scrutinising, almost disbelieving, and he looks away.

“Do you need my help?” You asked Corey pointedly, your gaze shallow and tired. Colson was tying his wig into a bun already, a look you quietly adored, though he was refusing to look at you. God, the clique really had managed to slander you in only a few hours.

“No dear, go home and rest, you need it,” Corey smiles at you, and you’re already moving around, pulling on your sweater and collecting your things. You want to say something, say anything to the man who’s now regarding you icily, but soon enough some of the other members of the makeup team are here, like always to help speed up the removal process, and your voice gets caught in your throat.

“Hey,” by the door, you finally stop, “I don’t-” but your breath catches on a sigh, “I don’t have the energy for this; I’m not the asshole.” And you sound so defeated, but he doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and keeps scrubbing at the foundation on his skin.

The moment you step into the trailer the next morning, same time as always, at the crack of dawn, you can already feel exhaustion settling into your bones.

“Take the day off,” Corey frowns at you, “Colson told me what those assholes told him; I’m gonna have a word with him about it this morning.”

“No, dude, I’ve gotta explain myself, if I take the day off it looks like I’m running away; I’m an adult, I don’t need you stepping in for me.” It takes you a moment, and you sigh, defeated, “listen, Corey, I actually really like Colson, okay? And I don’t want him to think less of me, so if that means I have to be up at too-fucking-early-o’clock convincing him I’m not a complete bitch, then so be it.” Corey can’t help the pitying look he gives you, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject.

You’ve worked in this industry for years, it’s not the first time something like this has happened; while working in close proximity to talented, famous individuals, outsiders sometimes get jealous. It’s easy to be told to try and ignore it, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when someone you thought you were getting along well with completely ices you out because someone who’s jealous twists their opinion of you.

It takes a full hour, the silence thick and heavily as Colson stood patiently as the makeup was applied, before you can work up the courage to say something.

“What did she say to you?” It takes him a few moments to register what you’d said, but he frowns a little in confusion. “What did she say to you about me?” You reiterate, voice calm and level, focusing on your work as you speak, and his mouth opens as he goes to tentatively respond, but you don’t give him the chance, “because I can promise you she’s lying.” His mouth closes again, frown deepening. Corey is silent too.

“Well, I was told that you treat her like shit and don’t take her seriously just because she’s an actor, which is pretty fucked,” he admits with surprising candor. You have to take a moment to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“It would be fucked if it was true.”

“But you don’t take her seriously. Apparently you ignore her when she comes to you for help.” And it hurts to hear him spout the slanderous rhetoric the extra had poisoned him with.

“It’s not Y/N’s job to help her,” Corey cuts in, much to both Colson’s and your own surprise, “and I’m sure if she had a real question, she would point her in the direction of someone who could help her. ” His tone doesn’t leave room for arguments, though Colson doesn’t exactly seem convinced; perhaps he assumed that you really were some heinous bitch who had turned the makeup department head to your side.

“I do take actors seriously, obviously,” you gesture to him, and he makes an expression that’s a little unreadable, “but if you have to know, she and a group of other extras have been harassing me for weeks now, so yeah, I tend to ignore her.”

Your hands are shaking. When did that start? God, when did you start caring so much about what he thought of you? When did the idea of him thinking badly of you start making your chest hurt. When did schoolyard bullying start getting to you so much? Things are moving in a blur, and you think you mumble something about getting a coffee before you leave the trailer.

Corey finds you half an hour later at the corner store, staring blankly at the coffee machine, cup of undrunk, now cold coffee in hand.

“Go home. Please.”

You look at him, but his words aren’t really registering; he realises he may have interrupted a micronap. It appears you need rest far more badly than he realised. He sends you home for the rest of the week, and it’s a Wednesday. You want to protest, but you cut yourself off with a yawn and he calls an Uber for you without letting you get a word in edgewise.

It’s practically radio silence for almost five days.

You watch Netflix and eat junk and take baths and claim self care when really you’re wallowing, dreading going back to work. Sometimes you catch yourself just staring at your phone; you and Colson have each other’s numbers ‘in case of emergency’, though what would constitute a makeup related emergency you’re not sure, it was his suggestion. Emergencies turned out to be him asking about call times, sending selfies from on-set where his face makeup was running from how much he was sweating, he’s grinning and bright and Douglas or Iwan or Daniel are pulling a face in the background, blurry photos of you on set that you hadn’t realised he’d been taking at the time.

There’s one you stop at when you’re looking back through them, it’s another selfie, he’s squinting, having just woken up, and half cut out of the shot where he’s focused the camera on a smudge of foundation and a bit of eyeliner on his white pillowcase where he hadn’t managed to get all of the makeup off the night before. It’s surprisingly intimate, despite the fact that he’s followed it up with [💀😢].

You wanted to send something, to say something, but you weren’t sure what you had left to say. You weren’t in the wrong. You didn’t need to apologise.

Sometimes you thought you saw the typing bubble appear, but it would disappear just as quickly.

You’re refreshed by the time you step back into the trailer on Monday morning, feeling almost chirpy, that is until you see that Colson’s arrived before you, and Corey’s nowhere around.

It’s not the same as last time, there’s no anger, no hostility in the way he’s regarding you, just a surprising pensiveness. He’s lounging in his makeup chair, watching as you put down your things and start rifling through the collection of makeup on the counter.

“Where’s Corey?” You ask, carefully neutral.

“Said he’s getting coffee.”

“That’s kind of him.”

There’s a long pause that follow, and when you finally look at him, Colson seems to be considering you seriously.

“Do you have to be here?” Despite the words that are said, they don’t feel like an attack, instead they feel like a genuine question, bordering on concerned.

“It’s my job,” you start, but he smiles a little, and something in your heart eases.

“Yeah, no, I know, but you don’t always have to arrive this early, do you? I wouldn’t if I had the choice,” he snickers, and you sit back on one of the other chairs scattered about the edge of the room, waiting for Corey to get back, playing with a makeup sponge.

“Well you don’t, and neither does Corey, and...” hesitating a little, you fidget, avoiding his gaze, “it didn’t seem fair.” You shrug, laughing a little awkwardly, “leaving you here with him all that time.” Though you’re trying to clarify by means of a joke, he sees through it clearly, expression quickly morphing into a grin.

“So he was right.”

“About what?” You ask, looking at him with surprise and confusion written all over your face; this wasn’t the reaction you were expecting.

“Corey’s pretty convinced you just like spending time with me,” you can feel yourself getting flustered, looking down at your fidgeting fingers.

“He’s such a snitch.” You mutter, and Colson actually laughs, and though you feel your anxiety holding tight in your chest, you force your next words from your mouth; “yes, okay, if we’re going full middle-school about this, I enjoy your company. A lot.” You pause for a moment. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, of course; I’m sorry I was a dick last week,” he actually gets serious for a moment, tone surprisingly humble as he speaks, “I just- there’s like this long history of people shitting on me and not taking me seriously, so it touched a nerve, but I should know you better than that, right? Like we’ve spent enough time together that I should know you’re not some entitled dick.”

It’s enough to make you smile.

“Corey gave you a talking to, didn’t he?” You teased, and Colson rolled his eyes.

“Practically the moment you left; turns out those girls have had a few complaints from HR, situations like yours,” he sighs, before grinning a little, “but yeah, we’re good.”

It’s as if a sudden elation comes over you, and you have to work to not let it show on your face, else you’re pretty sure you’re going to embarrass yourself at how happy that makes you.

“And of course I take you seriously,” you hear yourself saying as you turn to rearrange the makeup on the counter, though you both know he can still see your pleased grin in the mirror, “I take all actors seriously, and you’re wonderful to work with-”

“Oh, so I’m wonderful now?” He snickers, though it’s not unkind, and you accidentally knock over a bottle in your embarrassment.

“Wonderful to work with,” you clarify, but he still takes the win, just as Corey finally walks in with three mugs of corner store coffee in hand.

“You were right, and she thinks I’m wonderful.” Colson practically preens, and Corey makes a face, before turning that face on you.

“I take it back; you’re the worst client I’ve had.” You deadpan, and Colson can’t help but laugh.

“No way, you’re not living this down,” he muses, smiling fondly at you. “I’m gonna tell everyone-”

“Christ, tell me you’ve at least asked her out,” Corey sighs, putting down the coffees, and that shuts Colson up quickly, “or do I need to go on another twenty minute coffee run to give you two some space?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer, just heads towards the door, announcing that he’s going to get a spare airbrush head from the other makeup trailer and that you have ten minutes.

“Sorry about him.” You say into the silence that follows in the wake of Corey’s departure. Colson’s surprisingly tight-lipped, avoiding looking at you. “He makes a lot of assumptions.” You add, getting to your feet and crossing to where the coffees sat in their little, cardboard carry-tray. Each cup has a name, and you take both yours and Colson’s, heading over to him with an expression that you hope is something akin to a friendly smile, and not a grimace of embarrassment.

“He’s right though,” Colson reaches out for his coffee when you offer it; his fingers brush your as he meets your gaze and it feels like a moment. “You wanna grab dinner or something after today?”

Mind whirling, part of you thinks he’s made a mistake, that he hadn’t meant to say it, another part worries about what the rest of the cast and crew will think, and part of you is worried it’s a joke. But you’re so sick of doubt.

“Yeah, actually I’d love to.”

The morning passes in a breeze, passes much more easily than it’s seemed to for the past month, and there’s butterflies in your stomach the entire time. There’s an electricity in the air during filming, though you’re pretty sure you’re the only one who can feel it. He’s wearing the wig with the undercut, sitting behind the drums up on the risers for most of the day, wearing only a pair of underwear, boots, and suspenders; it’s quiet a look. Somehow he’s still managed to sneak his phone up there because you’re zoning out at the side of the set, and he takes a photo of you, sending it to you; your eyes are glassy by you’re grinning to yourself, and once you get it, you look to him, and he’s grinning as if he’s waiting for your reaction. You roll your eyes at him, but you’re still smiling; you’ve missed this.

“You’re actually kind of sweet, aren’t you?” After filming wraps for the day, you’re crammed into a booth of the only restaurant open in town past ten. You’ve just ordered, and he’s leaning back, regarding you with amusement.

“I don’t know why that surprises people, most of my asshole act is just, you know, an act, for show or whatever,” he shrugs a little, smirking, “most of it; sometimes I am just an asshole.”

“I don’t know your asshole act,” you remind, smiling a little; there’s butterflies in your stomach but they’re excited rather than nervous, relishing in the way he’s smiling at you, “but I guess I should have know you better anyways; after all, we’ve spent enough time together, haven’t we?”

#mgk #mgk x reader #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly x reader #machine gun kelly imagine #mgk imagine #colson baker #colson baker x reader #colson baker imagine #the dirt #the dirt cast #the dirt imagine #the dirt cast imagine

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taetaesbitch · 4 years

Text

My Secret K-pop Idol - Chapter 3 - Surprise!

Reader x Taehyung

Word Count: 2.3k

Contains: Fluff, Mild Smut

I felt that this gif perfectly conveys the Tae vibes in this chapter. Sorry it took me a while to write this, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3 - Surprise!

You struggle to open your eyes against the harsh light streaming in through a split in the curtain. Your head is pounding and you feel an aching soreness down between your legs. Groaning, you try to roll over to look at the digital clock on your nightstand, but feel a weight around your waist. Glancing down you notice an arm tightening around you. A male arm. An arm that belongs to the guy you were with last night. It all comes rushing back to you as you twist in his grasp to look at him. His dark hair is ruffled, his face relaxed. You remember those intense eyes that gazed at you so passionately last night. So dark and filled with promise. Blushing at the memory of those hands on you and smiling at the thought of his cute smile. Sighing, you move away to start your day. Struggling against him as he curls around you, but eventually escaping. His face scrunching in confusion. He mumbles low, as you tiptoe across your bedroom floor and towards the bathroom. You take a long hot shower, but his touch seems to be imprinted on your skin, you can’t stop thinking about the way he touched you. Rough. Tender. Urgent. Slow. One thing is certain… you will never be able to look at a strawberry the same way again.

Stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around your body, you glance at yourself in the mirror but take a double take. Inhaling sharply, you touch your neck and chest, decorated with dark purple bruises. Recalling the way he bit and sucked, you can’t help but clench your legs together at the thought. Drying and dressing you peek out of the bathroom, holding your breath anxiously, hoping he’s still asleep. But disappointment washes over you when you see an empty bed, with nothing but tangled sheets. Feeling like such an idiot, your shoulders cave in. It was just a one night stand. You go to sit on the edge of the bed, a note on the side catches your eye and you reach for it. A message scrawled on it:

Thankyou for an incredible night. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I’m sorry to run out on you like this… but my manager is going to kill me. I am in soooo much trouble. I would like to see you again. Here’s my number.

Tae x

You can’t believe it. You squeal excitedly. Your heart doing somersaults and your belly full of butterflies. But they begin to fade. How would this work? You haven’t forgotten about those fangirls. Who is he really? If he’s that popular all you would gain is heartbreak. You set the paper back on the nightstand and carry on.

A few hours later you return to the note, phone in hand. Are you really going to do this? It can’t hurt. Right? Or can it? You groan in frustration and start dialling. A voice answers on the second ring. “Hello?” It’s his voice. Deep. Divine. “(Y/N)?” You hang up at the sound of your name on his lips. You can’t do this…

You have had three missed phone calls from his number over the next week, but you can’t bring yourself to pick up. You’re not ready. Today you start at your new job, assisting a band at Big Hit Entertainment. You’re excited and nervous. The emotions swirling around in you all morning, as you dress in a long grey pencil skirt, a lilac blouse and grey blazer, you’re careful to cover the slowly fading hickeys, making an accessory out of a small scarf. You enter the lobby, where the manager waits to greet you, you walk to an office and take a seat.

“So, Miss (Y/N), I see you’ve been an excellent assistant in the past and you come highly recommended.”

“Yes, I’m observant and thorough in ensuring that everything is in order and taken care of.” His smile grows as you list off other key aspects.

“I think you’ll fit in perfectly here, and I think BTS are a great match.” He claims. Your mind seems to blank, your mouth falling open slightly.

“B-BTS?” That name is well known, they are a highly established band, but you have never taken the time to research them. You have only heard one or two songs.

“Yes, is that a problem?” The manager raises an eyebrow. You recollect yourself.

“No, no not at all.” You smile politely, shocked but excited. He goes over your duties and hands you a schedule, “You will need to study this carefully and keep up.” He stands, “Well, it’s time to meet them,” He gestures for you to follow him, walking you to an elevator. An uneasy tingling begins up your spine. “The boys are looking forward to meeting you.” The elevator pings on the top floor, you both step off into a spacious open planned room. There are floor to ceiling windows, light hardwood floors and a colour scheme of white, black and gold furniture. Walls separate rooms, a kitchen sits off to the side and around it sits the band their backs to you as you approach, an incredibly nervous feeling washes over you. They all seem dressed in varied fashions. “Boys.” They all stand and turn. Your eyes connect with those glittering dark ones and my mouth falls open. His own lips part, eyes widening as you gape at each other, astonished. “This is your new assistant (Y/N).” A few of the others look slightly shocked by my appearance. You also remember them from the bar. You assume Taehyung has told them what happened and turn a shade of strawberry. Taehyung is the first to recover, straightening as he smirks and narrows his eyes, “I’m V, but you can call me Taehyung.” Damn him! Of course he is! You thought they all looked familiar! You knew you had a bad feeling! You nod and speak through a tight smile.

“It’s nice to meet you Taehyung.” He’s so smug as he smiles back at you. The others follow his lead.

“I’m J-hope! But you can call me Hobi!” He gives you a brilliant smile grabbing both your hands and nodding cheerfully. You instantly feel at ease and don’t recognise him from the club. “We are so happy to finally meet you!” He exclaims.

You laugh nervously and nod your head, “Likewise.”

Another one steps forward, he’s taller with pink hair and a cheeky smile, “I’m Jin.” He nods, you nod back, you don’t recognise him either. Jimin, Namjoon and Jungkook are next, all of whom seem to squint at you after their introductions, as if trying to figure out where they have seen you before. Your face flushes red and you panic inside. The last member steps forward, his face more serious than the others, but he gives a small smile as he speaks, “I’m Yoongi.” Your inner panic begins to calm as they finish and the manager says, “Now that you’re all introduced I’ll leave you to get to know each other better.” He turns to you, “I’ll be back in roughly an hour.” He faces the boys, “Behave.” With that he heads to the elevator, you watch him go, and as the doors slide shut, reality sets in. You’re in a room full of famous band members, one of which you had a one night stand with. Nothing to worry about. You turn towards the band members and come face to face with Taehyung. You yelp in surprise and jump back a step.

“Woah there (Y/N). He doesn’t bite.” Exclaims the one named Hobi. The irony in his words make you blush and Taehyung snaps his teeth together before smiling mischievously. You give him a pointed glare.

“How about we sit on the sofa? (Y/N) might feel more at ease, I can understand how this can be quite overwhelming.” States Jimin, a sympathetic smile on his face. The rest of the boys agree and turn towards the sofa, but you feel a presence behind you and a deep voice whispers, “You never called, I was looking forward to round two.” Taehyung’s comment makes you flush red and starts a throbbing between your legs. His chest presses into your back and you yelp as you feel his hand grasp your ass. You spring away, turning towards him just in time to see his smirk and the devilish glint in his eyes. Rushing over to a sofa, you sit on the one opposite band, who has now settled themselves on. Jungkook seems deep in thought as he gazes at you, Namjoon clears his throat.

“So, you’ll be spending a lot of time with us and it’s vital that you understand that this career is our life, I hope you settle in well and with time you’ll learn our ways.” They all smile reassuringly, except for Jungkook, who seems deep in thought as he stares at you.

“I understand and I will do my absolute best to make sure your needs are met.” Taehyung catches your eye and he winks, causing you to clench your hands into fists. You can’t focus properly with the intense sexual look in his eyes. The man is killing you. He’s so smug and feigning innocence, but you know the truth.

He rests his chin on his fist lazily, tilting his head. You want to run your hands through his hair so badly, to straddle him and kiss him roughly. You snap out of it as they begin to ask you questions; what music you like, how your friends would describe you. You also ask them questions and they tell you certain things about themselves. You’re getting on well, but both Taehyung and Jungkook have been awfully quiet.

Suddenly, Jungkook bursts out. “Ah Ha!” Startled, the rest of the group look towards him. Jungkook’s eyes are wide and excited as he looks at you, “You were at the bar the other night.” You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh. When you open them, the other members are looking at you with realization, but Hobi, Yoongi and Jin wear confused expressions. Jungkook continues, “You’re the one Tae--” He cuts off coughing as he catches Taehyung's threatening expression.

“Hold up.” Hobi demands, “What is going on here?”

“Do you remember when we went out last week, but you stayed in?” Asks Jungkook, Hobi nods, “Well we met (Y/N), and she helped Tae escape some Army’s. She’s the one that-” you see Taehyung physically nudge Jungkook this time and he stops mid sentence, but Hobi continues.

“Oh! You mean your the one he-”

“Hoseok!” Taehyung warns. By this point your head is in your hands. How can this be happening?

“What are those?” Namjoon speaks up, you lift your head, only to find them all staring at your neck. Your scarf seems to have slipped, leaving your neck and the bruises exposed. You gasp and quickly cover them, but it’s too late. “Kim Taehyung.” Namjoon glares at Taehyung disapprovingly. A look of embarrassment crosses his face, giving you a moment of satisfaction before admiring such a cute look. He catches you looking and smirks.

“I don’t regret it, (Y/N) enjoyed it didn’t you?” Your eyes widen at his question.

“I-I-you-” You’re a stuttering mess. A satisfactory smirk crosses his lips.

“Taehyung, stop teasing (Y/N),” Jin stands and grabs your hands, walking you towards the kitchen area, away from the others. “Are you ok? Would you like a drink?” He smiles at you, his eyes are warm and friendly.

“Y-yes please. Just some water?”

“Sure.” He spins to grab a bottle from the fridge, you hear whispers from behind you and look over to see the other members huddled around Taehyung, interrogating him. “Don’t mind them. We can all be a bit much sometimes.” He hands you the water and leans on the counter, as you gulp the water down, “So what did happen between you and Taehyung?” You nearly choke on the water, but manage to contain yourself.

“Um-well, it’s kind of personal.” Jin is grinning, but not at you you realise too late.

A voice whispers in your ear, “Didn’t you bring any strawberries?” His arms wrap around you so that you can’t move away.

“Taehyung. Let go of me.” You meet Jin’s eyes and silently plead with him to help you, but he just gives you a pitying look and returns to the sofa. Just Taehyung’s presence is making your legs feel weak. He plants his chin at the place where your shoulder and neck meet, and breathes in deep.

“What happened to calling me Tae?” You try to step out of his grip, but he holds you tight, “Why didn’t you call?” He sounds hurt and you sigh.

“I’m sorry, but I thought it would be for the best, considering the girls who chased you and especially with these new circumstances.” His grip loosens and you step out of his grasp, spinning to face him. He covers a wounded look with one of indifference, before moving to the fridge. He pulls out a punnet of strawberries and the memories come crashing back like a tsunami. He plucks one from the punnet and places it to his lips, leaning on the counter as he sucks on it sensually, never breaking eye contact with you. Your mouth dries up and you fight the urge to clench your legs together. When he’s finished he asks mockingly, “Would you like a strawberry?” You stare breathlessly, as amusement dances in his tempting eyes. Just then the elevator pings. You spin as the manager walks back in.

“I hope you have enjoyed your time (Y/N), but it’s time for their rehearsals.” He smiles and you nod in compliance, saying goodbye to the boys as you walk back to the elevator. As the manager presses the button, Taehyung remarks, “We look forward to seeing more of you (Y/N).”

You see him lick his lower lip and smirk, before the elevator doors slide closed.

You can’t help but feel like you’ve just made a deal with the devil.

#BTS #BTS V #BTS Taehyung #BTS Fanfic #BTS V Fanfic #BTS Taehyung Fanfic #Kim Taehyung Fanfic #Kim Taehyung Mild Smut #Fluff #BTS Fluff #BTS Taehyung Fluff #BTS V Mild Smut #BTS Taehyung Mild Smut

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ashes-and-ashes · 4 years

Text

Zombies

Remus scowled at the sky. The sun hurt his eyes, turning everything a striking, harsh white, a sun-bleached bone in the middle of the desert. The air was thick and full of dust; Remus coughed into his sleeve as they created the hill.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Everything’s really gone to shits hasn’t it?”

James didn’t bother replying.

Remus shook his head, hitching his pack farther up on his already aching shoulders. It was falling apart, the leather worn and shiny, the stitching coming apart at the seams. They had crammed it with everything they could get; a filthy sleeping bag, a water bottle, as many cans as they could find. He had slid a knife through his belt, another one in his tattered hiking boots, the metal cool against his skin. Everyone had used Guns, in the early days of the Virus, had used guns and bullets and bombs. The days had stretched on, though. Pretty much everything was gone now, and those who had bullets wouldn’t waste it on a Zombie.

They weren’t supposed to call them that, zombies. Technically, they were referred to as the Infected. Before humans Fell, there was a death penalty for referring to them as anything different, as the governments fought to retain control of their panicking nations.

Remus shook his head again. He found himself doing it more often, caught in the tangled web of his memories, the dream-like haze of Before and the grim reality of Now. There wasn’t much to do anyways, besides walk and sleep and occasional fight against a couple of Zombies.

They had gotten lucky, him and Peter and James. They had dropped everything, ran away from the city the second the Virus had struck, all the screams and blood and burning buildings. They had been walking now, for years it seemed, hiding from humans and killing zombies and hoping that they could make it just one more day, please one more day.

Remus growls under his breath. His shoulder hurt - everything hurt actually. They had heard from others that the zombies were moving deeper into the forests, in search of the few humans who were left. They had immediately decided to head south, towards the acrid plains where there were next to no settlements, only ghost towns remaining.

He regretted it now, though, the dusty dirt and the relentless sun. His bottle was almost empty - they had filled it up at a river almost 2 days ago and hadn’t found anything since. Their food was almost gone as well, empty cans the only thing left.

Peter coughed from behind them. The massive axe strapped to his pack gleamed in the harsh light, metal and wood and leather. “We need to restock.”

“Really,” James snapped. He roughly raked his hands through his hair - it was matted, falling almost to his cheekbones, so different from the gelled spikes he used to wear so long ago. “Well fuck. There goes my plans. I wanted to have a goddamn tea party.”

Peter ignored him. They all were stressed, about the water and the food, the zombies and the desert and that haunting feeling that they were running out of time. He had changed too - they all had changed, though Peter had perhaps changed the most dramatically. The awkwardness had vanished, the soft hesitation and the warmth. The world had sucked him dry - sucked them all dry, whittling their edges until they became blades.

It was the one thing you needed, to survive in this world. The ability to keep on going, keep on walking, leave behind everything and anyone. The only people they could trust was each other, and even then their loyalty was limited. They had all made a pact, the instant it became clear that this Virus was not a fluke, that the world was fucked and they were all living on borrowed time.

If I become Infected, kill me. If I’m injured, leave me behind. Prioritize yourself over me.

Was it selfishness? Remus didn’t know. He would leave James or Peter in a heartbeat if one of them got injured, got bitten. He knew they’d do the same with him.

With a slight effort, Remus shoved the thought out of his head. He focused on putting one foot in front iof the other, head pounding slightly as he made it to the top of the hill. With a sigh, he slung the pack off his shoulders, plopping down onto the ground.

“Oh God,” he said. “It’s a fucking ghost town.”

Remus stared at the houses, the broken windows and the caved-in roofs, the cobblestone roads dusty and cracked. The sun had bleached all the colour from it, turning everything into various shades of white, the shadows stretching out across the ground.

James shook his head. “I feel like I’m in a fucking video game.”

“Zombie jump scares,” Remus agreed. “We go in there, we get jumped by a bloody corpse.”

He shivered. There was an air of abandonment to the place, written in every cracked piece of wood, every darkened window. It was like it had been preserved, as if the town had been encased in amber and left to dry in the acrid sun.

James let out a long side. “We shouldn’t risk it,” he muttered. “We’re screwed if we go in.”

Peter held up his water bottle. “We’re empty. We’d last another day, tops. We won’t reach the mountains for another 2 days at least.”

“There’s a pump,” Remus pointed out; he could just make out the slender faucet in the middle of a desecrated square. “And a well I think? Right there.”

“I don’t like it though,” James said. “This is practically the perfect spot for zombies. An abandoned ghost town? How stereotypical can we get?”

“Place’s been abandoned for a while,” Peter pointed out. “You can tell - the houses are old, and they’re not wired for electricity. And that mural on the wall - you can just barely make out the numbers 1952.”

James bit his lip. He stared at the empty water bottle in Peter’s hand, then at the empty town. “It’s only around noon,” he finally said. “We get in. We get out. Stay together.”

“People?” Remus asked.

“Don’t kill them. Try and knock them out.”

Remus nodded. “Sure.”

They carefully picked their way down the slope, trying to ignore the rocks digging into their knees. The ghost town was abolutely silent; they could hear the buzz of insects, the scuttling of mice between floorboards.

What’s the place called, James mouthed; they had become good at reading each other’s lips over the years, a skill born out of the need to stay silent when zombies were hunting them.

Hogsmeade, Peter mouthed back.

The fuck?

Remus just pointed to a sign, swinging down from the roof of a long-collapsed store. Hogsmeade Market it read, the words faded and rotted away. James rolled his eyes and looked away.

He felt Peter’s hands close around his wrist, his grip tight and demanding. Look.

Remus obeyed, following his finger to the small trail of smoke in the sky. He glanced over at James; the grim expression on his face let him know that JMes saw it too. Check it out?

James hesitated, then nodded. He fingered the short, heavy blade at his side - they knew how to take care of themselves, though that didn’t stop them from avoiding fights. They needed food though, badly - they had been living off a combination of mice-and-dandelion soup with half a tin of expired beans for the past few days and Remus knew he would starve if they didn’t find anything here.

They followed the smoke, the trail a streak of grey in the sky. It lead to a small hut, the roof caved in and windows dark - they could smell the flames though, heat the crackle of burning wood. Slowly, James eased the door open.

And Remus froze.

Suddenly he was 11 again, attending Hogwarts School, terrified out of his wits on his first day. He was 12, with 3 boys he knew he would die to protect. He was 14, kissing a boy he had loved for ages. He was 15, screaming as they left, ran from the city as the Infected razed it to the ground.

The boy was beautiful, the first truely beautful thing he had seen for god knew how long. He hadn’t seen another human in what felt like years, hadn’t seen anyone but James and Peter. The boy was beautful though, the way a knife was beautiful, sharp edges and worn bits and eyes that glinted like sharpened steel.

He laughed, the sound low and vicious. “Small world, isn’t it.”

James stepped forward; he was angling his body, Remus realized, trying to shield Remus from him. His sword rested casually in his arm; for the first time Remus noticed the bow leaning against the peeking wall. “Look, I’m - “

“Sorry?” The boy smirked. “For what? Leaving without me.”

James flinched. “I - “

“I waited,” the boy interrupted, “For 5 fucking hours. 5 Goddamn hours. But you were gone, weren’t you? You left me.”

“We didn’t mean to,” Peter cut in. “You were late - “

“I was preoccupied,” the boy said flatly, “by my bitch of a parents.”

Remus swallowed, hard. He remembers that night, James dragging him away, the moon high in the night sky. Come on! We’ll die if we stay, they’re coming -

We have to wait! Remus screamed. We can’t leave him!

We won’t survive if we don’t!

Slowly, Remus looked up, swallowing past the lump in his throat. His fingers tightened into fists, nails piercing through flesh.

“Oh look.” The boy sounded dangerously, cruelly excited. “He does remember.”

“You survived on your own?” James asked. Remus could see his knuckles, white on the worn leather of his blade.

The boy shrugged. “I had to. I would have been with you guys, had you not abandoned me. Forgotten me.”

Remus found his voice, hoarse and cracking. “We didn’t - I never - “

“Thank god.” The boy rolled his eyes. “I would hate to think you’d forget your ex-boyfriend.”

“I didn’t - I could never - “

“Say it.” He tilted his head, his eyes suddenly so, so bright, molten silver in the darkness of the room. “Say my name.”

Remus closed his eyes. “Sirius,” he whispered. “Sirius Black.”

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thedarklightwithinus · 5 years

Text

Coffee and Stitches.

A/N; My ask box is open. (Though some are not going through:/)

Summary; After a long day on the ward, the last thing Y/N want’s to deal with is a drunk.

Pairing; Nurse!Reader x Cop!Steve

Words; 2.1k

Part Two

"Morning everyone. Can I have a quick word?"

Y/N looked up from where she was typing away at the computer in front of her, her eyes zeroing in on Daniels. She eyed him for a moment, wondering what it was he wanted to talk about before she turned to look at Nat with a raised brow. The woman in question merely shrugged as she leaned back in her swivel chair, giving their college her full attention.

A small gathering of people, each wearing a specific shade of scrubs that depended on their job title, had found their way to the desk that was situated towards the front of the ward.

"I'v been informed that we are short staffed, so it's gonna be extremely busy." Daniels spoke up once more, looking more relaxed than he probably was feeling. "Philip is currently trying to arrange some agency staff to come in and help out. I'm not to worried about you guys, but I'm going to need nothing less than your very best. Nurses, Romanoff and Y/L/N are your superiors, you have a problem, take it to them. Right... I'll leave it to the pair of you." He finally said, shooting Nat and Y/N a look.

The small group watched as Daniels picked up his paperwork from the desk and spun on left through the automatic doors. Y/N felt eyes on the side of her face as she turned to look at Nat who raised a brow with a small smirk. "Let's get this show on the road."

Y/N rolled her eyes as she laughed lightly. "Alright guys, you know what your dong. Any problems, we'll be around the floor somewhere." She addressed the other nurses with a smile. "Accident and emergency will be sending over patients who aren't about to die if they don't get attention immediately, so be prepared for anything to come walking through those doors."

With that said, the group dispersed accordingly. Y/N took the moment to slouch in her chair, not knowing when she would be allowed such a luxury as sitting down again during her shift.

"How's Wanda doing?" Nat asked, blowing on her coffee cup and taking a small sip.

Y/N smiled at the mention of her sister, refreshing the page on the computer. "She's fine. Vision is taking her out on a date to the zoo today. "

Nat chuckled as she took another sip of coffee. "All about the Giraffe's, right?"

Y/N could do nothing but nod as the two of them shared a laugh. Before either of them could speak up once more, the light box against the wall began to flash red. Nat was quick to hop up, pushing her chair away from the desk and making her way towards the double doors to meet the Accident and Emergency team with the patient while Y/N refreshed the page one more and began to take down all the relevant details.

The rest of the sixteen hour shift seemed to pass by in a blur. Although Daniels had informed them that the hospital was short staffed, it would have been impossible to know on their floor if he had not told them. As the hours disappeared, so did the staff under Y/N's wing. As 2 am drew near, the only people left on the floor was Y/N, Peter who was a junior nurse and the last of the patients who was being treated by Nat.

"Make sure to keep changing the bandages, Mrs Mathews." Nat's voice filled the air as Y/N was showing Peter a diagram of what was acceptable in the case of a severe head injury. "I'll send your notes across to your doctor who'll make you an appointment in the coming week. Take care."

The old woman bid her goodbye as her husband helped her out the doors. Nat dropped into the chair at the desk as she blew out a breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Peter looked up at the red head or a moment, pity on his face as though he understood what she was going through.

Noticing that he wasn't paying attention, Y/N looked up with a raised brow and followed his gaze. She chewed on her inner cheek for a moment before smiling softly. "Nat?" The red head made a noise of question. "Why don't you get off. It's basically two anyway."

"You sure?" Nat mumbled, opening her eyes slightly.

"Pretty sure." Y/N replied. "Get yourself home and in bed. I'm only here for another hour until Robert's take's over anyway. Beside's, it's gone quiet anyway."

Nat nodded as she stood up and began to gather her things together before she bid the pair farewell and left the floor. Y/N continued to help Peter out on the things he wasn't entirely confident on as the clock slowly ticked away. She had him writing a report on the effects of taking blood when the box on the wall began to flash red at half two.

She looked up, eyeing the red light for a moment before she turned to look at Peter who raised a brow slightly. "Carry on with that report." She mumbled, pushing her chair out and standing up. She made her way around the desk, pumping a small amount of hand sanitizer on her hands as she moved towards the double doors.

Almost as soon as the doors opened, she frowned deeply and blew a frustrated breath out of her mouth. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips as she watched the two offers all but drag someone along between them. She tilted her head, deeming the slumped man drunk before she turned to look at the officers with raised brows.

She took in the dark haired one first, ignoring the way his uniform seemed to flex with his arms as he held the mad up. His eyes were of a blue-grey colour, the bottom half of his face covered in what was the makings of a beard. Y/N shook her head before she looked over at the taller one of the pair. His blonde hair didn't look as though a piece of it had fallen from where it was meant to be. His eyes were startling as she made eye contact, trying to force the obvious blush from her face as he smiled at her slightly, coming to a stop in front of her.

"Hey, you're Nurse Y/L/N right?" The blonde asked, raisied a brow at her as she nodded slowly. "Accident and Emergency sent us round. This ones-" He nodded down at the man who was mumbling something. "-causing trouble round there."

"So, Nick thought he'd palm him off on me, right?" Y/N grumbled, rolling her eyes as she sighed and stepped to the side, allowing the officers to bring the man onto the ward. "I'll just get his notes, take him to that bed there-" She pointed out the first row of beds that had been cleaned up. "-I'll be back... Don't let him touch anything." She added after a seconds thought as the blonde laughed slightly while the brunette grinned at the blonde who seemed to look away.

Y/N sighed as she made her way back to the desk to see Peter giving her a look of pity. "I've printed it off for you." He said, holding out a clipboard with the printed page on it. Y/N smiled in thanks, reading through it and picking out what she needed to know. "Need me to get a trolley ready?"

"That'd be great... Thanks Peter." She told him, grabbing a pen from the desk and moving back to the officers and new patient. "Alright. So, I've got a Josh Chard." Looking up, she stared blankly at the mad on the bed who looked as though he'd drank a whole bar. "Can you confirm your date of birth for me, Josh?" She asked, eyeing him for a moment before muttering, "Didn't think so."

"Got a call about an hour ago." The blonde spoke up from the chair. "Picked this one up outside a bar down town not long after. He's got a cut on his head that wouldn't stop bleeding so we brought him straight here."

"He's not complained of any pain... Complained about almost everything else though." The brunette said from where he stood near by with him arms crossed against his chest.

"Y/N." Peter's voice filled the air as he pushed a trolled next to her. "If you need help..."

"Thanks Peter." Y/N smiled, watching as he nodded and made his was back to the desk.

Y/N began to arrange the contents on top of the trolley, opening packets and pulling on a pair of latex gloves as she slid the trolley around the side of the bed, reaching up to pull down the wall mounted light. "Is he even awake?" She found herself asking Blondie who leaned forward and nudged Josh.

"Man, don't touch me." Josh spat, trying to lean out of reach of the officer. Y/N was quick to grip his shoulder and stop him leaning off the bed any more as she pushed him to lean back against the bed. "Well, damn." He muttered, looking up at Y/N who raised a brow at him. "You are just the prettiest thing I've ever seen. But that's a lie... I haven't seen you without them clothes on y-"

"Hey," Blondie harshly muttered, leaning across the bed as he gripped Josh a little more roughly than necessary, his mouth close the his ear. "We are not doing that. Do you hear me?" Josh nodded slowly, his face looking considerably pale. Blondie muttered something that Y/N couldn't hear.

Josh pondered his words for a moment before he let out and breath and muttered something under his breath. "Excuse me?" Y/N asked, leaning in as she tried to pick up what he was saying.

"Sorry." Y/N stood back up as she looked over at the blonde who was busy glaring at the side of Josh's head.

"Er, it's alright... I'm going to clean your wound and stitch it up now." She told him, getting to work.

Most likely due to just how many stitches she had given people in her line of work, Y/N managed to clean, stitch and dress Josh's wound in record time. She pulled her gloves from her hands and disposed of them in the bin near by while she watched the brunette help Josh from the bed and over to the bathroom he declared he desperately needed while she jotted down what she had done on the clipboard.

"Is he off to jail then, Officer..."

"Steve." Blondie told her a little to quickly. "Steve is fine."

"Steve." Y/N smiled slightly.

"That's the plan. "Steve told her. "I'm sorry for what he said earlier."

"Oh, don't worry about it." Y/N laughed, watching as a small smile came to his own face. "I've heard much, much worse than that. Beside's, it wasn't your fault anyway."

Steve nodded, looking as though he wanted to say something as he looked over towards the bathroom. Y/N frowned and followed his line of sight, raising a brow when she noticed his partner flaying his arms about as though he was trying to shout at him silently. The brunette was quick to cross his arms and look away when he noticed her gaze.

"Your partners... Strange."

"Nah, he's Bucky. Strange works down town." Steve told her, squeezing his eyes shut as though he wished he had not said that. "Look, Y/N... I get off work at four and... Well, I was wonderin- If you're not busy... Do you wan't to get breakfast? It's cool if you don't. I bet you've been working all da- Oh, you have haven't you?"

"I have." Y/N told him, her face full of humour. "But I also haven't eaten in hours so sure. I'd like to get breakfast with you. I have the next two days off so I can sleep after."

Steve looked down at her sharply as though he wasn't expecting her to say yes. "Right... Yes. I'll come back here and pick you up?"

"I'll be here."

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers x Reader #Reader #Cop!Steve #cop!au #cop!bucky #Steve Rogers x You #steve rodgers imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #natasha romanoff #nurse!reader #Nurse!Peter #nurse!tom holland #Cop!Steve Rogers

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n1ghtt1me-stars · 4 years

Text

Part 10 (1)

Warlock saunters vaguely through life (Warlock saunters vaguely into their lives part 10) - this work is around 20,000 words so will be uploaded in eight parts every week

work on ao3, part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine

The five years after the non-apocalypse passed quickly and peacefully.

And Warlock really didn't want anything to change.

In school, he had very few friends - really they were more acquaintances than friends - other quiet people he sat with in the library and the computer suite because everyone knew that they wouldn't disturb each other. Warlock wasn't even a hundred per cent certain on all their names.

After his last GCSE exam, he went straight home. It was physics and Warlock was pretty sure he lost all the marks except on the parts about Space, as Crowley had helped him revise that topic. There was talk about a party that all his year was invited to, but it felt presumptive to assume he was a part of that group.

The tube had become part of his everyday routine: headphones in, head down and praying that it wasn't crammed (though it usually was).

There was a well-done-on-your-exams cake waiting when he arrived home. Crowley and Aziraphale stood proudly behind the table with the cake on it. Smiling, Warlock walked over and gave them a hug. Neither of them really understood human school though they celebrated each achievement and somehow cake became a part of it.

Aziraphale began to plate some slices of cake while Crowley turned to him and asked, "How was school, dear?"

"S'alright," Warlock replied. "Hated the test but my physics teacher gave us sweets afterwards. I think she pitied us."

Crowley laughed and Warlock continued with descriptions of his classmates' looks of despair. Aziraphale chimed in with "Oh those poor dears. Were exams one of mine or yours?"

Leaning back in his chair as he thought, Crowley eventually said, "I can't remember. I think I did it but it could have been a favour."

"I swear," Warlock said, "if you didn't give me cake, I would be really annoyed right now."

Later that evening, Warlock laid on his bed on his phone. Somehow, he had become friends with Adam and his lot. Not so much Wensleydale and Brian (Warlock did get Wensleydale's help with physics as well though it didn't pay off). He spoke a bit with Adam who really liked plants, and Warlock had grown up in Crowley's garden so they had some common ground.

Mostly, Warlock messaged Pepper. They both did ICT as a hobby and as a GCSE (Brian also did the exam but only because he thought it would be easy). Pepper was also into social justice and Warlock knew the best way to be heard in both Britain and America through his father’s complaints.

(They also both liked romantic comedies and were too ashamed to admit it to anyone else)

Is Adam still prepping for the party? Warlock sent Pepper after their rants about exams died off.

Of course. Been planning this since his fifteenth. Warlock can feel Pepper rolling her eyes. He's even made a truce with Johnson because he can get drinks for the after-party.

That's dedication. How's he hiding it from his parents?

Convinced Anathema it’s a rite of passage. She's going to distract all the adults including your parents after the barbecue so we can go to the treehouse.

Sounds fun. And it really did. Since his eleventh birthday, it had become a tradition to throw a joint party with Adam. His parents were usually abroad so they travelled to Tadfield for roughly a week.

To you maybe. Adam’s been setting up rubbish bags and threatening to fight anyone who litters in his woods.

Haha so glad I don't help plan these things

Wish you did, Pepper quickly replied before sending another message, it's annoying that you can't come during Christmas or Easter

I know. Two more years and then I don't have to go back to my parents’ house.

Only two years. Can't believe we're all growing up. Pepper sent.

Yeah, neither could he. Growing up was a surreal thing. Changes happened without you noticing; he doesn't know when the last time he called Crowley Nanny was. He remembered being teased for having servants and stopped referring to Nanny in school. And then, it bled into his home life. Warlock wasn't sure if Crowley noticed because he never said anything, but it made Warlock a little sad thinking about it.

I know. Think Adam will mature once we turn 16?

Nope. Still be thinking he's the centre of the universe till someone knocks him down a couple of pegs

Warlock laughed aloud at that. Adam was regularly self-centred, but he meant well most of the time. Once, when they were thirteen, he didn't talk to Warlock for weeks after he couldn't come over for Christmas despite him explaining why. It took Pepper hitting him for Adam to apologise.

The year after, Adam posted a book about coding to the Dowling house. Warlock still wasn't sure how he got that address.

Before he could reply to Pepper, she messaged again that her mum needed her so she'd talk tomorrow. It was only ten so Warlock doodled in his notebook a bit; he could do rough sketches of a variety of plants and flowers without thinking. For his art GCSE, most of his coursework had been based around plants because he could use Crowley's garden as a source. A few years ago, Crowley had expanded to a greenhouse on the roof (which Warlock was pretty sure was closed off to tenants) and it was so beautiful and full of lush plants in there.

It was definitely one of Warlock's favourite places.

A couple of weeks later (most of it was spent catching up on sleep), Warlock packed for their trip to Tadfield. Technically, he wasn't a military kid like the others he grew up with who moved every few years. But, on the other hand, as a diplomat's son, he went on more short-haul trips so packing was a breeze.

Going through his mental list, he packed his clothes effectively so he could take his tablet and laptop. He knew Aziraphale would be taking enough books for the week so he didn't have to worry about that.

Suitcase ready and his phone on charge for the car journey, he went up to the roof. He passed Aziraphale prepping packed lunches in the kitchen: most likely simple sandwiches if he was trying to make something without magic.

It was a rare clear day and Warlock could see miles of the city all around from the rooftop however he couldn't hear the busy streets. Apparently, plants needed a calm, clean atmosphere (even though they were already in a greenhouse) so the roof was quiet and smelled of clean air and not the usual scent of exhaust fumes.

Pushing open the door to the greenhouse, Warlock was met with a warm wall of humidity. Crowley stood over some vibrant green ferns with his water sprayer, inspecting for any damage and threatening them.

"You all better grow well when I'm away," he said as the leaves trembled. "or you'll know what'll happen. I don't think any of you can survive a fall from a roof."

Warlock gently stroked a shaking leaf and it stopped trembling. As if communicating with the others, all the plants went still and Crowley turned to glare at him. "You and Aziraphale are way too nice to them."

"Yeah," Warlock said, "We're the ones who are too nice."

Crowley waved the spray bottle at him before giving the plants one last glare. Walking out of the greenhouse, Crowley asked, "Are you ready to go?"

To be honest, his stomach was turning. Each year, it was terrifying to be celebrating his birthday with people he only saw once a year and only knew because he was standing in the background when the world nearly ended.

"Yep, can't wait," Warlock said. He must have sounded convincing because Crowley told him to put his stuff in the car before going to find Aziraphale.

They stayed in the same rented cottage every year that was always empty despite it being the height of summer. Like the flat, it was a lot smaller than the house he grew up in, but Warlock preferred it. Every floorboard creaked and the chairs felt like they would collapse whenever someone sat on them but it was never empty.

Unsurprisingly, they arrived before lunchtime because of Crowley's driving, so they had the sandwiches at the cottage. Warlock had several messages from Pepper demanding he come into the woods as soon as possible because Adam is getting stressy about the party and someone needs to distract him.

Leaving Aziraphale and Crowley to sort out the cottage, Warlock jumped the fence in the garden as it was the quickest route into the woods. He only came once a year, but he could walk this path with his eyes closed. It was cool beneath the shade of the trees, yet the light that filtered through made the whole area a nice golden hue. The air had a similar feel to the greenhouse: clean, fresh and the furthest thing from the city air.

The first thing he heard was Adam's voice. "Hang the paper chains evenly in the branches," he shouted. Warlock walked into the slight clearing in time to see Pepper glare at Adam. "Please," he added reluctantly at her look.

No one was really sure if Adam still had his powers, but Adam swung round to lock eyes with Warlock as if he just knew he was there.

"Warlock!" He shouted and smiled widely. However, Warlock's response was cut off when a weight slammed into the back of his knees. Stumbling forwards, Warlock stopped himself from falling as Dog continued to jump and bark at him. For some reason, Dog was always overly enthusiastic around him and no one else.

"Hey," Warlock said as Dog ran over and sat down at Adam's ankles. "How are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Adam said. "It's good you're here actually, you can help Wensleydale with the paper chains. He has no idea how to spread the colours evenly."

Looking over at the tree, Warlock could see what Adam meant. There was a large patch of red on one side of the tree, a couple of stands if blue next to it (where Wensleydale was precariously sitting) and other colours in a pile on the floor. If left to his own devices, all the colours would end up in distinct blocks which would just look weird. "Sure," Warlock said, "I'll save the tree."

"Thank you," Adam said earnestly. Suddenly, he shouted "Brian, no!" before running off to deal with another impending disaster.

On his way over, Warlock said hi to Pepper who was setting up some solar-powered garden lights. "We'll have to take some of that red down," he said to Wensleydale who was clambering down from the tree.

"Yeah," Wensleydale said sadly. He cleaned his glasses on his shirt and put them back on to stare at the paper chains. "I guess it would look better if they were mixed together."

"Yeah..." Warlock said as he studied the colours. "If you get back up in the tree, I'll pass them up and we can spread them out?"

"Sounds good," Wensleydale replied and he climbed the tree again. As they worked, they chatted mostly about the recent exams because that was the only common ground they had.

"How did your RE go?" Wensleydale asked. Warlock was grateful that they had quickly moved on from the physics paper.

"Alright I think," he said as he passed up a green chain. "But it didn't help that Aziraphale kept telling me about misprinted bible quotes. They were all I could remember in the exam."

"Oh, I read about some of those. I think my favourite was 'Thou shalt commit Adultery'."

Laughing, Warlock said, "Nah, 'the unrighteous shall inherit the Kingdom of God' is definitely the best one. It's amazing how these were so wrong with just little mistakes."

Finally finished with the tree (which now looked like an explosion of colour instead of a paint-by-number), Warlock realised that his stomach was growling. Brian and Pepper disappeared a while ago once they had finished their jobs and Wensleydale quickly left as well, claiming he was tired from scrambling around the tree. That just left him and Adam, who was trying to get Dog to stop playing with a scrap piece of paper that he was intent on tearing to bits.

"Dog, drop it!" Adam said. Warlock laughed as Dog ignored him. "Drop it," Adam continued sternly, "or no treats for dinner."

Dog dropped it and Adam looked at Warlock smugly. "I'm pretty sure he only stopped because you mentioned treats," Warlock said and Adam's expression faltered slightly.

No," he said stubbornly. "Dog understood the threat."

"Sure he did," Warlock said, filling his voice with sarcasm. "Well," he added, "I'm hungry so I'm going to ..."

"Come to mine," Adam interrupted. "My mum will be preparing dinner soon."

"Uh..." Warlock couldn't see a valid reason to refuse, except that being around the adult Youngs was weird, but he couldn't admit that to their son. "Sure," he said, "let me just message Crowley."

"Awesome," Adam said, and, as soon as Warlock put his phone back in his pocket, grabbed his arm and started dragging Warlock to his house.

Excluding all the supernatural elements, Warlock wondered if there was anyone else in a similar situation where the child was the one to know that they were adopted and not the adult.

He couldn't help thinking about it as Mrs Young pulled him into a hug and Mr Young gave him a firm handshake. Really, he looked nothing like Mrs Young who shared the same light hair and soft face with Adam, and the only similarity he had with Mr Young was the dark hair colour that his mum also had. Adam, though, did actually look like their son despite not being related.

The situation was strange and Warlock usually tried to ignore it, especially around his family because his father could not find out he wasn't biologically his.

It would be the straw that broke the camel's back; it would be all the excuse his father needed to disown him.

"Sit down," Mrs Young said, ushering Warlock and Adam to the dining table. "I'm making bangers and mash so I hope you're hungry."

"They're vegetarian by the way," Adam said to him.

"Yeah, that's fine," Warlock said. He knew that Adam went vegetarian a while back and that his parents followed his example. Anyway, you could never go wrong with sausages and potatoes.

Warlock could hear the sound of ceramic plates being set out and the kettle whistling in the kitchen. Despite his reservations, Warlock did love being in Adam's house. It was loud and full of life and reminded him of the times when he, Aziraphale and Crowley tried to make a new dish together (with varying degrees of success). It was also the furthest thing from the empty estate that he used to live in.

Once everyone was sat down and eating, Mr Young turned to him and asked, "So, what exams did you do Warlock?"

"Uh, ICT, RE and art," Warlock said, "plus English, maths and combined science of course."

"A good range," Mr Young said, meeting Warlock’s eyes as if he was genuinely interested, "Your parents must be proud."

"Yep," Warlock said, quickly shoving a forkful of mash into his mouth so he didn't have to say anymore. He was pretty sure his father's lecture on why he should do more useful subjects like politics or business lasted an hour when Warlock told him his chosen options.

Thankfully, Adam started talking about the party. He omitted the part about the truce and Johnson bringing alcohol but he waved his cutlery around as he spoke about all the decorations and the games they' were going to play in the woods.

"I'm thinking that we play games that we used to play as kids," Adam said, as though he never stopped playing those games. "Forty forty in is good in the dark..."

"How do you play?" Warlock asked.

Adam turned to look at him with wide eyes, "You've never played?" Adam said. Warlock looked away slightly from his shocked look. As a child, the only game he could remember playing was soccer (well football here, that was probably the only American thing about Warlock) when some of his mother's friends brought their children round. Names of games like 'bulldog' and '123 home' were suggested if he remembered correctly but soccer was the only thing they all knew so they didn't have to waste time explaining it. He never had regular friends to develop these kinds of games with.

"No..." Warlock eventually said, focused on the food in front of him as he cut the sausages into tiny, regular pieces. "I've never heard of it."

"That's fine," Adam said, his cheerful mood not at all affected. "You can be on my team and we’ll destroy the others."

"We never played in teams," Mrs Young added. "If you was IT, you had to do it alone."

"Well, in my version there’s teams and it's more fun when you have someone to work with."

"Okay dear, finish your food," Mrs Young said, gesturing to Adam's half full plate which he had been ignoring whenever he spoke.

They finished in relative silence and Warlock helped Mrs Young carry the plates into the kitchen as Adam took Dog out into the garden. "You're such a polite boy," she said, "not like the chaotic demon I raised." Warlock laughed though it was more at the fact that she didn't know how right she was. "Are you excited for the barbeque tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yeah," Warlock said. "Thank you for hosting it again. They're always brilliant. This will be the fifth one-- won't it?"

"Oh its no trouble," Mrs Young said, dismissing his praise with a wave of her hand. "I can't believe you're all growing up so fast. Soon, you'll be at university and then adults. First, it was Adam's sister and now Adam. Oh God," she paused and wiped her eyes, "I better stop before I start weeping."

Warlock scuffed his feet against the floor. "It's alright," he said, feeling like an intruder. Adam had told him late one night in a rare honest conversation that his older sister visited less and less and that it made his mother upset. In return, Warlock told him how his parents had been distant growing up and he disliked people like his sister, who selfishly took their parents' love for granted.

Adam didn't argue with him. He only said that he was glad Warlock was with Aziraphale and Crowley now.

"Go hang out with Adam," Mrs Young said as she shooed him out of the kitchen. "I'll get Arthur to help me."

Leaving her shouting for her husband, Warlock went into the garden where he found Adam laying on the recently-mowed grass with Dog. The sun was just setting, turning the sky red (Warlock hoped that meant the weather would be good tomorrow for their birthday). Sitting down next to him, Warlock saw that Adam's eyes were closed but he knew that Adam was aware that he was there. He waited in silence until Adam opened his eyes.

From his position sitting up, Warlock had to lean over slightly so he could make eye contact with Adam. "Are you going to stay there all night?" he asked.

"Maybe," Adam said with a smirk. Honestly, Warlock wouldn't be surprised if Adam actually did as he always seemed to belong more outside.

"In that case," Warlock said as he stood up, "I'll be heading back to sleep in a proper bed."

Adam groaned but scrambled quickly to his feet. "I'll walk you back," he said. There were grass stains all down his back and loose stands in his hair. Warlock tried to help by picking some of the pieces out but stopped quickly when he felt Adam still beneath his hand.

"You don't have to," Warlock said, feeling slightly guilty for disturbing him.

Adam waved him off. "I want to," he said, smiling brightly.

Adam took them along the main road instead of the through the woods even though it was longer. Surprisingly, Adam kept quiet (only interrupting occasionally to ask questions) when Warlock spent most of the walk talking about some new plants Crowley had gotten recently and how they were so pretty Warlock had already drawn them many times trying to capture them right.

Finally, they reached the cottage. Pausing at the gate to say goodbye, Warlock was shocked when Adam pulled him into a quick hug. Adam pulled away too soon for Warlock to hug him back and said, "You're so going to love your present tomorrow."

"I bet my present for you is better," Warlock said almost automatically as his brain was still processing the hug.

Adam laughed and said, "Doubt it," before running off.

When Warlock woke up the next morning, his memory of his conversation with Adam was crystal clear while the rest of the evening after that was a complete blur in his mind.

Next part

#warlock tags along #warlock grows up #warlock saunters vaguely into their lives #good omens #good omens fanfiction

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polarisavi · 5 years

Text

tenderness is in the hands

or, Eliott’s favourite cinema has cheap popcorn, a lot of foreign films, and a blue eyed boy behind the counter. // 3k // ao3

The Lallemant Theatre looks half dilapidated from the street. Old fashioned, with faded vintage posters in dull, scratched up frames outside, and half the light bulbs blown out, throwing odd shadows on the movie titles.

Eliott is there at least once a week.

The scuffed up wooden floors feel like home. Golden walls littered with more decades old posters, velvet love seats in deep red and purple scattered at odd intervals along the sides of the room, the scents of melted butter and bleach inescapable and constant.

“There you are. I was worried you were dead in a ditch,” says the only other person in the building. Eliott, before he’s had a chance to lift his head to find him, grins on instinct. Lucas’ voice, lilting and teasing, washes away the bad mood this week has left him with.

“Serious bodily harm is the only thing that would keep me from you,” he allows. Lucas just scowls, bristles, and puts aside the magazine in his hands. Eliott keeps smiling. It’s hard to predict exactly how Lucas will react when he says things like that, but whatever response he gets is a treasure.

“You’re almost late, you know.”

Eliott finally reaches the counter, places his hands on it and leans over a bit. Lucas’ hair is defying gravity, his eyes bright under the lighting, and a red plaid scarf that would contrast delightfully with his skin is curled next to the keyboard. Eliott wriggles his eyebrows. “You’d wait for me though, right?” Lucas rolls his eyes, so Eliott wages forward. “What’s on tonight?”

“Some Australian horror.” Lucas runs a hand through his hair, some of his fingernails flashing with chipped colour. “I’m not sure if you’ll like it, to be honest.”

Eliott hums vaguely and pulls out his wallet, finds a creased note between a collection of abandoned loyalty cards and faded concert tickets. The ticket stub he gets in exchange has a thick yellow line down the side, and the hand giving it to him has badly painted nails, each one a different shade of green.

“You’re really bad at that,” he says, nodding to Lucas’ hand. Lucas squints his eyes, raises his chin a little.

“I had to use my left hand.”

“Uh huh. Let’s see your other hand, then.” The other hand in question immediately disappears from view. From the way he shifts, there’s a good chance Lucas is sitting on it.

Eliott grins in triumph. “There’s no shame in being truly terrible at things, Lucas.”

“I suppose you would know a thing or two about it.”

Valiantly, Eliott lets that slide, stuffs the ticket in his pocket. The colour changes every month or so, and soon he’ll have enough of them saved to do - something. A collage, a sculpture, something worthy of this building, of the memories inside its walls. “Why don’t you think I’ll like the movie?”

“I’ve only seen pieces, but it doesn’t seem to have any… sincerity in it. Which I know you don’t have a lot of tolerance for.”

“You remember that?” Not a lot of people actually listen to him when he talks about film, the thread sometimes unspooling too quickly, tangling and looping, and making it hard for anyone to follow easily.

Lucas expression goes warm, kind, and something boarding on sympathetic. “I remember everything you say, Eliott.” There’s an implied obviously in the air and, well, no one would blame him for the way his heart beat rushes, especially when Lucas says his name like that, affectionate, weighty, like it’s valuable, like it matters.

Eliott looks to the side, coughs, brings the lighter out of his pocket just to have something to fiddle with.

“Has anyone else got a ticket for it?”

The way Lucas shakes his head makes his hair dance. “Just you. How much popcorn do you want?”

Eliott shoots the popcorn machine a look, its yellow glow a physical presence in the room. He can almost feel the sheer quantity of butter clogging up his veins from here. Simultaneously they take the couple steps to the side where the confectionery part of the counter technically starts.

“Depends, how hungry are you?” he asks, smirks, when Lucas has the audacity to look surprised Eliott is asking.

“Who says I’m joining you? I have a job to do, you know.”

It’s a good argument, but one that would probably work better if they were in a theatre that had more than roughly fifteen customers a week, most of them not at 9pm on a Wednesday.

“You would rather sit out here doing magazine quizzes and waiting for customers that don’t exist than sit next to me for a few hours and prove just how bad you are with accents?”

“You’re so annoying, and I have nothing to prove to you. “

Eliott softens. “I know you don’t. So how hungry are you?”

Without argument, Lucas shoots the popcorn a longing look. “So fucking hungry. Don’t worry,” he adds, flaps his hand like he can reverse Eliott’s move to take his wallet out again. “it’s included in your ticket price.”

A blatant lie, but Eliott doesn’t call him on it, just shrugs. Lucas nods and starts piling popcorn into the biggest box they have, the cardboard checkered orange and white. Lucas’ maman, the owner, seems to love colour, the theatre drenched in vibrancy, texture, calling out to a city that’s too blind to see it.

When Lucas passes the box over, their fingers overlap, and Eliott sets the food down in favour of getting a closer look at his hands. It’s a good thing Lucas has started painting his nails, he doesn’t have to reach for an excuse. It’s a lot smoother than Lucas’s I think there’s a bug, oh no wait my mistake, I’ve always liked tattoos, why do you have mardi written on your knee? It’d been a warm day, on the cusp of summer, the arms of their singlets plunging low to their waists, both of their legs’ exposed, and it was a good thing Lucas moved first because Eliott had been trying to find reasons for why Lucas really should stop sitting properly and drape his leg’s across Eliott’s. He’s as shameless as Lucas, really, just hides it better.

And this, this is slightly subtler. He leans down like he’s properly inspecting Lucas’ hands, face serious, touch gentle, and Lucas doesn’t resist, bends easily to make room for Eliott’s whims.

The colour isn’t really that badly done, really, but still.

“You can practice on me, if you want,” Eliott offers. Nicely, in his opinion, but Lucas’ eyebrows furrow.

“I’m really bad at it.”

“…Which is why I offered.”

He presses his lips together. “I don’t mind being bad when it’s my own body, but you have nice hands,” Eliott chokes on nothing, Lucas mouth quirks. “I don’t want to ruin them.”

“You couldn’t ruin anything.”

“Well, some things,” Eliott doesn’t think he imagined the seconds Lucas takes to flick his eyes down Eliott’s body, “but if you insist, I’ll gladly use you to experiment on.”

Eliott doesn’t know when they started having, how they keep having, multiple conversations at once, but it’s a bit too much. His hand automatically moves to tap at his lips, a nervous tic, but, right, they’re still holding - no, not holding, just touching - hands. He can feel the edge of a callous on one of Lucas’ fingers. Drums? Guitar? Wire sculpture? Carpentry? Before he can ask further, Lucas slips his hand away and he jumps the counter.

“Come on, I don’t want to keep you out late.”

Lucas sets off towards the splintered hall that most of the theatres spring off, and Eliott follows him automatically, absently reclaiming the popcorn when Lucas picks up a jacket, presumably his own. “You don’t?”

“Well, not for this,” the tips of his ears go slightly red, but nothing else. One day Eliott will make him blush for real, and it will be a beautiful day. “Isn’t a regular sleep schedule good for you? For stability, I mean.”

“I don’t remember telling you that.”

“That’s because you didn’t. I did some research, after you told me. The Wikipedia article for bipolar disorder is very well written.”

“No WebMD?”

Lucas shakes his head. “Yahoo Answers was very educational, though.”

“Well, primary sources are important.”

Lucas takes a right turn, a direction that can only take them to two cinemas: the Burgandy and the Woolf. The former reasonably large, wide seats, a bronze curtain unveiling the screen, and the width between aisles just that little bit too small for his liking. The latter is smaller, screen half the size, the walls dark blue, ceiling tall, and a collection of deep couches to seat the audience. It is, undeniably, Eliott’s favourite, and the way Lucas is looking, pleased, content, a slight bounce to his walk that usually isn’t there - Eliott has to resist the urge wrap his arms around him and, possibly, never let go. The ecosystem here would support them; they’d never have to leave.

The next time he glances over at Lucas his heart stutters when he finds those blue eyes already trained on him, eager, adoring. The barriers between them erode the deeper they roam into the guts of the building. The architecture is tricky, clever, expands beyond the barriers granted to it by the city, and something similar happens to them. Eliott feels paper thin, transparent, emotions bleeding into the space between them. Lucas reaches across, tugs on his arm, and leads them, unsurprisingly, into the Woolf. And it’s okay that he’s bleeding, that this far deep the physics of the room demands honesty, because it’s Lucas, a fixed point in the universe, who, underneath the snark and pouting and dramatics, has always ever only gathered up all the kindness and joy and tenderness he could find in his hands and offered it to Eliott freely.

Lucas softly nudges Eliott towards a couch in the centre but doesn’t follow him down when Eliott sits, sinks, into the middle of it, wanders away to do whatever is required to start the movie. The lights dim, first, then the screen clicks to life with a kind thank you for choosing Lallemant Theatre for your movie going experience. The room is a universe unto itself, and the last traces of the day slide off of him, every bad thought getting lost in the dark.

Lucas, when he returns, drops down on Eliott’s side, close, confident, and reaches across his body for a handful of popcorn. Eliott had placed it beside him, next to the armrest, without thinking, but clearly it had been a great idea.

Lucas’ neck arches back when he relaxes, stares at the ceiling, chest moving slowly, deeply, his collarbone refracting light. It’s - Eliott shouldn’t stare like this, should try and tame his greedy eyes, because Lucas isn’t his to stare at so blatantly. Not really. Whatever nebulous, shifting, sometimes delicate thing they’ve morphed into over these months, there are some lines still intact, things left unsaid under a gossamer veil of… deniability, caution, something.

Like he’s been summoned by the current of Eliott’s thoughts, Lucas flops his neck, looks at him. “Can I take you up on your offer?”

“Of course,” Eliott answers automatically, without bothering to figure out exactly what he’s referring to. Yes, of course, literally whatever Lucas wants. His responding grin is visible even in the low light, and in the seconds Eliott takes to bask in and appreciate his smile, Lucas straightens up, whips out a small bottle of nail polish from somewhere, its lid silver and the polish colour unknown.

Right. Eliott has his doubts about how well this will go given the changing light levels, courtesy of the pre movie ads, and lack of a solid surface, but Lucas twists to sit sideways, takes Eliott’s hand and places it on one of his thighs, and, really, if Lucas has deemed this environment adequate, who is Eliott to tell him otherwise.

The denim of his jeans is warm, the muscle underneath firm, and Lucas pats his hand, just once, before opening the polish and securing the bottle in the crease of his other leg.

“What colour is it?”

“Dark orange, kinda.”

“I don’t know if it’ll go with my complexion. “

Lucas snorts. “You can take the hit.”

The first brush is on his thumb, and leaves a sizeable streak on the skin beside his nail. An edge of a smile is visible from Eliott’s eye line. The next nail goes about the same way, and Eliott makes the decision to study the room, the ads, the tumble of Lucas’ hair, rather than watch in real time as burnt orange varnish settles into the grooves of his skin.

By the time he finishes painting that hand, the movie has started, and Eliott really should pay attention, but his gaze is stuck. There are stars in Lucas’ eyes, his skin stained rose from light thrown from the screen, veins in his arms; Eliott vibrates with the need to touch, to feel, to trace the shape of his hands, his arms, the sweet curve of his neck.

His hand, the one on Lucas’ thigh, clasps, squeezes, subconsciously, and Lucas finally, finally, meets his gaze properly. His mouth feels sticky, stuffed with fairy floss, and he wants to apologise but the words won’t come out. There are stars in his eyes, an entire ocean, every sublime mystery the universe has to offer.

Characters are talking, their accents grating, and the light burns white.

Lucas’ hand finds his and squeezes.

“Can our next date be somewhere else?”

Eliott’s mind goes blank, tries to force the fairy floss away. “Our next date?”

“Or our first one, either way,” Lucas says, and his smile is cheeky, eyes teasing. Eliott takes a second to readjust to this new reality, this beautiful, divine reality, and lets himself smile too, gentle, and probably slightly awed.

“We’ve been doing this for how long, and this is how you officially ask me out?”

Lucas’ cheeks bunch with how big he’s smiling. “You had something better in mind, Romeo?”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I would’ve convinced your maman to play my favourite romance, and then recreated one of the scenes with you, which would make you swoon and win your heart.”

Lucas’ mouth gapes for a second, incredulous. “That sounded very well planned for something that I only just asked you.”

“That was one of my top five plans.”

“Five?”

“I’ll tell you about them later.” Lucas looks curious, like he wants to ask more, want to keep interrogating every romantic scenario Eliott has ever thought of, eyes flicking across Eliott’s features, and when he bites his lip Eliott’s gaze drops to them, plush, pink, begging to be captured. Normally Eliott would indulge him anything, but there are some better things they could do. “Can I please kiss you now?”

Lucas starts nodding before he’s finished speaking, smiles for a second, and he doesn’t have to lean far because Eliott has already moved forward, curled into his space.

“Please,” Lucas whispers, leans his neck up, and Eliott falls into his gravity. The first tentative brush of their lips feels like the first ever breath of air, vital, stabilising, impossible to live without. His hands go up to cup Lucas’ cheeks, keep him there, keep him close. His veins fizz and heart flutters, bounces, around his chest, but this, the sweet drag of Lucas’ lips, his soft sigh when Eliott tilts his head, kisses his deeper, slower, this is the most certain, the most right, he’s ever felt about anything. The universe was designed to place him here, with this boy, so close he’s almost in his lap. Placed him so he can hear the low noise Lucas makes, the vibrations travelling straight down to his core, when he breaks their kiss.

Lucas, dazed, confused, and smiling, looks back at him. “Why’d you stop?” his voice is a little gravelly.

Eliott strokes the cut of his cheekbones with his thumb. “I just - I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he murmurs.

“Really?” Lucas asks, with a level of shock that shouldn’t be there, that Eliott will have to rectify every day they’re together. For now, though, he shrugs, raises his eyebrows teasingly.

Lucas makes a dramatic sound, some kind of sigh/groan hybrid, and looks heavenward. “I wasn’t sure if you were like that with everyone, or just me.”

When he looks back down Eliott guides their foreheads together, shakes his head gently so they don’t get displaced. “Only you. Ever since I saw you, it’s only been you.”

#skam france #elu #my fic

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