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zekepng · 5 months

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𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐊 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘

One evening, a familiar neighbour approaches you and requests a favour, even though it's late. You willingly assist him and he doesn't let you leave without generously rewarding you for your helpfulness.

Milkman (Francis Mosses) one shot, explicit content - fanart: Yunonoai on twitter

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As you settle into your seat, you feel your eyelids growing heavy from the gentle sway. It's a quiet Sunday, with only a few souls venturing through. It seems like the majority of the neighbours have chosen to stay home and take a break today.

You found some satisfaction in your job, despite your preference for being at home on a Sunday.

At least you're earning a paycheck for your efforts to do nothing.

Just like magic, the elevator doors glide open, as if anticipating your thoughts. You awaken, your gaze drawn to the window shielding your office. Anastacha glances in your direction, offering a brief wave and a smile before gracefully heading towards the exit.

You reciprocate the gesture, ensuring there are no witnesses nearby.

Before slipping on your headphones, you steal a quick glance at the clock on the wall, hoping to see the hand inching closer to ten, but it's barely making its way to eight.

Once again, as if following a precise rhythm, your tired eyes gently close.

Until the sound of forceful pounding against the glass abruptly jolts them awake. You find yourself on the edge of your seat, suddenly snapping upright in a state of sheer panic.

You abruptly lose track of your surroundings, momentarily transported from your peaceful bed to an unfamiliar place.

You find yourself sinking into the uncomfortable chair, feeling the strain in your back as you gaze out through the transparent barrier that separates you from the outside world. You can't help but feel a rush of surprise as you lay your eyes on the towering figure before you, his gentle smile adding a touch of warmth to the scene.

"Long shift?" He asks, his head slightly tilted. His gentle, deep brown eyes fixate on you, capturing a flicker of delight in your astonished expression.

"Francis," you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. You remove the headphones from your ears and sit up straight in your chair.

As per his usual attire, he wears a pristine white shirt and sleek black trousers, complemented by a stylish black bow tie. With his trademark white hat perched atop his tousled brown silk hair, it's clear that he's having a particularly dishevelled day.

“Did I startle you?” He asks, his voice carrying a sense of innocence as he gently removes his hat from his head.

You tear your eyes away from his, only to steal a quick glance at the clock, hoping to catch any sign of time passing. You find it shocking that what seemed like an eternity actually lasted a mere half an hour. "Well, I never expected anyone to approach me," you murmur softly.

"My apologies, (y/n)," he says with a playful laugh, “but I need you to get into my apartment.”

As you regain consciousness, a wave of disorientation washes over you. You gaze at him with a bewildered expression, desperately trying to comprehend his words. Suddenly, he utters, "My keys, (y/n). You have my keys, just like you do every day.”

Your cheeks flush as a wave of embarrassment washes over you, all while he stares at you with a gentle smile, almost bordering on a smirk. “Sorry, it’s been a long night.” You casually reach over and take his house keys from the hook.

“I guess I’m not the only forgetful one here,” he chuckles, clutching the keys to his truck in his hand.

During your week of working here, you formed a pact with Francis. Because of his tendency to forget, he would often misplace one of his keys and ask for a spare. In order to avoid this recurring issue, you both decided to make an arrangement where his keys would be kept downstairs at your desk.

As he inches towards the glass, a sense of confusion washes over you until he finally says, “I have another favour I need you to do for me.”

“Which is?” You ask, carefully examining his features. You trace the contours of his nose, gradually becoming absorbed in your own thoughts—lewd thoughts.

You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him as he talks.

The gaze in his almond-shaped eyes carries a captivating yet mysterious allure.

Every time he passes by, his demeanour seems gloomy, but a flicker of joy illuminates his eyes when he catches a glimpse of you. However, that happiness quickly dissipates as his smile vanishes.

You can't help but imagine the intense gaze and the heated encounter as he bends you over your desk and fucks you senseless.

Your mind is swirling with questions like, What noise does he make? Is he loud? Would he fuck you good? Is it big?

It has to be big.

There is a mysterious presence about him that eludes comprehension, yet it holds you captivated.

“So, can I?” He asks, jolting you back to reality as you realise you've completely zoned out and missed his entire conversation.

You find yourself shaking your head in disbelief, struggling to process his words. However, your mind becomes overwhelmed with a flurry of unanswered questions. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that for me?”

“I asked if I could place a few of my milk trays in your office as I unload them from my truck? It’s far colder there than it is out here,” he asks, causing your eyes to cautiously shift between his face and the office floor, contemplating if they would even fit.

“It’s just so that I don’t have to keep going to my truck all the way to the third floor.” He includes this detail in an effort to convince.

You're still apprehensive because it's against the rules to allow residents into the office, even for a brief period of time. “I don’t think I can let you in here, Francis.” You admit, a hint of guilt creeps into your expression.

"Come on," he pleads, his head tilting and his hands clasping together in a prayer-like gesture. “Please, it will only be for a few minutes, (y/n).”

His voice trembles and his eyes become gentle, almost melting you with their intensity.

"It's late, and this secret can stay between us," he pleads, his voice filled with desperation. “I promise I’ll reward you for being good to me, (y/n).” It’s almost as if the use of him saying your name was a kryptonite to you.

Every atom of your being trembles as your name escapes out of his mouths, sending shivers down your spine.

“Fine,” you reluctantly concede, succumbing to his pleading stare. “Just be quick.”

In a matter of moments, he effortlessly reveals a sly grin, his expression as stoic as ever, as he casually lowers his hands by his side. "You’re the best,” he exclaims while placing his hat back on his head and stepping back outside.

You cautiously lean back in your chair, then rise to your feet and unlock the office door. Before proceeding, you cautiously survey your surroundings, ensuring that no prying eyes are present.

The last thing you desire is to attract unwanted attention and risk being reported for violating any regulations.

As you gently nudge the door, you lean against it, ensuring it stays ajar, eagerly anticipating Francis swift return from his truck. As time passes, you observe him effortlessly using his back to swing open the door of the building. He then pivots and starts making his way towards you.

You watch as he carefully balances two crates, one on top of the other, brimming with delicate glass milk bottles. You watch as he effortlessly carries the heavy crates into the office, his white shirt rolled up to reveal his strong forearms adorned with prominent veins.

You can't help but have your attention fixated on him, like an annoying, persistent fly.

"I only have two more to carry," he says, walking past you once more before vanishing outside.

You eagerly anticipate his return, and when he finally enters the building, he is drenched from the rain. You can't help but notice how his shirt is nearly transparent, allowing a glimpse of his skin underneath.

As raindrops trickle down his face, they leave a trail of glistening droplets in their wake.

As he enters the office with the two crates, you quietly trail behind him, allowing the door to gently shut behind you. You watch as he carefully places the crates on top of each other, his gaze sweeping across the office before he straightens up.

You watch as Francis takes off his hat, his face filled with a sense of relief. I can help you carry these up to your apartment, however, in order to do so, I'll need the key to the truck," you mention, extending your hand towards him.

You find yourself captivated by his stare as he gently places the keys in your open hand. As you casually swap the truck key for the flat key, his gaze remains fixated on you.

As you turn around to face him, you find yourself taken aback as you come face to face with him, your eyes widening in surprise at his close proximity.

His towering presence looms above you, his hand poised near the switch that will lower the shutter. You find yourself struggling to control your breathing, as if your breath has been captured by an unseen force.

“Did you think I forgot about your reward?” His voice says, sending shivers down your spine while also captivating your senses.

Without uttering a single sound, he proceeds to push the switch, causing the shutters to gradually descend, leaving only you and him in the office.

"I didn't think you were serious," you mutter, struggling to articulate your thoughts.

As he takes the keys from your grasp, his touch is tender as he delicately cradles your chin with his other hand. You find yourself instinctively retreating as he moves closer, your back pressing against the edge of your desk. “Good girls deserve to be rewarded, (y/n).”

“And you’re a good girl for helping me, aren’t you, (y/n)?” He asks, gently caressing your lips with his thumb.

You fix your eyes on him, a gaze brimming with intense desire. You find yourself completely immobilised and unable to utter a single word, ensnared in a captivating spell cast by his presence.

You want him to tear your clothes off and fuck you savagely as if you were animals.

In the blink of an eye, his tender caress transforms into something forceful. You watch as his hand swiftly clamps around your jaw, his eyes filled with intensity. "Say it," he demands, his voice filled with authority.

In any other circumstance, fear might consume you, but instead, a surge of pleasure courses through your body, intensifying the throbbing sensation between your legs.

You swallow nervously before quietly admitting, "I am."

"Good," he murmurs, loosening his hold on your jaw as he draws you closer to him. Out of nowhere, he surprises you by gently placing his lips against yours, leaving you completely stunned.

You feel the warmth of his body as your hands instinctively glide up his neck, drawn to his touch. You can't help but be drawn to his kisses, even though they're sloppy.

They are filled with a raw and intense passion that ignites something deep within you. You feel a gentle bite on your bottom lip, and a soft moan emerges from your throat as he takes the chance to slide his tongue through.

You can sense the heat coursing through your veins, which is matched only by the rapid thumping of your heart.

As he shifts back, a brief strand of saliva lingers between you both, only to be swiftly followed by another passionate kiss. You find yourself captivated by the gentle gaze in his eyes as he slowly moves his lips from yours to the tender skin of your neck.

You feel a soft nibble on your neck, followed by a gentle whisper in your ear, “Sit on the desk.”

You find yourself completely mesmerised by his every word, unable to resist his intriguing presence. You obediently follow the directions, concealing any signs of bewilderment. You settle yourself on the desk, feeling a slight breeze as your skirt lifts slightly.

You reach out to mend it, but he abruptly halts your movement. His hands gently lift yours away from your thighs, finding their place on either side of you.

You watch as he gracefully lowers himself to the ground, effortlessly sinking to his knees right in front of you.

You find yourself at a loss for words as you experience the sensation of his hands enveloping your thighs, gently guiding you closer to the edge of the desk.

You feel the gentle touch of his lips against the sensitive skin of your thighs, eliciting a soft gasp as you tilt your head back in response.

You feel a gentle tug on your thong, as it gracefully slides down your leg and is set aside.

You adjust your skirt higher, feeling a sudden warmth on your cheeks as you become aware of your vulnerability.

You're captivated by the intensity of his eyes, lost in the moment as he delicately positions your legs over his shoulder, drawing you nearer without disrupting the desk.

You observe him with anticipation and a heightened sense of desire as he approaches your cunt. You find yourself biting your lip, a soft whimper escaping your lips as his warm tongue playfully dances around your clit, sending waves of teasing pleasure through your body.

The tip of his tongue delicately explores and teases your pussy.

Unexpectedly, he inserts two fingers into your wet hole, eliciting a chorus of pleasure-filled sounds from your lips.

You slowly glide your hand through his soft, lustrous brown hair, then firmly grasp it as he skillfully moves his fingers in and out of you, simultaneously using his tongue to pleasure your most sensitive spot.

You are consumed by an overwhelming surge of tension, which sends waves of pleasure cascading through your entire being. "Oh fuck," you gasp, your voice filled with desire, as you tightly grip his hair.

You can feel the intensity building as his tongue quickens its pace, sending waves of tension through your body. Just as the knot of anticipation reaches its peak, he eases off, gradually slowing down.

You feel a rush of pleasure as his fingers move in and out of you, perfectly synchronised with the skillful movements of his tongue. It's as if he knows exactly how to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

As if to intensify the sensation, he adds a third finger into your dripping pussy, causing you to cry out, "Francis, please!" His tongue quickens its pace once more, heightening the pleasure even more.

You sense your proximity drawing near. You can feel the heat building up inside you, your breath quickening and your toes curling in pleasure as he expertly stimulates you with his slender fingers. "I'm getting close," You struggle to utter the three simple words, your voice trembling with emotion.

Out of nowhere, he abruptly withdraws his mouth from you, yet his fingers remain inside, delving deeper and deeper.

You're hooked by the intense stare he directs towards you, his eyes filled with a mysterious allure. A blend of your fluids and his spit moistens his mouth as he slowly smirks at you.

Author's note: part 2 is pending... ಇ

#francis mosses #thats not my neighbor #thats not my neighbour one shot #francis mosses x reader #zekepng #smut #one shot #one shot smut

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lovelykhaleesiii · 10 months

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dark!mike with vanessa sister…

perhaps she’s a police officer (or cop whatever people call them) like her sister or vanessa just brings her along.

Vanessa gets a call about a break in somewhere else and leaves her sister with mike at the pizzeria, one thing leads to another and mike her up against the desk.

(not the best at trying to explain stuff, sorry!!)

Good Cop, Bad Cop

PAIRING: Dark!Mike Schmidt x fem!Afton!Reader

WORDS: 2,352.

WARNINGS: swearing, p in v sexual intercourse, breast play, degradation kink, slight praise kink, dark!Mike, possessive qualities. Mike being a tease.

A/N - thank you for sending this request in! hope I did it justice x please feel free to leave a comment / reblog :)

It was nothing out of the ordinary, being paired with your elder sister, Vanessa, tagging along her side during the night shifts. If you were being quite honest with yourself, you had suspected it. Besides, she was your senior, a colleague, as you were just a fresh, new recruit in the local police department. To break the ice, your sheriff thought it best to pair you two together, nonetheless.

"Just need to make a quick stop-"

As the alluring neon red and blue lights flickered off from the reflection of the dark, stained glass, your curious eyes wandered towards the desolate, outdated building before you. From the sheer glimpse of the ruined exterior, an uneasy sensation, some hesitation to even leave the vehicle began to churn in the pit of your stomach. This place did not look welcoming by the least, despite the shattered fragments of cartoonish figures decorated on its exterior: most likely an attempt to appeal to the children of previous generations.

"Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria?" You confounded, naturally feeling the puzzling flex of your brows furrowing with confusion, as you turned to face your elder sister in the driver's seat.

"Just need to make a quick round, Mike here is the new security guard... This place is known for vandals and criminal activity. And he's only one person."

With the swift mention of his name, Vanessa's head instinctively nudged towards the direction of the older, rugged looking brunette, who stood by the locked entrance of the neglected complex. Eerily as if he had heard the mention of his name, even with the substantial distance apart, his head flicked upwards as means of a wordless "hello."

His features felt unthreatening, strewed with a tinge of exhaustion, as you noticed the dark circles that saturated beneath his eyes. Regardless, you could not deny, he was quite pleasing to look at, a handsome face nonetheless: it was a shame he spent his nights hidden away in some remote corner of town, and his days asleep.

"Glad to see you made it through another night. Just wanted to make sure you hadn't run into trouble already. This is my sister, by the way, and our new rookie, Y/N-"

"Dragged you along, did she now?" Mike remarked, and although you surmised it was his attempt to kid, his tone remained monotoned, except for the subtle, sly smirk across his face, as he assertively leaned his hands over to shake your own. His grip was strong against your own, his hand larger in size, swallowing your own, his texture rough. His lingering eyes had been fixated on you since you came into his vision: catching fleeting yet blatant glances, he showed no shame when you had caught him those few instances. A sudden, flustering wave of heat flashed across your face, feeling your cheeks turn shamefully scarlet. Even disguised in your uniform, declaring such authority, you felt bashfully meek in his presence, rather a school girl than a cop.

As Vanessa's familiar voice echoed in the background, your attention panned to the vacant, decaying building. It felt somewhat eerily familiar, a faint memory you could scamper in your mind in the distance and yet nothing jolted a clear vision.

The abrupt static whirring of the radio from the vehicle had snapped you back to reality: immediately she excused herself as she scattered off, leaving you to bask with Mike.

"S-So you've only just started as security... Here?" You softly stutter, intent on maintaining direct eye contact with Mike in reciprocation, even though it felt conflicting against your meek nature. Despite the practical training and experience dealing with delinquents, this vulnerability was a first. He seemed timid yet unnerving simultaneously: you felt uncertain whether he was simply just a quiet, introverted man or if he truly intended to disguise and deceit himself as one.

"No-No, I've been here for a month now, your sister just likes to make her rounds. Think she's still uncertain about me, but I don’t blame her."

His response ignited a satisfying wave of relief: as you leaned towards the hurtful notion that he would ignore you. The huskiness in his low voice almost made it feel as though he was sleep talking, only loud enough for you to hear.

"Just a curious thing though, your uh- sister. She's never mentioned you before...W-Why's that?" He uttered, as his brows frowned in sync with his words, a bemused look tinged across his face, as he patiently awaited your answer.

"W-Well V's always been private about her personal life. Since I could remember, sh-she's always been this particular way. Just her innate nature, I s'pose," Defeatedly sighing garnishing your final words, with an indefinite shrug, before glancing back at Vanessa, caught in her own world.

"Well, your sister took no time trusting me... But you- You are the undetected anomaly in her story. There must be a reason..."

Vanessa had abruptly left in the company of a man you had just met.. Having hastily returned from the radio call, from a fellow colleague requesting for her senior presence as backup, she was bound to follow. She had insisted you remain with Mike as he settled for the night, whether he approved of it or not however, you could not say with certainty. He remained silent and sullen, as you both carefully watched your elder sister driving off into the nightly distance, the glaring neon blue and red lights flashing in the distance.

Mike had led you in, gesturing you to enter first as a gentleman would, before shutting the entrance close once more. Thankfully, he had broken the awkward silence, excusing himself momentarily to boost the electricity, only to give you a brief tour of the premises before guiding you into the security office, where the blank monitor screens echoed your reflection.

"So you really just sit here the entire night? And watch the screens?" You intrigued, feeling the natural flex of your brows furrowing, as you fiddled with the papers and dusty stationary on the desktop. A part of you, unable to fathom that a job like this would exist in such a deserted place like this.

"A job is a job for me. At that point, I was willing to take anything they offered." The monotone level of his voice was unwavering, deep, his tiresome eyes remained fixated on you though, as you remained unwilling to return the favour.

"I suppose so, don't you get lonely all by yourself though? Nothing to make the time go by-"

With no spatial awareness, you hadn't even realised how close Mike had slowly crept towards you. Closing off the distance inch by inch, before he assertively strode towards you. The unfamiliar sensation of his arm snaking around your waist, was what had caught your deficient attention, as he plunged his lips against your own in a passionate kiss. And although your eyes had widened in bewilderment, your body froze like an ancient statue in the initial seconds, as your mind raced to comprehend. As he lingered on, pursuing the kiss, your tense muscles easing, you felt no obligation to shove Mike off. No urge to decline his advance, it felt destined, relaxed into his embrace.

"W-What was that about?" You breathlessly stuttered: not wanting to decline Mike nor give the impression that you had disapproved. Despite only having met the man an hour ago, he made you feel helpless, like some schoolgirl with a pathetic, little crush that devoured her from the inside out.

Was it truly the boredom of the night that had consumed his rational mind, to do something that seemed quite extraordinary for him?

"You don't think I didn't notice you blushing outside? How nervous I made you? You don't think I would take advantage of a pretty girl like you gushing on me, huh?

His soft lips once more made contact with you, although this time exploring the sensitive crook of your nick: eagerly sucking at your tender skin.

"M-Mike we sh-shouldn't, I-I'm an off-"

"Nah-Nah, baby... You're going to be my fuck toy tonight. My little, pretty whore to keep me company. That's what you really want to be, right?"

His gentle kisses in between the suckling of your skin was bewitching enough to send your mind into an abyss. You knew this was wrong, you knew that if Vanessa found out, if your department found out, it would stain your career, or worse. And yet, your body said otherwise, disintegrating into Mike's lustful appetite.

"I-I sh-shouldn't."

*tut tut* "You know you want to, baby... Why deny it? I didn't think there were any pretty girls worth it left in this fucking hell hole... You think I'm going to pass it up?-"

With his words, Mike had swiftly lifted you momentarily, nesting himself between your spread legs as you sat atop the desk. One of his rough, calloused hands remained pinning your hips, whilst the other snaked its way smoothly beneath your uniform, firmly cupping and kneading at your breast.

"No-No... I've already put up with enough, I deserve something special. M'gonna fuck you so good, I'll have you forgetting you even were on the job."

"Y-Yes" You pathetically whimper, your hands instinctively wandering over Mike's body, itching to feel his bare skin against your palms. You manage to sneak your arms beneath his shirt, feeling the thickness of his flexing muscles beneath his moving body, as you grip at his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh.

"Look at you, princess, already so needy for me. You desperate for my cock, huh? What happened to the talking stage?" He lowly teases, a smirk spewed across his face, as you feel its curvature press against your skin, his low chuckle in harmony to your mindless whimpers and moans.

"L-Later- I-I want you now, M-Mike."

"That's my girl," His deep growls vibrating against your tender, cool skin. You hadn't even realised how swift and slick Mike was, unclasping your bra, as he began to unbutton your polo shirt, before undoing your pants. Returning the favour, with much haste and eagerness, you began to unbuckle Mike's worn out belt, as you undid his jeans.

"Easy, baby, easy- What would they think of you back at the station? The police department's little slut... My pretty, little slut."

For a few split seconds, Mike ogled at your lace panties, savouring the sight before pulling them down to expose your bare, wet cunt. Noticing how his eyes lit for the first time since meeting, an ecstasy glistened in his dark orbs, as he licked his lips with desire.

"I'm gonna have you at my beckon call from now. Spoil me with your services."

Mike pulled his body apart from yours, the heat exuding, as both your bodies felt flushed and moistened with sweat: panting as you caught your breath. Mike naturally pulled his underpants down, exposing his rigid, girthy cock: just above average length, although the sheer size was mouthwatering. His tip reddened, with a few veins protruding with anticipation.

"Look-Look at what you've done to me, Y/N..."

Without a moment to spare, as Mike once again closed the faint distance between: his throbbing cock teasingly brushed against your sensitive folds, before plunging himself in. The lightning, raw pain was exhilarating, as you felt your walls stretching beyond relief to accomodate for Mike's bulky mass. His steady pace was sloppy, as his thrusts would quicken with each pump, pummelling your body further into the desk. If you hadn't been clinging to his back dearly, nails drilling into his skin [you were certain evidence of reddened, defined marks would show] that you'd knock of a monitor or two.

"F-Fuck you feel s-so good. So tight for me, baby. Th-This was meant to be. M-Meant for me."

Endless curses and swears escaped from Mike's mouth, in sync to your moans of his name. Each time his name left your mouth, his thrust grew more vigorous, igniting something animalistic in him.

With each sloppy, hasten pace and forcible thrust, Mike had finally reached his peak, shooting his hot, thick seed inside of you, drenching your insides. Your stretched, tight walls coated now, some seed spilling through the gaps onto your inner thighs, once again was a gesture that made Mike pleased. Pleased with himself, more so.

Inevitably, this ignited the same peak, as your wetness pooled over his cock, still buried and throbbing inside of you.

"F-Fuck Y/N... Th-That was s'fucking good."

After having regained your senses and thoughts, you'd managed to clean yourself up, Mike humbly passing you a spare cloth or two from the cleaning storage. He remained by your side, intently watching you from a shy distance, interjecting just once to make certain you were okay. As you finished, he exhaustedly sat himself down on the desk chair, rubbing his palms against his thick, sprawled thighs.

"You make sure it's you visiting me from now, baby. Your sister talks too much for my liking... And she's not as pretty to look at as you."

Despite the familiar, bashful feeling Mike made you feel, as foolish as butterflies in your stomach, you felt somewhat used, and dejected.

"I-I'm not some girl you can just sleep around with Mike. I have morals, and I have a respectable job... You can't just use me like-"

"I don't want to use you, Y/N... I-I want to make you mine, the fucking is just an ugh-added bonus."

Sighing in defeat, although Mike's sly smirk was a devious looking one, his eyes however remained unchanged and stern. In the pit of your stomach, your instincts told you there was truth to his words.

Just as you were about to fathom a response, the sudden, screeching ringing sound of an outdated buzzer blared through the speaker. Mike leapt over towards the monitors, deciphering a button or two, before multiple screens lit up with the perspective of some camera in a corner. On one screen the familiar, blonde hair of your sister shot through, before her face turned towards the camera.

"Our time's up, princess. I'll see you later, okay?"

credit for dividers - @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#mike schmidt #michael afton #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt imagines #mike schmidt fanfic #mike schmidt fanfiction #mike schmidt smut #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf imagines #fnaf imagine #michael schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x fem!reader #dark!mike schmidt

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momotonescreaming · 9 months

Text

Teenage Dream - Part 4

AKA - the Jeff and Eddie have crushes on jocks series Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Jeff let his body sag as soon as he shut his bedroom door behind him, relaxing against the wood, hard and smooth behind his back. Tossing his bag in the general direction of his desk, not caring where it lands, and flopping over his bed. Still in his jeans and leather jacket, not caring in the moment.

He was finally alone.

No one watching him, no one judging him, he was finally free to relax. To think, and to feel, and to let his wandering mind loop back to Chrissy. She had talked to him. Had borrowed a pen and learnt his name. It felt impossible, a meet-cute from one of those rom-coms his mom watches. She was cute, and was right there. It felt like the start. A change. Something new. It only took until his senior year.

Even if it didn’t lead to anything — Chrissy talking to him — it still happened. The head cheerleader acknowledged him, talked to him, and was kind. She didn’t sneer, or call him a freak, or call him the wrong name. Chrissy wouldn’t, she would never — but the fear was there. Of course it was. They came from very different worlds.

Sighing, sounding entirely too wistful about it, Jeff is tempted to just continue laying there. Melt into his mattress, denim and leather digging into his skin, mind wandering. Let all the energy seep out of his body. But he knows that if he doesn’t get up now, he never will, and wearing his leather jacket to bed is going to kill his muscles. The buckles digging into his skin in the most uncomfortable places.

So he gets up, grunting at the effort, taking off his jacket and swinging it over the back of his desk chair. Lets the momentum carry him to the pile of semi-clean washing he has dumped on the floor by his laundry basket, kicks off his jeans and changes into a pair of grey sweatpants.

Absently wonders if Chrissy would let him drape his jacket over her shoulders, to keep her warm. Smelling of leather and cologne and very faintly of weed. Of Jeff. Like a distorted letterman jacket.

And then Jeff’s standing in the centre of his room, alone, sighing into the stagnant air. There’s no way that’ll ever happen. Dust swirling through the room like little cyclones, twisting and floating around him like thoughts of Chrissy.

He wanted to keep it to himself, his meeting with her, but now it all feels a little too much. The silence ringing in his ears. Buzzing under his skin. Itching and clawing its way out. Sighing, breaking the silence, Jeff goes to sort through his tapes. If he’s going to lose his shit thinking of Chrissy, at least he won’t do it in silence.

Flips through them, focusing on the sound of the plastic cases clicking together as he decides. Eventually settles on a Dio tape — one he had bought on a trip to Bloomington with Eddie. Puts the tape in his stereo, listening to the familiar sounds of the machine, as it clicks the tape on.

Lets the sound of Stand Up and Shout wash over him, as he flops back onto his bed. Laying askew, feet hanging off the edge and his head resting below his pillow. Whatever. Good enough.

The music is familiar, easy, washes through him and scratching that itch in his brain in a way that other music didn’t quite achieve. The guitar, the drums, the speed, the energy. The slow shit, modern ballads and all that was just noise. Didn’t hit quite the same. Didn’t fill the empty spaces in his brain. Each to their own, but metal was something else.

What does Chrissy listen to, Jeff wonders. Does she listen to pop, new wave, does she venture in to rock? Does she have favourite bands, sounds she can’t get enough of? Or does she listen to whatever’s on the radio? Does music move her the way it does Jeff? Or is it just something to kill the silence. What does she listen to when she works out? Does she strap on a walkman as she goes for a run?

If Jeff made her a mixtape, would she listen to it? Would she try and see what Jeff sees? Would it make her think of him?

He’d include a lot of the more chill metal songs, he thinks, ease her into it. Songs with melodic instrumental sections. A sick guitar riff so he could brag that he learnt how to play it by ear. Songs about community, and of finding yourself. Songs that hit Jeff to his very core. Songs about love.

He hasn’t wanted to admit that to himself, say that word — love. It feels strong, too much, but the emotions swirling in Jeff’s chest feel too strong for just like. It wasn’t just a passing fancy, thinking she was cute, or hot, or nice to look at. She was kind, and sweet, and Jeff was falling into infatuation. He wanted to date her, to hold her, to give her flowers and watch her cheer. He wanted to make her a mix tape and introduce her to metal.

Gareth once said that if your crush got an ugly haircut, and you still liked them — it was love. If your crush got an ugly haircut and the feelings faded away — it was just a a crush. Just like.

If Chrissy dyed her hair green and shaved half of it off he’d still think she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. It wasn’t just her looks (hot as she was), but her personality too. In the library she was nice to him. She smiles and waves at people. Compliments them. She was like no other.

So yes, Jeff thought she was hot, but he was trying so hard to be normal about it. Trying not to drool over her like those skeezy jocks from the wrestling team. Trying not to let his thoughts stray into territory it couldn’t come back from. She was taken. She had a boyfriend, who she loved — if their interactions around Hawkins High were anything to go by.

She blows Jason kisses from across the hall, she holds his hand as they walk through the parking lot, he holds open doors for him and she giggles.

The perfect couple. Couldn’t be Jeff, as much as Eddie tries to hype him up about it. High School is only the start, yes. Teenage relationships don’t always last, yes. But cheerleaders don’t dump their popular jock boyfriends for DnD nerds in metal bands.

He’d go to college, meet some jock girl there who doesn’t look past him, and that’s when his life would start. Him and Eddie, getting out of Hawkins. Finding people who liked them back. Because who was Jeff kidding, his type wasn’t nerds. It was jocks, and preps, and girls who were everything he wasn’t. At least Eddie was in the same boat. Made it better, knowing he wasn’t alone.

That while he was sighing over Chrissy in her cheerleading skirt, Eddie was drooling over Steve Harrington in his basketball uniform. That while he was daydreaming about holding doors open for Chrissy, about walking through Hawkins hand in hand — Eddie was dreaming about being wined and dined by Harrington, about flowers, and being swept up into his arms.

The pair of them, absolutely pathetic. Sighing, Jeff gets up to turn the tape over. Flops back down on his bed, continuing to ignore bis bag thrown onto the floor, on the homework he needs to do. He really can’t be bothered. He’s got time, he rationalises, he’s fine. He can do it in his free period tomorrow. Chrissy won’t sit with him again, he’s not that lucky. He can sit down at his same table, and work. Churn through his worksheets, draft his English essay.

So now what. He could listen to more of his tapes, try not to think about the songs he’d pick out for a mixtape. He could pick up his guitar, practice, run through songs to clear his mind of thoughts of her.

Or, he considers. He could call Eddie. See if he’s home.

He thought he wanted to keep this to himself, something special, just for him — but Jeff feels like he’s loosing his mind a little bit. He can’t stop thinking about her and he feels ridiculous. Like a hopeless romantic. A horny teen. A pathetic nerd.

Maybe talking about it will help. Quiet his mind, clear his thoughts.

He does have his own phone in his room. He’s an adult now, he said, and his dad had agreed. He needed that little bit of privacy. Security. Space just for him to talk with his friends without being interrupted. And thankfully his mom had agreed with his dad, in the end. Considering how much both his parents used the phone — and how annoying his shithead younger brothers were about it — the private line was needed.

Jeff did not want to talk about crushes, and sex, and Eddie’s big gay crush where his family could hear.

Fuck, he’s calling Eddie, isn’t he. Dialling the Munson’s number entirely on instinct, Jeff picks the phone off his bedside table and adjusts his position on his bed so he’s not tangled in the cord. He listens to the phone ringing in his ear, and tries not to fidget with the cable, stretching it out.

“Munson,” A gruff voice answers, cutting off the ringing of the phone.

“Hey Uncle Wayne,” Jeff greets the older man, hearing him scoff a laugh down the phone. He’d been calling him for as long as he’s known Eddie. The man didn’t seem to mind, and Eddie himself thought it was hilarious, so Jeff kept doing it. Calling him just Wayne felt weird. Mr Munson even weirder. So Uncle Wayne it was. “Is Eddie in?”

“Sure is,” Wayne replies, voice deep but humour evident even through the tinny phone speakers. “I’ll grab ‘im for ya.”

He assumes Wayne puts the phone down, or holds it away from his face as Jeff can faintly hear Wayne call out for Eddie. It sounds like he’s yelling through the trailer. Or over Eddie’s loud music. Probably is. Speaking of — Jeff leans off his bed to turn the volume down on his stereo. “Boy! Jeff’s on the phone.”

A rustling, a mumbling noise, and then Eddie is breathing into the phone. “Now what can I do for you, my dear Jeffrey.”

“Role reversal,” He replies, manoeuvring himself back down onto his bed. “I’m the one losing my shit today.”

“Damn,” Eddie replies, and Jeff can tell he’s smiling, even through the phone. Eddie has always been expressive — physically, verbally, emotionally — and Jeff had known him long enough that he was confident in his ability to read his best friend. “Already? Let me get comfy then.”

He huffs a laugh, an exhale of air directly down the speaker, and listens to the sounds of Eddie getting comfy, rustling papers, the screech of a chair against lino floor. He’s sat right at the trailer’s little dining table, right across from the kitchen. Always piled high with coupons and letters and other odds and ends the Munson’s hadn’t sorted through yet. It was nice, knowing exactly where he was, knowing that he knew him that well.

Eddie lets out a noise of satisfaction as he sits down, like he’s just taken a drink of ice cold water on a hot day. Jeff snorts as Eddie continues. “Now lay it on me, Jeffster, why are you losing your shit?”

“So you know how I go to the library in my free period?” He starts, laying the scene. Rustling his sheets as he props himself up on his bed.

“Like a total nerd, yes,” Eddie says immediately, although Jeff can tell he’s joking. Can hear it in his voice.

“Says the guy on his third senior year,” Jeff jokes back, entirely without malice. He hears Eddie bark a laugh, as he continues. “But anyway, it was crazy busy for whatever reason and I heard someone ask if they could sit with me because I was at the only empty table, and…”

Jeff lets the words drag off. Plays up the drama, the suspense. He wouldn’t consider himself a dramatic person, not all that outgoing, but Eddie brought it out in him. Made him braver. More willing to put on the act. Fake it ‘til you make it.

“And?” Eddie prompts, dragging out the word.

“And it was Chrissy Cunningham.” Jeff finishes, and he can feel himself smiling. Cheeks flushing, lips pulling back over his braces.

Eddie fucking shouts down the phone, not moving it away from his face to muffle the sound any, and Jeff just laughs. Absently wonders if Wayne is listening in. Can hear Eddie shouting. He probably can. He’s probably used to it.

“No fucking way dude,” Eddie replies, practically giddy with it. Jeff can hear the squeak of the chair underneath him. Can easily picture Eddie rocking in place, smiling like a demon, perched with one leg up on the chair, leaning on the table. "You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“No shit!” Jeff replies, laughing along with Eddie. “She sat at my table the whole period. Right across from me.”

“I told you! I fucking told you!” He replies. “Did I not fucking tell you?”

“You did in fact tell me.” Jeff sighs, knowing he was going to admit that Eddie was right and he was going to be so insufferable about it. He quickly continues before Eddie could say anything else. “But it’s not going anywhere, so calm down. She’s taken.”

“I will not calm down.” Eddie adds, still giddy. “This is a big moment for freaks like us. Was she nice? Did she know your name? Come on man, enjoy it. Embrace it.”

A pause, silence, as Jeff breathes down the phone before continuing. “She was super nice. She was kind, and looked cute when she giggled. Didn’t know my name though, I had to introduce myself.”

“Well they can’t all be winners,” Eddie comments, grunting as he shifted position. “Five bucks says Harrington doesn’t know my name either.”

“You know what,” Jeff replies, thinking it over. “I’ll take that bet. Henderson has absolutely mentioned you to Harrington before. If they really are as close as he says they are. He’s gotta have told him he was going to Hellfire with you.”

“Oh it’s on, Jeffward.” Eddie says. “Money on the table, shake hands, it’s on.”

Part Five

Tag List @goosesister @scarlet-malfoy @mavernanche @manda-panda-monium @yoriposts @grtwdsmwhr @panicatthediaz @m-owo-n

#stranger things #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #steddie #steve/eddie #jeffingham #jeff/chrissy #My Writing #I've never written anything so fast i'm honestly amazed at myself #Teenage Dream

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talesofesther · 10 months

Text

what once was mine | ch 6

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: This chapter might just be my favorite.

Masterlist | Read ch 5 here

It's been a few days since Loki had convinced you to share that cup of tea with him, and things have been… pleasant. You were still guarded and sometimes on the defensive when around Loki, but you were not actively avoiding him anymore, he may even go as far as saying you might be enjoying his company at times.

There were also moments where those same defenses dulled down, moments where Loki would have glimpses of that same girl he had seen on TVA's time teather when he'd first arrived. And the more he spent time with you, the more he understood why he would've fallen for you in his future. And why he was falling for you now.

"Please, Mobius," you made a show of clasping your hands together right under your chin, "I just need a moment to breathe."

Loki and Mobius were sitting at the latter's desk, mindlessly chatting, and you had popped out of nowhere a few minutes ago, making yourself comfortable on top of his desk.

"There's air all around you, breathe away," Mobius gestured widely.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile lingered on your features. Loki subconsciously found himself mimicking it as he looked at you.

"You know what I mean," you said quieter, avoiding his eyes and swinging your feet back and forth softly. You briefly looked at Loki, gaze roaming over the slope of his nose and the lines of his jaw, before focusing back on Mobius; "Please?" You asked more genuinely.

Mobius sighed loudly, clearly already giving in to your pleading. He cursed under his breath and fished out his tempad from his pocket, giving it to you. "If you get caught, I'm pretending I don't know you and that you stole it from me."

The grin that painted your features was big and bright, "You know I'm not getting caught," you gave him a wink, and then added softly; "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Mobius waved you off, but he was smiling too.

Loki watched the exchange quietly until you left and were out of earshot. He turned to Mobius, one elbow resting on the desk. "You never gave me the tempad when I asked."

Mobius side-eyed him, "That's because she's responsible, and you're not."

A deep frown appeared on Loki's face, he straightened his posture. "That's absurd, I'm way more responsible than she is." He spoke matter of factly, gesturing to the general direction you had scurried off to, "Have you seen her desk? I don't know how she even works in the middle of that mess."

Mobius chuckled, he was enjoying this. "I stand by my point."

─── ·❆· ───

Your clothes were clinging to your body, your hair stuck to your forehead, there were droplets on your eyelashes, and pools of water appeared on the floor from your dripping clothes with each step you took.

The TVA was mostly dark and empty, with only a few dim lights here and there, as it was already late. You smiled and chuckled to yourself as you walked past the library and headed to the elevator, feeling alive.

The doors of the elevator slowly slid open only to reveal Loki. He had a small pack of Skittles in one hand that you were certain you had seen on Mobius' desk earlier. His other hand stopped midair before it reached his mouth as soon as he laid eyes on you.

For the first time, your smile grew just a tad wider upon seeing him.

Loki had a confused crease on his eyebrows, his lips hung open for a second more as his gaze roamed up and down your body before settling on your face. "You're soaked." He stated, as if you didn't know.

"Yes," You beamed.

Loki's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Why?"

You took a single step closer to him, tilting your head to the side softly, watching as he visibly gulped at your closeness. "Don't you miss it?" You asked, voice quiet. "The rain, the wind, the sunlight, the smell of grass and trees?"

His bright eyes softened then, he glanced away and his expression turned melancholic for a moment, as if your question had reminded him of the feeling; "Yes, I suppose I do."

You pursed your lips, holding onto Mobius' tempad in your jacket pocket. A part of you had alarms blaring inside your head, the other, was begging you to not think and just do it. The weight of Loki's presence was familiar and foreign all the same. Dangerous territory, as you tiptoed the blurred lines of what he had started to mean to you, and the memories from before that still haunted your nightmares. Despite what you had so adamantly told yourself as soon as you laid eyes on Loki… you'd gone soft. Having him around seemed to ease the parts of your heart that still ached, even when you didn't want it to, even when you were still scared and confused.

Only today, you told yourself. Only today would be okay. Because the ocean that was his bright eyes held that same sadness that had drawn you to him for the first time all those years ago, after all. Denying it was becoming a fool's game.

You took the tempad from your pocket and hit a few buttons until a smoked-glass doorway popped open behind you. Glancing up at Loki, you said; "Come on," and turned around, walking into the doorway.

Loki hesitated for only a beat before discarding the pack of Skittles and following after you.

The first thing he felt was the heavy raindrops hitting his cheeks and soaking his clothes. Loki blinked a few times, narrowing his eyes so he could see past the storm. It was a deserted street, the worn roadway stretched far beyond what he could see, surrounded by green fields with no houses in sight; the sky was mostly cloudy, but on a far corner a few faint stripes of a setting sun could be spotted; the rain falling down was heavy and constant, pattering loudly against the asphalt and the tall grass beside it.

You stood a few feet ahead of him, with your head tilted up to the sky and your eyes closed. The rain cascaded down your skin, kissing your lips and trailing a path down your neck that Loki couldn't help but follow. It soaked your clothes and hair, just as it did his. And yet you looked absolutely ethereal.

Loki found himself glued to the ground as he simply took in the sight before him. The rain glistened on your skin as it was shaped by the rogue bouts of sunlight, a small blissed-out smile lingered on your lips as you took in the feeling of being under the earth's elements. Straight out of a dream.

Finally turning your attention to him, you stretched your arms to the side, speaking louder so he could hear you over the rain; "doesn't it make you feel alive?"

"That's certainly one way of putting it," Loki told you, taking half a step closer to you as he put his wet hair behind his ears.

You rolled your eyes but your smile remained, "Come on, Loki. The rain washes your soul, it's freeing, it's-" You looked up at the sky again, breathing in deeply, "It shows you can still feel."

Words failed Loki, he tried not to dwell too much on the fact that this was the first time you had called him by his name.

When he didn't answer, you looked at him for a beat, hesitating and worrying your lower lip between your teeth before you extended both hands towards him.

The rain somehow grew heavier, paired with a cold wind that made your hair flow. Loki switched his gaze between your eyes and your outstretched hands. Confused, asking for permission. When you simply wiggled your fingers, he took one of your hands, delicately, almost as if afraid to touch you.

You grasped him tightly with the reassurance he needed and reached for his other hand. You pulled him forward as you took a step backward to get him moving, and then started circling him, making him copy your movements until you fell into a messy dance. A genuine laugh escaped you, "Don't you feel it?"

Loki's smile followed yours, and if his eyes were suddenly pooling with happy tears, the rain would hide it. "I'm starting to," he said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours.

The grin on your lips remained as you closed your eyes and craned your neck up again, you leaned back and allowed Loki's hands to support half of your weight, with the safety that he'd hold you up.

And if he had any say in it, he'd never let go either.

After a few minutes under the rain, you told Loki you had another place you liked to escape to sometimes. Another smoked-glass doorway opened then, and it led to a clear night sky; under it was a small forest with a clearing up ahead, and a lonely bench in the middle of the low grass that had been faintly covered with bits of snow. A thousand stars danced in this sky, with no other light or cloud in sight to outshine their beauty. The lonely bench overlooked a view from up a mountain, making everything seem small and distant. Just like the roadway before, this place was also deserted.

You walked ahead, the only sound on the eery night being your boots crushing the grass and snow underneath. Loki followed, and with a flick of his wrist, his magic had the two of you dry and warm again.

You turned to him with a small, knowing smile and took a seat on the bench, "Thanks."

He simply smiled back, making himself comfortable beside you and looking up at the stars.

This place had always been your favorite, the first one you found after coming to the TVA, and the one you inevitably always came back to.

Feeling the weight of Loki's presence beside you, you weren't sure what you were doing. Only a few weeks ago you said you wanted nothing to do with him, yet here you are. You closed your eyes, pushing the thoughts away for now.

"I usually come here for the stars," you whispered into the night, your breath coming in white puffs of air.

Loki hummed, his gaze roaming over the constellations in the sky, "It is beautiful, but Midgard's skies-"

"Don't compare to Asgard's skies," you finished for him and shot a glance his way before focusing back on the sky, "yeah, I've been told."

A small chuckle escaped Loki, he nodded his head softly and looked down at his hands, his thumb scratching the skin of his other palm.

"One of the few good things about the TVA is this," you hugged your jacket closer to your body, "being able to be anywhere, anytime."

"Are you not worried about disrupting their so-called sacred timeline?" Loki asked.

You smirked, watching him from the side of your eye. "With time, you learn a few tricks on how to not create a branch right away. Such as avoiding people, not disrupting the place," you shrugged, "it gives you a few minutes at least."

Loki kept silent as he took in the new information, he looked from the starry sky to the low grass around his shoes. It would all stay the same when he left.

"It's almost as if we don't exist," you told him quietly.

Suddenly, a different flash of color caught your eyes, and your heartbeat sped up. You held onto your breath, feeling strangely giddy. "There it is," you pointed at the sky.

Loki looked at where you were pointing and his lips parted in silent wonder. It started on one side and soon flowed all around the stars above your heads; flashes of bright green, blue, and pink. Lights dancing in the sky.

A shaky sigh escaped you, "This is the other reason why I like to come here," you kept your voice low, as if the moment was a well-kept secret. The colors of the aurora were reflecting against your eyes. "It's so… enchanting."

Loki kept silent for a few beats, simply watching the show amidst the starry night. He then turned to you, taking in the way those same dancing colors shaped your profile. "It is," he breathed.

You didn't have to look at him to know he was looking at you. You could feel it. It wrapped your heart in a tight grip and blurred the sight of the colorful sky. You pursed your lips, lowering your head and curling in on yourself. "Please don't do that," your words broke in the middle.

Loki gulped the sudden lump in his throat, he felt as if he'd just ruined the moment yet he didn't know how. "I-"

"Don't look at me…" your voice got stuck. You glanced up at the sky, breathing in sharply to chase away the rogue tears. "Like that." It was nothing but a breath past your lips, you softly raised your eyebrows to accentuate the last word.

Don't look at me the way you used to when you were mine.

In the same heartbeat, Loki's gaze shifted to his shoes. An apology already lingered on his lips, but before he could say it, you spoke;

"We should go." You got up, reaching for the tempad in your pocket, "or we'll create a branch soon and this place will be crawling with minutemen." You didn't wait for his answer before walking a few steps away, needing a bit of space.

You heard as Loki followed you, but he kept his distance as he waited for you to open the doorway. You didn't like that distance.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 7 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki #marvel #loki series #loki x you #marvel x reader #loki x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #what once was mine #loki fanfic #my story #loki laufeyson x reader

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woso-dreamzzz · 10 months

Text

Mornings

Fridolina Rolfö x Reader

Summary: Early mornings with Frido

The sun seeped in through the blinds and you groaned in outrage.

"Frido," You huffed.

There was no answer.

"Frido," You said again," Close the blinds. It's too early."

Your wife didn't answer you and you blindly patted her side of the bed before coming up empty. You didn't particularly want to get up out of your cocoon of warmth but you did, peering around the room.

The blinds were fully open and you groaned loudly, flopping your head back down onto your pillow again.

"Frido," You grumbled under your breath, finally getting up. You snagged the blanket hanging over your desk chair and swung it over your shoulders. "Frido!"

Your wife stood barefoot in the kitchen, head tilted back and throat bobbing as she drained a glass of water. She looked sweaty with her hair plastered against her forehead. In any other circumstance, you would have jumped her but you were still kind of tired and very pissed off.

"Is something wrong?"

You glared at her. "I don't know, is there? Because I woke up to not only an empty bed but also to the blinds being open. It's-" You checked the time on the microwave. "It's six thirty in the morning! What have you been doing?!"

"I went on a run."

"This early? Frido, you left the blinds open again!"

"Sorry, baby."

She didn't look very sorry, smirking at you as she stripped off her sweaty shirt and stood in front of you in her sports bra.

"I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

You waved a hand in the general direction of her stomach. "You're trying to distract me with your abs," You replied," It's not working."

She grinned at you - all cocky and sure of herself. "Are you sure?"

"It's too early for you to pull the get-out-of-jail-free card." You continued to glare but patted her abs for good measure as you scooted past her to the living room, collapsing on the sofa.

"Oh, yeah? What can I do to make it up for you?"

"Close the blinds," You said, settling on the sofa and pulling your blanket closer. You aimlessly flicked through the tv channels. "And make me breakfast."

Frido rolled her eyes. "That's not a nice way to say 'get in the kitchen, woman'. You're setting feminism back decades."

"Well, maybe if my wife didn't choose to get up to run at stupid o'clock then I wouldn't have to send her to the kitchen to get back in my good books."

Frido laughed. "Fine, baby. Anything specific?"

"Pancakes." You finally settled on a show. "With cream and strawberries."

"Alright, your highness," She joked," Coming right up."

To her credit, the pancakes were made quickly and she even put on a load of laundry without having to be asked before joining you on the sofa.

Graciously, you gave her some of your blanket.

"It's too early," You groaned, head falling back to rest on her shoulder," Why did you think running so early was a good idea?"

She laughed, jostling you slightly. "To be fair, I didn't expect you to wake up while I was gone."

"With the blinds open and your side of the bed cold?" You said," Sometimes I wish you used those critical thinking skills of yours."

"Hey! I just made you pancakes! Besides, the blinds are closed now."

"It doesn't change the fact that it's stupidly early. You're lucky we have today off or no amount of laundry or housework would put you back in my good books."

Frido smirked at you, turning her head to capture your lips with her own. "Then I am so glad we've got today off."

#woso x reader #fridolina rolfö x reader #fridolina rolfö #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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moonchildstyles · 2 years

Text

neglect

harrys in an unhappy marriage and didn't realize he was missing so much sunlight until y/n came in

cw: toxic relationship? idk harry's wife isn't nice:(

wordcount: 13.5k+

—————

"Bye, honey. Love you."

Harry didn't realize he had his hopes up for a reciprocated response until nothing came. Minerva left though the door with nothing more than a wave tossed over her shoulder, eyes glued to her phone with a smile that wasn't for him on her lips. He didn't know the last time she said I love you back.

Heaving a sigh that lifted his shoulders before deflating into a slump, Harry locked the front door after his wife as the start of his day alone.

It'd been two weeks since he lost his job in the third round of layoffs his office (ex-office?) was going through. It had been heartbreaking for Harry, having given almost a decade of his life—he was just months short of his ten year anniversary, actually—to this job; having given up on his dreams, and sacrificing time with his family all throughout those years. It all had been thrown away after one bad investor's meeting, leaving him with a measly severance package and a generic goodbye card left on his desk on his last day. As if that day couldn't get any lower, when Minerva finally came home and Harry sat her down to tell her the news, she barely looked up from the ping that lit up her phone screen.

"That's what happens when you stay with a failing company, Harry. You should have been paying more attention."

With that, she had left him to sit alone at the dining room table, his head in his hands as he tried not to let tears fall from his eyes. She always said he was too sensitive, crying would only serve to make her more annoyed with him.

Since then, he had all day long to shop around his resume online and through networking channels, only to field rejection emails by the end of the day. Minerva offered no support, only giving small hums or "I told you so" when she bothered to answer at all when he told her about his day over dinner. It broke his heart.

While their marriage hadn't been anything close to perfect for a very long time (Harry didn't think it really ever had been, the more he thought about it), this was the worst it'd ever been. Minerva was always the harder one out of the two of them, which worked for a long time. It was all about balance, Harry remembered thinking back when they first moved in together after getting engaged. He was the soft one that cried watching romantic movies, and she was the one that would scoff at the logistics and talk about how unrealistic the stories were. She preferred horror with unhappy endings.

It worked, until it didn't.

Something changed after those first months of living together. Since then, Harry had been trying to play catch-up to get on the same page as her, but she seemed to be chapters ahead by the time he was even going in the right direction. His degree was never good enough, his dreams of being a songwriter or music producer were too silly to even entertain, and his family didn't support them enough. By the time he realized Minerva didn't even like him much anymore, let alone love him, he was left with a broken heart.

But, even when he suggested counseling or even one of those couple's retreats that offered hands-on help, she shut him down immediately. That was all hippie shit he should have grown out of after they graduated college, she told him. It was her that brought up divorce, the word that had all but split Harry in half when it hung in the air between them, only for her to shut it down and tell him it wasn't an option as far as she was concerned—it would look bad for her to be a divorcee while she was still trying to climb the corporate ladder. Maybe after she made it to the executive level, she mused, if he still felt this way anyway.

Harry did the only thing he felt he could: pretend everything was normal. If he wanted any chance of not losing his mind, sinking into a depression that he feared he would be unable to climb out of, he had to fall into the motions of loving her. He woke her up with breakfast ready before they'd leave for work—before he lost his job, of course—, telling her goodbye with a kiss to the cheek and hollow declaration of love that he still felt hurt by every time he didn't hear her say it back. When he made it home before her, he'd clean up the house, sorting through bills and mail, and get dinner ready, giving himself just enough time to slip back into his steeled character by the time she came through the front door and ignored him.

But, Harry had always told himself it could be much worse—he was still lucky in some senses of the word, even if some nights he had to search hard for those moments—, and right he was about that. He was currently living through the worst it had ever been, moping around the house and feeling more down on himself than he knew was healthy for the fragile grip he had on his composure.

As anxiety inducing as it all was (was finding a job always this hard or was he really as unimpressive as Minerva said he was?), the free time did allow him to work on projects he'd pushed to the side in favor of his nine-to-five. The attic had been successfully cleaned out and reorganized for the first time since moving in, the walls in the basement finally painted the eggshell blue Minerva picked out years ago, and the garage was spic-and-span. The last couple of days, he'd dedicated his time to maintaining the garden out front as well as the backyard, something he'd found himself enjoying more than any of the previous items on the honey-do list he was working through. His mom had always loved gardening, so he felt a lot closer to home when he plodded through the soil with fresh sprouts.

After spending the first hour of the morning sending out his resume to a fleet of job postings and rifling through his email in hopes of getting anything back about a possible interview, he got changed for his day in the sun. He picked a white tank top with red stitching on the side declaring him as loved (though he didn't always feel that way) to adorn his torso with a pair of black shorts covering his thighs though his knee tattoos were left on display. Pulling his hair back with a tiny clip that left a sprout of hair fluffed on the top of his head, Harry slipped on a pair of large burgundy sunglasses before heading out the front door.

Headphones plugged in his ears, he grabbed his supplies he'd left on the porch, fitting his hands into the pair of sturdy gloves he'd dug out when he cleaned the garage. Along the porch railing was the row of flowers he planned on shoveling into the soil, their planters barely containing the rich blooms rooted inside. The furling petals brought a smile to his face as he got to his knees near the plot of yard that had previously been nothing other than mulch and dandelions. Maybe having a garden out front might sweeten Minerva's sour mood if he did it just right.

Tucking into the soil with the tools he had to reach out to his mom to verify were the right ones for the job, Harry started planting his rose garden. Green bushes with barely there blooms began to line the porch, making the tiny, white picket railing seem that might brighter against the rich hues of the buds. He was lost in his head, humming along to the music playing through his headphones as he built his garden, lavender and candy floss pinks joining his roses as the perfect growing companions.

He didn't know how long he'd been out under the sun until he heard the faint sound of a car running behind him, the thrumming earning a glance over his shoulder. For a split second, he'd worried it was Minerva, home early. He had a feeling she wouldn't be happy to see him tending to the garden, tending to something they could have just hired someone to take care of if he'd been smarter about his career path. Instead, it was the car of the not-so-new neighbor that had moved in next door less than a year ago.

A smile stretched across his face as he peered at her concentrated face through the tint of her window, a furrow to her brow as she navigated parking in the driveway. A breath of relief slumped her shoulders when she did so without incident; Harry understood, he'd seen her patching dings on her car too many times to count since she'd moved in. A clumsy driver, she was.

Harry plucked out his earbud as he sat back on his heels while she rifled through her car for a moment longer before stepping out onto the driveway. A bright smile covered her features as soon as she matched Harry's gaze, lifting his spirits higher than they'd been all day. A bubbly wave tinkled her fingers.

"Hi, Harry!" she chattered out, hiking her bag up her shoulder as she lingered on the concrete.

"Hi, (Y/N)," he reciprocated, his voice coming out a lot dreamier than he anticipated.

"Your garden looks really nice," she beamed at him, toeing the ground with her teeth sinking into the plush of her bottom lip.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, knowing his entire face lit up at the praise, "'M not done yet, but 'm really liking how it's turning out."

"I'm excited to see what it looks like when you have it all together, then," she offered, edging towards the open garage to head inside, "I'll see you around, Harry."

"Bye," he told her, his voice carrying along with her as she went out of view.

His gaze lingered in the spot he swore he saw a phantom of her form still. Even at the sound of the garage door closing signaling he was well and truly alone, Harry could still feel the effects of her presence, no matter how minute the interaction was. Plugging his headphone back in his ear, he went back to his work though he barely made note of anything he was doing.

He liked (Y/N). Probably more than he should.

She was just so sweet, enough so that her attention could make Harry blush. Even the first time they met, he remembered wishing he could have spent more time with her as she flitted about the neighborhood block party. She was a wonderful neighbor, always so considerate even though her roommate was very partial to a late night party now that they'd finally moved into an actual house after a spread of dodgy apartments through their college and some post-grad years (he'd overheard that during the block party). Minerva never seemed to like her much, though. She called her nosy, always talking to their neighbors, and attention-seeking with the way she supposedly paraded around the subdivision in her workout gear while taking her roommate's dog for a walk.

Harry couldn't disagree more when his wife went off on her dislike for their neighbor, but it was something he had to keep to himself. Minerva would have his head if he defended (Y/N) the way he wanted to—with more than a shrug and "she's not like that, honey". Besides, he worried that if he truthfully spoke about how good he felt she was, that his little crush on her would turn into something more troublesome. He already had too many things going on inside his house, he didn't need to add the guilt of something more than a small crush on a nice girl worming it's way into his head.

And, he cared for Minerva, still. Right? If he didn't, he would have insisted on getting a divorce and wouldn't worry so hard about what would make her happy with him. (Y/N) was a constant, happy presence in his life, even if their interactions were spread apart and only lasting some minutes here and there. Of course, he would get attached to the pretty girl who spared him attention and gave him praise without a second-thought. That didn't mean anything, though.

Even with the way his heart skipped a beat at the thought of his neighbor, Harry reminded himself of his reality. He was a married man, someone who cared for his wife and would continue to be a good husband to her until he signed his name on the dotted line. (Y/N) would always be nothing more than a nice friend. That's all.

—————

Harry sighed as he sank to his knees in his garden. Looking at all of his hardwork, he felt his heart break when he recalled Minerva's attitude the night before.

She hated it.

A waste of his time, she'd said. How was he supposed to find a respectable job when he was too busy with dirt up to his elbows doing a job fit for 'the help'? He had been floored when he heard her, but snapped his mouth shut as soon as she rolled her eyes and stomped upstairs, disregarding the dinner he had set out on the table.

Looking at the bushel of lavender that still needed to be planted as well as the border that needed to be filled with his candy floss pinks, Harry didn't feel the same joy he had the day before. He probably could be a lot more useful browsing the job sites, checking in on his network connections again. If he tried hard enough, dedicated himself enough, he would get a response, right?

His only saving grace was the music playing through his headphones, pushing him out of his head and into whatever the writer was urging him to feel with every beat and sprawled lyric. Music was everything to Harry. Way back when, he even had dreams of becoming a songwriter, or producing tracks and working in a studio—anything to put him in the industry. But that was years ago, before he was married and had to stop being so selfish with his dreams. Minerva wanted something better for him, so he had to let that go.

Concentrating on the notes that filtered through his headphones, Harry was finally pushed out of his head and back into the moment. He would finish the garden, then go inside and job hunt some more, he decided.

The sun was especially warm on his back today, soaking into the black fabric of his t-shirt (a bad choice in hindsight, he realized as soon as he checked the high temperature on his phone). Sweat dripped from his hairline as he dug into the soft soil lining his front porch, following the line of his nose before dropping into the dirt. If he was lucky, he would beat out a sunburn and leave with a tan coloring his skin, but the more he soaked in the heat, Harry didn't feel good about his chances.

By the time only a half of the candy floss had been planted along the border, the neckline of his top was drenched in sweat and Harry was running out of the motivation to finish his project. It wasn't until he felt a soft hand nudge at his shoulder did he look up from the flowers he was plotting in the ground. That definitely wasn't Minerva, he knew that much before looking over his shoulder. She never touched him that gently anymore.

Sitting back on his heels, pushing his sunglasses into the mass of hair on the top of his head, Harry turned onto only to see (Y/N) clad in her workout gear with her arms cradling snacks.

He was quick to pull his earbud from his ear, looking to her with a shaky smile he hoped didn't embarrass him any more than the sweaty state she'd caught him in. "H-Hi, (Y/N)."

"Hey," she greeted him with a bubbly smile, warmer than the heat clouding the air, "Looking really good, Harry."

His mouth went dry as he processed her words. "Wh-What?"

"Your garden," she clarified, nudging her chin in the direction behind him, "It's looking really good. Almost done?"

"Oh, yeah. Thank you," he blinked, rolling his lips between his teeth as he granted himself a reprieve of following her line of sight to his blooms. She made him so nervous it was hard to look at her. "Only a little more to go, so I should be finishing up today."

"You've been at it all morning, I'm surprised you haven't passed out with how hot it is," (Y/N) continued, huffing out a laugh through a soft smile, "I just came back from walking my roommate's dog and made some snacks and lemonade, so I thought I'd come over and share, if you wanted any?"

Dropping his gaze to her hands, he found a paper plate with a bagel covered in cream cheese, and a handful of dried cranberries. In the crook of her elbow, a small, chilled water bottle was cradled.

A smile crooked his lips as he gazed at her.

Cute.

"Thank you, (Y/N)," he said, twisting in his spot so he could properly face her, "Y'didn't have to."

"It's alright," she beamed, offering him the refreshments with an outstretched hand, "I was already making my own, so I thought I'd make some for you, too."

It was simple, what she brought out for him, but even just a single sip of the sugary lemonade was enough to have Harry's heart bloating. He couldn't remember the last time someone thought about him so considerately.

"No, this is really kind of you, (Y/N)," he cemented, looking up at her from where he sat in his yard, trying his best to keep his gaze from going too soft, "Please, let me know if there's anything I can do for you, ever. You've been so nice to me ever since y'moved in, I want to pay y'back somehow."

"Harry, really, it's alri—"

"Humor me? Please?" She was giving him undeserved kindness, and he didn't want to take advantage of her.

The way her features softened as she looked down at him, hair messy on the top of her head and face glowing with the dew of a fresh workout, had Harry's heart clawing at his chest. She was looking at him like that. How lucky was he?

"Alright, I'll let you know, okay? I'm sure something will come up soon enough; I don't know if you've noticed with the amount of times I've accidentally backed into my garage door, but I'm not great about not breaking things. Be prepared with the amount of help I'll be needing now that you've offered, Harry." Faux seriousness covered her features as she pointed an accusing finger at him, thought her facade was cracking with the curl of her lips and the soft set of her eyes.

"I'll be ready, promise," he beamed up at her, pleased with the way she bit back her smile like she was afraid of how big it would grow if she didn't.

She lingered for a moment longer, her tender gaze dropping for her feet before she matched his gaze again. "I should probably get back to the dog—he doesn't like to be alone for long—, but, I'll come by if I need anything, Harry."

"O-okay," he breathed out, catching a flutter in his heart at the sound of his name wrapped in her voice, "I'll be here."

Her grin widened at his small joke as she edged back towards her home. With a little wave, she was on her way, Harry watching her the entire time.

When he saw her twist to look over her shoulder, he felt silly for a moment to have been caught staring, but then she spoke: "Tell Minerva I said hi, too, please! I haven't seen her in so long!"

It was the genuine smile on her face that had his heart dropping to his stomach. He kept quiet as he gave a confirming nod, waiting for her to disappear back inside her home before he dropped his gaze.

She was a sweet, sweet, sweet girl who wanted him to say hello to his wife for her—the same woman that would smear mud across (Y/N)'s name at any given chance. She saw the best in everyone, even people who didn't deserve that rose-tinted view. She was much too good for him, he knew that much. Much too good to have a married man become infatuated with the idea of her.

—————

Clicking out of his email, Harry ran a heavy hand through his hair.

Nothing. Not a single response to all of his cover letters, tailored resumes, and followups.

He knew in the grand scheme of things that four weeks really wasn't that long to be unemployed, but sitting in this house all day long, waiting for his wife to come home with whatever jeering remarks she stewed over all day, felt like years of torture. There wasn't anything else to fix up in the house that could distract him for hours on end; the gardens in both the front and back were planted and well maintained now, the garage still tidy, attic still clean and clear, and he'd even fixed that leaky faucet in the guest bathroom Minerva had been complaining about since they moved in. What else was there to do but marinate in his own short-comings and make himself go mad until it was time to make dinner?

Slumping into the couch cushions, Harry tried to distract himself by flicking on the television, hoping to find something to take his mind off of the replay of last night's silent dinner with Minerva. Sometimes he couldn't figure out what hurt more: her silence or her deprecating words that broke him down?

Just as he found a daytime soap he remembered his mother tuning into, a quiet knock rang at the front door. He didn't make a move to answer it, assuming it was some delivery service dropping off something Minerva had ordered or a door-to-door solicitor that would be smart to get out of this neighborhood before one of the more haughty neighbors reamed him for doing his job. But, when another round of the soft rapping came, he dared to peek his head through the gauzy curtains and glimpse at the visitor.

It was (Y/N).

From the limited view he had, he could see the way she was glancing back and forth from his front door and to her house, toeing anxiously at the ground with her phone clutched in her hand. Today was her day off, he remembered that (don't ask him how, he knew it wasn't something he needed to remember but he couldn't help his memory), only emphasized by the comfy shorts she had on her legs and the large t-shirt that was much too cold to be wearing so early in the morning without a sweater.

It was that one peek at her that had him rising from his spot on the couch and rushing towards the front door. By the time he twisted the locks and pulled the door open, (Y/N) was reluctantly stepping off the porch with her phone pressed to her ear. As soon as she saw Harry in the threshold, she ended her call with a sigh of relief.

"Harry," she breathed, hands falling to her sides, "I was so worried you were at work, or something."

"Is everything alright? Are y'okay?" He didn't even realize he was scanning over her form for injuries until he met her gaze from where it had drawn down to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah," she nodded, toeing at the ground as she glanced towards her house, "I just... You said you would be willing to help me if I needed anything, right?"

"Yes, of course," he affirmed, a furrow pinching at his brows.

"So," she started, looking guilty already, "I was about to go take a shower, but I think I broke it."

"Broke what?"

"The shower."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Its..." she started again, scrunching her nose as she tried to find the words, "I don't know, it's just not working and I don't know what happened."

"Okay," Harry said slowly, passing a hand through his hair as he stepped onto the porch, shutting the door behind him, "I'll take a look and see if I can help."

"Thank you so much, Harry," (Y/N) babbled, relief touching at her features, "My roommate is going to kill me if I break one more thing in the house."

"Yeah?" he pressed, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips with a dimple pressing into his cheek, "Have y'been breaking a lot of stuff then?"

(Y/N) rolled her eyes as she started across the lawn with Harry following after. "I don't think so, but Mitch swears that I broke the panini press, the wifi-thing, the ice maker, and I somehow, apparently, fucked up the coffee table, or something. I think he's just dramatic and doesn't pay attention when he's using things, but whatever."

A smile bloomed across his features as he listened to her list off every appliance and piece of furniture that could be in a house. Now, including a shower (whatever that exactly meant) on that list.

Humming, he nodded his head, "Do y'think he breaks it and tries to blame it on you, or something?" Harry wouldn't like that. (Y/N) didn't deserve a roommate like that.

"No," she waved off, pushing open the unlocked front door before letting Harry in ahead of her, "he's not like that. I just think some of the things we have are old, so of course they stop working or break, and he knows he didn't do it so he thinks it's me. But, I think it's just the universe."

"I see," Harry smiled, stepping into her home.

While it was a shared space, he could still spot the (Y/N)-esque touches littered throughout the living room; a soft knitted blanket in creamy tones thrown across the back of the deep green couch, a bookcase spotted with novels he'd heard her reference to her friends in the neighborhood along with little crystals and delicate trinkets, and photos framed on the wall with her beaming smile lighting up the setting. Everything looked worn and loved, handed down from relatives or second-hand shops—nothing at all like the stiff decor and furniture that Minerva had picked out from a catalogue exactly as it was. It looked like a home.

"It's the upstairs bathroom, if you wanted to follow me," (Y/N) explained, stopping him from wandering out into the space to see what it would feel like to wrap himself in things that were (Y/N).

"Right, the shower," he murmured under his breath, trailing behind her, "What exactly happened?"

An exasperated shrug of (Y/N)'s shoulders was the view he was granted a couple of steps behind, "I don't know. I got all my stuff ready to take my shower, and I was waiting for the water to warm up and when I pulled the thing to make it come out of the shower head and not the faucet, it just... didn't work."

She took him to the bathroom in question, opening the door to the brightly lit and femininely decorated bathroom (her own personal one, he'd assume) with the remnants of steam still touching the top of the mirror.

"Watch this." She beckoned to him, settling on her knees on the tiled floor. Twisting the knob on the temperature control, water started streaming through the faucet and splashing across the tub. She paused for a moment as if to ensure Harry was properly watching before she reached across and pulled the pin at the top of the faucet, the same one that should redirect the water flow up to the shower head. The second it was pulled, there was a sputtering of water flowing for a moment longer before only a single bead fell from the shower head. The faucet stopped leaking, leaving the water to go down the drain before the shower was dry, none of the outlets dispensing.

"Huh," Harry breathed, gaze drifting back and forth between the faucet and the shower head as if either one would explode at a moment's notice with all the water pent up.

"Right?"

"It just started acting weird today?" he asked, reaching into the bathtub and pulling on the pin again. The same result: silence and dryness.

"Yeah, it was perfectly fine last night. And everything else like the sink, and the kitchen, and Mitch's bathroom are all working. It's just the shower."

Harry tested it out for a few minutes, (Y/N)'s eyes following him as he tinkered with the knob controlling the pressure and temperature, the pin, and the shower head itself. Nothing changed as he poked and prodded, a furrow pinching his brow.

"Do you know where your water heater is?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to her as he twisted the knob to off.

Pausing when he saw the way she was sat so prettily behind him, Harry suddenly felt flush under her attention. He had felt the warmth of her gaze the whole time as he worked and messed around with the appliance, but it was different seeing her with wide eyes looking up at him with her legs tucked carefully under her body. Even with her messy hair and ill-fitting clothes, Harry swore for a moment she was surrounded by starlight and puffs of cotton candy clouds—a dream on earth.

His heart skipped a beat with butterflies filling his tummy. Since when was he this far gone?

A loud thud sounded from the floors below, the only thing that shook Harry from whatever was running through his head that only jumbled the second he remembered this was (Y/N) who was gazing up at him like that.

"(Y/N)?" he stuttered over her name, his arms dropping limply at his sides.

The call of her name brought focus to her eyes. "Hm?" she hummed, with with a flutter of her lashes.

"D-Do you know where your water heater is?" he tried again, running a nervous finger under the tip of his nose.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," she breathed out on a laugh, rising to her shaky legs, "It's in the basement."

They were quiet as Harry followed her on an impromptu tour of the house, down the two floors to the chilled basement. It was when she reached the landing did she stop in her tracks with a gasp. It took him only a second to peer around her shoulder and find the cause of her widened eyes and fists clutched to her chest.

The concrete floor of the space was covered in a shallow pool of water. Some spaces the level was lower than others, but there was definitely enough water covering the floor to account for what hadn't been streaming through the shower upstairs.

"Shit," Harry whispered, spotting the pack of boxes pushed into the very corner of the basement, the bottom row slowly taking on water.

"Those are Mitch's things," she rushed out, following his line of sight, "I need to get them upstairs before anything gets messed up."

(Y/N) didn't falter after that, splashing through the water with her bare feet. Harry went to follow her, only to have to step out of the way as she was on her way back with a box stacked in her arms.

"D-Do y'want help?" The question felt a little dumb leaving Harry's mouth, but he didn't want to start rummaging around if she would prefer he stand back.

"Would you, please?" (Y/N) asked from halfway up the stairs, "Thank you so much, Harry."

Hearing that strain in her voice was all he needed before he was setting off to help her pick up the boxes, trudge through the water and up the steep stairs. By the time there was nothing more than the last few boxes, the bottoms all soaked in the leaked water, he was out of breath but (Y/N) looked a little less stressed. Only a little.

"Thanks," she panted out again once all of her roommates things were safely tucked away on dry land. Her eyes fluttered closed before she ran a heavy hand over her features, the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes. "I think Mitch is really going to kill me for this one. I don't even know what happened."

Hands on his hips, Harry remembered the shimmering lake that had taken over the level below. "I don't either, love, but you're going to need to call someone to fix it. 'M sure something is blocked."

"Probably," she sighed, eyes focusing on a random spot by her feet as she pinched at her lips, "H-How do I get the water out of the basement, though?"

"Jus' gonna have to mop it up, and use some towels, I think. 'S not a lot, so it shouldn't be too bad."

"Yeah," she breathed out again, focus coming back to her gaze as it flitted up to return Harry's. "I'm so sorry to ask, but would you be able to help? Even just for a lit—"

"Yeah, of course I can help." A heat touched at his cheeks as he realized just how eagerly he had offered up his help. But, with the way (Y/N) lit up at his agreement to help, he didn't really mind how silly he sounded.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you. So much, Harry," she beamed at him, already seeming to have more life in her as she toed towards the stairs leading her up a level, "I'll go grab some towels, but the mop is in the kitchen, over there, if you can get that. I'll be right back. Thank you so much!"

It was with a scuttle of her feet and a twist of her hair fluttering behind her that she disappeared up the staircase. Harry's gaze followed after her for a moment longer, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he felt a smile coming on.

—————

"Did you always want to do accounting?"

(Y/N)'s question echoed in the empty basement, sounding over the slopping sound of the mop in Harry's hands sopping up the water that didn't seem to have an end. He shrugged, having expected this question when they started talking about their career-paths (apparently, (Y/N) wanted to be a writer, but she was currently working retail so she could pay the bills in the meantime).

"Not really," he answered honestly, wringing out the mop into the accompanying bucket that was just under half full at this point, "I actually wanted to get into music, but this seemed more practical."

"Music?" (Y/N) perked up, wringing out a soaked towel before opting for the slightly drier ones as she worked on her hands and knees, "Like as a singer?"

A smile plucked at Harry's features at the enthusiasm in her voice. He couldn't remember the last time someone sounded genuinely excited at the idea of learning more about him.

"Maybe if I felt right, but mostly songwriting and producing. I liked the idea of being in one of those big studios, you know?" The images he'd had of his life when he was young flashed through his head. His heart almost broke at how easily it was to conjure up those pictures despite how long it'd been since he allowed himself to indulge in those what-ifs.

"Did you write a lot of songs then? Anything I might have heard?" (Y/N) wasn't even working anymore, that much Harry could tell when he peeked at her through his lashes. She was sitting back on her heels listening to him, attention rapt and unwavering.

"No, I never really made music. Everything I've ever written is packed away in some journal in m'attic. I haven't seen it since university, I think." That was a little bit of a lie, if he was being honest. He'd seen it when he was reorganizing the attic space and moving things around. He just didn't have the guts to open it.

He could hear the pout in her voice as she humphed. "That's a bummer. I would have loved to read what you wanted to put to music," she mused, "If you ever find it, would you let me read some of it?"

Against his will, a memory of him shoving his book into Minerva's hands, asking her to read his latest work—one that was inspired by her—before she refused, not wanting to read any of what his silly hobby spawned. It was a waste, she had told him in her own way; music wasn't a stable job and he needed to wake up before it was too late and he'd sung them into living in a cardboard box.

Harry made quick work of shoving that thought to the side, inserting himself into the moment with (Y/N) once more. It was the glimmer in her eyes, the smile on her lips, and the fact she asked to read his art that had him answering in a heartbeat. "Of course. You'll be the first person I call."

The creases that lined her face as her smile grew was enough to wipe those awful moments with Minerva away like the water he was sopping off the floor. Speaking around her smile, she dropped her gaze to the towel in her hands, "So—um—if you wanted to be a songwriter, why did you end up going into accounting? That's a huge field change."

"Yeah," he sighed, plucking at his bottom lip for a moment of comfort, "Um, she—sorry, Minerva, she thought it would be a better idea to go into something like finance. More stable and real than music."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, voice neutral though he could see her features scrunch up some, "I can see that a little, I guess. Did she ever help you write or anything like that?"

"Not really. It wasn't something she thought was..." Harry floundered as he remembered all the things she called his songwriting (not worth her time, stupid, an excuse to not find a real job, ect.). Those probably weren't the kind of things to dump on his neighbor. "It was jus' hard for her to get into it the way I did. I usually did all of it alone."

"Well," she started, a slight pinch lingering in her brows as she crawled to the next section of floor, "I'm sure if she could have helped, she would have."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

"Yeah, but what about you, hm?" he switched, wringing out the mop once more, "What kind best-seller are y'drafting?"

It seemed that was the perfect question to ask her as she shot into an explantation of the creative writing class she had taken in college and the idea of a narrative that never quite left her (of course only after she rolled her eyes at his best-seller comment. I haven't even finished a single chapter, Harry, she told him though the smile she was biting back still bled into her features). He was wrapped up solidly in the world she was painting for him, even when she shyly brought up the romantic aspects as she was most excited about adding.

Despite the water seeping through his Vans and chilling him from his toes up, Harry swore he could have stayed in that basement all day long hearing her talk about the things she loved.

What a privilege that would be.

—————

Minerva didn't even bother to wake Harry up before she was off to work this morning, only leaving a note tacked to the fridge about the shopping that needed to be done today and that she would be home late due to after-work drinks with some of her colleagues. He wasn't all that surprised at that. She seemed to prefer to spend any time she could away from him, no matter where it was.

At least, he had a task that would take up some of the morning and direct his mind off of the sourness that was filling his lungs every time he thought about Minerva.

Taking his time to clean up after the breakfast his wife made for herself before her day at work, Harry didn't leave for grocery shopping until late in the morning. Armed with Minerva's list as well as the mental one he'd developed after spending so much time at home and in charge of meals, he plucked a trolley and started off through the shelves.

The store was luckily fairly empty given the time of day he was waltzing through the aisles, and Harry couldn't be more grateful for the chance to move at his own pace. He was feeling particularly slothly today, sluggish limbs and tired eyes, so at least he wasn't being pushed around and feeling rushed to get out of there as soon as he could. He marked off every item he grabbed from the shelves as he went, putting together a menu for the rest of the week.

It wasn't until he was armed with the ingredients to Minerva's favorite pad Thai recipe—one she probably wasn't even going to eat, he pessimistically decided—that he ran into another's cart.

"Oh gosh—"

"I'm sorry—"

The second he saw who he had accidentally bumped into, every bit of exhaustion evaporated from his limbs.

(Y/N)'s expression cleared up just the same, the apology on her lips falling away in favor of wrapping her voice around his name. "Hi," she greeted him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he told her, sounding much too chipper for an apology, "Wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's alright, I'm happy it was you," she cemented, parking her cart on the other side of the aisle from him, settling in, "How are you?"

"'M good, thank you," he smiled, "How's your shower and everything? Did that guy end up making it out there?"

"Yeah, he came a little after you left," she sighed, shaking her head as if recalling the memory made her just as exasperated as she was in real time, "It was so stupid. I don't even know what it was that was blocking my shower, but something was blocking that specific channel so every time I turned it on and tried to get water to come out, I was breaking something else and flooding the basement. I feel like he was being a jerk, but Mitch says that I was probably just in a bad mood."

Harry shrugged, biting back a smile though he was sure his dimple still poked through. Maybe she was in a bad mood—he wouldn't blame her—, but she hadn't been in one by the time he left. If he really let his heart run away from him, he'd let himself imagine he had been the one to keep her happy.

"At least he got it fixed, right?" he tried, leaning his forearms into the seat of the trolley, chin resting on his fist.

"Yeah," she smiled, apparently forgetting the supposed attitude she was given, "I got to wash my hair afterwards, so that was nice." He watched as her gaze dropped to the contents of his cart, eyes lighting up when she caught sight of something to pique her interest. "Where did you find that pizza dough? Mitch and I keep ordering out for pizza so I was trying to get stuff to make it ourselves instead."

An apologetic smile curled his lips before she even finished speaking. "It's over by the cheese counter, but I did grab the last couple. 'M sorry, (Y/N)."

The second he watched her deflate, the makings of a pout itching at her lips, Harry couldn't help himself. He just wanted to see her smile again.

"I was planning on using them for lunch today, but, if y'want, y'can come over and-and try it with me? I haven't tried this one before either, so if y'like it, y'can take some home."

He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of his heartbeat as he allowed his mouth to run ahead of him.

(Y/N) hesitated from where she stood in front of him, the blunt edges of her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. With a flutter of her lashes, she returned his gaze. "Are you sure? I can just get some next time, it's alright."

Swallowing, he saw the way out she was giving him, but he found himself wanting to stay just where he'd put himself.

"'M sure," he cemented, surprised by how lightweight the words felt, "I was going to eat by myself anyway, so at least we could talk a little."

A beat passed before she offered him a sweet smile and a nod of her head. "Alright. I still have some more shopping to do, but when I'm home, I could come by? As long as you're alright with waiting for me."

Harry didn't need to think before he was nodding his head.

Of course he would wait for her.

—————

Was this cheating?

Harry's chest constricted at the thought.

He wasn't a cheater, was he?

All he'd done was invite a friend over for lunch and to talk, just as they'd done before. He'd ran into her at the supermarket and asked if she wanted to share some of the food he was planning on making anyway, especially as she was only a door down. That's not cheating, right?

No, he told himself. They hadn't even touched outside of passing each other when they were lugging up her roommate's belongings upstairs, let alone kiss or go further. And nothing they'd talked about had verged into romantic territory, not even for a second. He talked to her like he would talk to a friend. He'd had female friends before—before Minerva, of course—and this was how he would treat any of them. He would even argue he's held her at a larger distance away, especially since he was married.

Just because he thought his friend was pretty, didn't mean he was cheating.

Minerva even knew about he extra time here and there he was spending with (Y/N), though she definitely scoffed and made faces whenever he spoke her name. If he was doing something wrong, he wouldn't have told Minerva anything, right?

Harry couldn't calm his spinning mind as he put away his groceries, spiraling out of control as he contemplated turning (Y/N) away when she came to the door—with all the ingredients for a pizza to make at her own home. But, as much as he was worried about the blurry line he was approaching, he didn't want to say no to her and make her leave. He didn't want the sunshine that was leaking into his life courtesy of his neighbor to become shrouded by clouds once again.

It was an innocent friendship, and if Harry couldn't handle himself, he would stop it. He vowed to himself that if he came to a point where he was worried he wouldn't be able to not cross into the shades of grey safely, then he would end it. Because he was someone's husband before he was someone's friend.

It wasn't until he heard a knock on the front door that Harry's frantic hands came to a sputtering halt. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter where he stood in front of the ingredients for his pizza project, he took a steadying breath. He centered himself for one more moment before going to the door to let his friend in.

(Y/N) greeted him with a bright smile when he swung the door open. "Hi, stranger," she bubbled, hands folded in front of her dressed in the same comfy set he'd found her in at the grocery.

"Hi," he greeted her, feeling the stretch of his grin as he took her in.

Even as he widened the berth of the door, clearing way for her to pass through, (Y/N) nervously toed the porch, eyes giving way to a tinge of anxiety he'd never seen there before. A pinch drew his brows together as he watched her.

"You're still hungry, right?" he prodded, giving her an out if she decided she would rather be at home.

His question seemed to shake her from wherever she had crawled to in her head. "Y-Yeah, sorry," she brushed off with a smile, stepping over the threshold and into his home, "I just realized I've never been inside your house before."

"That's right, huh," he said, smile going lopsided with only a single dimple in his cheek, "Busy couple of weeks for us, then, right? Packing a whole lot of basic friendship things into a few days."

Harry knew he uttered the word friendship for his benefit only, feeling stiff as it passed his lips. Because this was what this all was. Friends went to each other's houses, and got to know each other through quality time. Nothing nefarious or wrong about that.

"We've been neighbors for almost a year, and I think I just learned your last name," (Y/N) laughed, waiting for him as he locked the front door before starting off towards the kitchen with her behind him.

"That's what happens when y'wait to break your shower so y'can invite me over," Harry shrugged, looking over his shoulder with a smug smile on his lips.

(Y/N) only rolled her eyes, and shook her head as they entered the kitchen. Harry's set up was just as he'd left it: dough rolled out and floured, his favorite pizza sauce set off to the side with every fix-in delegated to different bowls and packages for easing picking. She followed after him with a light to her eyes, taking in the station he'd set up for them.

"I didn't know what y'might want to put on it, so I jus' got everything out," he explained, starting to feel a little sheepish over the amount of effort he put into his friend's meal.

"Thank you, Harry," she smiled at him, standing in front of one of the two slabs of rolled out dough, "This is perfect. You're so nice."

He had to pretend that his heart didn't flutter some at the gentle compliment she gave him.

Smiling down at his hands, Harry turned towards the sink to wash up before starting to assemble the food so she didn't see the flush he was sure was pricking the tip of his nose.

Once she'd followed the same procedure before returning to her station, Harry finally chanced a look at her where she stood with expecting eyes. Yeah, she was still pretty.

"Ready?" he murmured, swallowing around the word.

"Ready."

—————

"So, you didn't even actually work in the bakery? You did that on purpose, didn't you? So I would be lulled into a sense of trust even though you were only winging it on the bake time for the pizza."

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he listened to (Y/N)'s very true accusations. There had been something of a squabble over the bake time and temperature, as (Y/N) had supposedly googled the best combination of how long to let them sit under the heat and just how high the dial needed to be twisted while Harry swore by his own method. A wicked smile had curled his lips when he brought out the best end to the argument: his so-called experience.

"You're the worst," she challenged, shaking her head when she saw the quirking of his lips, "You just didn't want me to be right."

"They turned out jus' fine, didn't they?" Harry countered, jutting his chin out in playful defiance.

(Y/N) muttered out a muted whatever, though the flutter of her lashes and sparkle in her eyes didn't diminish to go along with her faux-attitude.

A warm silence settled within the dining room as they each took bites of their food, Harry unable to stop himself from looking at her through his lashes. He swore he even caught her drawing her eyes away at the last second during one of his peeks.

"I hope this doesn't come out wrong," (Y/N) broke the silence, wiping her mouth of the pizza sauce that had collected on the corner, "but, I'm kind of happy you're not working right now. We've actually gotten to get to know each other now that you've been home."

Looking at her, moony eyes with fluttery lashes and dewy skin glimmering in the sunlight leaking through the windows, Harry wanted to kiss her. That scared him.

While it might not have been the first time he thought about what it would be like to kiss (Y/N), it had previously always been in the abstract, someone in his place before the fleeting thought was out of his head in a blink. But, this time... this time was it's own beast that has Harry's heart rattling against his ribcage like a criminal in a jail cell.

This time, he had a solid vision of himself, reaching across the dining table he had dinner with his wife at, fitting his hand around the back of (Y/N)'s neck—wedding band and all—before slotting his lips against hers. She was happy she'd had a chance to get to know him, and that was something he hadn't realized he'd ever wanted to hear.

And, that scared him. This was cheating, wasn't it? Married men don't think about kissing other women like that. They don't look across the table and try to pick out the glimmers in their neighbor's eyes, or wonder how soft her lips would be, or wish they could tuck their face into her neck and see if she really smelled like strawberry poundcake like the lotion on her bathroom counter suggested. Married men shouldn't do that.

Harry swallowed thickly, dropping his gaze to his unfinished slice of misshapen pizza.

"Is everything okay?" (Y/N) broached, speaking to him as if he were an injured animal, "I didn't mean to make you upset about work. I shouldn't have said it lik—"

"No, no," Harry shook his head, a stray curl landing across his forehead, "'S not that, don't worry. I know what y'were trying to say."

"Okay," (Y/N) sounded, the syllables coming out quietly as she placed her pizza down, "Is something else wrong then?"

How was he supposed to explain to her that he crossed into territory that was too blurry to be safe for him—the one with the wedding band on his finger? She had no idea of what was running through his head as she spoke, the way his heart skipped a beat when she gave him attention he hadn't even known he'd been craving since she approached him in the garden weeks ago. At this pace, he was ruining two relationships at once: his marriage to Minerva and his friendship with (Y/N).

"(Y/N), I..." he started, unable to think clearly with the way his heart crawled up into his throat. Was there an eloquent way to tell someone you can't see them anymore because you fear you might cheat on your spouse if you became any closer? Was there ever a good time to confess to having feelings for another woman while also cutting them off?

"Harry," (Y/N) murmured, "you're worrying me. Can you at least tell me if you're alright?"

"I d-don't know, (Y/N)," he sighed, dropping his head into his hands that were propped up on elbows pinned to the table, "I don't—It might—... I think I might need to take a step back from you."

Silence fell over the room once more, this time lacking the warmth that it had been filled with less than ten minutes prior.

"I... don't think I understand," she responded, sounding stiff.

Harry shook his head in his hands, his hair fluffing around his face. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to see each other anymore, es-especially alone like this."

Heat crawled up his features, starting at the base of his neck as he choked out the words. He couldn't even look at her, but he could fantasize about cheating on his wife with her?

"Um, okay," (Y/N) said after a beat, words stilted, "I understand. May I ask why, though? Because if it was something I did, I want to apologize at least."

He shook his head as she spoke. None of this was her fault. Never was an apology from her lips needed over this situation. He dared to peek up at her through the cage of his fingers, finding her with her gaze downcast and shoulders deflated.

His tongue felt thick as he tried to speak around it, dry throat not helping any. He floundered over the honesty he knew he owed her. "It's jus'... 'M married and all, you know?"

The pieces seemingly clicked together for (Y/N) without any extra explanation. She gave a slow nod of her head. "Right. I'm sorry if I crossed any boundaries, or anything. I didn't mean to."

Before he could offer any consolation, tell her that the fault was all his own and she'd been nothing more than the sunshine he'd been aching for since he found himself on a clouded shore, but she was quick to pushed away from the dining table. She offered a polite thank you for lunch, before she was out of the house in record time; the sound of the door shutting behind her lingered longer than she did.

Scrunching his eyes tightly, Harry couldn't help but dig the pads of his fingers into the soft skin of his eyelids. "Fuck," he whispered to himself in the empty house. In a burst of frustration at the feeling of tears filling his eyes as if he had earned the right to be upset over the entire situation, he slammed his fists onto the table. The china rattled on the surface, only joining in with the ruckus of the loud Fuck! he screamed into the void of his home.

Slumping back into his chair, Harry stared up at the ceiling for who knows how long until he felt a nerve in the muscles pinch over the position. A labored breath was all he managed to pull into his lungs as he looked over the state of his home.

He needed to clean up before Minerva came home.

—————

Harry pushed the pad Thai around in his bowl, chopsticks making a dull scraping sound against the porcelain. Minerva—surprisingly home for dinner, which he hadn't been anticipating—had her eyes glued to her phone with a curl to her lips. The house was filled with silence just the way it had been for the last week and a half since Harry brought on his own heartache.

Since (Y/N) walked out, Harry hadn't been able to get her off his mind.

Nothing had been the same since the sound of the door slamming after her reverberated through the house. He swore that a part of his heart walked right out after her, trailing behind the home it had been trying to make in the warmth of her. He lied awake that night, wallowing in the mistake he'd made on two women in his life he was supposed to care about and protect. He'd failed on both fronts.

But, even after he cut himself off from the wallowing—he determined he didn't deserve more than a couple of days since this was all his doing—he found an ache lingering in his bones and a fog clouding his brain. He didn't want to eat, barely made sure he drank some water each day, and wanted nothing more than to hole himself up in the master bedroom though he never managed to actually sleep. If he wasn't distracted enough, his mind would wander too far away, waking up things he'd rather stay asleep.

He could only recall feeling like this once before: when Minerva had changed, making it very clear she was no longer invested in him or their relationship.

He was broken-hearted. Over losing (Y/N).

Maybe he had more than a silly crush on her like he had thought. He found himself wondering in the aftermath if she was alright. Was she blaming herself? Was she keeping busy with her roommate? Was she taking care of herself? It only worried him when he saw her roommate walking the dog around the neighborhood, something that seemed to be (Y/N) job exclusively before this. When he told Minerva that (Y/N) wouldn't be hanging around much anymore, he remembered how angry he became when she laughed, the noise cruel, and said something about how it was about time she'd run off.

How dare she? he recalled thinking. (Y/N) had never once said a single bad word about her, and yet Minerva couldn't even spare a question on why she wouldn't be over anymore or if something had happened. He'd shared the fact he'd made a real friend for the first time in years, and she didn't bother to ask what would be the cause of the separation, even going so far as to rub it in his face with an I-told-you-so-esque comment? Who was this person he had married?

But, in the end, (Y/N) sat at the forefront of his mind, stealing any selfish thought and reminding him of the real innocent in this situation. She deserved better.

His feelings for her had been a lot more real than he even realized. If he had known, he liked to think things would have turned out differently for them.

Holding back a sigh, Harry pinched a bean sprout between his chopsticks as he slumped over the table with his chin in his hands.

"I heard back from that auto-body place I told you about," Harry offered, filling the silence with his raw voice. Minerva didn't even look up.

"Hm?"

"That job I applied for—bookkeeping at that auto-body place just out of town. They emailed me back; I have a phone interview with them tomorrow," he shared, hoping the good news would at least make her happy. Maybe, that would be enough to get him out of his head, the static of the house surely not helping him feel normal.

"Oh," Minerva sounded, a sour expression pinching her features, "You actually applied there? I thought I told you it sounded gross."

Rolling his neck, he swallowed. "I know, but work is work and that's what I need right now. I can keep looking even if they hire me, I jus' need something right now."

A roll of her hazel eyes was granted in response to his words. "It's like you don't even listen to me. Sure, you're unemployed, but do you not think it would look worse for you to work at some greasy mechanic? Harry, it's gross, and you would know that if you ever actually listened to me."

Her biting words touched a nerve Harry didn't even know had been exposed.

"I listen to you all the time, Minerva," he grumbled, voice low and controlled. His heart pounded in his ears, the sound rising from his chest.

She scoffed at his retort, her phone finally dropping from her hand as she sat up straight in her seat. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he breathed, tempering himself before he raised his voice, "I always listen to you. Jus' like how I listened to you when y'said I wasn't trying hard enough and thinking too much of myself and not applying to jobs on my level. So, I broadened my search—like you asked—and found this place that would pay nicely and might appreciate what I could bring."

"Oh, now you're just blaming me, like it's my fault you couldn't find anything other than some slum to hire you. Stop being a dick, and just listen to wh—"

"I am listening! I have listened for the last seven years! And, I don't want to listen anymore, Minerva!"

It was like the universe knew about the changing tide, a sudden clash of thunder echoing outside that ramped up the storm that had been brewing in the clouds. The second the sky settled, Harry realized the tone and volume of his words and the fact Minerva hadn't said a single thing back, already feeling guilt in his system.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you, 'm sorry, M—"

"This is about her, isn't it?

Harry was taken aback at the accusing tone of voice she used on him. Flicking his gaze between her eyes, he found the anger that had been brewing in her silence. She hadn't been scared or upset that he'd raised his voice—no, she was trying to find the best way to one-up him.

"Who?"

"The fucking neighbor you're so obsessed with. This is about her, isn't it? She's been telling you I'm the bad guy for wanting you to get a good job, is that it?"

Stinging offense touched at Harry's chest. "This has nothing to do with (Y/N), leave her out of this, Minerva. She's never said a bad thing about you, you know that? When all you do is shit on her for no other reason than the fact she exists."

"I have reason, Harry," she spat, leaning over the table as he voice grew, "Like the fact that my husband eye-fucks her every time she's around! Did you really think I didn't fucking notice?!"

"'S not like that, Minerva, and you know it." Harry slid his hands into his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. "Why would you even care, anyway? 'S not like you even like me anymore."

"Because you're my husband. You are mine, until I decide otherwise. Then you can sleep around with every girl you see—but until then, you have to listen to me."

Harry didn't even realize a sheen had collected over his eyes, tears in his waterline as he just realized just how trapped he was in that moment, not until Minerva pointed it out to him.

"Are you really about to cry, right now?"

"I know you're cheating on me."

The words slipped past his lips before he even realized they were on the tip of his tongue. He'd barely let himself think about what Minerva was really up to those nights she was getting drinks, or staying late to finish a project, let alone speak them aloud. But now, there they were. In the static silence of the dining room, he was tired of pretending and listening and hoping.

Minerva seemed to be floored for a second, floundering over her words. "Don't try to turn this on me, Harry—"

"I do your laundry, you know" he sighed, exhausted now that the biggest weight had left his chest, "I've seen what you wear those nights you're supposedly at the office until one in the morning."

"Oh, so now I can't wear sexy underwear without your permission—"

"And, remember when you insisted I share my location with you? Even went through my phone and did it all when I was in the bathroom." Harry swallowed at the memory, but he felt numb to the panic that began to rise in Minerva's eyes. "But, I can see your location, too. I know you're not at the office or whatever bar you pretend to get drinks at when you don't come home."

She was stock still for a moment before Minerva crossed her arms heavily over her chest, slumping back into her chair. "Okay, and?" she spat, rolling her eyes as if this were another petty argument, "It's not like we haven't been over for years—sorry I wanted to feel loved for once."

Harry didn't even pay her jabs any mind. None of this mattered anymore to his battered heart.

"I want a divorce."

"Harry, we've talked about this. It's no—"

"I don't care about your job. I want a divorce."

Venom filled her eyes as she locked her gaze on him.

"You only want this now that you have your little whore next door, isn't it? Yo—"

"Minerva, please," he heaved, exasperated as his hands fell limp into his lap his neck rolling back to pin his gaze to the ceiling, "Why can't we just be happy? That's all I want. We get a divorce, and you can feel loved by whoever you want and I can get the fuck out of this house."

Harry didn't look at her even as he heard the sound of her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "Fucking fine, Harry," she spat his name out like bile, "Get the papers and I'll sign them—no contest, or whatever makes this fastest. But if you want to get out of this fucking house so bad, you can start tonight. Find somewhere else to sleep, asshole."

With that, his soon-to-be ex-wife stomped upstairs, slamming the master bedroom door hard enough he was sure that his wedding photos would have fallen from the walls had this been a movie. The sickly silent house was filled with the sound of the pelting rain from outside, the interior lit up by lightning strikes and shook by the pounds of thunder.

He needed to get out of here.

It was as if he was on autopilot as he moved through the kitchen and out the front door with nothing more than his phone and keys. He didn't even realize where he was going until he was dripping wet with rain soaking him to the bone on (Y/N)'s door step.

He must have missed knocking on her door because he was surprised when he saw the door open wide with (Y/N) standing in her pajamas, concerned etched all over her face with his name forming on her lips.

"I'm getting a divorce."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened as he cut her off, taking in the rain-sodden man. The water dripping from his hair onto the stained wood of her porch mimicked the watery gaze he stared at her with.

"Harry, you didn't because of m—"

"No, no," he swallowed, his mouth working faster than his brain, "No, it's not-not because of you. I should have done this a long time ago, I just let her decide everything for me even if I hated it. You-You made me re-real again. I couldn't stay with her knowing I could be happy again somewhere—somewhere that wasn't with her."

He watched through bleary eyes as her shoulders raised with a deep breath before she reached out to him.

"Come inside, you're going to get sick," she murmured, a sad smile on her features that shouldn't have tugged at his heartstrings.

Taking wooden steps, the cold finally registering on his skin now that the option of warmth was presented in her home as he crossed the threshold. Water dripped onto the hardwood that was identical to what was next door, but felt completely different in a space that actually knew happiness. A man was sat on the couch, long dark hair falling over his shoulder with a pinched mouth and wide eyes taking in the new visitor.

"Harry," (Y/N) said, stepping around him once the door was locked and closed, "this is my roommate, Mitch. Mitch, this is Harry... our neighbor."

Mitch nodded his head, rolling his lips between his teeth before he straightened up from his slumped position. "Nice to meet you," he smiled politely before his eyes slid to (Y/N), "I'm gonna go to my room, so if you need anything, just let me know."

Harry stood with his arms crossed over his chest as they stood, seemingly waiting for the click of Mitch's bedroom door before (Y/N) unfroze. "Um," she mumbled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she met Harry's gaze, "I'm gonna go grab you some clothes to wear while we wash your stuff. Just... wait right here, but I'll be right back."

(Y/N) lingered for a moment longer, placing a gentle hand on his arm to go along with her softened features before she was padding up the stairs. It could have been two minutes or two years that it took (Y/N) to return from her search, but Harry had no idea about the difference. He only took note of her soft hands urging him towards the bathroom, a set of oversized clothing tucked into his arms she told him was her brother's. He wouldn't mind if Harry borrowed them, she assured him.

Maybe it was the cold or the shock that lingered in his system that kept his joints stiff as he dressed. Once his wet clothes were nothing more than a puddle on the titled floor, heavy and thick with the new set cozied to his form, a hair too big, Harry stopped. With his hands braced on the lip of the counter, he spared himself a glance in the mirror.

Bloodshot, glistening eyes. Wet, dark hair that lost its curl to the weight of the water. Ruddy cheeks. Swollen lips. He looked a mess.

But, Harry couldn't remember himself ever looking so relieved.

He carefully gathered his clothes into his arms, ensuring he didn't dampen his borrowed clothing as he exited the bathroom. (Y/N) was there in an instant, having been waiting just outside the door with a softened smile on her features as she offered to take his clothes, already grabbing for them before he'd even relinquished them.

It wasn't until she returned from the laundry room, telling him something about the detergent, that Harry realized he was crying. Only because (Y/N) had pointed it out with a short gasp, hands instinctively reaching for him before she bundled them together at her chest.

"Oh, Harry," she cooed, "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what you're going through—"

"C-Can I hug you?"

(Y/N) didn't even hesitate before she was gathering him into her arms, Harry's head dropping to her neck with his body pressed flush against hers for no other reason than he hadn't been hugged like this in years. His breathing came in pants against her neck, fanning across her skin while his tears dripped over the curve. (Y/N) settled him as best she could, running a gentle hand over his back while the other swirled through his curls as best she could with their dampened state.

"'M so relieved," Harry whispered to her when he found his voice, "'M so relieved. Thank you."

Harry didn't know what he was thanking her for, and he was sure (Y/N) didn't either, but that didn't stop her from holding him tighter.

—————

"Bye, Harry!"

The delighted shouts that were called through the parking lot at the end of his work day brought a smile to Harry's face. He twisted on his heels, walking backwards for a moment as he waved for all the guys at the mechanic's yard to see.

"See you all on Monday!"

Harry couldn't remember ever loving his job the way he loved this one.

The mechanic was full of some of the nicest people he'd ever met in his life; some grumpy and a bit rambunctious—something he was sure they played up around their quiet accountant, as they called him—but none of them were anything less than welcoming since the day he was brought onto the team. He was excited on the days he worked in office solely because he got to see his friends. There were even nights they went out for drinks or went to a local venue to watch live music, something to relax into the weekend they always told him, and Harry was invited each time. How he worked in an office for almost ten years when this was out there waiting for him, he'd never understand.

But, Harry didn't like to think about the before years. Thinking about all he missed out on wasn't going to bring back the wasted time, that's what his therapist had told him.

It had only taken one night at (Y/N)'s and another week and a half at a hotel before Harry had another place lined up—how he was able to manage that, he wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to say no. It took him one weekend to get his things out of Minerva's house, have her sign the divorce papers he filed the days before, and it was over. His wasted time was up.

As difficult as Minerva liked to be, when she was done with something, she wiped her hands clean. Just as she did with Harry. She was quick to come to agreements about their assets and belongings, staying true to her word about wanting to take whatever route would be the fastest out of the marriage.

He didn't mind that she got the house and a sizable chunk of their savings. He could get all of that back, and nothing could compare to the relief and freedom he felt now that he was out of that oppressive house.

Plus, it was cheaper to go grocery shopping for one.

(Y/N) had been so encouraging through the first few weeks that Harry was trying to make sense of the new world he had called upon for himself. Never interfering or pushing him to do anything he didn't want to. Everything she told him was about his happiness—putting his happiness first. It was her idea that he reach out to someone to talk to about what happened during his marriage, and how to navigate making his own choices without heavy amounts of doubt pushing him back.

He hadn't seen her much since the night he crashed at her place, knowing that he needed to spend some time with himself, clear headed and heart in his own hands, before he could be in her distracting presence again. He needed to be the best version of himself first before he could be anyone else's. But, she never backed away from him, always there when he needed her, even if just to talk to someone.

Harry didn't worry about the dirt on his feet as he opened up the door to his apartment, only shucking off his shoes messily by the threshold. He'd get to them later.

It'd been three months since he moved in, so the place was a little sparse, but it was perfect in Harry's eyes. He'd never lived by himself before. Everywhere he looked, it was him—his things, his family photos, his memories. He loved his little apartment, no matter if it was a downgrade from a two-story, three bedroom house. This was his first home.

His clothes were left in the hamper as he changed into a comfy set of clothing. He could do laundry tomorrow, no worries, he reminded himself. He had more important things to do.

Reaching under his bed, Harry grabbed the final unpacked box he had taken from the attic of the old house. Nothing more was written on the cardboard than Harry's Stuff in Minerva's handwriting. Flipping open the top, he found his university gear (really just a pair of sweatpants he swore got him through exams seasons without any complete failures), a set of messily colored pictures gifted to him from when his niece was only a baby, random items from his childhood, and a leather bound journal.

The journal was wrapped tightly closed with a matching length of string. The cover was doodled upon with stars and quotes, Harry's name scrawled across the front of the book. It mimicked him, he realized; covered in sketchbook like drawings, but it was all him.

Inside, he knew there were songs from years ago he probably didn't even remember writing. A smile touched at his features as he untied the string holding the journal together.

But, before he could flip through the pages again, he knew he had to make a call.

With his phone to his ear, the ringing echoed in his ears until he heard the telltale click.

"Harry!" (Y/N) happily chirped on the other side, "How are you?

Hearing her voice, he swore it was easier to breathe. "Hi, 'm doing good," he greeted her, voice dreamy and mellow, "Are y'doing anything tonight?"

A beat passed before she spoke again, the smile he could hear in her voice easy to imagine. "I don't think so, why?"

He promised (Y/N) she would be the first he called when he found his music again.

"I want to show y'something."

He was happy to wait for her.

—————

this is....very different for me ngl HUSHFUSHF I had a very different direction I was thinking about when I started this and then completely went off the rails and turned into something sadder than anything else ive written so...thanks for sticking through it I guess shfushfush thank you sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes (and the fact they don't even kiss ???)! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

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0anonnymouslyours0 · 11 months

Note

a request!! i loved the scene where Spencer is giving a class and he finds out that ppl are auditing his class, and there’s a couple of girls who are kinda flirty with him

i would love a scene where his gf joins the class and sits in the back without Spencer noticing her at first, but then he does and idk maybe he can’t focus on the class because to him she’s sooo distracting. (preferably with smut at the end because i absolutely adore the way you write smut)

sure lovely! sorry this was like months overdue...

sex obvs +18

your slouched down in the very back, a questionably short skirt and half unbuttoned blouse on. spencers favourite. you haven't bothered to take out a notebook, or a laptop, to even pretend you might actually be here to learn. instead, your eyes watch spencer, only darting away when he looks up in your general direction. he looks good. very very good. dishevelled hair, which you know is partially from your morning activities, well structured navy suit. long fingers gripping the marker-

a cough bubbles in your throat, just as hes writing on the board and the class is silent. he turns in your direction, eyes widening when he spots you. smiling, you give him a teasing wave.

"right, err- so just copy this." hes frazzled now, gesturing at the board quickly and messing with his papers.

your phone buzzes.

"what are you doing?" you smile at the directness of it.

"just listening in."

he begins typing, but stops, looking up at you, eyes glancing up and down. clearing his throat, he puts his phone down.

"once your done taking notes, you can leave. these will be important for your exams so make sure you write this down."

students begin to scatter, and an suspiciously long line of girls form in front of his desk.

you get up, moving to his desk and skipping the line, ignoring the annoyed looks of the girls.

"so professor-" you cut the girl off, swinging around the corner of the desk and perching on his knee.

"oh. hi." he says, dazed at your sudden position.

"hi baby." you peck a kiss to his cheek, before getting up and standing behind him. eyeing the line of girls who are watching you.

"anymore questions?" he asks, distracted by your hand creeping down his chest from behind.

"no." the group grumbles, heading out the door.

it closes with a slam.

you turn spencers chair around. swinging your legs onto his lap.

"fuck." he breathes, taking in your thighs wrapped around his, and your little plaid skirt, and bra peeking out of your blouse.

"hey spence." you say, pecking kisses along his tilted neck.

"thought id come visit you."

"uh-huh." he stammers.

"but you just looked so good up there, so fucking hot." your hands unbutton his shirt, jacket already discarded on the ground.

"the door, its unlocked." he says, eyes blown at the sight of you.

you huff, climbing off his lap and quickly looking it. shedding your blouse, you walk back and sink to your knees in front of him.

"god-" he whispers, and you unzip his pants, shuffling them down.

"what did i do to deserve this?" his hands reach up to your hair, tugging it into a ponytail.

"did so good in your lesson baby, wanna treat you." you palm him through his boxers, before sliding them off.

placing a kiss on his tip, you run your tongue along his shaft, looking up at him, eyes wide. his head is tipped back, addams apple exposed and hair falling messily everywhere. such a pretty sight.

hes groaning, coming undone so quickly by the calculated movements of your tongue.

"fuck!" he gasps, as you pick up your pace, drawing his orgasm out.

"such a pretty girl on her knees for me." he says, fucked-out.

you smile raising off the ground and straddling his lap. his dick hardens underneath you.

"want you inside me baby.." you whisper, kissing his neck as you slide your panties to the side.

you tease your slit with his tip, before sinking down onto him with a groan.

it doesn't take much for you to both finish. messy and rushed kisses as you clean up and leave before his next class, promising more when he returns home..

#me randomly re-entering the fandom after ages! hi there!#oneshot #fluff #smut #female reader #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfic #professor spencer reid smut #spencer reid masterlist

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luxmoogle · 7 months

Text

The news about AI scraping also reaching this nook of the internet (tho' I don't doubt there's been scraping already before this) has been going around and I'd like to write a little word about my feelings on it.

For awhile this direction of art theft in the art and writers communities has been weighing a lot of people down. I've seen many familiar faces stop posting at all, probably out of fear of their beloved work being thieved away.

I don't really talk about it, but many times it has deterred me from posting or even working on some pieces purely from a sense of melancholy and sadness. Every time news about the topic comes out it creates a new kind of wave of despair. I get the feeling, what's the point, if the AI created sludge is enough for the public, if such surface level imagery fulfills peoples wants for art, then what's the point of me sharing my work at all? To just keep posting to feed a machine.

But then I sit at my desk and draw something. Paint something by myself. And I remember, why I do art at all. The feeling of creating is irreplaceable, the joy I get out of the struggle of creation can't be taken away from me. The way one pours their thoughts, feelings and even the tiniest things that might feel so insignificant to oneself so candidly onto paper. And then. AND THEN. One might be brave enough to share those pieces to others. Post them online, show a friend, a family member. To show your vulnerable self to others, and those others respond. They comment, ask questions, perceive it and best of all... ..might get inspired, and create something for themselves!

I remember reading a magazine once, that had a page at the back with all these art works readers had sent in, and I though 'wow, these are great'! And that really inspired me to create more than I already was doing, and most of all to share it with people. That's why way back when I started sharing my art in online spaces. And I don't want to stop, because I don't want us to lose that connection. That human connection, because that's what sharing art is really about, our humanity. Sharing thoughts and feelings, not about generating the most technically perfect piece of art, void of all human error.

So, I'd like to say, do not despair (but keep fighting). There are always people out there to receive your heart.

Thank you for reading and sorry for the ramble, but I really do hope these words find you all well.

#my ramblings #not kh #not kingdom hearts #text post #I feel a little silly posting this manifest on a fanart blog #but I do think one pours their soul into it as well #I know I do #ooc #or finally IN character?#not as the moogle

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dollfaceksj · 1 year

Text

met him last night | ksj (m)

➥ PAIRING: seokjin x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: You’ve worked in the office with Kim Seokjin for quite some time but you never really pay attention to him. He’s basically your stereotypical introverted nerd with complimentary glasses decorating his eyes and sweater vests clinging to his torso. Coincidentally, you bump into him outside of work. You’re in for the shock of your life when you find some stuff out about him.

➥ GENRE: smut ⋆ plot twist ⋆ porn with plot

➥ CATEGORY: two-shot

➥ WARNINGS: wild & flirty taehyung (cause why not?), strong language, tension, sexual tension, nerd!seokjin, plot twist, two-faced seokjin? basically hes not what he seems like, reader is a bit of a hypocrite, mentions of biphobia/misogyny, awkward interaction in a grocery store, mentions of sexual acts, minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 10.9k

a/n: aaaa im glad this is finally out i just wanted my own ver of a hannah montana story man. jkjk but yeah i hope u enjoy <33 lmk what u fink.

a/n 2: pt. 1 is pretty slow but pt. 2 has all the mind-blowing filthy smut i promise✍🏽

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⇠ PREV. ⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ NEXT ⇢

to: Y/N.Y/L/[email protected]

from: Karen Smith

This is the 3rd time this has happened! I demand to speak to anyone that’s in charge.

“Ugh, she won’t stop complaining,” you groan as you finish reading another email from the same customer who’s been complaining for 4 days straight because the delivery man delivered her package to her neighbor.

You’ve tried to explain multiple times that he had no choice due to her absence at the time of delivery but she’s adamant on letting you know she doesn’t approve.

You rub your eye with the knuckle of your index finger, careful not to smudge your eyeliner or mascara before you let a loud sigh push past your lips and slouch in your chair.

Your co-worker and friend, Taehyung, glances over at you from the desk next to yours with an amused grin on his lips. “I dealt with her last time. Good luck, she won’t let up.”

With a turn of your head, you finally meet his gorgeous eyes that glimmer with mischief and it annoys you to the core. Your glare throws imaginary daggers at him, an irritated scowl forming on your face.

“All she did was order some balloons and confetti. I’d understand if she had ordered something expensive like a phone or console,” you mumble in annoyance, your eyes flickering to the bottom right corner of your monitor to check the time.

It’s 3:34PM. Under 30 minutes until you get to clock out. You swivel in your chair, head thrown back as you stare at the ceiling, lost in thought. You close your eyes, allowing the built-in ceiling-air-conditioning to softly fan over your face while you think about what a shit week you’ve had.

“You’re too frustrated. Thought about fucking it out of your system?” You hear Taehyung’s deep voice way closer than it was before, making you snap your head in the direction of said decibels.

He has rolled over in his chair, now sitting right next to you with a shit-eating grin on his lips. You merely grunt in response, lifting your leg and placing your foot against the edge of his seat’s cushion right in between his thighs in one swift motion, missing his groin by a hair before you kick his chair back in the general direction of his desk.

He laughs as he aimlessly rolls back to his desk, grabbing onto the edge of the wooden surface belonging to his desk before turning to fully face you.

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His tone does sound more serious but you just wave your hand at him in dismissal as you return your attention to your inbox that’s bursting with emails waiting for a response from you.

“You offering?” you tease, playfully, without looking at him, eyes still fixed on the screen in front of you.

A deep chuckle leaves his throat before he continues, “If you’d asked that a week ago, I would’ve fucked the shit out of you.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise as you turn to look at him but this time it’s Taehyung that’s avoiding eye contact, eyes glued to his screen as his long fingers gracefully dance over the black keyboard in front of him. Taehyung has always been flirty, has always made dirty jokes but that’s what they were. Jokes.

This time, he says it like it’s a confession. Like he’s serious. And you hate to admit that it rattles you to the core.

“Be normal,” you mumble, uncertainty coating your tone as your hands fidget with the bundle of papers to your right, pretending to look busy and unbothered.

He glances at you for a moment before shrugging and saying, “I’m not lying.” He returns his gaze to his computer, right hand draped over the cursor as the clicking of his mouse sounds louder than ever.

“But as you know that cute guy asked me out again and I can see it going somewhere,” he explains as he brings his other arm up, leaning his elbow on his desk and bringing his hand up to rub his lips with the tips of his fingers.

You idly blink at the side of his face a few times, eyeing his side profile. He truly is a sight to behold. A chorus of swear words start clouding your mind. Taehyung was down to fool around with you and you didn’t take that opportunity? You must be fucking crazy.

Well, in your defense, he wasn’t obvious about it. But you do wish you’d gotten to spend at least one night with him, just to see what you’re missing out on. He has never hidden his wild lifestyle, partying every weekend, meeting new people everyday, it makes you so very curious because you aren’t like that at all.

You like staying home, you like being in bed, you like rewatching your favorite shows on Netflix.

The soft knock on the door to your office snaps you out of your thoughts, your head automatically turning to look at the door as it’s being pushed open.

One of the long-term interns turned employee pushes his face into the room, politely bowing his head at you and Taehyung as his eyes peek at you above the rim of his glasses.

You’re acquainted with Seokjin but he’s really quiet and doesn’t really engage in much conversation, though, he’s always been polite and has never made you uncomfortable or anything.

He did once buy you a brand new, expensive keyboard and cursor because he felt so guilty for spilling your cup of coffee all over them. He kept apologizing even when you told him it was okay. He returned the following day with a new set and insisted on installing it for you.

Or another time when you left him speechless for buying him a box of chocolates for Valentines day, despite the fact you had bought one for everyone at work. He almost dropped to his knees to thank you, which made Taehyung burst into laughter as you tried to stop the giant with broad shoulders from being so dramatic.

You always do your best to be nice to him because everyone at work kind of dodges him, in fear of having an awkward conversation or assuming he’ll start rambling about his Pokemon card collection.

He has never said anything about owning a Pokemon card collection or anything of the sort. It’s just one of the many dumb stereotypical jokes they’ve made up about him, simply because he graduated top of his class, wears dorky sweaters, has glasses sitting on top the bridge of his nose and is socially awkward.

Or is he? They’ve never attempted to even have a conversation with him that lasted longer than 30 seconds.

With you, he isn’t awkward. He’s quiet but he’s not awkward. Yes, you have to do most of the talking which can make it awkward for you but he’s just a guy that keeps to himself. Who wouldn’t when they get treated like this?

He walks further in, muttering a low ‘excuse me’ before turning his body to address you, “Y/N, are today’s report files done?” Seokjin quietly asks you, referring to all the complaints you have to print out that need to be on your manager’s desk at the end of every day.

You nod and point your chin towards a bundle of files on your desk. He smiles at you politely and you return the smile, unfortunately, yours is fake. You’ve had a shit week and you can’t bring yourself to start small talk with him like you usually would.

He must’ve noticed you’re not in the mood so he just gives you a curt nod and takes the bundle of papers, fingers wrapping tightly around it as he spins on his heels and heads out of your office again. He disappears as quickly as he appeared.

You don’t pay much attention to him as you return your gaze to the screen in front of you, a quiet sigh leaving you as you continue to do what you’re paid to do.

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You absolutely hate going grocery shopping on Saturdays, which is why you usually don’t. But when you swung the door to your fridge open and found out you had run out of milk, it had you cursing like a sailor. To think you’d have to start your Sunday morning without your mandatory bowl of Frosted Flakes and cup of coffee has you grunting in annoyance as you reach for a plastic store basket.

You sling it over your forearm and start walking around the store, already knowing your way around your go-to supermarket. Your eyes trail some of the new products, fingers silently tapping the handle of the basket against your forearm. You make your way to the refrigerated dairy section of the store, eyes skimming the see-through glass doors until you find what you’re looking for.

You fill your basket with some cheese, yoghurt and 3 bottles of whole milk before closing the glass door and turning on your heels. You start heading towards the checkout counter because you don’t want to be here any longer than you need to but your feet slow down in their pace once your eyes fall on a rack of condoms.

Your eyes scan the different brands, the different sizes, the different flavors. Even multiple types of lube hang on rods in front of you and Taehyung’s words instantly come rushing back to you.

Is he right? Should you just fuck it out of your system?

You aren’t the type to really have one-night-stands but Taehyung is. And he’s the happiest, most carefree guy you know. His happy-go-lucky attitude is branded on your brain wrinkles and you crave that same carelessness.

Before you can even let your rational self talk you out of it, you reach for a random box and turn it over, eyes skimming over the small white letters on the package.

Pffft. Extra thin for maximum stimulation. Ultrasmooth inside for a more natural feel. Made from premium latex.

Your eyes linger for a moment longer before you hear your name coming from somewhere on your right side.

You turn your head to look at the person, only to be met with the quiet long-term intern turned employee you’ve worked with for a few months now, Kim Seokjin. His fluffy brown hair is draped over his forehead like always, kissing the edge of his signature silver-rimmed glasses. His plump lips are big and pink, stretching to give you a polite smile.

“Oh, Seokjin?” you say with surprise in your tone, the box of condoms in your hands completely slipping your mind.

With a single nod of his head, his gaze slowly drops down to the box of rubbers in your hands that you’ve been ogling at.

“Having trouble choosing?” he asks in a neutral tone, the question catching you off guard.

You glance at the condoms again with a frown as if you’d forgotten you were even holding it, heat instantly rushing to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment. It’s only now that you realize you’re still holding a pack of rubbers that are made to cover a penis before it enters a hole.

You quickly place it back in panic, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips, “Oh, I uh.. I was just curious,” you mumble, shaking your head at the fact you let that lunatic talk you into checking out condoms in public. Damn you, Taehyung.

“Are you sure? I can answer some questions you may have.” His words are so well enunciated and polite that it relaxes you a bit.

You’re both adults. Adults have sex. This shouldn’t be embarrassing, not in the slightest.

His soft tone reassures you that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about so you glance up at him for a moment. You idly stare at him for a few seconds, committing his features to memory.

He’s quite beautiful. Very beautiful actually, you always seem to forget that fact about him but you’re reminded of it every single time you’re near him. Unfortunately, his personality isn’t really anything interesting so you don’t feel that attracted to him.

“Y/N?” he says with his brows pinched together, hidden behind his fluffy brown locks.

You must’ve been ogling him like a fucking freak for him to be calling you out like this. Fuck.

“Oh, right,” you blurt out, “well, I was wondering…” You don’t even know how to go about this but his calm and soft demeanor makes you feel at ease, despite your heart racing in your chest.

You continue, “I just wanna have some as backups at home but I’m not sure which size or brand to choose.” You’re relieved that you managed to say that without stumbling over your words but the hiccup in your chest is still being persistent as hell, though. You can’t help but be a little embarrassed.

“This brand is good,” he says without hesitation, pointing at a black box before tugging it off the metal rod and handing it to you. “Size medium is your safest option. They fit most people.” The words leave his mouth so nonchalantly, as if he’s talking about the weather.

If he notices how surprised you are at his reaction, he doesn’t show nor comment on it.

“If they don’t fit a regular medium then they’ll usually have their own.” His eyes finally meet yours as the words leave his lips, still no sign of judgment or disgust on his features. It makes you drop your tensed shoulders in relief.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you reply quietly, nodding your head as you process his words. It makes sense, of course. If someone has an unusual size, they’ll have their own condoms, no? Whether that be too small or too big.

“Thank you, even though that was more than a little embarrassing,” you chuckle to deter the embarrassment you’re experiencing at the moment, placing the black box of condoms in your basket before turning to face him again.

There’s a flicker of something unusual in his eyes and it catches you off guard for a moment but he quickly offers you a smile, his perfectly straight pearly whites making an appearance. You try not to be stereotypical but you can’t help but wonder whether that must’ve been the result of braces.

“Anytime.”

With that, he spins on his heels and disappears behind a corner at the end of the aisle. You slowly exhale the deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding and press the back of your hand against your cheek, the heat from your cheeks spreading through your skin, knuckles and fingers.

You gently shake your head in hopes of cooling down and head toward the checkout counter, waiting your turn as you unload your unpaid products onto the black conveyor belt.

The line is slow but at least it’s moving. When it’s finally your turn, you offer the cashier a polite smile as you reach for your wallet but you’re stopped by a hand on your elbow. You snap your head in the direction of the person that’s touching you, only to be met with familiar beautiful brown eyes behind thin silver-rimmed glasses.

“Sorry, I’m kind of in a rush. Do you mind me butting in?” Seokjin asks, holding up the products he’s holding in his hand. You’re surprised by the sudden interruption but you shake your head, muttering a quick ‘of course not’.

He quietly thanks you and begins by placing a bag of coffee machine capsules, a bag of Doritos and a small black box onto the conveyor belt, next to your stuff.

He walks around you from the back and presses his card to the payment terminal, paying for all your stuff as well. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, lips slightly parting as you watch him bag your goods.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say as you tap his bicep to get his attention.

He simply shrugs his shoulders and offers you a kind smile, his hand coming up to the bottom rim of his right lens, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose with the back of his index finger. You suppose paying for your stuff is his way of thanking you for letting him cut in line.

Your gaze shifts toward the products that he hasn’t bagged yet, the black box of condoms catching your eye. You pick up the box, thinking they’re yours but you notice the golden ‘XL’ letters immediately. That is definitely not the same box. Is he buying you another box of condoms as a thank you?

What does an ‘extra large’ dick even look like, though? That sounds ridiculous. “I thought you said mediums were fine?” you chuckle as you turn the box over to examine it properly.

“Oh,” he pauses, “those are for me.”

His words process in your mind a little too slowly to your liking. As soon as you realize what he just told you, your head snaps in his direction and he’s already looking at you with a small awkward smile on his pretty lips.

You absentmindedly blink at him a few times, your mind screaming at you to say something and end this excruciating awkwardness.

“Oh,” you start, “oh! Right, yeah. Of course. My bad.” You drop the box of condoms back onto the counter as if it burned your hand, heat spreading through your face, ears and neck all over again. And your burning cheeks had just started cooling off from the previous encounter, great.

A soft chuckle escapes his throat quietly, his head shaking in dismissal. “It’s fine. No worries,” he says as he gathers his stuff and loads them into another plastic bag before handing you yours.

“I’ll see you at work,” he pauses as he turns to look at you one last time, “Have a good weekend, Y/N.”

And just like that, he turns around and starts heading out, an air of his confidence still lingering around you. Your eyes intently watch his retreating figure as if you’re in a trance, his broad shoulders on display in the black shirt he’s wearing.

You can’t believe that just happened and what’s more unbelievable is how calm and nonchalant he was about the whole thing.

At work he seems so introverted, so shy, so timid. But today, he approached you, initiated small talk and even helped you with your concerns about fucking condoms.

Not to mention the fact that you just made him tell you that he has a monster in his boxers.

What the fuck just happened?

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Your legs lazily carry you toward your desk the following Monday, feet dragging across the floor and shoulders slouched. Taehyung greets you from his desk as chirpy as ever and you simply nod in response, plopping down into your seat with a grunt.

He laughs at your grumpiness with a shake of his head before he returns to the work that’s waiting for his attention. You bring your hand up to shield your mouth as you quietly yawn, desperately in need of some coffee. You glance to the side, batting your lashes prettily at Taehyung with your hands clasped together under your chin.

Taehyung turns to look at you, an amused frown on his face. “What do you want?”

You pout at him, tilting your head to the side as you continue to bat your eyelashes. “Coffee,” you innocently say, making your eyes big and doe-like.

He laughs and shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of his index fingers. He leans back with a loud groan and slouches in his seat, staring up at the ceiling with his hands on his stomach as he turns in his chair from side to side.

He loudly sighs. “Only because you’re my favorite co-worker.” He finally gets up, yanking his phone out of the charger and tucking it into his pocket.

“I’m the only co-worker you see!” you exclaim with a scowl, watching as he blows you a kiss and heads out of your shared office. You childishly huff and cross your arms, spinning in your chair as you stare at the ceiling. You should at least start your PC up but you don’t think you could even get your brain to work and do something as simple as that.

You snatch your phone off your desk and check the time, 8:05AM. Too fucking early to do anything. You grunt and toss your phone back onto your desk, playing with the earring in your earlobe as you wait for Taehyung’s return.

It doesn’t take long for him to enter the room again, two cups of steaming liquid in his hands as he pushes the door open with his hip. He struts up to you and places the cup next to your keyboard. He brings his free hand up to flick the back of your head, causing you to yelp in surprise.

You snap your head in his direction, one of your hands flying up to the back of your head and your other hand reaches out to hit him but he quickly dodges you with a giggle, making sure he doesn’t spill his own cup of tea—he hates coffee—and burn his fingers.

He plops down in his seat and takes a sip, humming in delight with his eyes closed as the warm liquid slides down his esophagus. He pulls his lips away from the rim of his cup with an obnoxious ‘ah’ exhale which makes you groan in response.

You’ve never met anyone as annoying as him.

You roll your eyes at his ridiculousness and huff, a small smile on your lips as you eventually mutter a quiet ‘thank you’ to him. You take a sip of your coffee and moan, enjoying the taste on your tongue.

“So, how was that date?” you ask him, remembering how he mentioned something about the cute guy asking him out again.

To your surprise, he groans and puts his paper cup down on his desk with a loud thud, almost spilling the piping hot liquid everywhere. “He was a fucking asshole about me liking women as well so I called it quits.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, a slight stinging in your chest at his words. People can be such assholes.

“Oh, that’s horrible. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” You turn your chair to face him, a small pout on your lips.

“It’s okay, I fucked his friend anyways.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, making you scrunch your nose up at the shameless confession. You’re grateful you weren’t sipping on your hot coffee because that information would’ve easily burned your throat.

He snorts at your reaction, picking up his cup and taking another sip of his lemon tea, hissing at the heat on his tongue. “What about you? How was your weekend?” he asks you after he’s swallowed it down, eyes curiously glancing at you.

You shrug your shoulders. “It was fine. Boring.” The last word leaves your lips in a mumble, downing the rest of your coffee in one big gulp after it cools down a bit.

“I told you to loosen up, didn’t I? Have some fun, you’re young, you should be enjoying your twenties.”

His words instantly throw you back into Saturday, a twitch in your eyebrows as you recall the bizarre scene clearly.

“Oh, my God,” you mumble, staring at the computer in front of you before turning to look at him with big eyes.

Taehyung’s eyebrows raise in surprise before scrunching together, tilting his head to the side in curiosity as he looks back at you. “What?”

You pinch the tip of your nose and sniffle to prepare yourself as you think about how to explain your strange incident from this weekend. “What do you think about Seokjin?”

His frown doesn’t let up. “The quiet intern?”

“Yeah.”

The confusion on his face turns into complete perplexity, the question catching him completely off guard. “Uh? I mean…” He confusingly shakes his head to collect his thoughts.

“Pretty cute, tall, broad shoulders, geek, boring as hell,” he pauses. “Why?”

You nod to his words as you listen, agreeing to what he’s saying, “Would you believe me if I told you last Saturday he…” you begin, slowly processing the words you plan on saying out loud for the first time since it happened. “…He bought me condoms?” you finish, still uncertain about it as the words leave your mouth.

He instantly lunges at you in his chair, big eyes and a big shit-eating grin on his lips. “Wait, what the fuck? What are you talking about?” He gets out of his chair and places his big hands on the armrests of your chair as he hunches directly over you.

You sink into your seat, a bit surprised by his proximity as he leans into your face like he’s trying to decipher whether you’re lying or not. You try to ignore the lump forming in your throat. Taehyung is still a very attractive man after all, even if he’s your friend.

“Yeah, and it’s all your fault. If he didn’t see me ogling the condom section like a fucking weirdo because you told me to loosen up, that awkward interaction wouldn’t have happened.” You push your hand flat against his hard chest to push him back but he doesn’t budge, too intrigued by the exciting events of your boring weekend.

He laughs when he tells you, “Oh, that nerd wants to fuck you so bad.”

You screech, adding your other hand to his chest which finally allows you to push him off. He laughs loudly, running a hand through his fluffy golden locks as he stumbles back a bit. He still looks absolutely flabbergasted.

“No, you freak. He was being nice,” you mumble, disregarding the thought completely.

“Tell me everything,” he says with a smirk as he leans his butt against your desk, facing you with his arms crossed over his chest.

You explain the entire thing in vivid detail as you remember it, mind wandering to the way Seokjin’s brown eyes stared at you as you picked up his box of condoms. The image will never leave your mind.

You look around to make sure no one’s going to barge into your office and hear you talk about the strange conversation you’re having with your co-worker about another employee’s private matters (and parts). “Then after he paid, I picked up that box and he said those were for him.”

“Oh, so he actually fucks.” He strokes his chin at the new information. “What size were his condoms?” Taehyung can’t help but smirk, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

Your response is just a grunt, your attention returning to the computer in front of you. You completely ignore his question in hopes he’ll drop the topic but he’s Taehyung.

“What? Is he walking around with a little dick? Or is he blessed?” He nudges you with his hip, causing you to groan loudly as you try to push him off your desk. “Come on, I went and got you coffee.”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you look up at him, guilty about the fact you’re about to reveal private information about another colleague. “XLs.”

You watch as his expression completely becomes that of a cartoon character. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, eyebrows raised.

“Shut the fuck up!” he beams. Grabs you by the shoulders. Shakes you slightly. You childishly groan his name but you make no efforts to stop him.

“Damn, who would’ve thought?” he mutters as he drops his hands from your shoulders to lean back against your desk, hands tucked into his pockets. He blankly stares ahead, eyes glued to the white wall in front of him as he continues to think about the revelation. “Shit. Nerd with a big dick. I should’ve called dibs.”

“Get back to work, you horndog.” You nudge his hip with your elbow, finally getting him to go back to his chair with a low chuckle.

“How long until you think he tries to make a move on you?” Taehyung purrs, taking a final sip of his tea. He crumples up the paper cup. Tosses it across the room. Completely misses the trash can. He isn’t the athletic type.

You shake your head in dismissal, a scowl on your face. “He’s not going to make a move on me, he was just being nice,” you say before you pause and momentarily glance at him to add, “don’t make it weird.”

He chuckles lowly, muttering a quiet, worthless apology. He begins, “Well, just because he’s big doesn’t mean he knows what to do with it. It’s not about the size of the wave but about the motion in the oce–”

You cut him off with a loud groan, “That’s enough out of you, freak.”

With a final laugh, he finally drops the topic of your timid co-worker’s penis and returns his focus to his work.

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The rest of the week goes by so damn slow. And so does the next week. And the week after that. And the one after that.

It’s been weeks, months. Work is taking its toll on you again. It makes you twice as excited about going out to eat with a few of your friends this Saturday.

When Saturday afternoon finally rolls around, you take your mandatory everything-shower. You take your time washing your body and hair, shaving every nook and cranny of your body and exfoliating your skin.

You feel good.

Once you hop out the shower and wrap a fresh towel around your naked body, you saunter into your bedroom. You reach for your phone, unlocking it by typing in your passcode and instantly checking the groupchat.

[3:54PM]

Olivia

The reservation is at 6, don’t be late!

Olivia

I’m looking at YOU Taehyung

Taehyung

Now why am I in it

Taehyung

See how I do nothing and still get pulled into shit

Olivia

😒 Shut up

Hoseok

you get pulled into shit because you’re always at the center of it

Taehyung

Yall are some hating ass people bro

[4:01PM]

You

no ur just dumb

Taehyung

Oh I’M the dumb one OK

You roll your eyes and chuckle as you toss your phone onto your bed, getting ready to do your hair and makeup after you’ve slid on your black lace panties and matching bra.

After you’ve finished styling your hair exactly as you like it, you start with makeup.

You keep it pretty minimal. You hold your hand mirror in front of your face and get to work. You just color your brows in a bit, apply some concealer and bronzer. A pretty shade of blush to the apples of your cheeks and pretty wings of liner on each outer corner of your eyes. You pick up your phone to text Taehyung, in desperate need of a second opinion.

[5:13PM]

You

falsies or no falsies

You apply a coat of mascara while you wait for a response, making sure not to get any black clots stuck in your lashes. You soon apply a nice brown lip liner and a nude-peachy liquid lipstick on top, giving you the perfect kissable pout.

Your phone vibrates.

[5:15PM]

Taehyung

Falsies. Always falsies

[5:15PM]

You

👍 thnx

You chuckle as you apply lash glue to your pretty cat fake eyelashes you got from some random drugstore and place them on your desk gently as you wait for the glue to get tacky.

Your phone vibrates again.

[5:16PM]

Taehyung

I honestly don’t know what the fuck falsies even are but the more of anything the better

[5:16PM]

You

fake eyelashes dumbass

[5:16PM]

Taehyung

Oh. Show me the difference?

You sigh in exasperation as you apply fake eyelashes to only one of your eyes, tinkering with the band in the inner corner of your eye, tongue poked out at the corner of your mouth in concentration.

Once you’re satisfied with the lashes, you glance into your vanity mirror to see what it looks like from afar. You put your phone up and open up the front camera, staring into the camera with a sultry look to emphasize the difference of fake lashes versus no fake lashes, but with a peace sign to make it somewhat playful.

[5:19PM]

You

(image attachment)

You fight the urge to nibble on your bottom lip, to not ruin your perfect lip look of tonight as you anxiously wait for his response. You’re running out of time and you still have to get dressed.

[5:20PM]

Taehyung

Both are nice but definitely with

[5:20PM]

Taehyung

You look good

You smile to yourself when you read the message, beginning to prepare the other fake lashes.

Once you’ve wrapped up your makeup with a spritz of setting spray directly onto your face, you fan it down with your hand and place your hand mirror back in its rightful place.

You get up from your little vanity and head towards your closet, fishing out the white silk button up that compliments your waist and chest so beautifully and the black knee-length pencil skirt that hugs your ass and hips so well, making you want to bend yourself over any surface.

You snap out of your ludicrous thoughts and quickly slip your clothes on for tonight, walking up to your vanity as you’re buttoning up your shirt. You reach for a gold layered necklace and wrap it around your neck, leaving the top 2 buttons unbuttoned so you can flaunt your pretty necklace.

You pick up your favorite perfume and spray yourself with the sublime scent, humming in delight as the scent enters your nostrils.

You push the needles of the small golden hoop earrings you fished out of your drawer through the already existing holes of your earlobes, clasping them up and turning to look at yourself in the mirror one last time before sliding a gold bracelet onto your left wrist.

You grab your small purse, tucking your phone and lipgloss inside as you head into your hallway, pushing your feet into your black pumps before unlocking your front door and heading out, making sure to lock up behind you.

You look and feel good for the first time in a while. Tonight’s going to be fun.

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Your night is filled with laughter and chitchat, surrounded by people you enjoy being around.

“He was so drunk he literally threw up all over that poor girl’s Louboutins.” Olivia goes on and on about the crazy night she spent with her best friend, Hoseok, last weekend. Taehyung is enjoying the outrageous story, laughing and slapping Hoseok’s shoulder as he listens to every word.

Hoseok, who has visibly reddened in his face, groans loudly, “You literally snorted so hard at that guy’s joke that you spat in his eye.” He shoots back in defense, ready to start their signature back and forth sibling-like bickering.

They continue on and on but it’s nearing 8PM and your social battery is running out.

As if he could read your mind, Taehyung waves a waiter over and asks for the check.

Taehyung had offered to go for drinks somewhere else but Hoseok and Olivia have to get up early and do some volunteering in her hometown’s new pub that’s co-owned by her parents.

You’re thankful, though, you really just want to go home. The night life just isn’t for you, you just want to cuddle up in your bed, watch a sappy movie or thrilling series and go to sleep. Like you do pretty much during all your weekends.

You excuse yourself to go to the restroom but on your way there, you hear your name being called.

Spinning on your heels, your eyes scan the area, trying to locate the voice that called out to you. Your patience is running thin and you’re about to continue your strut to the restroom until a soft hand gently cups your elbow.

You turn your head to look over your shoulder, met with chestnut brown eyes and big plump lips. It takes you a moment to recognize him without his fluffy hair draped over his forehead and no glasses decorating his eyes.

Your frown must be getting to him because he speaks up again, “Forgotten my name, have you?” he teases, dropping his hand from your arm.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise when his familiar voice booms in your ears, flabbergasted by the sight in front of you.

He’s wearing a 2 piece black suit, a beige dress up shirt under his black suit jacket, unbuttoned at the top. Even his damn neck is gorgeous, how is that possible?

His brown hair is in a side part, forehead and eyebrows on display, his bangs kissing the ends of his brows. You weren’t even sure he had eyebrows because his hair was always covering them. His signature silver rimmed glasses are nowhere to be seen and you assume he must be wearing contact lenses.

He’s absolutely fucking gorgeous. You already knew that but literally, what the hell?

Your brain is screaming at you to answer him already and not ogle him like you want to drop onto your knees and give him the sloppiest blowjob of his life.

“Of course not,” you blurt out, “Seokjin… right?” you finish, uncertainty in your tone.

He chuckles at your playful guess, not taking offense to your doubt. “Yeah,” he pauses, “what are you doing here? You look fantastic, by the way.” His gaze drags up your figure quickly and your heart jolts in between your lungs, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

“Oh,” you begin, “thank you. I was out with some friends. What about you?” You have to pretend that compliment didn’t just make your insides clench.

He scratches the back of his head with a defeated smile. “I was supposed to go on a date but I think I got stood up because she was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago and she’s not answering her phone,” he chuckles with an air of embarrassment.

Your heart sinks to your stomach at his words. People are such fucking assholes.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, placing a comforting hand on his bicep. Your hands tense on his arm because touching his hard bicep isn’t a smart thing for you to do right now. “I never understood how people can bring themselves to do something like that. It’s such a shitty thing to do.”

He simply shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll wait 10 more minutes and then go home,” he muses, glancing down at the silver watch wrapped around his left wrist.

You slowly nod as you drag your gaze up his body. Wow. You can’t stress this enough. He is absolutely ethereal.

“Enjoy your night, Y/N.” A smile stretches onto his lips as he takes a step backwards, still holding eye contact with you before he turns on his heels and returns to his table which isn’t far from the restrooms.

You stand there for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts before you silently make your way into the restroom with a heavy heart.

How unfair. He’s such a sweetheart, why would anyone treat him like that? He’s respectful, well-mannered, absolutely gorgeous and allegedly has a big dick. He’s a complete catch.

You abruptly put a stop to your own thoughts. What kind of a hypocrite are you?

You literally don’t pay him any attention because he doesn’t ooze confidence or act like a bad boy with a foul attitude that are beasts in bed. You are one of the assholes you’re complaining about.

With a long glare at the mirror in front of you, staring yourself down in disgust, your heart won’t let up. He doesn’t deserve this. No one does.

You reapply your lipgloss after making up your mind, retouching some of your makeup and fixing some of the hairs that are out of place before you strut out of the restroom and return to your table.

You glance at Seokjin on your way to your table but he’s immersed in his phone, absentmindedly scrolling. Your heart sinks at the sight again.

“Took you long enough, I already paid,” Taehyung mutters, nodding toward the empty seats that once belonged to Hoseok and Olivia.

“I’m staying here.” Your words make him glance at you in surprise, a slight raise to his brows.

“What’s going on?” he pries because he’s Taehyung.

You shake your head quickly, dismissing the concern in his tone. “Everything’s okay,” you say in a reassuring tone.

“Why are you staying here?” he asks, eyes furiously scanning the area.

You obnoxiously sigh, he won’t stop prying so you might as well just tell him. “Seokjin got stood up and I feel bad for him. I’ll join him for like… half an hour.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at you for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he processes your words. There haven’t been any note-worthy incidents between you and Seokjin since the condom-thing so Taehyung never brought him up again but just as you thought he could finally act like an adult, a smug smirk creeps on his lips.

“You’re definitely getting fuc–”

“Out.” You cut him off, pushing him toward the exit.

He laughs as he heads out the door of the restaurant, throwing you his attempt at an ahegao face from behind the glass of the window outside. You roll your eyes in exasperation, holding up your middle finger in response before you start making your way to Seokjin’s table.

He’s still on his phone, elbows on the table as he mindlessly scrolls through whatever app he’s on.

You inhale deeply before approaching him, pulling out the chair opposite of him and plopping down on it.

This catches his attention. He peeks up at you from his phone, eyes glancing at you through his brows in surprise and confusion.

You return the eye contact and place your own elbows on the table, slightly leaning forward to close some of the distance between you two.

“Long time no see,” you joke.

He frowns for a moment longer before he chuckles and he locks his phone, turning it face down onto the table next to his utensils. “What’s up?”

You stare at him for a little while longer while he awaits your response in confusion. You part your pretty lips to speak, “That date is probably not coming. Thought I’d join you for a while, I don’t have any plans anyways.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, thick lips parting to say something but no words come out. He leans back into his chair, a certain look in his eyes that you can only describe as intrigue as he shuts his mouth again.

You tilt your head to the side, pretty eyes still intently watching him with a glimmer of something in your eyes that even you can’t put your finger on.

“That’s nice of you. Why, though?” he asks, voice neutral as if he genuinely just wants to know why you would do that.

You bring your shoulders up and drop them right away. “I just wanted to.”

He glances at you for a few seconds. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes but it’s gone by the time you’ve realized it’s skepticism. “It’s not out of pity, right?”

Your heartbeat stutters for a moment at how his voice seemed to drop an octave when he asked that, sweat forming on your palms. You quickly compose yourself and shake your head. “No.”

“Well then,” he says as he glances at the seemingly expensive watch wrapped around his left wrist, “would you like to order something?”

“Nah.” You shake your head at his offer because you really just want to go home but quickly realize he must not have eaten yet, since he was waiting for someone that never came. “But you must be hungry, right?”

He brings his fingers up to his face, absentmindedly rubbing his shaven chin as his eyes continue to study you. “Yeah, but I heard the food here takes quite some time to get to your table so I was just planning on leaving and eating something at home or something.”

“Hm,” you hum, fingers fidgeting with the hoop earring in your right earlobe. “I have some leftover lasagna at home. Would you like some?” The words leave your mouth before you can even think them through. Why the hell would you invite him into your home?

Thankfully, Seokjin is more of an introvert who also prefers the comfort of his own home, so he’ll probably decline.

“Sure.”

Your chest visibly stutters but you quickly compose yourself and rise to your feet in a hurry, hoping he won’t notice the nervous switch in your demeanor. “Cool, let’s go,” is all you say as you scramble to gather your purse.

He wordlessly blinks at you a few times before quietly chuckling and reaching for his phone as he tucks it into the pocket of his slacks.

He calls a waiter over and explains the situation before walking up to you, trying to get through the sea of bodies that are present. He finally reaches you as you wait for him by the exit of the building and places his hand on the small of your back as he motions for you to walk out the door first.

His touch, not even directly to your skin, sends an instant volt of electricity down your vertebrae. Stop suddenly acting a fucking fool around him when you didn’t even notice his presence before, you think to yourself.

“Did you come here by car?” he asks, taking his car keys out of his pocket before turning to look at you.

You shake your head. “Taehyung came to pick me up.”

He nods to your words whilst leading you to his car, warm hand still on your back. “Kim Taehyung? From work?” He leads you to a black Mercedes and you don’t know a lot about cars but this one looks insanely expensive. How does he have the money to own a car like that with the same salary you have?

“Oh uh,” you say as you snap out of your thoughts, “yeah.”

He opens the door to the passenger seat’s side for you and holds your hand for support, his other hand protecting your head as you get in.

Wow. Who would’ve thought he was such a gentleman?

It’s a stark contrast from when Taehyung called you a sexy bitch and told you to hop in his car earlier this evening.

Seokjin closes the door on your side and makes his way around the front of his car to the driver’s seat. Your eyes stay glued to him like a moth to a flame as he makes his way in, your heartbeat quickening again.

Why are you so nervous? It’s all Taehyung’s fault and his crazy scenarios.

“Earth to Y/N?”

You must’ve seemed lost in thought for too long because your nostrils suddenly fill up with a vanilla and musk scent, making you snap out of your filthy mind. Seokjin has leaned into your body, arm reaching across your chest as he tugs the seatbelt from your side over your torso and clicks it into the buckle.

Your breath is stuck in your airways as you freeze at his proximity, your palms growing sweaty again. “Oh, sorry.”

You don’t look at him as he leans back into his seat and buckles his own seatbelt, surprisingly not commenting on your apology. He presses a button on his dashboard, making the car roar to life before he places his hand on the back of your headrest and looks over his shoulder.

He starts backing out of the parking spot despite having a camera right above the car radio. Old habits die hard, you suppose.

You glance at him for a moment but immediately regret it. He is so fucking hot.

He must’ve sensed your eyes on him because for a moment, he makes eye contact with you whilst he’s still reversing out of the parking slot. There’s an unreadable look in his eyes as his eyes briefly meet yours before he looks back over his shoulder again.

He didn’t smile or anything, just glanced into your eyes and returned his attention to backing out of the parking spot.

Heat instantly rushes to your face and you turn your head to look out the window on your side, forcing yourself to not make the same mistake of gawking at him again. Not when you’re so close to him, at least.

He turns on the car radio after asking you for your home address and typing it into the built-in navigation system of his car before he accelerates and starts driving to your destination.

“Not to pry but are you and Taehyung…” His voice gets quieter as it reaches the end of his sentence, eyes still looking at the road in front of him.

“Huh?” You turn your head to look at him, mesmerized by his amazing side profile.

He slightly turns his head to look at you for a moment before returning his attention back to the road, a look on his face as if to tell you it’s obvious what he’s hinting at.

“Oh,” you say as you realize what he’s implying. You shake your head quickly and blurt out, “No, not at all.”

He only nods to your response, eyes unwaveringly staring ahead of him.

The rest of the car drive is uncomfortably quiet, the soft pop music playing is the only thing that’s keeping this silence between you two from being excruciating.

Luckily, the drive isn’t long and you’re in front of your apartment complex in less than 10 minutes. As you reach for your purse and unbuckle your seatbelt, Seokjin has already gotten out of the car and jogged to your side to open the door for you.

He holds his hand out for you to take and you do, hoping to the Lord that he can’t tell how sweaty your palms are. You swing your legs out of the car, placing your heels onto the concrete with a loud click as you get out. You let go of his hand to smooth out your skirt but really, you’re just wiping the sweat off your palms.

He locks his car with a button on the car keys and follows behind you as you fish your keys out of your purse, opening the door to the entrance that leads to the lobby.

The walk up the stairs is silent aside from your obnoxious heels clicking against the tiles, making you wince with each step you take. You make it to your front door and unlock, walking in and kicking your heels off. There’s a significant difference in your height now but he doesn’t comment on it and instead neatly places his shoes by the door as he closes it behind him.

You lead him to your living room and motion for him to sit down while you go and warm up the leftovers.

“This is a nice place,” he muses as he sits down on your couch, looking around to scan the room.

You quietly thank him as you disappear into the kitchen, taking the container out of the fridge and pulling open the cupboard to grab a plate for him.

This is starting to feel like it’s going to be a long night.

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With the empty plate of lasagna remnants on your coffee table, you’re seated right across from Seokjin who is on the couch opposite of you. The two of you had some small talk about work and cooking recipes whilst he ate but the silence has been going on for about 2 minutes now and it’s becoming uncomfortable.

Almost as if he heard your thoughts, he speaks up, “You don’t have to sit so far, you know. I don’t bite,” he says with a teaseful tone. “Unless you want me to.”

The words that leave his mouth so smoothly single handedly knock the oxygen out of your lungs, cause a twitch in your lips and bring a raise to your brows. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his face, his smug face. Did he drink earlier?

“Did you have something to drink back in that restaurant?” you nervously chuckle, clasping your hands together to stop yourself from fidgeting in front of him.

His shoulders bounce with the way he chuckles, slightly shaking his head. “Would I have driven us here if I drank?”

It almost sounds like he’s mocking you and heat starts bubbling in your stomach at the way the words rolled off his tongue so smugly.

“What’s all this then?” you ask, waving your hand in a circular motion in front of you, aimed at him.

He tilts his head to the side in question. He silently reaches for his glass of water and a small smirk creeps onto his lips when he speaks after taking a sip and says, “Elaborate?”

The bubbling heat in your stomach has seeped to the rest of your body, burning in your veins all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

You stare at him for a moment longer before saying, “This façade. This persona or attitude you’ve got going on.”

The barely-there smirk stays glued on his lips, his hooded eyes make his gaze feel that much more penetrating.

“Façade?” he repeats, bringing his hand up to rub his chin, the silver watch around his wrist glaring in the light coming from your corner lamp.

“Yeah, you’re nothing like how you are at work.”

He slowly nods to your words, a glimmer of mischief flickering in his eyes that have gone from pools of honey brown to bottomless pits of jet black. “What makes you think this is the façade and not the persona I got going on at work?”

His words process in your mind but you can’t bring yourself to understand what he’s saying. Is he implying he’s always like this and the way he is at work is just an act?

“Why would you put on an act at work?” You lean further back into your couch, crossing your arms over your chest as you swing your right leg over your left to keep yourself from bouncing your leg up and down in anxiety.

“Because those people don’t need to know me.”

Your frown deepens at his words. “Those people? We’re your colleagues, Seokjin.”

“Yeah?” he muses, placing his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, hovering his face over the coffee table that’s separating the two of you. “Tell me, if you told them that you were with me right now, what would their reaction be?”

His question shuts you up right away.

Aside from Taehyung who already knows, your co-workers would most likely tease you. You wouldn’t call Seokjin the punching bag of your workplace but he’s definitely not favored in any way. They’ll usually have him do the work that they don’t want to do, treat him like he’s not there. You’re the only one that treats him nicely.

You press your lips into a thin line as your eyes visibly soften at his question, a guilty look on your pretty face.

“Yeah,” he mumbles as he leans back into the sofa, thighs spread and hands on his upper thighs. With a curt nod, he arrogantly adds, “That’s what I thought.”

You swallow thickly and look away from him, uncrossing your arms as you subconsciously fidget with your fingers again, picking at your manicured nails.

You can’t blame him, you suppose. You think about all the times people have dismissed him or dropped their load on his desk without another word, the vivid memories making your heart sink into your stomach.

“Why are you so nervous?” His question makes you snap your head in his direction, eyes slowly widening at him. How did he know?

You blurt out, “I’m not nervous. What makes you think that?”

“Why were your hands sweaty when I helped you get out of the car?”

Your mind travels at lightning speed to come up with a rebuttal but all you can say is, “I’ve always had clammy hands.” Dirty liar.

You try to keep eye contact with him to seem assertive but your pathetic heartbeat quickens once he rises to his feet and walks around the coffee table, toward you.

You shoot up in your seat, uncrossing your legs as he closes the distance between you two. You tilt your chin up, glancing at him through the pretty lashes you chose today as he stands before you, menacingly looming over your body.

“May I?” he asks, holding out his right hand but you have no idea what he’s asking of you.

You slowly and confusingly hold your left hand out to him but he gently turns your hand over by your wrist so the back of your hand faces down and your palm faces up. The tips of his fingers softly graze your palm before moving across as he presses the tips of his index and middle finger against the center of your wrist, right under the length of your thumb.

You stare at his fingers on your skin during the process but still being confused, you look back up at him.

The tension in the air can be cut with a dull butter knife.

His eyes aren’t on your face, instead, they’re still glued to where his fingers are pressed to your skin. His eyebrows are pinched together and he looks in a deep state of concentration. If you believed in magic, you’d swear he’s casting a spell on you right now.

Then, he subtly nods and lets go of your hand, watching how it flops back down to your lap. You continue to stare up at him, the dryness in your throat moving up and spreading throughout your mouth.

“Hands sweaty, heart rate quickened, breath heavy, fingers fidgeting, forcing yourself to look into my eyes,” he lists and then concludes, “You’re nervous.”

You realize he just took your damn pulse to prove his point.

He backs away and silently makes his way back to the opposite couch with a certain smugness, a clear indicator of his satisfaction at victory as he drops his ass back onto the couch. You stare at him with your mouth agape, a slight pinch between your brows and your mind racing with words to say.

“I’m not nervous, I’m just,” you start, “I’m confused. I don’t know what to make of you right now. You’re confusing me.” You finally find the coursge to speak up but your voice is quiet, your words almost incoherent.

“Well,” he pauses, “I don’t really owe you an explanation.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, a bit taken aback by his bluntness. “Can’t tell if you’re being an asshole or just bold,” you murmur, wondering if he’s just saying this to get a reaction out of you or if he’s just like this. He can’t be like this. This is not Seokjin.

Is it? Did you ever really bother to get to know him better?

He simply shrugs his broad shoulders and replies, “Either way, it seems like you like it.”

His words are like a punch to the gut, making you shoot your eyes straight at him as you clear your throat and lean forwards to act like you didn’t just hear him. “Excuse me?”

He starts, “You invited me over for food after pitying me. I’m done eating, I’ve been saying stuff that has clearly struck a nerve and yet you’re not telling me to get out.” His eyes scan the room for a moment before settling on you again. “Clearly something is keeping me here.”

Your glossy lips part and your eyes widen in disbelief, incoherent words and sentences bubbling up the back of your throat but never actually making it out of your mouth.

What the hell?

You clear your throat to speak again, “I’m just polite. And curious.”

“Curious?” he chuckles, “Don’t you know curiosity killed the cat?” The joke rolls off his tongue with another chuckle, making your stomach tingle with something you can’t put your finger on.

Curiosity killed the cat.

(Read: The cat being your pussy.)

His confidence, his look, his posture, everything is making him so much hotter than you’ve ever seen him before.

As if you needed it, your mind suddenly jumps to the vivid image of the golden XL letters on his box of condoms.

Maybe you should listen to Taehyung.

You ignore his smug remark as you eye his empty glass of water, nodding toward it before you ask, “Would you like something else?”

“Depends,” he says with an air of nonchalance, apparent by the smug shrug of his shoulders.

“On?”

“Whether you’re on that list.”

His flirtatious comment has your stomach doing backflips and a surge of heat shoots right down to your core. You hate how all he had to do was arrogantly imply he’d drink you up – no pun intended – and it’d have your panties sticking to your sex.

That’s it. You decide it’s time to bite back.

Just pretend it’s timid Seokjin from work, you think to yourself.

You get up from the couch and pour some more water into his glass. He reaches for the glass but you surprise him by wrapping your own hand around his glass before he can, bringing it up to your lips and taking a sip from his glass whilst keeping eye contact with him. After you’ve swallowed, you lower the glass back onto the table, leaving a stain of your lipstick on the rim.

He watches you with an arrogant raise to his brows and a faint smirk on those lips that you’d love to feel on your skin.

You plop back down onto the couch where you were previously seated before you say, “You’ve gone from bold asshole to bold flirt in the span of 2 minutes.” Your shoulders slouch and you hope you’re coming across as unbothered and casual.

“No harm in a bit of fun, right?” he jokes, a cocky tilt to his head as he continues to stare at you, reaching for the same glass and drinking from it.

“Sure, but where’s the fun in it if it’s all talk?” you quip.

Fuck. You can’t believe you just said that, your heart has shot up into your throat the moment the words left your mouth.

He simply smiles at your words before speaking up. “Do you actually believe that?” he says, his voice neutral and his expression almost mocking you.

You cross your arms and nonchalantly shrug, one of your hands coming up to allow your fingers to play with the earring in your earlobe before you part your lips to say, “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

He squints his eyes at you for a moment before he dryly chuckles, shaking his head as he looks down at the glass in his hand absentmindedly.

After a few moments of silence, he places the glass back down with a thud. He looks back up at you through his brows, his hand coming up to his face in order to push some of his bangs out of the outer-corner of his eyes with his fingers.

“If you want me to come over there and fuck the shit out of you on that couch, you should just say that. Don’t beat around the bush.”

Fuck.

You force the yelp that’s threatening to erupt from your throat to go back down by forcefully swallowing it down, a knot forming in your stomach and a tingle in your panties. Fuck, you’re so happy you did all that scrubbing in the shower before you left for the restaurant.

“Aren’t you the one that’s beating around the bush?” you quip, watching as his eyebrows raise in surprise and you’re glad you’ve caught him off guard.

“Hm?” he hums in question.

“Really? ‘Depends whether you’re on that list’?” you repeat his words before continuing, “If you want to come over here and fuck me, you should just say that. Don’t beat around the bush.” You shoot right back at him, satisfaction swimming in your stomach at your quick comeback.

His nonchalant response is immediate. “I want to fuck you.”

Well.

Your mouth dries out like you just scooped a spoonful of cinnamon powder into your mouth in the middle of the scorching hot Sahara.

You clear your throat and gulp, gaze trailing to the wall on your side. You see him staring at you in your peripheral vision and you can just sense the smug smirk on his lips.

But you’re not going to let him win.

You finally decide to speak up. You say, “Well, what are you waiting for? Come over here, then.”

He rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek, moving the wet muscle across his back teeth before rising to his feet.

Oh, fuck.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

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runningfrom2am · 1 year

Text

kinda famous - d.s

summary: after your debut album charts in the top 100, you somehow get invited to the obx3 premiere. you went there to make connections- but maybe not the exact kind you ended up leaving with.

wc: 2.6k

tags/warnings: no warnings! just a meet-cute :), drew x musician!reader

requests

nav/masterlists

February 16th, 2023

Not a day went by this past year where you didn't consider yourself incredibly lucky. Your debut album saw some medial success, landing you in the Spotify top one hundred with the help of a TikTok trend to some of the lyrics from your first single. You could hardly believe it was real, sometimes. What always helped, however, is having connections.

Your best friend was a makeup artist to the stars. Working on movies like Avatar and even a few marvel films, but most notably and most recently, she's been working with Madelyn Cline. They've taken a liking to each other, having been in touch about every event, shoot, and movie she's been working on in hopes of having her new friend styling her look for the occasion. Luckily for you, your best friend is your number one fan- and hardly ever does she have a client who isn't forced to sit through your album while she's blending out the makeup on their faces or curling their hair.

Madelyn, apparently, had taken a liking to it. In the words of your best friend, "She was just gushing over it! She requests your music every time she's in my chair. I swear." So that, is how you ended up at the OBX3 premiere, shaking hands with one of the most beautiful actresses of your generation while she complimented both your dress and your music.

"I am seriously such a big fan. B/F/N put me on and I am literally obsessed." Madelyn smiles, dropping your hand.

"Oh my god, you're such a sweetheart- stop." You laugh, waving her off.

She smiles and leans in, resting her hand on your shoulder as she whispers in your ear. "Between us, I can't confirm anything just yet, but I'm working on getting you a soundtrack offer for season four."

You gasp, your hands flying up to cover your mouth to hide your shock. "No- you're literally joking!"

The blonde smiles and shakes her head, giggling and clapping her hands together excitedly. "We all listen to you on set- it's growing on the producers I think."

"Oh my god- Obviously I am so down! Allegedly, of course." You smile, winking at her.

"Yes, of course, Allegedly." She laughs, matching your wink. "I have to run, but we'll jump in for some photos together on the carpet, yeah?" Madelyn grins, giving you a quick hug and brushing past you in the direction of the curtain where everyone lines up for photos.

Feeling absolutely giddy, you're quick to lift your dress and shuffle over to the makeup room, where B/F/N was still working with some other clients doing some touch ups. "Oh my god!" You smile as you approach her chair, where she's just wiping up. You cringe internally at the sound of your music playing over her desk speaker, hearing the way you swore that the man you wrote this song about was the love of your life, and you'd be a fool to let him go. It wasn't long after the release that you ended up having to, discovering he was cheating on you with a girl from his hometown.

"Y/N! Hey girl! Did you get to talk to Mads?" She asks, looking back at you over her shoulder.

"Yes! And I have some serious tea to tell you later. Well- not serious, but good! It's definitely tea." You explain vaguely, knowing she'll understand.

"Yay! Okay, we'll debrief after." She nods. "Did you talk to anyone else?"

You instantly shake your head as she turns to face you. "God, no, I'm petrified." She doesn't answer, holding her finger up in your face and digging through her kit and pulling out a brush.

"Look up." She says, pointing to the ceiling and you oblige as she touches up the shadow under your eyes and brushes away some flaked mascara while she talks. "You need to. You've got to make some more connections- I can't carry you forever." She teases, placing the brush back in her belt when she's done. "They're a lovely cast, trust me."

You nod a little, taking a deep breath. "I just like... don't know what to do. Do I just walk around and talk to people?"

"That's the beauty of it! You're already doing it. Just show that stunning face of yours to the cameras with this beautiful dress, smile, make small talk, and opportunity will fall into your lap. I know you- everyone will love you regardless." She muses, quickly adjusting the waistline of your dress. "And report back to me- of course."

"You're not gonna come? I want some pictures with you. The world needs to see the artist behind this face." You grin, gesturing to your face of makeup and wiggling your eyebrows.

"Yes, of course." She giggles, smacking your shoulder playfully. "I'll change and come find you."

You smile and clap your hands together, bouncing in your heels. "Let's go together! I think I have to because I'm basically your plus one."

"No- absolutely not." She dismisses you quickly, closing up part of her kit and doing some quick organization. "You, my dearest Y/N, need to prove your independence in the industry. Just because you put out your Lover Era album doesn't mean you can't stand proudly on your own after the breakup. Your energy will draw all the cute boys to you. I just know it." She jokes at the end, but you know she's serious about her sentiment.

Your breakup wasn't fresh anymore- she was right. It didn't hurt and keep you up all night over heartache that you had assumed would never get better. You're thriving now, you feel like yourself again. "That's not why I'm here and you know that." You giggle.

"Of course not... It just would be a nice bonus." She shrugs. "Now shoo! You're distracting me. I'll see you in a few." She pushes you away, winking at you before returning to her cleanup duties.

You take a few breathes as you turn around, making a conscious effort to smile as you walk over to the curtain where crew is organizing people and sending them out onto the carpet.

Luckily, you spot the bar not far away, and quickly make your way over to grab a quick glass of wine before you have to step out. You try to sip on it casually, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, but craving the buzz and freedom that comes with being a little tipsy around strangers.

"You're Y/N L/N, right?" Someone approaches you, and you quickly turn to the source of the voice.

"Yes, that's me." You smile, securing your glass in one hand before holding out your hand to shake. The woman takes it, smiling politely as she shakes it.

"Lovely. We're ready for you whenever, just go check in with that lovely gentleman by the curtain and you're free to walk when you're ready." The woman smiles, quickly taking off to go deal with more crew business.

You lean back against the bar, nursing your drink still and glancing in the direction of the dressing rooms and hoping your best friend would walk out in time to join you. You give it another minute as you finish your drink, feeling adequately warmed by the alcohol in your system before approaching the curtain.

"Hey! Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N L/N." You greet the man with the clip board and he nods, giving you a thumbs up and holding the curtain back for you to step out. You take deep breaths and focus on smiling (and not tripping) as you take the few extra paces behind a wall before you'll be in view of the many cameras you can already see flashing at the cast and their friends standing already in their full view. You hear lots of voices as you walk up, but they somehow get a million times louder as you step into the lights.

This isn't your first red carpet, but it is your first premiere. Besides the backdrop curtain, they have a variety of props from the show, including the Twinkie itself, making you giddy with excitement. You make a mental note to yourself to not leave without a picture of you behind the wheel for your instagram.

"Y/N! Look over here!" You hear a dozen voiced calling your name and you decide your best move is to smile and wave, stopping and placing one hand on your hip and just glancing across the whole crowd of camera men and interviewers behind the small fence. You give it a few moments to capture hopefully enough photos for their portfolios before an interviewer pulls you over to chat with them.

"Y/N! So nice to meet you. You look absolutely stunning!" They grin, shaking your hand and holding the mic up to your lips.

"Hello! And thank you so much! It's lovely to meet you too. What's your name?" You ask, smiling at them and giving a quick wave to the cameras still flashing in your face as they record you with one closer up.

"I'm Noah. I'm with Netflix just documenting everyone here tonight." He grins. "So, we were all excited to hear you would be coming tonight! Are you a fan of the show?"

"Oh my god, I'm a huge fan." You gush, looking around at the other people on the carpet. "I was just so lucky to be invited- I was ecstatic when I got the invitation from Madelyn. So nervous, though. So, so nervous."

"I can't imagine!" He chuckles, agreeing with you. "If it makes you feel any better, we've heard from a few members of the cast that they were looking forward to meeting you."

"That does actually help a lot, thank you." You giggle, a blush covering your cheeks. "You mind telling me who, though? I'd love to know who wants to talk to me and who I should probably not bother." You joke.

"Oh, nobody to avoid here. This is one of the nicest casts I've ever worked with." Noah assures you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "That being said, the boys seemed extra keen." He winks, making you laugh.

"Oh god, okay, I'll keep that in mind." You go along with it, looking around and seeing the rest of the cast goofing off a little ways away.

"So, I have to ask, Y/N- keep in mind you don't have to answer if you don't want to, about your breakup- how are you doing? Your album is absolutely amazing, you told a beautiful story, but we've all heard about what happened afterwards." He says, and you glance down nervously, trying to maintain your smile as best you can.

"Yeah, totally. Uh-" You pause for a second. Your ex has never been in the public eye- you were highschool sweethearts, which gave your album a sense of purity and authenticity that was almost rare in modern music. With that, however, comes a responsibility to keep him out of public scandal in the fallout of the albums success. "I am doing really well. I believe my ex is as well. Of course he was always a huge inspiration for me, and he always supported me and my dreams, so I know he's still cheering me on, which is a nice feeling." You nod, smiling as Noah drops his arm from around your shoulders, patting your back.

“Well, you’re stronger than I am because I would want him to be punching the air right now.” Noah laughs.

“No! God, no, I’d never want that for him. I wish him all the success in the world, which just means something different for both of-“ You try to explain, when you get bumped from behind and stumble slightly forward. You let out a little squeak and try to turn to look what happened when someone steadies you by your waist.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to knock you there.” A man chuckles, making sure you’re steady before letting you go. You’re met with blue eyes that reflect the lights and the matching colour of his suit just beautifully, and you quickly recognize him as Rafe- quickly racking your brain for the actors name. Drew- yes. That’s it.

“No! No you’re fine- I was in the way.” You say sheepishly, laughing it off and adjusting your dress again.

“Drew, Welcome back! While I’ve got you both here,” Noah says, holding the microphone up to him as he nods, leaning down a little in anticipation of the question. “Have you listened to Y/N’s album? We were just talking about it.”

Drew nods, smiling and locking eyes with you again briefly. “Yes, of course. It’s both Maddie’s favourites right now, they’ve always got it playing on set. If it wasn’t so good I’d be sick of it.” He chuckles.

“Aw- thank you!” You grin. “Thanks for listening even if it’s against your will.” Your eyes connect again and you feel yourself blushing once more, he just has this aura about him that shows he’s really listening and really cares what you have to say. “Not to plug it here or anything, but we’re almost at ten million streams on spotify so I’m feeling really proud of it, it truly was a passion project for me. Sorry…” You explain, looking back at the interviewer again, trailing off when you realize you’re acting selfishly.

“No, don’t apologize. You worked hard on it- you deserve to talk about it.” Drew cuts in before Noah can speak. “Everyone stream it- you won’t regret it.” He says, pointing to the camera.

“Yes, absolutely.” Noah agrees. “We won’t take up any more of your time, but I’ll let you know we’re all looking forward to your next album already.” He smiles, giving you a quick hug.

“Thank you!” You wave as him and his crew are quick to move onto someone else. You take a deep breath, turning and jumping slightly when you see Drew still standing there, looking down at you as you clasp your hand against your chest. “Oh, gosh. I didn’t know you were still there.” You giggle, quickly adjusting your hair.

“Sorry.” Drew chuckles, holding his hand out to you. “We haven’t properly met. I’m Drew. Or you might know me as Rafe, I guess.”

You smile, taking his hand and shaking it. “Y/N. You might know me as the girl who got cheated on right after releasing an album about how amazing her relationship is.”

This makes him laugh, dropping his head back as he lets go of your hand. “Hey, it’s good to have a sense of humour about it I guess.” He says, locking eyes with you again. His charisma is truly captivating- it’s rare you meet someone in the Hollywood scene who seems to care about anyone other than themselves.

“I’m coping.” You shrug, laughing it off with him.

“Let’s grab a few pictures together, then maybe a drink?” Drew suggests, guiding you back towards where the rest of the cast was taking photos with the beat-up van parked on the carpet. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

“Yeah! Yeah- thank you.” You smile, glancing over your shoulder and seeing your best friend stepping out. She quickly waved at you, giving you an excited look and a thumbs up, which you return behind his back.

No doubt the pictures of this moment will embarrass you tomorrow, but at least the debrief with your best friend in the uber home will have a lot of good things to cover.

taglist: @slut4drudy , @madelynie , @mutual-mendes , @sadfury (i just tagged some mutuals who like my other stuff so if you want to be added or removed lmk!!)

reblogs and feedback are very appreciated as always :)

#rafe cameron #obx fanfic #obx #outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron x oc #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic #drew starkey #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x you

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