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libraford · 3 years

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I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

#cw #pet death #death #workers rights violations #if you want to know everything #this is everything

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wonjaekook · 4 years

Text

One Minus One Plus One

Pairing: college student!Mark x college student!reader

Description: In all of the years you’ve known Jungwoo, you should have figured out to not take his words at face value because, though you haven’t even met, Mark Lee seems to hate your guts.

Word Count: 9.9k

Genre: kind-of-enemies to lovers! fluff? angst? humor? I honestly don’t know how to categorize this

Warnings: vaguely suggestive ending, some minor swearing

A/N: This is my (late) holiday gift for a friend and to you all, I suppose. It’s an enemies-to-lovers but not really, as they’re not really enemies and it’s more passive-aggressive!Mark and very confused!Y/N. To the intended - I love and appreciate you so much; thank you for always supporting me and listening to me ramble about even the most ridiculous ideas <3 If you ever need anything, I hope you know that you can always shoot me a text or DM! Please enjoy c:

Mark Lee is always sweet. It’s the kind of sweetness that’s warm and fulfilling, leaving a pleasant feeling in the pit of the stomach, like a steaming up of hot chocolate rather than a strikingly sweet popsicle. His nature isn’t something he particularly prides himself on, as it’s partially unintentional, driven by awkwardness and politeness at times, or by the compulsion to simply make people happy. Jungwoo has told him that he’s allowed to be a little more selfish once in a while, he’s allowed to say no and take breaks sometimes. Except, he’s ever the people pleaser, ever the hard worker, ever the yes-man. Mark Lee is always sweet.

Except when he isn’t.

You’re fairly certain that Mark Lee has hated you since before you even met him. When you decide to transfer to the same university that your high school best friend Jungwoo attends, he talks your ear off about all of his great friends and all of the places he is going to take you and all of the fun you’ll have. He’s always been the descriptive type, telling you far too much about his good pals Mark, Donghyuck, Johnny, Taeil, Jaehyun, Kun, Lucas… and countless others, whose names you sometimes have a hard time keeping track of. Jungwoo has a lot of friends, something which has remained true since high school. Whenever you catch up with him, he speaks particularly fondly about Mark, who is one of his roommates and someone he considers to be one of his closest friends.

“You’ll love him,” he says, “but not too much, I hope. That would be super weird, you and Mark.” He wrinkles his nose at that and doesn’t make any more abnormal comments. You don’t think much of it.

In short, you let Jungwoo decide your opinion on Mark Lee before you ever met him. With everything else about moving to a completely different university occupying the majority of your thoughts, it’s easy enough to accept that Mark will be awkward and painfully sweet and that you will become fast friends. That’s your first mistake.

Before you even finish moving in, Jungwoo drags you over to his place to meet some of his friends, who he insists will become your own. It’s just past noon and he claims that everyone will be awake and ready to greet you once you get there. He’s half right, in the sense that only half of the apartment is awake. The early-risers, who Jungwoo didn’t even have to shake before he came over to get you, are at the table in their common area, sipping on various caffeinated beverages. These consist of Mark and Jaehyun. Donghyuck is presumably still curled up in his bed, asleep after a late night of playing games, and Johnny, who had stayed overnight and doesn’t actually live with them, is passed out on their couch, an arm slung over his face to block the light. Your friend has shown you enough pictures for you to recognize them.

Jungwoo practically deflates as soon as he walks in to see only two members of the current household conscious. “This is why we can’t have nice things,” he grumbles before striding over to Johnny and yanking off the blanket covering his long torso.

The elder groans, clearly having only been dozing and not deeply asleep, and moves his arm so he can glare at Jungwoo. “Your disrespect for my sleep schedule is why we can’t have nice things.”

“You don’t have a sleep schedule,” Jungwoo says back, glaring at his friend with the blanket in his hand. “Plus, Y/N’s here.”

Johnny lazily looks over and sees you in the entranceway, to which his response is to roll slightly so that he’s propped up against the back of the couch with one leg crossed over the other rather than just lying down. “Sup. Name’s Johnny.”

“Ew, don’t use your flirting voice!” Jungwoo whines at his friend, kicking him in the shin. In all honesty, you’re both amused and slightly flattered that Johnny is attempting to flirt with you when he’s just woken up. The messy hair is kind of a look. “Y/N’s a friend.”

“Yeah, we’ll be good friends, alright,” Johnny says, looking directly at you and wiggling his eyebrows in the most ridiculous way. That gets a giggle out of you while Jungwoo gawks, kicking Johnny again for good measure, slightly harder this time.

Jungwoo looks like he’s about to start arguing again when Jaehyun kindly interrupts, shifting the conversation. He gives you a small smile, perfectly polite and handsome, his hair straight and soft over his forehead. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Jaehyun.”

You lower your head to acknowledge him. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You look towards the other boy at the table, who you now realize hasn’t glanced up at you once. Jaehyun had been at least half watching the mock fight between Jungwoo and Johnny, but Mark had just been staring at his cup from behind circular glasses, not even drinking it. His own hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends, making him appear somewhat young. “You’re Mark, right?”

Finally, he looks at you, but looks away quickly. “Yeah.”

That’s… that’s not right.

You try again, smiling as brightly as you can, even though he won’t glance in your direction again. His side profile is full of both soft shapes and hard angles, afternoon sunlight coming in through the window falls as highlights on his cheeks and nose and chin. He appears exactly as your friend had described him to you, but his attitude proves him to be a walking contradiction. You shift on your feet, grasping for the right words to say. “Jungwoo has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh… yeah. He’s told me about you, too.”

You almost outright frown at that. Isn’t he supposed to be super nice and friendly? Instead, it sounds like Jungwoo has been spreading all sorts of nasty stories about you. Hypothetical stories that, apparently, only Mark has been listening to. Neither Jaehyun nor Johnny are acting strangely towards you at all.

All three of the other boys do seem to notice the change in behavior for Mark, though. There are a few moments of tense silence before Johnny elbows Jungwoo. The latter speaks up. “Hey, Mark, can you go resurrect Donghyuck? I think he might be dead.”

The switch is instant and very startling to you. His face loses all of its tension as he looks at Jungwoo, nodding. “Yeah, sure. If I don’t come back in ten minutes, I’m the one who’s dead.” He pushes himself up out of his chair and exits the common area.

After he’s gone, you look at Jungwoo. He stares back. You make a motion with your head towards the front door, where you retreat to and he follows. You stand somewhat stiffly, hands linked behind your back. “Did you say something to him? About me?”

Jungwoo puts his hands up defensively. “Nothing bad, I swear!” He looks back towards the common area. “He must just be having a bad day or something…”

That doesn’t explain the sudden warmth when someone else spoke to him, though. You frown. “Okay… I guess I’ll just have to try harder to get him to like me.”

Your friend seems to perk up at that. “That’s the spirit!” He proceeds to grab you by the shoulders and steer you back to the common area.

You have an amiable enough time chatting with the boys who had remained there. Eventually, Donghyuck emerges from his room, looking even more ruffled than Johnny had, and Mark shuffles out with him. Once again, he doesn’t even spare you a glance. Every so often, as you’re talking to the others or just listening to their strange, all-over-the-place conversations, your eyes flicker over to him. He contributes to the chatter, but it’s like he’s purposefully avoiding you, even though you’re literally in the room with him. It kind of hurts.

Still, you try not to let it bother you too much. An hour passes, which you realize with a start, and you remember that you’re not even nearly done unpacking. As you’re rising from your seat on the edge of the couch, Jungwoo throws a comment out to you. “You’re welcome to bust in here any time!”

He’s met with a chorus of agreement from the others, except one.

The next day, Jungwoo makes a point to introduce you to the rest of his circle. Not long after, you’re added to a group chat with a whole phonebook of unfamiliar numbers. Most of them, minus several who your friend had told you in the past do a poor job of checking their messages, send their names pretty quickly. Jungwoo tells you who the others are. With a pang of disappointment, you realize one of the missing numbers was Mark.

On your first day of classes, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that you share an economics lecture with Donghyuck, who acts both very tired and also full of energy, chatting your ear off before and after class, but looking as if he’s about to pass out when the professor gives her introduction and starts to go over course material. That day, you also learn that you have an ethics class with Jungwoo’s friend Doyoung, stoic and serious and exactly the opposite of Donghyuck, but still smiling at your lame jokes and carefully making sure you get the homework down.

The second day starts out much more slowly. You settle down for your third class, a curriculum development course, and it takes you about a solid minute to realize that Mark Lee is sitting in the room with you. He had come in while you were busily typing out a text to a friend from your previous university. The classroom is not particularly large and you had taken a seat near the middle, so there aren’t many places for him to hide. When he walks in, he takes a seat by the wall closest to the windows. You consider greeting him, walking to his desk to try and talk to see if he had a change of attitude from the last time you saw him, but then your professor enters the scene. As he passes by the far side of the room, Mark looks up from his own phone and smiles, mouth instantly opening to greet him. You stay in your seat and try to look busy as you listen to them chat amiably. Mark laughs in disbelief at something your professor says about his vacation.

At the end of the lecture, you pack up your things quickly and make the effort to take a few small, light steps to catch up to Mark, who’s already leaving. “Hi, Mark! I didn’t realize we had a class together.”

He gives you a sort of half-shrug, keeping his head pointed straight ahead. Almost imperceptibly, his pace increases. “I guess we do.”

He opens a door to a stairwell, not making any particular effort to hold the door for you. Reflexively, you grab the door and slip through after him. You try again as the two of you head down. “Are you going to be home tonight? Jungwoo invited me to have dinner with you guys.”

“No,” he says, voice edged with irritation. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out his phone and a pair of earbuds. “I’ll be out.”

“Oh.” You slow down slightly. “Well, we should hang out sometime. My next class is this way, so… see you.” By the time you’re done talking, he’s slipped both earbuds into his ears and is pushing the doors at the bottom of the stairs open. You hold back a heavy sigh and shrug your backpack higher onto your shoulders.

As he told you, he’s not in his apartment that evening. Though Jungwoo had invited you to help cook dinner, he shirks his responsibilities, slipping away to play games with Donghyuck and leaving you and Jaehyun to cook, with relatively unhelpful commentary from Johnny, who was once again on the couch when you arrived. At some point, their friend Yuta slips in, steals some noodles, and leaves.

After the cooking is done, you and Jaehyun celebrate with a firm high-five, and Jungwoo and Donghyuck un-disappear, coming out of the younger boy’s dark bedroom. The lot of you are halfway through eating when Donghyuck perks up. “Wait, where’s Mark? He said he would do calc homework with me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and hold back from saying that he told you he wouldn’t be home.

Thankfully, most of Jungwoo’s friends are nice to you and it’s easy enough for you to make friends of your own. You ease yourself into a routine of classes, homework, and hanging out with your new social circles. Mark doesn’t hide that he tries to avoid you about half of the time. At the same time, you try to split yourself between friend groups, as to not force him either to be around you or to not hang out with his own friends. There are the occasional large scale events that both of you are invited to, but there are enough people that you usually aren’t forced to interact. After a month of classes, you stop trying to start conversations, but you still greet him. He greets you back with the indifference of an overworked, tired stranger. During your class, he firmly ignores you. He does more than ignore you - he speaks to virtually every other person in your class except you. All of your friends carefully avoid the topic of his blatant dislike for you, though you know they all think it’s odd.

Finally, one of those large events comes to pass via the boy known as Zhong Chenle. He doesn’t go to your school, but is still somehow acquainted with all of Jungwoo’s friends, so he became acquainted with you as well. He’s eccentric and sarcastic and sometimes you see him playing basketball with Mark and Jaehyun in the school recreation center. So, when he rents out the local ice skating rink and invites you, you’re excited to go. It’s not often that you get onto the ice - it’s always a thrill after you re-learn how to skate, and you enjoy the feeling of the smooth gliding and wide, curving turns on the blades. You imagine that you’re painting with your feet.

Things go down smoothly, like you envisioned. After just twenty minutes, you’ve confidently found your ice legs and you’re racing around the rink with Donghyuck, playfully tipping each other off-balance with carefully or sometimes not-so-carefully timed pushes. A few minutes later, a new player enters the arena. Maybe if this new person weren’t Mark Lee, you wouldn’t have noticed their entrance, but your eyes are instinctively drawn to him.

The boy in question is clinging to one Lee Jeno, another friend of Jungwoo and Donghyuck and all the rest of them, as they both try to find their balance. Jeno seems to be having somewhat of an easier time with the skates on his feet, making slow pushes so that he glides short distances with Mark holding onto him. Mark is adorably flushed, in a way you haven’t seen before, his cheeks aflame with cold and embarrassment. His body is swallowed by an overly large hoodie, completing the cozy and cute look.

Your racing buddy has also slowed down to watch with you, staring at the scene. He suddenly nudges you with an elbow. “You should help him.”

“Jeno? I think he’s gotten the hang of it. Plus, I don’t know him that well.” It’s now a game of who can dodge implications rather than who can dodge physical pushes.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, skating lazily alongside you. “You know I’m talking about Mark. This would be a great opportunity to get on his good side.”

“Why don’t you help him? He’s your boyfriend, after all.” If you weren’t focusing on turning your skates and keeping your balance because you’ve reached the short end of the rink, you would cross your arms and huff at him more dramatically.

He clicks his tongue sharply, something you know by now that he does when he’s irritated. “Mark isn’t my boyfriend. Doyoung and Taeyong are boyfriends. Mark and I are soulmates. And he’s still painfully single.”

“So are you!” As you protest, you realize that Mark and Jeno are getting closer. Donghyuck fires something back indignantly, but you’re just thinking about what he said before. The offer to help lies in front of you as a real possibility, but how would you feel if someone you hated came up and asked if you wanted help skating? If you really hated them that much, you would just think they were being condescending. The last thing you want to do is give Mark a reason to think you’re acting that way towards him. So, as you skate closer, you pick up your pace and speed on by, not even glancing at the two boys with their arms interlinked. Luckily for you, Jungwoo is just ahead, so you hook arms with him and jerk him forward with your momentum, making him yell out in surprise.

As you’re gliding along, laughing at your friend’s reaction and attempts to push you, Mark stares at you from behind with a small frown on his face.

“Mark?” Jeno’s voice snaps him out of it and he looks towards the younger boy. “Do you need me to slow down?”

“No,” he says rather grimly, “let’s go faster.”

You don’t speak to each other at all for the entire night.

The next month and a half passes unremarkably. Then, suddenly, midterms are rolling up and you find yourself swamped with work, especially in the class you share with Mark and your new friend Yuqi. At the current moment, you’re at your place with your head buried in your arms, groaning dramatically. “I can’t do this.”

Yuqi nods, looking somewhat dead inside. “Professor Lim hates us.”

“I don’t know what chapters we even covered half of the material in. Did he just make it up?” You lift your hand to paw through the textbook in front of you lazily, so much of it seeming foreign. “It doesn’t help that the Instructional Systems Design Model is such a big part of the project.”

“Maybe that’s in Chapter 1?”

You flip through her suggestion before slamming your book shut. “Nope.”

“I know!” You perk up at your friend’s revelation, looking at her from across the table. “We can just ask Mark! He’s good at this class, he probably knows.”

You stiffen at her suggestion. There was only one time you dared to ask him for help, in which he just brushed you off and said he was busy. Since then, you’ve resigned yourself to only asking Yuqi for help, no matter how clueless she is in this class sometimes. A brief moment of panic sends your heart racing as she whips out her cellphone. “Don’t mention me.”

She turns to look at you, finger poised to press call over her phone. “What?”

You put your head back down, muffling your words. “Don’t say my name when you talk to him.” She gives you a weird look, but shrugs, pressing the call button. “Wait! And put it on speaker so I can hear the answer. Please.”

Wordlessly, she rolls her eyes, but pulls the phone away from her face, setting it on the table in front of her. The call connects after two rings and you hear Mark’s voice with the staticky phone call filter over it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mark! It’s Yuqi.”

“Oh, hi, what’s up?” He seems to brighten up, showing a pleasantness that you rarely hear from him these days.

“I just had a question about our curriculum development class. Do you know what chapter goes over the Instructional Systems Design Model? I can’t find it.”

“Oh, sure. Hold on, let me grab my notes.” From the other end, you can hear the distorted shuffling of clothes and paper for a moment. “It’s Chapter 4, I think. We didn’t really go over that chapter in class, but Prof. Lim told me when I went to his office hours.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much, Mark! You’re a literal life saver,” Yuqi gushes, about to practically kiss the phone in joy.

You press your hands together in front of you in a silent thank you. Mark laughs lightly into the phone. “No problem! If you ever need anything, let me know. I’m always happy to help.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Bye, Mark!” After receiving a goodbye from him, Yuqi presses the hang up button. She claps her hands twice in excitement. “That makes things so much easier!”

You’re stuck thinking about what Mark said before hanging up. It’s exactly in line with how Jungwoo used to talk about him - polite, helpful, friendly. An ugly part of you has to wonder what you did wrong once again. What part of you is undeserving of his kindness? An even uglier part feels the green flash of envy. “How do you have Mark’s number?”

“We had a class together like a year ago and he’s a pretty cool guy. Also useful to have around.” The image of them studying together, chatting like close friends, heads bent closely over shared notes, makes the parasite of jealousy dig deeper in your belly. The logical side of your brain knows you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but the two sides of Mark Lee make you want to throw an uncharacteristic fit. She tosses her phone to the side before flipping open her textbook to Chapter 4. “Why?”

“Were you guys ever… like…” You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Me? Mark? No, we just worked on a project together. I have no idea what gave you that idea.” She wrinkles her nose at you.

“You just talk to each other so casually,” you huff, trying to expel the negativity from your system, “I don’t know.”

“He’s like that with everyone,” she says easily, leaning back in her chair. “Except you, I guess.”

“Except me. I guess.” You parrot, not feeling any better about the situation. When you proceed to ask her if you did anything weird on your first day of class that would have put him off, she denies it, telling you that you were completely normal. Resigned to forget the mystery for the night, you open up your textbook.

Midterms pass with relative success. At least, with more success than you had at your old university. You’re excited for a break, a reprieve from the pain of studying. Johnny arranges a potluck and movie night at his place, assigning everyone a dish and putting you on dessert.

In your class with Doyoung, who is often assigned as the chef of the group, you pressure him for everyone’s favorites. “Something fruity? Chocolatey?”

“We’re split there. There’s not much you can do that would appease everyone, honestly. Some of them are the pickiest guys I’ve ever met.” He continues to scribble notes as you grill him for info, not even looking up.

“What if I did something different? Like matcha cookies?” You tap your chin in thought and Doyoung lifts a hand to point at you after the suggestion leaves your mouth.

“Yes, do that one. Basically everyone likes green tea.”

“Basically everyone?”

“Not Mark.” Doyoung shakes his head disapprovingly. “He’s not arriving until after we eat, though, so I’m sure it’s fine.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. That night, you work hard making your matcha cookies, setting aside a bit of time for a side project. When you arrive at Johnny’s apartment with two dishes, one quite a bit smaller than the others and labeled with Mark’s name, safely hidden in the pantry until everyone has stepped out of the kitchen area and you can put it somewhere you hope he’ll see it. You can only hope that he at least appreciates your effort. When he arrives a bit later into the night, non-gifting you his usual non-existent glance, you can’t help but impatiently squirm a bit. Before you leave, you make a pass by the kitchen and, disappointingly, but not surprisingly, the container is in the same place as you left it, your note still affixed to the top.

The mystery continues, however, when you approach Johnny a few days later to ask about retrieving your containers.

“There was more than one? I only have that big rectangular one that you brought the matcha cookies in. They were really good, by the way - I can only wish the cookies I make turned out like that…” He scratches his head and you feel like the gesture perfectly represents how you’re feeling as well. If he doesn't have the box… who does?

A small part of you holds onto the hope that the intended person retrieved them after you weren’t looking.

The class you share with Mark is not nearly the most interesting one you have, nor is it one that is particularly memorable most of the time. There’s something so terribly tedious about it that makes you suffer a disproportionate amount whenever you do a chapter of the reading, though you think that you’re usually quite good about your work. Still, though you’re not exactly the most studious of your classmates, you can’t stand resounding silences in the classroom. So, when your professor asks a question and no one volunteers, you try to at least say something somewhat intelligent. Today is one of those days. Except, as you speak, you realize with dawning dread that your words aren’t making any sense of all, are barely related to the question, and are progressively spiraling into completely different subject matter. Still, you find it hard to stop, eventually coming to a stuttering stop with your answer. Even Professor Lim can’t hold back something of a put-off expression. You sink lower into your seat and, as your professor says something along the lines of your comments being “not quite relevant,” your cheeks burn.

You spare a glance to the side, looking for some sort of pity or reassurance from Yuqi, but you end up looking past her at Mark. You half expect him to smirking at your failure, like a villain in a high school drama, but, instead, his eyes meet yours. He offers you the barest twitch of an encouraging smile before looking away, his face neutral again. You’re almost unsure about how to interpret the look - it’s the closest thing to a positive emotion he’s ever shown you. Confused, you fix your eyes on your open notebook and keep them there, scratching random notes and doodles into the margins for the remainder of the lecture.

When you think about Mark Lee, you feel like you’re going insane. It would honestly be pretty easy for you to make one of those crazy conspiracy theorist maps with the red strings and thumbtacks attempting to connect a bunch of pictures with all the strange, fragmented experiences you’ve had with the boy. At one position, you could put all the information you supposedly knew about him before even meeting him, all of the things Jungwoo told you, all the smiling pictures from before you arrived. Somewhere else, you could put all of the times Mark has brushed you off or outright refused to acknowledge your existence. In a third location, you could put all the things you’ve actively seen or heard him do that align with the person you thought he was. Finally, you could put the most recent developments of him subtly starting to not ignore you together. The whole diagram would be circled with giant question marks all over it and one question written in capital letters: WHY?

You’re trying to do your damn curriculum development homework and all you can think about is Mark Lee and the first smile he ever gave you. And, from the way your heart is beating, pushing heat into your face and ears, making you wistful and longing to see his smile again, you think you know the direction your feelings have headed.

The next few times you head over to Jungwoo’s place, it’s hit or miss as to whether Mark appears to be actively avoiding you. Finally, one day, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder with Jungwoo, your eyes fixed on the small screen of your phone as you show him a funny video you found. You don’t notice Mark until he opens his bedroom door loudly enough that you look up and you meet his cold gaze. He’s in casual clothes, a hoodie and jeans, with earbuds hanging from his ears, his hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. The eye contact lasts for only a moment before his door acts as a barrier to your vision. You blink hard.

“Just when I thought we were getting somewhere…” You sulk, speaking lowly as to not be overheard by him.

“You and Mark?” Jungwoo asks, not even looking up. The video ends and your friend puts down your phone, folds his hands in front of him, and turns to look at you. “Did you ever figure it out?”

“Did I? How could I figure it out when he won’t even talk to me? Did you?” You lean away from him, crossing your arms. “Should we even be having this conversation over here? He’s just in his room.”

Jungwoo shrugs. “He has his headphones in, he can’t hear anything. To answer your question,” he pauses, leaning in closer to whisper like he’s telling you a secret, “I have no idea.”

“You must have some ideas at least?”

“I have many ideas, many theories, and quite a few formulas. Most of which don’t particularly apply to this situation.” You grumble something under your breath about engineering majors as he continues. “For Mark? He might be letting all the negativity he’s ever felt out on you, honestly. Maybe because you’re the same major?”

You sit up slightly straighter. “We’re the same major?”

“Yeah?” Jungwoo replies, giving you a look. “He’s trying to be music education instead of history education, though.”

“I never knew the specifics,” you mumble, letting your posture fall back into a slouch. In reality, it’s more than just not knowing the specifics - there’s very little you’ve managed to learn about Mark that you haven’t actively had to pry out of your shared friends. You know about some of the foods he likes, some of his hobbies, and a bit of general information. It’s awfully hard to get to know someone when they refuse to acknowledge you.

That notion makes your developing crush feel even stupider.

You attempt to turn the subject back to where it began. “Why me, though? Why not literally anyone else?”

“You’re a pretty cool person and you’re good at a lot of things. Mark’s developing an inferiority complex?” Jungwoo taps his chin as though he’s pretending to be some great thinker.

“I’m not going to lower myself to help some man’s ego,” you huff, your nails digging into your palms as you make tight fists. “Plus, there’s nothing I’m particularly good at that he’s not also good at, if not better.”

“It’s not really about ego, I think…” Jungwoo says, trailing off. “I dunno. He’s not like that with anyone but you.”

“No one but me, huh.” Honestly, you’re kind of getting sick of that expression. This isn’t the kind of exceptional you want to be to him. Not at all. You’re honestly not sure when it stopped being a simple need to be on pleasant terms with Jungwoo’s friends and started to get romantic. Your lips press into a thin line for a moment before you exhale sharply from your nose. “Everything is a big ‘I don’t know’ and I hate it. If it’s not an ‘I don’t know,’ it’s still stuck in the ‘why?’ stage.” You lay your head down and you have to resist the urge to scream into your arms. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

“You really make no sense at all.”

“It really makes no sense that I-” You bite your tongue to stop yourself to stop yourself from admitting out loud to the feelings you’ve just recently realized. Jungwoo just gives you a sly, knowing smile that you don’t like the look of one bit.

Before you know it, finals are around the corner and, with it, one of the last organized events you’ll have with your friends until testing is over. This time, it’s a group dinner where people can come and go as they please, and a few of you have taken it upon yourselves to do all the cooking. Namely, you, Doyoung, Jaehyun, Kun, and, surprisingly, Donghyuck. Suffice to say, the kitchen is not enough space for all of you. Still, you manage to pull it off, completing a hearty Korean-style dinner that slowly disappears from their dishes as all of the others eat. By the end, you’re worn out from the sweltering heat of the stove, the occasional bickering with the other chefs (‘Donghyuck, stop eating all the radish!’), and chatting with nearly every single one of your friends. Names and faces scroll through your head and you’re honestly not sure who you’ve seen and not seen by the end of it. Except for one person.

Mark Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

You make sure to smack away hands going for seconds in order to wrap up a moderately sized portion of food for him anyways. When all of the food, save for what you’ve set aside for Mark, is gone, Taeyong offers himself and some of the others up to clean, which you and the rest of the cooking boys eagerly accept. Most of them have headed out by now, but the few remaining begrudgingly agree to the job at Taeyong’s call.

You lean against the wall idly, watching the work being done and listening to the rhythmic sound of the water running and the sponge scraping against metal. Finally, Jungwoo happens upon the wrapped plate you had prepared for your missing guest.

“Who’s this for?” He asks to the room, almost salivating at the sight of the food. Damn, that boy can eat.

“It’s for Mark. You can give it to him when he gets back.” Your words are half informative, half threatening. Jungwoo takes the hint and carefully replaces the foil covering the food.

It takes another minute for him to look back over at you, seeing you looking bleary-eyed, close to swaying onto the floor from fatigue. He steps over, patting you on the head. “Y/N, you can go rest on the couch if you want. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I might just do that,” you respond, not clarifying which part of his sentence you’re talking about. At his behest, you shuffle over to the couch. It only takes a moment for your eyes to flutter closed. The music of washing dishes lulls you quickly to sleep.

You’re not sure how long has passed by the time you stir to the sound of the front door closing. You recognize that water is no longer running and that there are only two voices left in the kitchen area. Lying there for a moment, unsure of if you should make your presence known yet, you determine that the voices belong to Jungwoo and Mark.

“Oh, Y/N made sure to grab this for you,” you hear Jungwoo say, followed by the faint crinkling of the foil covering the plate.

“She did?” Mark’s voice is surprisingly soft, warm, everything you’re not used to from him.

The voices drift closer towards you, accompanying the slip of socks against the wood floor. “Don’t act surprised. Also, she’s on the couch sleeping right now. I’ll probably wake her up in a minute so she can go home.”

“Oh.” You’re listening as hard as you can, trying to determine whatever Mark is feeling just by his tone. “Is she okay?”

Your heart beats faster and you want to squirm, ask questions, anything. You remain still.

“Just tired.” A beat of silence. “Why are you looking at her like that?”

“Dude, I just…” Mark has some sort of lightness to his voice that you’ve never heard. “Nothing.”

“Do you think I can’t tell? Come on, I’ve known you long enough.” Jungwoo would normally be teasing saying something like that, but right now you just hear a kind of weariness that you’re entirely familiar with.

“Not as long you’ve known her.” The sentence comes out bitter, the first negativity you’ve heard from Mark all night, and Jungwoo sighs in response.

“Do what you need to do and then I’ll wake her up.”

They walk farther away. The telltale sound of the microwave opening and shutting after the foil crinkles again, followed by the beeping of the buttons and the hum of the machine, tells you that someone is heating up the food. Under the microwave ambiance, you hear what you think is plastic against plastic. The machine is stopped before it can beep shrilly. The smell of warm, reheated food fills the air briefly. There’s shuffling as Mark presumably walks.

“Night.” Jungwoo echoes Mark’s sentiment and you hear more shuffling towards you. A touch on your shoulder. You keep your eyes closed, trying to control your breathing for a moment longer. Your friend shakes you slightly. “Y/N, wake up.”

You try your best to play up your awakening act, like you hadn’t been listening to the entirety of the last conversation. Rubbing your eyes and blinking, you look up at Jungwoo. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight. Everyone went home to sleep and study.” You get up slowly, rolling your shoulders once you’ve sat up. “I can walk you back, if you want.”

“That’s okay, it’s not a long walk.” You get to your feet, padding to the kitchen area. There, on the table, is the plastic container you’d brought Mark’s cookies in weeks ago. “Oh, that’s my container. Did Johnny find it?”

Jungwoo reaches up to ruffle his hair, looking between you and the container. “Mark did, actually.” “Huh.” Shrugging, you pick it up and make your way to the door. “Tell him thanks for me.”

“You could tell him yourself?” Jungwoo offers, looking vaguely hopeful.

You smile, but cringe at the same time. “Yeah… you know.”

He shakes his head, seeming disappointed once more. “Fine. Text me when you get back?”

“Will do.”

As you walk home, your container clutched in your arms, you think about how more pieces are being unveiled, but nothing is really making that much more sense at all.

Finals pass as they always do. You study with Yuqi for your curriculum development class. The situation from midterms repeats itself almost exactly at one point, with her calling Mark for help and you staying quiet as he talks, and the test is no harder than any of the others you had previously in the semester. You force yourself to keep your eyes on your exam and to not glance over at Mark except when you’re walking out of the classroom at the end. All you can see of him is the back of his head, his hair slightly disheveled. Idly, you wonder if you’ll get over your baseless crush if you aren’t able to look at him and mull over the problem during class anymore. You think that’s the last you’ll see of him before you run into him at an event next semester.

On the last day of finals, your group chat receives two messages from Jungwoo.

JW: END OF THE SEMESTER PARTY TOMORROW NIGHT TO CELEBRATE FINALS BEING DONE BEFORE EVERYONE LEAVES. ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY.

JW: I don’t care if you planned a “date” with your “girlfriend,” I expect to see all of you there :))

A minute later, your phone buzzes again with an individual message from the same boy.

JW: Y/N, my lovely best friend, you’re part of the planning committee and you’re going to help me set up. Be there an hour early xoxo

You know there’s no use fighting it so, the next day, you show up to his place as expected. Jungwoo, Lucas, Yuta, and Johnny are all milling about, trying to seem busy but, honestly, there doesn’t look like there’s much to do. Some of the furniture has been moved to the side, there’s a giant mysterious tub that is partly filled with a reddish liquid that Lucas and Yuta are leaning over, and Johnny is affixing colorful lights to a wall. As soon as your shoes are off, Jungwoo is steering you to the common area.

“Y/N, you’re late!”

“I’m like ten minutes early-” You start.

“No, no, no excuses. I have an important job for you!” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s not leading you to the kitchen, but towards someone’s bedroom. “You like crafts, right?”

“I mean, I guess? I-”

“Great!” He pushes open the bedroom door, Mark’s bedroom door, and pushes you not-so-gently inside. Mark is sitting at his desk, bent over something with a look of surprise on his face. He looks cozy, dressed in a simple red t-shirt and gray sweats with circle glasses perched on his nose. “I want to hang about one hundred paper cranes around the apartment to add a little flare to the party. You can’t leave until you’re done, Mark has the paper, bye!”

He shuts the door behind him.

You and Mark stare at each other in bewilderment as you process whatever just happened. You’re in Mark’s bedroom for the first time. You’re also being actively forced to interact with him one on one for the first time. None of your friends had ever forced you to try and work out your issues until now and you’re certain that Jungwoo’s implication was that you’re not allowed to leave until you’ve talked it through. Some part of you knew he would eventually snap and force you to interact, but you always ignored that possibility. Until now.

“Um,” you start, twisting your fingers together in front of you, “he said you have the paper?”

“Yeah…” he looks back at his desk, grabbing some of the myriad of square sheets and holding them out to you. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You carefully make sure to prevent your fingers from brushing against his as you take them from him. Stepping back, you settle cross-legged on an empty spot on his floor. After you sit, you take a moment to look around. His walls have the occasional band poster plastered on them, there’s a hoodie on the floor across the room, and some of his drawers are partly open, illustrating a pretty typical college boy’s room. A couple of books are pushed to the side on his desk as he works on folding the cranes. Remembering that’s what you’re supposed to be doing, you get to work, making careful creases. Your first crane comes to life on yellow paper slightly lopsided. Good enough, you figure.

You’re in the middle of your second crane when Mark’s chair screeches quietly against the floor and he stands up, gathering his paper. To your great surprise, he sits down a few away from you and mirrors your pose. When you meet eyes with him briefly, you look away as fast as you can, returning to your crane before you can even try and read what he’s feeling. The next three cranes pass quickly with your eyes locked firmly on your work. When you dare to look up again, you find that Mark is intently watching your hands. He startles when you see him. Realizing he’s been caught, he speaks of softly. “Do you… know how to do it?”

Even when he’s the one talking quietly, looking embarrassed, you feel so small. You look down at his own paper pile, which has a few crumpled sheets surrounding it. “I can show you.” He nods and you cautiously scoot closer so that you’re side by side. As gently as you can, you explain each fold and he copies your movements. Soon, you have a relatively even green crane and he has a somewhat lopsided pink crane, very similar to your first.

“Thanks,” he says, staring at his creation, “all of the tutorials I googled weren’t making any sense, but I think I got it now.”

“No problem.” You nod, moving back to your spot across from him. Not wanting the experience to end quite yet, you think about what Jungwoo said last weekend. “Thanks for returning my container.”

He instantly knows what you’re talking about. “Thanks for-”

Before he can say any more, he stops and his expression hardens. He proceeds to look back down at his hands, making slow, purposeful folds in the paper in front of him. You frown, but do the same. A few cranes later, you can’t stop it anymore. After months, months, of him treating you like this, you can’t go one more crane without finding the truth. You throw a half-completed crane to the floor and, though the noise isn’t loud, he looks up. “Mark, what did I do?”

He seems entirely too surprised by the question, which sparks a kind of anger that you didn’t even realize you were holding in. “What?”

“What did I do! What made you act like this to me? Did I do something? Do you just hate my face? What did I do wrong?” You squeeze your knees brutally, trying to resist doing something like tearing up the few pieces of origami you had completed.

“Nothing.” His simple, one word answer only serves to make you more upset. Though he appears initially dismissive, he sees that you’re about to start shouting and quickly continues. “You really didn’t do anything!”

“Then, why? Mark, you’re making me lose my mind!” Now, you feel like you’re on the verge of crying out of frustration. So far, you’ve managed to not cry at all about this stupid boy who has largely chosen to ignore your existence, but you can feel the telltale warming of your cheeks and the pout in your lips.

“It’s not something you did! Not really.” He takes a shaky breath, appearing almost as upset as you, though there are no tears in his eyes. “It’s about Jungwoo. Please, don’t cry.”

The initial confusion helps you swallow your building tears. “If you’re upset at him, why do you have to take it out on me? I really wanted to be friends with you, Mark. I really did.”

“I wanted to be different.” Now, he’s quiet, refusing to look at you for the months of shame he’s feeling rise to the surface.

“From Jungwoo?” You’re not quite following still. You just know that, even though he’s subtly broken your heart and led you in circles over and over for the past few months, you want to know why he’s hurting and you want to stop it. Even if he hasn’t been full of kindness to you, he has been to everyone else. And you know almost for a fact that this isn’t something he’s told anyone else.

“From you.”

Pushing aside papers, crumpled partial cranes, complete cranes, you move closer to him. You’re not sure if you’re overstepping your boundaries and you still kind of feel like one wrong move will make you cry, but the yelling has left your system and your instincts say proximity will help you understand. “Will you explain it to me?”

“There was a you-shaped hole in Jungwoo’s heart ever since he had to go to college and stop spending so much time with you.” Mark’s resignation is quiet, soft-spoken, like the boy you’d heard so much about but only now had gotten to truly meet. “Whenever he came back from breaks, he would talk about you so much and about how similar you and I are and it just made me feel… it made me feel… like… I don’t know. Like I’m just replacing you while you’re not here.”

“Mark…” You’re not sure quite what to say that he hasn’t logically figured out for himself already. Maybe it would help to say the obvious anyways? “You’re not a replacement. You’re you and I’m me and he has different places for both of us.”

He lets out a puff of air. “I know that. It’s just the type of feeling that you can’t really get to go away, even when you try really hard to believe the opposite.”

“I get the feeling.” And you do. It’s like the nagging feeling that you’ve had that you did something unforgivable to upset Mark even though you were almost certain you didn’t.

“I was mean to you because at least that would make me different enough to not be replaced, I guess. It worked because you never stooped to my level to be mean back.” Though he hasn’t quite apologized, he sounds genuinely sorry.

“It worked because you couldn’t have been replaced in the first place,” you say back. You look over and he has a small smile on his face.

“That too. Also-” He stops himself, seeming conflicted. “No, it’s a bad time. A really bad time.”

That piques your curiosity. “Huh?” He’s not smiling anymore, instead looking awkwardly to his side, away from you, and drumming his fingers on the bed. “Mark, you might as well say it. Whatever it is.”

“Okay, after a few months, I realized that you weren’t going to replace me and things were fine. But, you know that thing that kids do?” You’re confused and he’s growing red, practically steaming at the ears in embarrassment, which you can see even in the dim light of the room. “So, I kept being mean because then you kept looking at me even though whenever I thought about what I said to you later, I always felt really bad-” “Mark, you’re rambling. What are you talking about?” You ungracefully interrupt him, touching his arm to get his full attention. He seems to grow even redder at your touch and suddenly exclaims his next words.

“You’re really cute!”

Slowly, his words make more sense. You try to piece them together out loud to make sure you’re understanding him correctly. “So… the thing kids do… where they’re mean to the person they like?”

He moves his head up and down in a tiny nod. Now, your face is heating up, too. Even more than it was when you were on the verge of crying. After a moment, he groans and presses his face into his hands. “Damn, I’m such an idiot. I know this is, like, what middle schoolers do, but since the beginning of the semester I’ve just been so confused, except you’ve probably been way, way more confused than me, and I didn’t even think about it, but all of our friends are probably confused, too, and-” As he jabbers, when your thoughts and feelings had been processing slowly previously, you now feel like your whole reality is crumbling. You spent the last while beating down your feelings when he’s become a pile of mush in front of you about the same problem? At this rate, he’s never going to stop rambling either. Not that you particularly want him to. It’s the most he’s directly said to you ever. And it’s adorable. What else would be adorable? You wonder, teasing him a bit before you tell him the truth. For how long he kept you hanging, you deserve to create at least some tension of your own, you figure. Just for a moment.

“- you’re probably thinking about how dumb this is and I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me-”

You sit up straight and cross your arms over your chest. “Mark.”

He stops talking and looks at you, more panic seeming to rise in his face at the serious expression you wear. “Oh shit, I never let you talk. Y/N-”

“Mark.” He finally stops, staring at you. “I don’t forgive you.” The panic turns into sheer terror. He clearly hadn’t expected you to put it so forwardly. However, before he can say anything truly depressing, you continue. “I don’t forgive you because you haven’t actually apologized yet.”

His eyes are like tiny suns, round and bright and holding all the feeling in the universe. “I- I thought…” He looks to the side, thinking about everything he had said, and realizes that you’re right. “You’re right. Y/N…” He presses his hands together in front of him. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s probably the most succinct and straightforward he’s ever been with you, but you don’t have much time to think about that before he’s leaning forward in a full bow, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Mark, stop!” As soon as you realize what he’s doing, you shuffle forward, putting both hands on his shoulders so you can attempt to yank him back upright. “I was joking, please stop!” He remains upraised, once again looking confused. Slowly, you move backwards about two feet to put some breathing room between you. “You don’t need to do that. I like you, too.”

One slow heartbeat passes. Then a second. You’re not sure how long the thick silence hangs between you, but the tension is so heavy that you don’t even hear any outside noise from the other boys who are supposedly getting ready for a party.

“You… what… wait, no, really?” Mark’s baffled face as he stutters back to you paired with the anxiety of the entire situation makes a laugh bubble out of your chest. He seems to be entirely at a loss. He continues to just stare at you wide-eyed, like he’s witnessing some incredible event instead of just ogling you in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Don’t look at me like that…” You can’t help but reflect some of his flustered behavior, eye contact becoming almost painful. He’s never met your eyes with such enormous positivity and cuteness before and it makes you want to run laps around the building or something. “Mark, I’m serious!”

“How could you like me back? When I was so mean to you? For months?” He begins to twist in place, trying to lean over and look at your head from multiple directions. “Did you fall down the stairs on the way over here and hit your head or something?”

“Mark!” You uncross your legs and shuffle closer on your knees, reaching out to still his movement by grasping his shoulders once again. “Please stop.” When you touch him, he freezes, still moon-eyed. After he stops moving, your hands slide down so that you can hold his. His hands are warm and stiff, just like the rest of his body.

He finally breaks eye contact, looking at where your hands are connected. “I just really don’t get it. There’s no way you like me.”

“You almost sound like you’re upset about it.” You tilt your head, smiling at him softly.

“I am!” He’s insistant, his hands holding onto yours firmly now. Though his grip is tighter, he visibly deflates, his shoulders sinking. “It’s so unfair to you. I was such an ass.”

“But you’re not. One ass-like behavior does not an ass make.” You almost confuse yourself saying it, but you continue. “It’s not about the times you were weird to me. It’s about the times you were nice to everyone else. Like when you helped Yuqi with our class. Or when you helped Donghyuck with his calc even though you aren’t even taking it with him. It sounds kind of dumb, but because of that, I knew you weren’t a bad person. Even if you were trying to be one to me sometimes.” Your thumbs run over his idly, making soothing strokes over his skin as you speak. “Still, you weren’t really all that mean to me, per se. More cold, if anything. Then, when you stopped doing so much of that, it got really confusing. I do have a question, though.”

“I’ll try to answer it, I guess.”

“Did Jungwoo really say we were that similar?”

He blinks. “Maybe once or twice? It just really stuck out to me, for some reason.”

“You’re cute.” He blushes furiously at that. Carefully, you untangle one of your hands from his and bring it up to his cheek, cupping his blazing face. “Do you want to try this? The being together thing?”

“I want to, but-” He presses his lips together, making his cheeks puff out slightly as he thinks. “I don’t know. I feel like I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve a chance with you.”

Silence sits between you for a moment. Your hand moves back down so you’re holding both of his again. “I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

His eager eyes on your face prompts you to continue. Slowly, a grin threatens to split your face in half.

“I guess you’ll have to kiss me at least once for every time you were mean to me. Maybe more than once.” Your brilliant smile changes form in the air between you and reappears as the stars in his eyes.

“Practice round? Just to make sure I get it right.” The subtle flirtatiousness of the idea that leaves his mouth absolutely appeals to you and you agree. You move as close as you possibly can, your knees pressed together, your breath on his lips and his on yours, his soft bangs grazing your forehead. The touch of his lips against yours is awkward at first, but transforms into something sweeter with a little time. Once you both pull away, it seems you have the same idea when you both go back in for a few quick pecks afterwards. Finally, when you’re content for the moment, he leans forward quickly to press a kiss to your cheek.

You figure that a return to the work of folding cranes will help calm down your rapid heart rate, but every time you steal a glance at Mark, the butterflies return. You know for a fact that he keeps looking at you, too. By the time the noise level outside of the room increases and music is being blasted through the apartment, you’re nowhere near being done with all one hundred cranes, but both of you are sure your mutual friend doesn’t actually care about that. Together, you emerge from his room. You don’t answer any prodding questions from your friends for most of the time you’re mingling, though you’re pretty sure that a good number of them see him sneaking kisses at least once or twice.

Some of them definitely see when you sneak off to his room again before the clock has even turned to midnight. At the same time, you could be damned if you really care.

#neowritingsnet #nct fluff #nct angst #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct fanfic #nct scenario #wonjaekook #i tried a slightly new sizing for the header :) hopefully it looks better now #there are definitely things I could have done better so let me know what you think!#<<<333

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mlm-writer · 3 years

Text

The Rest of Our Lives (Leonard McCoy x GN!Reader)

GIF Source

Pairing: Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy x Gender Neutral Reader Rating: Teen and Up Words: 1551 Summary: The Enterprise is on a terminal course with a black hole. There is not much time left, so now is as good time as any to confess the feelings you have kept to yourself until now. Note: This is for fluffgust, but this piece is defo angstgust... Reader is part of the Enterprise and it is lightly implied they are a red shirt, but they could be anything. The prompt was ‘rejecting sexual advances and it ends fluffy’ and it is there if you squint. Tags: ANGST, dash of fluff because I had to, bad speech by Kirk because I could not write a better one, kissing, cuddling, making out, rejected sexual advances, implied major character death and no beta we die like everyone in this fic.

The vastness of space stretched before you as you peered into the sea of stars from one of the smaller observation decks. Normally the sight could always put a smile on your face, but not today. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you tried to find the beauty of outer space, only to find darkness and death in an ocean of coldness.

“Always knew I would die on this ship,” a familiar voice came from the door. You hummed in agreement. “Just always thought it would be being sucked through an airlock, an explosion or being shot at by aliens the captain pissed off.” You shifted and twisted your head to catch sight of the CMO.

“I take it Scotty has not found a way to start up the engines…” You stared back through the glass, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Appears it is death by black hole for all of us then.” Dr. McCoy hummed in reply, confirming your fears. This was torture, waiting for death, helpless. “Doc, what do you think we should do with the time we have left?”

You turned away from the window, facing the Southern man full-on. He stared at you with an unreadable expression. Dr. McCoy licked his dry lips before speaking. “Try to die without regrets,” he answered. You took a deep breath as you crossed your arms.

“Was afraid you’d say that.” “Why? Have a lot of things you left for later?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “No, just one…” You dropped your arms, only to fidget with your own fingers, eyes trained on where you were pinching the skin. “You know me, unafraid and lunging head-first into everything, following whims…” You turned your head to stare at the stars again, afraid of meeting the eyes of the man in front of you. “But feelings scare me, to be honest. If I break every bone in my body, I know I can count on you to put me back in working order, but if my heart gets broken…”

A hand took a gentle hold of your harm, just above the elbow. “I’d gladly meld that too.” You looked up at him, eyes finally meeting. His eyes held a beauty that made the universe pale in comparison. “I did not come here to look at the stars,” he added, half a confession hidden in those words.

“Doc… Leonard… I need you to be straight with me.” You did not like how vulnerable those words sounded, how vulnerable they made you. He pulled you close, closer. You found yourself in his arms, head resting against his solid body.

“I like you. I don’t wanna die knowing I never said it,” he murmured. His voice rumbled through your body. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly. You assured him the feeling was mutual, before your hands started roaming along his back, shoulders and arms, memorising the feel of his body.

“Leonard Horatio McCoy, would you like to spend the rest of your life with me?” He let out a scoff and agreed, both of you aware that the rest of your life was unlikely to be longer than 2 hours. You spent a good few minutes just holding one another. A little later you found yourselves sitting against the glass and snuggling. You raised your head from his shoulder and put a hand on his cheek. “May I?”

His eyes met yours as he nodded. “All yours,” he muttered, before you both leaned in. His lips were a little chapped, but felt warm against yours. When you parted, there were a few seconds of just blinking at each other, before you both leaned in for more.

Lips danced together in slow, sweet kisses. It took a while, before you felt his tongue make an appearance. You were all too eager to take this further. It felt like heaven and the ship disappeared around you. There was no hopeless Enterprise. There was no black hole sucking you to the next life. There was just you and him on this carpeted floor under dim lights.

You swung a leg over him and straddled his lap. You held his face close with one hand on each cheek as you made out. There was no helping it. There was just too much you had held back and too little time. You got a little teeth involved as you grinded down on him, indicating you were ready to go all the way. Your lips did not leave his until you felt both of his hands on your underarms, pulling your hands away from his face. “Hmm?” you questioned as you finally opened your eyes, immediately noticing his rosy lips.

“Hey, I know we don’t have much time, but… I don’t think we should go so fast.” You blinked at him, trying to clear your head from the fog of desire for the man before you. “Please say something.”

You cleared your throat and tried to get off his lap, but he held you in place, tilting his head at you. “I’m sorry”, you whispered as you averted your eyes to the crease between his brows. You wanted to explain yourself, but the right words were not coming to you. Leonard seemed to understand anyway. He pulled your head towards his until your foreheads were touching.

“Let’s not ruin this with doing things we are not ready for yet. Even if there is no later for us, I can die a happy man just having this… Can you?” You casted your eyes up, staring into his. It was mesmerising, almost dizzying to see someone look at you like he was looking at you. You nodded with an affirming hum. He smiled in relief. You sat there for a while, on your knees with his legs between yours and your foreheads touching.

“Enterprise crew this is the captain speaking,” Captain Kirk’s voice spoke gently over the intercom, “as you know, we are on a terminal course with a black hole. In about fifteen minutes the Enterprise will be submitted to gravitational forces that will make survival for us impossible aboard the ship.” You sighed and tried to pull away, so you could focus on whatever the captain had to say more, but Leonard kept you in place.

“I won’t take up all of that time. I just wanted to thank all of you for joining this voyage. This ship has always had the finest crew, with the most admirable people in the galaxy. It has been an honour and if by any chance black holes lead to another universe, I hope I get to serve with all of you again.” You leaned against Leonard, closing your eyes so you could focus on Kirk’s voice and the feel of being held.

“Even out here, far away from any civilised place, we are not alone. Look around. You’ll find people who will stay by your side until the end. You’ll find colleagues, friends, perhaps lovers.” You opened your eyes to find Leonard look at you like you put even the most breathtaking views of this galaxy to shame. “I look around and I find family; family I’ll happily die with. We did good out here. Each and every one of you has earned a place in the history records. This may be the end, but none of you will ever be forgotten. We’ll live forth in the work we’ve done and the stories they’ll tell about us.” You could hear the blond man’s voice crack. “May history be kind on us all. Kirk out.”

Silence fell over you. It hung thick in the air. There was not a word said, until Leonard guided you off him. “Captain will want me on the bridge. Coming with?” You moved off him and helped him off the floor.

“Of course. We were going to spend the rest of our lives together, remember?” He let out a bitter chuckle. You held hands as you walked to the elevator. You passed by many people you have worked with during your long service on the Enterprise. There was crying, desperate hugging. Some were so calm it must have been a defence mechanism.

There was no comment on your closeness when you entered the bridge with Leonard’s arm around you. Captain Kirk held out an arm and Leonard joined him by his left side, putting his other arm around one of his best friends. You soon found Chekhov by your side and you offered him a smile as you linked arms with him.

The space in front of you was void of stars. There was nothing but the endless void and a small timer in the corner of the front screen. No one really said anything. You felt a kiss against your head from Leonard. You felt like you should be singing or something, a final song to unite each other before death, but this was not a heartfelt movie. This was real life. This was the end.

You took a deep breath as the timer neared its end. Grips tightened. You took one last look at Leonard, a dark expression on his face. You closed your eyes and leaned your head against him. He was the last thing your eyes ever got to witness.

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shakey-hands · 3 years

Note

please please can we get fukuzawa awkwardly having to tell ranpo he’s dating reader and the two of them start fighting and reader is subjected to it??? 😍😍

haha yeah. first ask that imma answer, let me know if you guys want more. my asks are open for any (except mineta gross) mha, ouran, or bungo characters :)

{this one is gonna be done with she/her pronouns but if you ask for gender neutral or he/him or any other pronouns, i can do it}

---

The clock struck two when Y/N looked at her phone, leg bouncing up and down in a way that always annoyed the people around her. Great. It was thirty minutes past their meeting time and her boyfriend still had not shown up with what she understood was his adopted son.

It had been a good plan. Meet on neutral territory, gas up (what Y/N assumed was) a teenage boy with a sweets addiction, and then break the news. Y/N was not sure why they needed to go through such lengthy troubles to inform her boyfriend’s son that they were dating. He was at least old enough to understand what dating was. And from what she had heard from Kunikida, Fukuzawa’s son had a very prominent dating life of his own. But Y/N trusted her boyfriend, no matter how many times he looked off into the distance with quiet wisdom that felt vague.

Y/N sipped her tea, realizing that caffeine would only worsen her anxiety. It didn’t matter how many times Fukuzawa and Kunikida tried to tell her that the meeting wouldn’t be a big deal and that the son would love her, she wasn’t so sure. He was working at the Armed Detective Agency and was good at what he did. At least those were Kunikida’s words as Y/N and him were quietly reading in the same room as they did on Saturday nights. While Y/N appreciated Kunikida for his straight forward/driven personality, he did not fare well in comforting her.

Which brought her to her boyfriend. His solid, piercing eyes would always soften as she talked about her day over their dinner dates and he would brush the back of his hand on her cheek in the moments they were alone with one another. While Y/N rarely noticed because she herself was too infatuated with him, Fukuzawa cared deeply for her after seven months of dating. Their last hurdle was introducing Y/N to Ranpo. Fukuzawa was not at all worried since Y/N had a knack for making sweets and made people feel as if they were special when she smiled at them. There was never a shortage of praise around her.

Y/N checked her phone again, hoping that an apology text would come through and she would not be left in the dark. That however was proving difficult. Fukuzawa was driving with Ranpo eating cotton candy in the passenger seat. He had to be bribed away from the sweets table Dazai had set up for some ungodly known reason to mess with Atsushi. It was embarrassing how long it took for Kunikida to pry Ranpo’s little grubby hands away from the snacks and then another amount of time for Fukuzawa to get Ranpo to put on his seatbelt.

It made Fukuzawa nervous that he was so late. He knew Y/N would be understanding, it was part of the reason he enjoyed her company so much. Knowing her, she would probably be bouncing her knee and staring down at the table, overthinking things. He, of course, was right.

As Fukuzawa was pulling into the parking lot, he spotted his girlfriend’s car. It was pristine, as always, and had a small cat paw sticker on the back left bumper. He smiled inwardly, realizing that he had been waiting for this. There was a future with Y/N and Fukuzawa couldn’t wait.

Ranpo still had yet to get out of the car, his glasses dangling from his shirt pocket and a light dusting of sugar crystals on his lips. He was pouting, of course. Kunikida did not pack enough snacks for the car ride, meaning Ranpo did not have the mental energy to get out of the car and go into whatever flop coffee shop the president insisted they go into. People were so stupid and Ranpo already just finished a case that was so obvious. The local police really needed to be more useful.

“Get out of the car,” Fukuzawa said, getting more and more agitated.

“No,” Ranpo said.

“Let’s go. I promise there will be sweets inside the shop.”

“So? There were sweets at the agency.”

Fukuzawa rolled his eyes, knowing Ranpo would sit in the car out of stubbornness. “Ranpo-”

“Yukichi?” A soft voice called out from the entrance of the cafe.

Fukuzawa turned to see Y/N standing right outside. She had a to-go cup of something hot in her hands, jacket sleeves pulled over her hands to stop the warmth from burning her skin. Even though it was overcast and windy, Y/N still seemed to have a certain glow about her that always took Fukuzawa’s breath away. She waved timidly, not knowing why he was awkwardly standing behind his parked car with a weird defensive stance. He nodded over to her, giving her a genuine smile before turning his head back to the car and glaring.

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N began to approach her boyfriend. The only other time she had seen her boyfriend have this stance was when she had bumped into some eyebrowless pale emo kid in an accident at the mall. Fukuzawa seemed to pick the weird fights, but she just smiled through it. His eyes held a certain annoyance the Y/N had not seen before. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took a step off the curb. Fukuzawa held out his hand, motioning her to not get closer. Y/N paused, unsure about his demeanor.

“Ranpo, don’t make me ask again.” Fukuzawa’s voice held a bass to it that Y/N had never heard before. She could only assume it was his dad voice that he has never had to use with her.

The window rolled down on the old car for just a crack. “I don’t remember a question being asked.”

The voice was whiny and slightly muffled, as if the speaker had sweets in his mouth. Fukuzawa rolled his eyes and put his hand on the glass. Y/N was slightly shocked by her boyfriend, but decided to let him do his thing. She was not a parent and the closest time she had ever been was when she had a babysitting gig decades ago when she was a teen. While she was interested in a family, she had neither the time nor mental capacity to follow through. So she stepped back onto the curb and took a sip of her tea, relishing in the warmth it provided.

“Ranpo, if you don’t get out of the damned car, there will be no sweets at the agency for a year.”

A clear threat had been made.

The door slammed into the car next to it, causing a dent that Fukuzawa watched form. Out from the passenger seat, a short man with a slight pout crawled out of the car. Definitely not the young teenager Y/N had been expecting. He was only slightly taller than Y/N and wore a cape. In fact, he looked like a full grown adult, maybe only ten years younger than Y/N. Her face said it all, though neither men were looking at her. They just stared one another down before Fukuzawa remembered his loving girlfriend stood awkwardly behind him. He motioned for her to come over.

Ranpo did not look impressed as he looked her up and down. Y/N looked too ordinary to know Fukuzawa in her jeans and plain jacket combo. Her shoes were dirty from all the yard work she had done throughout the years. As she got closer, Ranpo watched closely as Fukuzawa gently touched the small of her back before wrapping his arm around her waist. While Ranpo had never seen the President act like this, he did not care.

“Ranpo, I would like you to meet-”

Ranpo yawned loudly. “She’s way too old for me. Almost to hag status.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. She began to stumble over her words, not knowing how to respond. Fukuzawa’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe that Ranpo would even think he was trying to set them up. Ranpo made a disgusted face.

“No offense lady, but you don’t even look fun. Like all you do is sit in the dark and contemplate the excitement of frostingless yellow cake.”

How do you respond to that?

Y/N looked down, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She was suddenly thankful for the sudden gust of wind that burned her cheeks, a sign that snow was rolling in. Who insults like that? The little sniffle that Y/N let out set Fukuzawa back into the present instead of the daydream he had slipped into where Ranpo got his ass beat.

“You can’t talk to her like that,” Fukuzawa said sternly. “And she’s not here for you.”

“Obviously. She could never handle the Greatest Detective.”

“No!” Fukuzawa said, tightening his grip on her waist. “I wanted you two to meet because we’ve been dating for a while and I thought it was finally time for you two to meet.”

Ranpo suddenly scoffed dramatically. Once. Twice. Three times. “And here I thought we agreed never to keep secrets! And all this time you’ve been giving your praise to someone else!”

Fukuzawa looked at the small man incredulously. “I’m allowed to date, Ranpo.”

“Not really!” Ranpo exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. Those who were passing by continuously glanced, wondering why they were arguing so loudly in a public space. “How gross is that! You’re like centuries old!”

“Look, I just thought you’d want to be in the know. If I had known you’d throw a tantrum, I would have just waited until after we were married.”

In that moment, Ranpo and Y/N spoke simultaneously:

“Tantrum?!”

“Married!?”

“Oh I’ll show you a tantrum!”

Ranpo pushed the old car to make it move back and forth in its parked place before beginning to punch the glass. There was no real power behind his throws, so there were soft thumps being emitted. Next he started to kick the tires, also without power behind his movements. He truly had transformed into a toddler, making the people walking by walk a little faster. He came off as some random crazy person on the street rather than an acclaimed detective.

Fukuzawa didn’t know where to look until a warm soft hand held his cheek, guiding his eyes towards Y/N’s. She smiled softly, ignoring Ranpo as he began to get physical. Her smile caused a chain reaction in Fukuzawa’s heart, making him resist the urge to get down on one knee at that very instance. He did have the ring adding weight to his pocket. She kissed his forehead, making him awkwardly bend down as she chuckled against his skin.

“You want to marry me?”

Fukuzawa blushed slightly. “In due time, of course.”

She chuckled again and nodded. “Of course.”

“I’m not calling her mom!”

#bungo stray dogs #fukuzawa yukichi #fukuzawa x reader #ranpo

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silver-03 · 3 years

Text

-End of the World Scenario-

-MTMTE x Human Reader-

• The bots are stuck on a world with no escape, the Lost Light is down, drained quantum engines have them stranded on a desolate planet right in the range of an oncoming dying sun going supernova any minute •

• Rodimus: To say the least, Rodimus was in an initial state of panic. Trying to get his crew to calm down, especially those with PTSD of Cybertron’s war days. However, things got worse. Some had chosen to.. offline themselves in the panicked state they were thrown to. Unable to comprehend the horrid end coming to them. Others had gone to drinking, which was most. The chaos was gone for the moment as the end neared. Swerve’s bar was full with drinks going around and Rodimus was trying to find you. Hoping that no one had killed you amongst the panic or you had done something drastic. He found you outside, on the roof of the ship where it was a common place for bots to go stargazing. You had enjoyed it there as well, he should have known you had come here. The atmosphere was hot, but not hot enough to where you would be sweating. The fiery captain would sit beside you as your empty eyes stared out to the oncoming disaster. “You know,” You began. “I never imagined it would come to an end like this.” There was a flash from afar, signaling there wasn’t much time left. “But I’m glad I got to spend these last few minutes with who I love. With all the stuff we’ve been through together.. the happy times, sad times, everything. It’s all come down to this.” Rodimus showed concern in his optics, he may be pretty heat resistant himself, but the blast of a supernova was too much for even himself. Not even their beloved ship would probably make it. Brainstorm and Perceptor had tried to do what they could with their science, but there wasn’t enough time to come up with anything solid. “Y/N, I wish it didn’t have to end like this. I wish we had more time to enjoy each other’s company.” He said quietly. His usual happy attitude was gone, replaced with remorse. Rodimus blamed himself, he had chosen to come here and now had the energon and blood of everyone on board on his servos. It was his fault, a constant failure. That was his processor currently, but he had to stay strong for now. For you. You climbed into his lap, which he would respond with cradling his arms around you in a tight embrace, not tight enough to hurt you but enough to limit your movement. “I love you, you know that, right?” He whispered, tears forming in his optics with the impeding doom about to hit. The temperature was only increasing around them, and he could feel it. His cooling fans would do nothing, not even click on since he knew it’d be useless. “How could I forget?”

•Ratchet: The medbay was a little full with the bots that had offlined themselves as their situation had weighed down on them. There was nothing he could do to help them, but their frames had been moved there so wherever they had been, they wouldn’t be disturbed. Currently you were with Ratchet, watching him place the last one down in a comfortable position. Their servos placed over their midsection, folded over each other. So peaceful yet.. so disturbing to see. You were used to the chaos of the medbay by now but this seemed to take a toll on you. The sudden death that lingered in the halls and in the hot air. Ratchet looked up to see you staring at the last bot he had placed down. He moved to your side and gently tapped the bottom of your chin to look up at him, pulling you from your emotionless trance. A gentle distraction. “Y/N, don’t focus on them right now. They chose this.” He said lowly. Right now he lacked the strength to call them cowards and anything of the sort for ending their lives so soon. Then again, it was harsh to say that. He understood their panicked state and impulse to do this. It reminded them of their last days of Cybertron and the horrid war that plagued them. You saw Ratchet’s grim face and nodded gently. Tears were at the edge of your eyes as he outstretched his hand, to which you climbed on. The old medic picked you up ever so gently and held you close to his chassis with both his servos, as if shielding you from the heat, to no avail. Even inside the Lost Light, it was getting hot. Ever so slowly. He brought you to his habsuite, letting you step down onto his berth as he sat on the edge of it. He knew there was no escape from this. Unless they could get under the earth, deep into its crust to avoid the heat. There just wasn’t enough time. “I’m sorry.” The medic said, his optics dimmed slightly. “This shouldn’t have happened. I could have.. done something differently. Anything.” Your eyes scanned over his beat frame, exhausted and his mental state crashing down on him. “Ratchet, we can’t do anything to fix this. I’m just-“ You stopped a moment, feeling a cool tear running down your flushed cheeks. “I’m glad that we spent this time together, every second of it.” Your words calmed him ever so slightly, of which he responded by gently wiping a tear from your face. He could tell your body was slowly exhausting itself as you didn’t have the luxury of cooling fans like his kind did. “I am too.”

• Megatron: “After all these years of war, this is how our lives end. From a supernova. How grand.” Megatron’s voice was low as he stared straight into the light of their demise. The both of you were sat in the command center of the Lost Light, watching the red sky turn lighter and lighter. After several attempts of trying to get the systems back online, it failed. He thought maybe he could try one last attempt to redeem himself and save his crew. However, he should have known his bad luck strike was still ongoing. “Really going out with a bang here.” You said, your voice scratchy after yelling in fear earlier. A crazed bot had tried to kill you, blaster forced into your body to crush you into the ground. But before they could fire, Megatron had thrown him off you. And before he could properly deal with them, they offlined themselves. So he brought you here, after helping you bandage yourself. Even though you denied the offer. Megatron insisted to keep you comfortable, no matter how ‘useless’ it seemed. He didn’t care if it was a waste. The two of you were huddled together on a chair, you sat on his shoulder while the two of you watched out the window. “Y/N, I must apologize for my behavior when we first met. For a clear conscience.” The grey warlord said, his voice lowered. “I was rude and my actions towards you were uncalled for. Being so cold and irrational in any given situation. But now I understand what Prime meant all this time. All life should be treated as equals. No matter how different we may be.” He said, turning his stoic face to you. Having no need to hide his emotion behind a mask. Even though his expression seemed the same as always. “Thanks for apologizing at least, its a great time to let out all those hidden emotions. Clear consciences in a time like this is good.” You said in response, gently tracing a seam in his thick armor. He seemed to grin to himself, making an amused huff. “You know, I haven’t shared all my poetry with you. I wouldn’t mind sharing it with you now.”

Let me know if I should continue this scenario with more bots! Sorry for the sadness qwq

#transformers #rodimus #rodimus prime #rodimus prime x reader #rodimus x reader #megatron #transformers mtmte #mtmte x reader #transformers x reader #mtmte megatron #ratchet x reader

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acourtofsnakes · 4 years

Text

Arir - Rogue, Chapter 2| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (F)

Summary: After giving up, you and the Mandalorian go back to his ship, travelling out of Sorgan and back into space. It’s a long trip through hyperspace... there’s only so long you can ignore each other for. The differences between you and your hidden secret might cause clashes.. but when the time comes, will you act? Or not?

Warnings: swearing, injury detail, mentions of death/war etc, degradation (not in a nice way), flirtation/suggestive themes and the such? Let me know if I’ve forgotten anything.

AN: Thank you all for the love on the first chapter!! Let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!!

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Word count: 6789

Also, the planet in which we visit here is the unnamed industrial planet from Season 2, Episode 1 with the creatures that like the dark.

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo

Mando’a Translation: Arir - To act

You swam around in hazy darkness for a while, in no rush to wake up. You were free from pain here, free from running, and from being hunted. It was… peaceful. You liked it here.

Unfortunately, this is your life. And you don’t have such good luck. Noise began to filter through the haze in your mind, the beeping of machinery and the muffled whir of engines.

You groaned softly, your head feeling like it was full of rocks as you forced open your eyes, blinking a few times. You looked around, seeing a holding area on what appeared to be the inside of a ship.

You were seated on the floor, the cold metal seeping through your trousers and as you pulled yourself up more comfortably, you found that your hands were cuffed to a metal pipe on the wall of the ship.

Opposite you, was a huge bank of… solid hunks of something, what looked like the bodies and faces of people and creatures stick in them. You frowned, squinting in the low light and then you realised that they were. Humans, creatures big and small, all trapped screaming in carbonite.

Brilliant.

Maybe the fact you were supposedly such a high bounty would keep you far away from being trapped in that.

Resting your head back, you stared at a spot in the corner of the room, just thinking. It took you a while, but you suddenly realised that your shoulder had been bound. It still hurt so much, but the wrappings around it kept it somewhat stable.

Interesting. The Mandalorian had wrapped your wounds before cuffing you in this holding cell of his ship.

It might have been hours later, but you were awoken from a light doze by boots thudding softly down the hall and then the Mandalorian was walking over, stopping in front of you, “Wake up.” He nudged your feet with his own, earning a groan from you.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to wake someone up when they’re asleep?” You glared at him, tilting your head back to look up at the impassive expression of the helmet.

He replied easily without missing a beat, “Don’t you know it’s rude to call someone heartless when you don’t even know who they are?”

You smiled slowly, dropping your eyelids to half-mast, “Uncuff me and we can get to know each other just fine, tin can.”

The eye roll was practically audible, but he knelt down, moving close to you as he reached for your wrist, “I was thinking we could keep the cuffs on.”

Maker, the way his voice dropped, that rasp coming through the modulator, his scent washed over you, smoke, metal and something else, something citrusy almost.

You swallowed, having not expected him to play back so quickly, thrown off.

He snickered, actually laughing as he undid the cuffs, snapping them back over your wrists, “You set yourself up for that one, sweetheart.” His voice betrayed the smirk that was clearly under the beskar as he pulled you to your feet. He pulled you past the carbonite chamber, round the corner and through the ship until you got to a ladder, “Go on.”

You looked up, then over your shoulder at him, “You want me to climb a ladder with my hands cuffed?” You raised your eyebrow, well aware of your own skill to be able to do so. After all, you’d been cuffed and still escaped with your wrists bound so many times, you’d lost count. Didn’t mean you couldn’t poke him a little.

Your protest was met with a tilt of his helmet, his voice dripping in false sweetness, “I saw you run across the canopy of a tree like you were flying. I think you’ll be able to manage this, princess.” He just stood there, watching you, one hand resting on his hip.

A few seconds passed, but you turned, giving in and climbing the ladder, resting your wrists on the rung above for balance. Maybe throwing a little extra sway into your hips as you rose up into what appeared to be a cockpit. Climbing out was a little difficult, the tin can below making no effort to help you.

When you got back to your feet, you looked around. It was cosy up here, two seats, big open windows that gave you a view to the outside, the stars blinking around the ship, scattered across the never-ending blackness.

The lights inside flickered on and off, instruments making soft beeps now and then. Resting to the side, was a metal sphere, sort of hovering there gently. That must be the Child, nestled inside, sleeping safely. And on top…

Duru.

Curled up with her nose tucked under her leg, her tail swishing gently.

You made a soft noise, taking a step toward her because you had been convinced that she was gone, deep in the forest.

The Mandalorian’s voice came from behind you suddenly, “By the time I’d carried you back to the ship, she was already at my feet. Lucky I have armour. Your little friend has a hell of a set of claws on her. I can see why she likes you.”

Something warm stirred in your chest as you beheld her sleeping form. She’d come back to you, tried to defend you. It warmed you so much, that you didn’t protest as the Mandalorian tugged you to the other chair, unbinding your wrists and instead attaching each one to either arm of the chair. He then settled into the pilots’ seat, leaning back, his legs spread naturally, and his arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest.

And just looked at you.

You blinked, shifting in your seat as you gazed back at him, raising an eyebrow faintly, “What?”

Nothing. He said nothing. Just kept looking at you. It was like you could feel his eyes running over you, burning into your skin and turning you inside out.

The seconds ticked by, minutes maybe and you started to get uncomfortable. “If you’re trying to undress me with your eyes, it’s not working.”

His arms relaxed, his hands coming to rest on his thighs, “I’m trying to work it out.”

You frowned in confusion, “Work what out?”

A tilt of the head, “Why your bounty is so high. You mess with the wrong people?”

You rolled your eyes, “No. I thought you didn’t care? I was just a bounty to you?”

He ignored you, maybe made a tiny huff, but still kept his head tilted, “Kill someone?”

You leant back in the chair, swinging it from side to side gently, “I think we covered that base already, tin can.”

“You steal something?”

“Only your heart.” You smiled an overly sweet smile, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “Not even close.”

A thoughtful noise filtered through the modulator, “High class runaway bride from an arranged marriage?”

You stared at him, blinking once and then you burst out laughing, “Yeah, sure. I was engaged to a member of one of the Elder Houses. It was the night before my wedding and I couldn’t take it, so I ran away with all my upper class Lady-ness” You still laughed, shaking your head, “I thought you were supposed to be smart. You really think I’m of noble heritage and class?”

Mandalorian shrugged carelessly, “You’re self-righteous enough.”

“I’d rather be self-righteous than a pretentious asshole like you.”

“Did I say there was a difference?” He still faced you, assessing you. It made your skin prickle and you weren’t sure if it was entirely with discomfort.

“Did you get in with the wrong people? Make some bad friends?” Something occurred to him, something you said during your fight, “Are you a Jedi?”

Too far.

You stared at him, eyes suddenly like ice, “Stop. I’m not telling you, so stop asking.” Way too far.

“What is it? It must be something bad, I’ve seen the list that came before me, and who employed them. Only someone to do with the Jedi would pull in that much of a bounty so y-“

You cut across him, the playfulness dropping from your voice and leaving it dripping with cold fire, a stirring deep within you, a whisper of power. “Enough. I am nothing to you but your bounty, remember? Drop it.”

Before he could even form the words, his sniping protest was cut off by Duru awakening with a chitter, springing into your lap and then climbing up around your shoulders. Seconds later, the cradle opened, and its little green inhabitant sat up with a coo, looking straight at you.

Stars above, he was adorable.

Your lips melted back into a grin as you beheld his sort of wrinkled green face, large glossy black eyes blinking at you and the most adorable floppy bat ears. You laughed a little, “well, I can see why you went rogue for him. He’s the sweetest little thing.” You tilted your head, cooing back at him, “Hi, sweetie, look at you…”

The Mandalorian spun round, pressing a button on his wrist and the sphere snapped shut suddenly, “Don’t touch him. Or look at him. Leave him alone.”

You shifted a look of disbelief at him, eyebrows raised, “What, because I might hurt him by being strapped to a chair? Well done, Mando, you got it. I’m being hunted by so many people because I take one look at wrinkly, green babies and they die.” You threw your eyes up toward the ceiling yet again, this time with a noise of incredulity.

“Stop rolling your eyes at me.” His snarl both brought a shit-eating grin to your lips and made your toes curl. You chose to ignore the latter.

You laughed, still grinning as you leant forward as much as your bonds would allow, “Why, does it turn you on?”

You were rewarded with a growl this time and he turned his chair round to face the front of the ship, so quickly you were surprised he didn’t come full circle and face you again.

The seething silence was broken by a soft shwoomp and the cradle opened once more. The Child sat back up, looking at you with a tilted head like his father, those big bat ears lifting.

You lifted your fingers, wiggling them at him in a silent hello, earning yourself a delighted gurgle. Sweet little thing. The wall of beskar in front of you clearly had a soft heart underneath all that armour.

You leant back in the chair, pondering that for a little while, Duru’s tail hanging over your chest and brushing your forearm every now and then. The darkness outside the walls of the ship, the muffled hum of the engine and the occasional beeps of machinery provided a soft ambience that had your eyelids starting to droop. You hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in… forever. At least here, in the Razor Crest, there was some level of safety, enough that you could allow yourself to relax.

No!! Stop! You are in a ship, piloted by the rogue Mandalorian who is taking you back to Maker knows where for a large sum of money!

Wake. Up!

Your head jerked up and you shook it, trying to clear the sleepy haze from it. Maybe you should ask for a medic. Your judgement seemed to be failing you rather a lot lately.

Casting your eyes around, you looked for something to talk about, anything to keep yourself awake. You landed on Grogu’s crib again. “So… you’re really just... doing this on your own?”

Curiosity clearly got the better of him, because his voice filtered out through the helmet, that arrogant tone edging his words, “Do you see anyone else with me?”

You made a thoughtful noise, “I mean… keeping an eye out for people chasing you, taking jobs and hunting… all whilst looking after the kid at the same time… Aren’t you tired?”

“Don’t these kinds of questions come after we’ve known each other more than 6 hours?” He sounded bored, but you didn’t fail to notice the way his hand tightened on the controls.

Clearly you were hitting a nerve. And you weren’t going to let it drop, “But going to all these planets, doing what you do… not knowing who to trust…”

“Enough. Stop talking, if you can manage that.” That word was an order, your own word thrown right back at you in a low, gritted tone.

You raised an eyebrow at him – well, the back of his head, “You’re the one that brought me up here. You could have left me shackled to the pipes downstairs and saved yourself the annoyance.”

Mandalorian made a noise of what could have been frustration or regret at that decision, “I brought you up here so I could keep an eye on you. I don’t trust you down there.”

Now that brought a smirk to your lips, “You think I could have gotten out.” It wasn’t a question. “Afraid I’ll find your weapons and slit your throat?”

The ship glided easily through the vast openness of stars and darkness, falling around you like you were the only people in the galaxy.

He snorted, “Please don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. The day you can do that is the day the stars implode.”

You rolled your eyes at the back of his head, resting your cheek against Duru’s tail. Dick.

Movement caught your eye and Mando turned to face you, his hands on his thighs after seemingly putting the ship on autopilot, “I thought I told you not to roll your eyes at me.”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “I thought I asked if it turned you on. You never answered.”

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice, “And if it does?” That rasp had dropped, caressing your bones, sliding over them with a dark whisper. He had leant forward in his chair, hands sliding down his thighs and you couldn’t help but look at them, the way they spread over the amour plates. Fuck.

You shifted your eyes back up to him, willing your cheeks not to flush with the unbidden thoughts “I thought I was nothing more than a bounty to you?” You raised an eyebrow, fingers tapping on the arms of the chair. You were only his bounty… so... why this flirting?

Mandalorian laughs, as if sensing your thoughts, “Relax, I’m just playing with you.” He shrugged easily, “I brought you up here because…” He hesitated, immediately piquing your curiosity.

“Because?”

He almost sighed a little bit, “Because you gave in. Usually, they only give in when they know they’re dead. They give in because they think I’ll let them go. But with you…” He tilted his head a little, ”I could tell it wasn’t that.”

Your eyes flickered over his helmet, debating whether or not to talk to this man. He was here on the request and money of someone who wanted you. But… it had been so long since you had someone to talk to… And your instincts weren’t screaming at you that this man was dangerous. In fact, they were oddly silent. “I gave up because… you were right. So many people have died because of me. Whether they were people that I knew, or people that were… collateral damage. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else dying for me. It makes me sick; I hate myself for it. Even if I had gotten away from you, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

Mando’s voice was almost… soft, “Why not?”

You swallowed, just knowing he must have seen it, “Because even though you gave me a choice… to give in or be dragged in dead... someone else would have come after me. Someone else who no doubt wouldn’t have given me that choice. And… I’m just tired.” You hated the way your voice broke on that last word, hated that you’d just revealed all of that to a Mandalorian of all people. But it had happened anyway. No more. No more talking.

He stayed looking at you for a long while, perhaps debating whether to say something. He just nodded very slightly, and then turned back to the controls.

The next few hours slipped past… easily. You spent some of it in silence, some if in just absent conversation, as if he wasn’t a Mandalorian and you weren’t a bounty handcuffed to a chair.

He took you to another part of the ship when night rolled around – not that you’d know with the endless stars, but you supposed he had an internal body clock that ran a routine. It was a sort of storage room, cramped with boxes but it was warm and quiet, just the hum of the engines. Upon arrival, you’d noticed that he’d cleared a space in the corner, laid some blankets out.

You hadn’t been able to help expressing your surprise, “No wonder you have such a high success rate. This is luxury compared to what some of us bounties live in.”

He’d shrugged again, but something about the way he held his body and his voice had sounded… bashful? “There’s not many sleeping spaces in the ship and… you’re not a murderer or a criminal so…” He shrugged, almost floundering, “As far as I know. I just… thought it might be more comfortable. Besides, I couldn’t leave you in the cockpit, who knows if you’d get that cat of yours to do something.“

“Mando. Thank you.” You had cut him off before he dug himself a deeper hole, the atmosphere becoming a little odd. He had let you lie down – then re-cuffed one of your wrists to the wall, and then went on his way.

Sleep came quickly that night, exhaustion weighing your lips down again but not before you’d sat and pondering the last 4 hours in your head. You’d said more to him about yourself than you had anyone in… years. Weird. Best not dwell on it.

A soft cry woke you what seemed like minutes later, echoing down from the belly of the ship. You sat up, awkwardly, one hand still attached to the wall, ears pricked and listening. It came again, a pitiful cry that you realised was the Child, who had seemingly woken up in the night. You listened for a while, waiting to hear if Mando came but he didn’t.

You couldn’t just leave the Child to cry… what if he’d had a bad nightmare?

Looking at the cuff on your wrist thoughtfully, you reached into your hair, braided back. He clearly hadn’t noticed, but you kept long pins in your hair, the pretence of keeping wisps back from your face. Really though, they were a weapon, specially crafted pins with sharp ends that would hurt an incredible amount if jammed into someone’s eye. They also came in pretty handy as lock picks and you’d used them on more than one occasion to get out of cuffs.

They were one of your most prized belongings. And they would come in perfectly handy right now.

Within seconds, you were free, padding down the hall quietly as you made your way up to the next level, following the crying.

You’d located his little compartment not long later and it opened at your touch.

Inside, bundled in soft rags and blankets, was Grogu. He was sitting up, his big bat ears hanging down and cries emanating from such a tiny body, straight to your heart.

You pouted a little, reaching in and gently picking him up, “Hey… none of that, little one. What’s wrong?” You held him against your hip, instinct taking over and you began to rock gently, your hand lifting to stroke his floppy ears.

Grogu cried still, little stubby hands curling into fists in your cloak as you rocked him. Maybe he’d had a bad dream after all?

You thought back, trying to remember when you were young, scared or upset and what your mother would sing to you. You looked down at the Child, the words coming back easily and then you began to sing, softly. At the same time, you began walking up and down in front of his compartment, adding a gentle rock still to give him a reassuring movement.

Almost at once, his cries stopped, instead turning to sniffly gasps of air and he tilted his head curiously at you, perhaps wondering what you were doing.

As if you could understand him somehow, you smiled around the lyrics of the song, just a lullaby your mother always used to coax you back to sleep.

It took you five repetitions of the song, countless steps up and down but finally, finally his little green head slumped against your chest, his breathing slowing and ears relaxing.

You let out a soft breath of relief, singing the song so quietly now, keeping up your routine just to make sure the kid stayed out.

Unfortunately, other people didn’t seem to share that idea and footsteps came clanging down the hall, running. At once, Mando’s voice appeared before he did, “Leave him alone, whatever you are doing, put him down. You will NOT hurt him, I’ll-“ He rounded the corner, armour on and blaster raised.

“Shhhh!” You glared at him, cradling the back of the Child’s head and you hissed at the Mandalorian, “Do you want him to wake back up?! It’s taken me 20 minutes to get him to go back to sleep. If you wake him up, I will put you in the refresher until your precious armour rusts.”

He made a noise, his blaster still hovering in the air, “It’s beskar. It can’t rust. And you weren’t where I left you, your cuffs were on the floor and I couldn’t hear Grogu.”

He checked on you? Choosing to ignore that bit, you merely raised your eyebrows at him, “So you assumed… what? That I was hurting him?” You made a noise of disbelief, “Relax, tin can, it’s past midnight. I won’t turn into a child eating monster until tomorrow.” You shook your head, turning your back on him as you rocked Grogu again, walking back to the compartment.

His footsteps sounded from behind you, following you like a ghost, “You got him to sleep?”

You carefully disentangled Grogu from your cloak, placing him back inside his little nest. “Yes.” The word was clipped as you made sure he was tucked in warm and safe, shut the compartment and then turned to look at Mando, starting a little when you saw just how close he was to you and so you crossed your arms.

His helmet was tilted down to look at you and he slowly put the blaster away, “It usually takes me a lot longer to get him down.” His voice was quiet as he admitted this to you, “What was that you were singing to him? I heard you just before…”

You flicked your eyes over the visor of his helmet, wondering if you’d tell him. There was no harm in it, your mother was gone. It wouldn’t hurt her, “It’s a lullaby that my mother used to sing for me.”

He nodded a little after a second or two, “It sounded beautiful. Thank you… for seeing to him.”

You mimicked his nod, loosening your arms to your sides, “You don’t need to worry, Mandalorian. I’m not going to hurt him. Or you. So you can stop acting like I’m a monster.” Please. It’s bad enough that I think that about myself. I don’t need another person thinking it too.

He stepped back, but his voice was soft when he next spoke, “I’m sorry. I know… It’s just instinct. You know, with the kid.” He gestured toward where Grogu now slept and his helmet lingered toward you before he turned and went back to wherever he came from, allowing you to go back to your space unattended. Clearly proving that he believed you.

It left you confused, this hot and cold behaviour, the lingering atmosphere.

The next day, the Mandalorian informed you that he was picking up another bounty on the way to wherever he was taking you. It wouldn’t take long, just a quick stop on a small industrial planet and then you’d be back on your way.

You merely nodded, keeping quiet today after revealing so much yesterday.

He left you to your own devices, brining you up to the cockpit with him again, but not cuffing you this time. Like he trusted you not to kill him.

The day passed with little to no action, just travelling and idle chitchat and then you were back staring at the ceiling in your little nest before you knew it.

Sleep must have taken you at some point, because when you woke up, the hum of the engines was silent. You figured you’d landed at this planet, so you got up, Duru back on your shoulders and went to look for Mando.

He wasn’t in the cockpit when you went up, but Grogu was in his cradle, so he can��t be far.

A quick tour of the ship revealed nothing. Except that as you passed, you noticed the ramp was open, unguarded which was… odd. He wouldn’t just leave it open. You were a bounty, and he had a child that liked to explore. Maybe you’d just missed him somewhere.

You examined every inch of the ship twice more but… he just wasn’t there. All your search turned up was the weapons cabinet which he had seemingly left unlocked. It was extensive, holding many knives and daggers, blasters, grenades of different types and some things you’d never seen before. Impressive. Your bow wasn’t there, but your vibroblade was, so after a moment’s hesitation, you’d slipped it back into the sheath on your thigh.

Your footsteps seemed far too loud as you crept back toward the open ramp of the ship. Something wasn’t right.

Weapons cabinet unlocked. Grogu unguarded. Your cuffs left off and the ramp open. Had something happened to him?

Unless… unless this was a trap, and he’d done it on purpose.

Why would he be setting a trap? Where would I run to even if I did escape? He said he’d trusted me and he left me uncuffed.

A frown fell on your face as you reached the top of the ramp, staring into the empty street beyond.

There was no sign of him. No sign of anyone, actually. The street was almost pitch black, pockets of light beneath streetlamps providing the only clues to where you were. Jagged structures were silhouetted from the light, structures that look like metal, sharp edges and hard landscaping. Must be some kind of industrial planet. And where the light from lamps or buildings didn’t reach… were those red eyes glowing in the dark? Nevermind. It seemed clear. So… do you go?

You bit your lip, fiddling with the edge of your cloak, booted foot tapping on the metal ramp. If he hadn’t done this to purposefully trap… you could escape. Wouldn’t have to face whatever was coming for you. You could back out of the decision you made back on Sorgan.

Something made you glance back, up at the ceiling where you knew Grogu’s crib sat in the cockpit. He’d be fine. He was safe in there. The ramp would probably close when you left it anyway.

You made a soft noise of annoyance at yourself, at your hesitation. Yes, you’d given up on Sorgan, but maybe you were a little hasty in that department. No matter. Time to go.

You squared your shoulders, lifting your cloak so it covered your head and Duru’s body around your shoulders and began to make your way down the ramp and into the quiet street. The air was a little chilly, smelling like oil, smoke and metal.

In the distance, you could hear rumbling, fighting almost. People came from the distance, rough looking people. Different species, some more humanoid with tails or claws, others straight up… monsters.

Okay… so maybe you should get off of this planet as soon as you could.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice the few people that were lingering about were sticking to the bubbles of light on the floor or coming from windows. If they had to cross through shadow and darkness, they ran through it quickly, really quickly.

Maybe you were right about the eyes in the dark.

A noise to your left caught your attention, a soft whine of a noise coming from a dark corner. You slowed down, something snagging at you. It sounded like… something was in pain. Something was hurt. You tilted your head, feeling Duru’s warm breath in your ear, wondering if you should help.

Another pitiful whimper rose from the darkness and had you walking over, stepping out of the light and into the shadow of the street. You looked around, blinking to get your eyes adjusted, looking for the source of the whimpers. You reached out, feeling for the edge of the building that shoulder be somewhere around here, but instead of feeling hard metal, you felt… flesh.

Flesh?

Yes. Warm, scaled, wet flesh. Something sticky dripped onto your hand, a low snarl coming above your head, and in your mind, you had a flash of some great, terrible creature, with those glowing red eyes, a mouthful of sharp teeth, dripping with blood-

Duru hissed, a warning yowl coming from her chest, her claws digging into your shoulder.

That decided it.

You bolted, turning around and practically flying back into the light, toward the little bubbles of sanctuary and it occurred to you, that you probably looked as crazy as the other villagers.

Okaaay, maybe definitely NOT the best idea to leave the Razor Crest.

A shudder licked down your spine and you began to walk again, making sure to keep in the pools of light on the floor. You were at a bit of a loss. Do you go back to the ship? Or carry on going?

Today was just full of decisions wasn’t it.

You kept walking, aiming for the building just ahead that looked like a cantina, when a metallic thud resounded in the alley way next to you. You kept your eyes planted firmly ahead, ignoring it. No more going into dark alleyways, especially not here.

A familiar, raspy voice broke the silence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re wrong.”

Ah. Mando. So that’s where he was. No matter. Let him have a fight in an alleyway. He’d win anyway, obviously.

You shook your head, looking toward the cantina again but… it seemed your feet had decided to stop obeying your head. You were moving, but toward the edge of the alleyway, hiding against the corner and peering around the wall.

The Mandalorian was being pinned against a wall by a guy just as tall as him, human looking except for the long tail that rose from behind him, black and scaly and ending in a sharp looking barb that made your skin crawl.

“Liar.” The snarl was punctuated with the sound of Spikey pulling a knife from his thigh, shrill where he dragged it over the beskar- “There’s no one else around, Mandalorian so tell me. Now. Where. Is. She?” Each word was accentuated with a punch. “You’ve got her trussed up on that ship of yours? Give her to me.”

An uncomfortable feeling began to creep over you, like you knew what they were talking about.

Mando grunted in pain again, his voice taut, “Get it through that thick skull of yours. I don’t have her.” He lifted his arm, clearly about to burn this creep.

Too slow. What was wrong with him?

The guy with the spikey tail grabbed Mando’s wrist and slammed it against the wall next to his head. “I know you have her. You had her fob in your pocket. She’s on your ship.”

Because of you. He was getting beaten because of you. Why wasn’t he giving you up? Did he really want the money over your head that badly? What was wrong with him? He always wins… why wasn’t he winning? You frowned, peering further around the alleyway and then it dawned on you.

Blood. Coating the armour of his knee, turning the metal slick and shiny red. It must have been bad, he looked like he could barely keep his weight on it.

Spikey Tail laughed suddenly, leaning in close and kicking Mando’s leg, earning another gritted cry, “Oooh, you freak. You wanna keep her don’t you? Gonna turn her into a toy to keep you entertained on your travels? Must get lonely on that ship, I don’t blame you. She looked like she’d be a good little slu-“

His words were cut short, Mando’s free hand jamming into the guys throat, squeezing and choking off his air.

You saw the mistake just before the Mandalorian seemed to realise it himself. He’d left his side exposed, open to attack.

This was bad. This was really, really bad. You didn’t know why he was defending you, but he was. And because of it -

A raspy, choked groan of pain brought you back to the present.

The guy with the spikey tail had seen the opening, jamming his knife in Mando’s side behind the armour plates, a cruel, long serrated blade. Spikey’s face lit up when he heard the noise of pain coming from the other man, and with a chilling laugh, he twisted the knife, pushing it in deeper to the hilt.

Instinct took over and suddenly you were running down the alleyway, barely feeling Duru scramble down your body and run toward Mando. You were too busy careening straight into Spikey’s side. The force of your run and surprise allowed you to knock him back, away from Mando and land a sharp kick to his rib. You quickly sent a punch to his face, feeling a tooth knock loose before hands game up and pushed you back, toward the shadows at the edges of the alleyway.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing, bitch?!” Spikey’s tail flicked in annoyance as he moved back into the light, as if the darkness burned. Or bit.

As he came forward, his bloody face split into another grin as he recognised you, “Oh. So, he DID have you after all. I thought you’d be strung to a bed, laying all pretty and open for him to get back.”

A noise of disgust came from your throat, “What the fuck is wrong with this planet?” You leapt for him again, a swift uppercut to his jaw, and then into his throat. “Go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of.”

Spikey Tail snarled, his head jerking forward and connecting with yours with a force that had stars bursting in your eyes. The distraction cost you a foot in your ribs and you swore you heard one of them crack. “Slut. I’m going to break you like I did your friend here and then get that bounty. Might even ask if I could keep you.”

You shook the haze from your head, trying to draw him away from the Mandalorian, “You talk way too much for being in a fight.” You lifted your fists, ignoring the screaming pain in your side, every breath you took. Feeling like shards of glass.

A noise, almost like a snort came from the semi-conscious beskar-clad man behind you. It seemed he was thinking back to your fight on Sorgan.

You looked over your shoulder at him, raising your eyebrows but then, before you could answer, a hand was around your throat and you were thrown up against the wall. Quite literally, your feet dangled a few inches above the ground, held up by whatever freak strength Spikey Tail had.

“You fight hard. But you’re weak. I don’t know who they sent after you before, but they were incompetent. Even the famous Mandalorian couldn’t bring you in.” His hand tightened around your throat, making the already difficult task of breathing become even harder. “I never fancied myself a bounty hunter, but maybe I’ll change my mind once I get my hands on that big fat reward over your head” He leant in and the stench of rotten meat and stale alcohol washed over you, making you gag.

He laughed, and his tail came up and round him, the barb on the end dragging over your cheek and feeling like a lick of fire, “And then I’ll get my hands on you.” He looked down at you, as if he could see beneath your clothes, his eyes becoming glazed in a way that had your blood running cold, “I bet you feel so good. Imagine all of the things I could do to a little slut like you. The pretty noises you’d make for me.” His head tilted back up, coming closer to yours as he dropped his gaze to your lips.

You struggled, gasping for air as you felt your head swim, scrambling for your knife.

Your power, use your power. Just use it, get him away, kill him, choke him. Just get him away from you and Mando-

A blast echoed in the alleyway, and Spikey grunted in pain, slumping forward slightly. You saw your opening, finally grasping slick fingers on the hilt of your blade and you yanked it free of your thigh, swinging it up and jamming it into his neck.

He let go of you and went down instantly as you severed the arteries in his throat, spraying you with hot blood.

You collapsed to your knees, pushing his body away as you began coughing, working air into your protesting lungs. Nausea washed over you as the movement jolted your ribs, making you realise there had to be more than one broken.

You lifted your head, eyes searching and then you found him.

Slumped on the floor, head tilted to the side resting on his shoulder like it was too heavy to keep up, facing you. Movement had your gaze dropping as his hand fell to the floor, holding his blaster.

He’d shot Spikey, he’d… saved your life? Just like you’d saved his..

You stared at the Mandalorian for a moment, panting as you still tried to breathe, your knife still in your hand dripping blood. Suddenly, you let go of it and you were crawling across the floor to him, your hands knocking his out of the way and pushing against the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

Wait. What were you doing?

You blinked, looking down at your hands, then back up at his helmet. You could see your expression reflected in the visor. Your eyes were a little wide, a spray of blood on your face from the man you just killed, for the one who’s life you were trying to keep in his body. Your neck was ringed in red, the cut on your cheek bleeding slowly.

Run. Leave him and run.

He looked back up at you, slumped on the ground, one blood-soaked hand on his chest where you had pushed it away from his wound.

Leave him. He’s only going to turn you in. RUN.

Your hands began to lift, but then stopped, hesitating and then returning as fresh, hot blood ran down his side. No. You couldn’t leave him here.

Yes. You should. He doesn’t have any hope in getting up and coming after you. Find the fob, destroy it and get out of here. He means nothing to you and you mean nothing to him. You are prey and he is the hunter.

But… he’d saved you… and you had saved him. He trusted you.

You swallowed, your mind a frenzy of reasons, choices, trying to figure out what to do. Your survival instinct was screaming at you, run, run, run, but… Look at him. You could hear the jagged breaths coming through the helmet, static crackling through the modulator.

His attacker was already turning cold behind you, killed by your hand as easy as drawing a breath. You had saved the Mandalorian and now, he lay dying in front of you. If you ran, he would bleed out in a couple of hours, dumped in some back alley. His life was in your hands, literally, warm and wet and coming far too quickly.

This had to be clear on your face, in your eyes as you debated whether to safe yourself or him. Be brave or a coward. Act or run.

A soft noise crackled through his helmet, and you looked back up at him, but he said nothing. No sniping comments about being a coward, no pleas to save his life. Nothing. Silence. Letting you decide his fate as if deciding what to have for dinner.

So… what should you do?

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#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #grogu #star wars #the child #the force #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader

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dwaynepride · 4 years

Text

how was i to know?

summary: reader has a weird dream about gibbs.

have you ever done anything for the ‘ya know what kind of wood this is’ Gibbs dream that both Quinn and Palmer had?

words: 1700

warnings: slight nsfw

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @kittenlittle24 @24601error-prisonernotfound @andreasworlsboring101 @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox

a/n: it’s been a while since i’ve posted. this isn’t beta-read so ignore the typos. be free, my thots.

Your eyes just weren’t focusing anymore.

It’s been hours (don’t ask how many) since you’ve sat down at your desk to read over case files. The bane of a federal agent - chained to their desk and forced to go over every scrap of evidence and testimonies to find anything useful and it’s the burden placed squarely on your shoulders for today.

Usually, you have tricks to help when the words start blending together. Getting some coffee, going for a walk, visiting Abby because she’s the physical embodiment of caffeine and normally wakes you up.

But nothing helped. And the words kept swimming over the screen.

You’re not learning anything new from sitting here. But with the team hitting a roadblock in the case, what else is there to do?

Again, you start reading the paragraph that you’ve been trudging through for the past twenty minutes. But this time, as your focus wavers, it’s not because of the headache or the tension in your eyes. The sudden presence on your right is what stops your reading. It’s warm. All-encompassing. Brings over the soft smell of sawdust and aftershave and as soothing at the presence is, it’s a shock to you.

Because you could have sworn you were alone in the bullpen - staying behind while the others went off to find new leads.

Your eyes move off the computer screen, meaning to glance over to the presence. But you never see their face because they’re suddenly leaning in. Hovering over your shoulder, shrouding you from the harsh office lights, and you reckon if you take in a big enough breath, you’d be able to feel the warm presence pressing against your shoulder.

Their face was a mystery, and yet, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you - hard, steely, freezing you in your chair.

And without warning, a hand comes to rest on the surface of your desk, next to the keyboard. A worn, scarred hand that you recognize with a jolt. The named of its owner lies on the tip of your tongue, but it never comes out - like a secret you’ve sworn to keep.

His fingers curl a bit, knocking lightly against the top of your desk. The sound could’ve easily been mistaken as the pounding of your heart, if one listened close enough.

“You know what kinda wood that is?”

The voice mumbled against your ear is low and deep. Sounding like a bass drum and its sound reverberates through your body and you’re pretty sure it’s the reason why your hands are suddenly a little shaky.

“W-wood?” You manage to echo back. A single word, hoping for clarification because your brain is moving at a snail’s pace. You’re simply too preoccupied on the warm, wet breathing that wafts over your neck.

His fingers start tapping against the desk in some unknown rhythm. And your eyes watch them move, entranced, and you keep telling yourself to look away and focus on something else but it’s much too easy to just keep staring. “Yeah. You outta know.” His voice is closer. More hushed. And that’s because his lips are right against the shell of your ear and his breath is blazing hot.

And through it all, you can catch the faint scent of bitter coffee and it only makes your skin tingle even more.

You suppress a shudder, if only to deny him the satisfaction of feeling it.

His presence somehow keeps growing larger - more encompassing, like a storm cloud rolling over the city. The words on the monitor; they don’t exist. There’s no more Naval Yard or team of federal agents or a whole case to solve.

It’s just you, him, and the hard, cold press of the wooden desk keeping you here.

Finally, you turn your head towards him. Words form on the edge of your tongue - stern words of annulment and to tell him you’re too busy for his games.

But then you meet his eyes. Head on - and they give you pause. Frozen in place, as if the icy blues really could chill you to the bone. So close, you could catch faint flecks of gray and gold floating around in the ocean of light blue and this time, it’s impossible to push down the shudder.

Now, his breath wafts over your lips slowly in his careful exhale, sounding almost disappointed and you’re shocked at how much that thought troubles you.

“Want to get a closer look?” He mumbles, eyes falling blatantly to your lips before coming back to meet your gaze.

A closer look? Damn him.

This must be some kind of sick game for him - to see how far he can push you before you bend to him. He knows the implications of his question. You’ll start imagining yourself bent over the desk, looking closely to study the wood and its rings and texture. Everything he wants you to look for. Your mind will wonder, and suddenly, the image of him fucking you, hard and purposeful, over the desk pops up and you’ll never be able to get it out of your head.

And it works like a god damn charm.

His head tilts to the side, eyes softening to look amused. Probably because he notices you’re panting lighting and can feel it against his lips. “I can show you, if you want,” he murmurs. Still acting innocent. Still keeping with this game.

You breathe in because your head starts getting dizzy from lack of oxygen, but that proves a fatal mistake.

Because the air itself smells like him - like coffee and smoke and old cologne and it goes straight between your thighs and you find yourself craving the feel of his scarred, worn-out hands on your skin. “Gibbs…”

His name comes out weak, like a shiver. And when he hums in response to it, you can nearly feel the vibration through the air and pulsing against your body. And slowly, carefully, his hand comes up to touch your shoulder. The first real, raw physical contact and you wait for it with baited breath. Suddenly craving it more than the air itself.

As it connects, you expect a soft sort of seering feel. Like a branding iron. Instead, it’s a hard and sudden shove that seems to rock the entire world.

It’s so hard, your eyes snap open instantly, sucking in a gasp of air like you’d just been held underwater. Those cold blue eyes that had so easily frozen you solid were gone, replaced with the familiar scene of the office doused in the light of a sunset.

The stifling presence of Leroy Jethro Gibbs was also gone - in a way, you were grateful for the freedom. It was much easier to breathe now, that’s for certain. But the second thing you notice upon sitting up in your chair isn’t as appreciated.

Your body is humming. Heart pounding a million miles a second. And your skin...it’s almost painfully sensitive. So much so, even your clothes rubbing against it is almost too much to bear. For a moment, you can still feel Gibbs and his warm breath and the remains of his touch.

But the worst realization is the deep throb between your legs. Aching and pulsing for something - or someone - that will never come. Your thighs shift together, hoping to ease the feel but the friction only seems to make it worse.

“You fell asleep.”

That’s his voice.

Your head whips up to find Gibbs standing by your desk - watching you, his eyebrows pinched together and standing in nearly the same exact spot as in your dream and it’s a shock that you even realize that.

Immediately, you let your gaze fall - everything is throbbing just a little too much to meet his eyes. “And you were making some noises,” he continues. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately. Too quick, you realize. Gibbs may not believe the dream was simply nothing, and it’s proven when he takes a small step closer to you. His shoes nearly nudge against yours, and you can’t stop yourself from tucking your feet under the chair away from him.

His eyes are still on you. It takes an enormous amount of effort to keep your breathing steady and to stop the light shake of your hands to even pretend everything was normal. “You sure?” He asks. And this time, his tone is different. Just slightly - it wouldn’t even had been noticeable if dream-Gibbs hadn’t spoken so softly right in your fucking ear.

You need to get a fucking grip.

It was just a dream. A vivid, extremely hot dream. But a dream nonetheless. Not real.

“Very sure,” you reply, forcing your tone to sound more confident that you feel. It’s still impossible to meet his eyes - you know they’d be every bit as frosty blue and cool as in your dream, so you just spin your chair to face the desk. “You just woke me up from an intense dream.”

Gibbs hums a bit at the explanation. “Gonna tell me about it?”

“Definitely not.”

Out the corner of your eye, Gibbs just shrugs before turning back to his own desk and sitting down. Now that his whole focus isn’t on you, the rest of the world start to filter back in. The golden light of a setting sun coming in through the windows. The ambience of the office, winding down from a long day. Gibbs sipping his coffee.

It gets easier to slow your beating heart. To ignore the slow, steady throb between your thighs.

And carefully, you glance up across the bullpen to Gibbs. His eyes are on the monitor, paying you no attention.

“Gibbs.” That is, until you say his name carefully. Like an experiment.

And when the shock of his eyes hits you once again, it’s nearly as powerful and earth-shaking as it was in the dream. But this time, you hold his gaze. Because there’s something you need to know before you can put this dream behind you and get back to work.

Your hand comes up, knuckles rapping lightly against the wooden surface of the desk. It sounds louder than it should.

“Do you know what kind of wood this is?”

#ncis imagine #ncis x reader #ncis reader insert #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine

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the-dream-team · 3 years

Text

Happy 420! Enjoy a fluffy little 6th year jily fic featuring plenty of ouid and pining :) tw: recreational drug use

Read it on AO3

“I have a feeling the properties of that water might reinforce the Deception Elixer I’m working on with Slughorn, so the next time we go to the Mirror Pond, remind me to bring a jar, Mary.”

James’ head snapped around so fast, he nearly gave himself whiplash. Maybe he should have been subtler about listening in on Lily’s conversation across the Common Room, but old habits die hard and he was too caught off guard by what she said to stop himself.

“The Mirror Pond?” he practically shouted, grabbing Lily’s attention and earning him a confused raised brow. “The one in the Forbidden Forest? With a surface so reflective it could be mistaken for solid glass?”

“That’s the one, Potter,” she replied casually, exchanging glances with Mary and Dorcas. “Glad to know your hearing hasn’t been affected by sixteen straight years of Mummy shouting her praises at you.”

A year ago that quip would have bothered him, but something affectionate glimmered behind her eyes and sent a flurry of hope through his ribcage. Of all the ways he’d felt towards Lily, hopeful had never been one of them… until recently.

“It’s been seventeen straight years now, Evans,” he pointed out with a grin. “I know you, of all people, haven’t forgotten my birthday party last month.”

Even from across the room, he could see a pink tinge spreading across her cheeks. His heart soared, remembering a few weeks back when Lily had- with the encouragement of an emptied bottle of Firewhiskey- given an impassioned speech about James’ ‘surprisingly lovely qualities’ and how lucky she was to be his friend. It was the first time, to his delight, that the “F” word had been used, despite months of suspecting they were close to reaching that point. The speech concluded with a sloppy hug (that James cherished every second of) and her promptly falling asleep on the nearest armchair.

It was a birthday he wouldn’t soon forget, and neither would Lily, judging from the blush continuously growing on her face.

“For real, though, Evans,” he continued, “how do you know about the Mirror Pond? I’d think a Prefect such as yourself would know the Forest is off-limits.”

“Then how do you know about the pond, Potter?” she asked with a smirk.

He glanced back at his friends, who sat around the fireplace amused, listening to the conversation. Remus arched a brow, curious to see how James would explain away their monthly trips exploring every corner of the forest, and Sirius just laughed. At least Pete had the good sense to pretend to be reading, despite holding his Divination textbook upside down.

“Doesn’t matter,” James waved, dismissively. “I’m just surprised you girls spend your free time in the forest. There are dark creatures in there, y’know.”

“Are you scared of the Flobberworms, Potter?” laughed Lily.

“The Forest is beautiful,” chimed in Mary as she left her seat by the windows to join the boys around the fire. “That’s why it’s the best place to go after raiding the Greenhouses.” She plucked a sugar quill from Sirius’ hands before settling in on an armchair, a sly grin curling at the corner of her mouth. Lily rolled her eyes, but she too had a suspicious smile playing on her lips.

James glanced around his mates, wondering which one would take the bait.

It was Peter.

“What do you raid from the Greenhouses?”

“Keep your voice down, Pettigrew,” said Dorcas in a hushed tone, swiftly moving to join Mary on the chair. Lily reluctantly followed her friends and James’ heart leaped when she chose to sit next to him on the sofa.

“We get the best stuff from Sprout’s private collection,” Mary sighed. She seemed to be speaking vaguely on purpose.

“The best stuff for what?” asked Peter, unknowingly taking one for the team yet again. Sirius leaned back in his seat with an air of nonchalance, but James could tell his curiosity was getting the better of him by the sudden tapping of his foot.

“For smoking, you posh knobs,” said Dorcas.

“Oh!” barked Sirius, relief washing over his face. “I smoke all the time. I’ve even got a pack on me now-”

“Not cigarettes, Black,” Lily cut in. “We smoke grass.”

Sirius looked dumbfounded, not bothering to hide his confusion anymore, and James reckoned he looked the same. Suddenly, Remus burst out laughing and James nearly fell out of his seat.

“Oh, like Muggle grass?”

“Exactly, Lupin,” said Mary, turning back to the girls. “See, I knew there was a reason we liked him best.”

Sirius whipped around to look at Remus as though he’d just transformed into the Giant Squid. Remus hit him with a pillow.

Peter knit his brows together and let out a huff. “Why would you smoke grass?”

“Bloody hell,” groaned Dorcas, “not the grass that you walk on, Pettigrew. It’s Marijuana. We’re smoking drugs.”

“Like medicine?” asked Sirius, picking his jaw off the floor from Remus’ betrayal.

“Well, technically it is medicinal when you use it in potions, but when you smoke it, it’s a bit more… fun,” Lily chuckled and James turned to look at her. The amusement lit up her eyes in a way that made him say stupid things.

“Oh yeah,” he said with mock confidence, a hand raking through his hair, “we’ve actually been meaning to try that stuff for ages now.” He shrugged, hoping the girls couldn’t peer into his brain and see that he’d never even so much as sniffed one of Sirius’ cigarettes before.

“I’m sure you have,” said Lily, patting his shoulder. Her touch- intoxicatingly warm- acted like a reward for his idiotic behaviour.

“Well, do you have any on you?” he asked, holding her gaze. He let his smile go lopsided and watched her expression turn from amused to mischievous.

She glanced at Mary and Dorcas. “Alright. We’ll meet you in your room in ten minutes.”

And with that, the girls stood up and left the Common Room, leaving the Marauders gaping at each other in their wake. In a flash, the boys jumped to their feet and raced up the staircase to their dormitory.

“Moony, you’ve got to tell us everything you know,” said Sirius, pacing back and forth, a cigarette twirling around his fingertips.

Remus flopped onto his bed. “I don’t know much! I only did it once last Summer with the boys down the street.”

“Bloody help you are,” moaned Sirius.

“But why are we taking medicine when we aren’t sick?” asked Peter.

“You heard Evans,” James jumped in as he quickly made his bed and shoved dirty laundry into a drawer, “when you smoke it, it’s fun. Right, Moony?”

“I guess, but when I did it I just got lightheaded.”

“Oh, Merlin, we’re going to look like fools.”

“We already look like fools, Padfoot. Stop pacing and lean up against the bedpost or something. Act casual.”

“You’re one to talk, Prongs, you’re running around like a house-elf with its head chopped off!”

“Don’t tease him, Sirius, this might be the only time he’ll ever manage to get Lily in his room.”

“That’s a low blow coming from you, Moony.”

“Sorry, mate, you know I’m rooting for you.”

A knock on the door scared the four boys stiff. They stood frozen, staring at each other with wide eyes until a second knock brought them back to their senses.

“Act casual,” mouthed James as a reinforcement before leaping over his four-poster to let the girls in. “Evans, Meadowes, Macdonald,” he greeted. “Long time, no see.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes and brushed past him with Mary into the room, but Lily hung back.

“You excited, Potter?” she asked. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this for ages.”

He stilled, his breath caught in his throat before realizing she was talking about smoking. “Oh, ‘course,” he sputtered. “So excited. Well, not too excited. The normal amount.”

The flurries in his chest from earlier, now mixed with a healthy dose of nerves, picked up speed as Lily laughed and made her way into the room, sitting down on- of all places- James’ bed.

He short-circuited. Lily Evans was sitting on his bed.

Remus perked up on his own four-poster, trying to subtly catch James’ attention, but having a hard time keeping his eyes from bulging out of his head. Sirius didn’t bother hiding his own bewildered grin, going so far as to point at her animatedly as though James couldn’t see what had happened with his own bloody eyes.

Peter didn’t even bother to hold back. “That’s James’ bed.”

“Okay,” said Lily, unphased, “are you giving me a tour, Pete?”

“No, I just-”

“So, we should get started, right?” James cut in, his voice an octave higher than it should’ve been.

“Sounds good to me,” said Dorcas, settling down on Remus’ bed across from Lily.

So, they were going to be sitting on beds. That was no big deal. No big deal at all. James gathered up every last ounce of casual that he possessed to walk over to his four-poster and sit down next to Lily. He prayed that she couldn’t hear his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. Lily seemed completely unbothered to be next to him on his bed, however, and nearly caused him a brain aneurysm when she scooted closer in order to let Mary slip in on her other side.

“So,” said Remus, providing a very welcomed distraction from the thousands of thoughts rushing through James’ brain, “is it about the same as Muggle grass?”

“Practically,” said Dorcas, pulling out a small jar and another ceramic object that looked vaguely like his father’s tobacco pipe. “It’s just a bit stronger.”

“Much stronger,” added Mary, beaming.

“It’s quite strong,” Dorcas agreed, laughing as she packed the pipe with a green substance that smelled impossibly fragrant. “Lily, do you have the lighter?”

Lily reached into her robe’s pocket, leaning against James for a split second as she did so ( Merlin have mercy ), and handed over a well-loved Muggle lighter.

“Technically we could use our wands,” said Dorcas, producing a flame from the plastic and lighting up the green substance. She breathed in through the pipe, waited a moment, then exhaled. “But, when in Rome…”

She passed the pipe to Mary, who repeated the process and moved it on to Lily. James had been so caught up by Lily’s leg bumping up against his own, that he barely noticed how quiet his friends were as the girls blew smoke around their dorm. When he looked up, he noticed Sirius intently staring from Mary to Lily, trying to pick up any tips on how smoking this “grass” worked. As Lily placed the pipe in James’ hand, he wondered if he should have done the same.

“Er, okay,” he said, staring at the pipe. He brought the ceramic piece up to his mouth, like Lily had done before ( Holy Merlin, she just had her lips exactly where his were now ), and hit the little plastic button on the lighter. Nothing happened. He flicked the button multiple times, but the flame wouldn’t come.

“Oh, of course, you’ve never used a Muggle lighter!” Lily grabbed the plastic from his hand and switched the flame into life before his eyes. “Keep it to your mouth, I’ll light it for you.”

She did just that, leaning over to reach the pipe, her fingers so close to his face, she accidentally brushed the tip of his nose, sending his stomach swooshing. And just when he thought he couldn’t get luckier, she put her hand over his to demonstrate how to hold the pipe properly and cover the little hole that let air in. She was warm and soft and smelled so nice that he instinctively breathed in deeply, forgetting all the smoke piling in his throat.

The coughing came in sputters, then gasps. He’d never coughed so much in his life.

Thankfully the sounds of him hacking covered the fits of giggles from the girls and once his own coughs subsided, Peter had managed to pick up where he’d left off. Remus was able to hold his own okay, but Sirius nearly fell off the bed after doubling over from choking so badly.

The pipe traveled around the circle of sixth years, their coughs became less frequent, and the rigidity that plagued the beginning of the night burned away with the funny smelling plant. James barely noticed anymore how he had let his leg relax against Lily’s. Barely.

He looked up to Sirius and pointed to his leg as if to say “Can you believe this is happening right now?” Sirius’ eyes didn’t follow where he signaled, but he nodded all the same, a glaze covering his pupils.

Remus was sprawled out on his back, staring at the ceiling, and occasionally asking questions.

“Is the Giant Squid lonely or just alone? Is there a difference? Are bones the only thing preventing our muscles from acting like tongues?”

Peter just stared, unblinking, towards the door, then back down to his stomach, and back to the door. He interrupted Mary, Dorcas, and Lily attempting a three-part harmony (badly) to say, “I feel like I could chew for a hundred kilometers.”

“Snacks?” squealed Mary, hopping off the bed.

“Snacks!” responded Lily. She grabbed James’ arm, dragging him to his feet. He thought about how he would let her drag him off a cliff if she wanted to. Maybe he should tell her.

He followed Lily down the staircase, through the Common Room, and into the corridors, all the while thinking of the cliffs she might lead him to in the near future.

“Should we watch out for Peeves?” squealed Pete from behind, but James just laughed.

“No worries, Wormy, we’re under the cloak. He won’t see us.”

“Prongs,” said Sirius, laying a hand on his shoulder, “I hate to break it to you, mate, but we aren’t using the cloak.”

James looked around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. “Blimey!” he laughed. “Would you look at that!”

“Potter,” whispered Lily rather loudly between fits of giggles, “ you can’t shout, we’ll be late to the kitchens! ”

How stupid of him to forget! But when Lily held up a finger and pressed it to his lips while she shushed him, he thought he ought to forget everything he’s ever known if it meant getting her skin directly on his mouth. Maybe he should tell her.

“Do the paintings move when we can’t see them?” came Remus’ lofty voice from several meters ahead of them.

“That’s an excellent question,” Lily said, still whispering. The way she beamed up at James made his whole head spin. “ Personally, I’d like to find out how the paintings work. ”

“I actually know the answer to that one,” James said, his cheeks painful from smiling so wide. Lily looked up at him with eager eyes. “It’s magic.”

“James Potter you twat!” she gasped, punching his arm and running ahead to stand next to Remus at the top of the moving staircase. He watched her link arms with Moony and follow his gaze up to a massive portrait.

“I know exactly how you feel, mate,” said Sirius, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“Do you, Pads?”

“Happy.”

“Yeah, actually.”

Sirius gave him a long, hard look. “That prank is going to work out so well.”

James paused. “What prank?”

“The one I just thought of. It’s gonna be really good, I’ll tell you about it when we get back to the room. Don’t let me forget.” And with that, Sirius wandered over to join the rest of the group in front of the large portrait.

What was so great about that painting that it warranted all his friends drooling over it?

As he moved closer, it became quite clear that this was actually the most beautiful piece of art that had ever been made. Tall grass danced in a draftless wind, carrying brushstrokes of flower petals over taught canvas. Colors moved together like schools of fish flowing separately, but together, creating life out of something as still as darkness.

“It looks like you, Prongs,” said Remus softly and James wondered if he too could see the energy vibrating off the paint. But then he looked a little harder and saw the majestic stag staring back from the other side of the frame.

“James looks like a deer?” asked Lily, still whispering.

“It’s his soul,” said Sirius. There were no further questions.

Peter whined about his stomach growling and the others mumbled in agreement, moving on from the portrait on the top of the stairs.

But not James. He stayed, glued to the floor, marveling at the way a single hand could create an entire world on a blank page, drawn in by the stag and how watching him reminded James of looking in a mirror and meeting a new friend all at once.

“Your soul looks nice,” said a voice off to the side. Lily had stayed. James had hoped she would stay, but he had been too scared to look. But she was still there and moving closer as a smile stretched across his lips.

“Thanks,” he said. He looked down to meet her eyes, so clear and bright he could make out the reflection of antlers deep within her irises. “I see your soul there, too.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he continued. “Your eyes are brushed into the leaves and the sunlight is stroked with your hair. You’re in the wind because you’re here and you’re on your way at the same time.”

“You’re funny, James Potter.”

It was the most poetic thing he’d ever heard.

He opened his mouth to respond, but a flash of mocha brown caught the corner of his eye. He turned to see a beautiful, graceful doe stepping into the frame, joining the stag.

“There I am,” said Lily and her words sounded like music.

James could have floated away in that moment. She was so beautiful and he was high as a cloud, wondering how he’d ever be able to contain these emotions once he was back on the ground. He looked at the painting like a crystal ball and wondered if his future could be immediately ahead of him. He had to find out. Did Lily want to learn, too?

He reached down and grabbed her hand, thrilled that she didn't let go, and realized what he had to do. How he could show her all their possibilities.

James took a deep breath, gripped Lily’s hand, and lunged forward, pulling her with him directly into the wall. He rammed headfirst into the canvas and bounced backwards onto the floor with Lily toppling after him.

“What just happened?” asked Lily, wheezing from the floor beside him.

He turned his head to catch her eye. “I thought I could take us into the painting.”

After a beat, Lily burst into laughter and James followed close behind. Giggles crashed over them like waves he wouldn’t mind drowning in.

“I think we need some snacks,” said Lily, standing up and pulling James with her. She didn’t let go of his hand once they made it to their feet. He felt her warmth rush up his arm, igniting his nerve endings with happiness and excitement and hope. A hope that he knew he could live in for the rest of his life as long as she was on the other end of it.

Maybe he should tell her.

#jily fic #jily #6th year pining #ouid #420 #tw drugs #i was so stoned writing this #it might just be nonsense!#but we'll find that out in the morning

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uglypastels · 4 years

Text

To the Beat // drummer!Tom 1/2

(a/n) here it is!!! it took about a decade of my life but i think it was worth it also shoutout to @duskholland for hearing out my ideas when i was brainstorming and together with @captainpeggy40 for getting me through my breakdowns while writing. i got it finished!! <3 I really went all out with this fic, so i hope you guys enjoy it!! part 2 will come... sometime this week ;)

word count: 7939 (unnecessary content GALORE)

warning: drinking, swearing, crowded spaces, part 2 contains smut

you can find the band’s setlist here

not all songs are mentioned in the fic but it’s songs that i would really love to see them play haha. if anyone would be interested, i can make a seperate post on how i imagine them playing it (who sings and stuff idk)

Read part 2 here <---> extra headcanons here

With the right stranger, one night can feel like a lifetime.

“Will you please come?” your friend begged you over the phone. “It’s gonna be really fun!”

“You know, you say that a lot, yet I never have as much fun as you promise.” You sat down on your bed, looking out the window as the rain hit every surface outside. It was not exactly the weather you felt like going out in.

“Then that’s on your extremely high expectations, not on me.” She stated, “But pleeease.” She kept on whining, and you knew she wouldn’t stop until you gave in. It always went like this. Always.

“Ugh, fine.” you fell back on the soft mattress, your head only missing the pillow by an inch. “Where is it actually?” There was the question you both dreaded. You, because you knew you wouldn’t like the answer. Her, because she knew you wouldn’t either.

“It’s at Suki’s,” she mumbled, but you could still hear her just fine.

“That’s where you work right- please don’t tell me you’re working tonight?!” you groaned into the phone.

“I am, but I’ll be done around 9.30 I think, so there’s still plenty of time for us to hang out! Besides, you already said yes, and NO TAKE BACKSIES!” she said this all extremely fast and screamed the last two words into your ear. Then, on top of that, hung up as soon as she finished, not giving you even a second to fight back. Not sure what happened, you stared at the black screen of your phone in confusion.

She said the concert started at nine o’clock. Did she really expect you to go to this thing and spend half an hour by yourself? Or did she want you to sit at the bar while she poured drinks for everyone? Either way, none of those options felt appealing. For a solid minute, you contemplated just not going, just… not showing up. Turning off your phone and watching a movie or something at home.

But at the same time, you hadn’t left the house for a long time. And it was Friday night. Why not go out and see some obscure little band. What was their name again? Your friend had mentioned it, but you already forgot. Maybe it was for the better too. That way, you couldn’t look them up beforehand, and if they were shit, you would just find out there and not have another thing to be dreading as you got ready. Or maybe they would be good. Then it would be a pleasant surprise on the spot.

You checked the time. 7:27pm. That gave you about an hour to get ready and then some time to actually get to the bar. Should be doable.

So, you hopped in the shower to get all fresh again. Even if it would all get ruined later on in the night by standing in a sweaty crowd. It’s the effort to look presentable that counts. Then, you picked out an outfit that would be comfortable in the before mentioned crowd. You could never go wrong with the simple jeans and a t-shirt combo.

Looking in the mirror, the thought of Not Going popped up in your mind again. There was nothing really obliging you to go. And the idea of standing there listening to the loud music, whether it was good or not, sounded slightly exhausting.

No, you reminded yourself, it would do you good to leave the house once in a while. Have “fun”. You checked the time once more, 8:14. You had done everything a bit quicker than you expected. The Uber you had arranged for yourself would be there in a few minutes. So, you were stuck in that kind of waiting limbo, sitting on your couch, not sure what to do. Eventually, you put on your shoes and got your keys and were ready to head out.

The drive was quick and thankfully, mostly quiet. It was only a minute or two before you reached your destination that the driver decided to ask you where you were headed.

“Concert,” you said hesitantly. Why did these people always want to know your business? Thankfully, the man didn’t ask much more. And then it was time for you to get out of the car. The drive actually took much less time than you had expected and there was still some time left before the band would start to perform.

Suki’s was a bar downtown, in the basement of some kind of law firm. Their whole thing was that they let new bands and artists play each week so they could get some of the public’s interest going. Make themselves known to the world. It was literally and figuratively, an underground following that it had. Many, but at the same time, nobody knew about it. It was a secret amongst music lovers. Considering the bar wanted to stay its own secret, you never understood the bright neon lights above the entrance, going down the staircase all the way to the actual hall.

The bar itself wasn’t too big. Enough space for a small stage along one wall, a bar on the opposite side, and the rest was space for the crowd to either enjoy or hate the music being played. When you walked in the room was still relatively empty. You saw two guys setting up equipment on stage, you assumed it was the band. Behind them was a black banner with “Winter Solstice” written in scratchy white letters. Between the words, a star that was drawn on in precisely the same rough manner. You had to admit, it was a cool name.

Considering there weren’t many people there yet, you headed for the bar to get yourself a drink before it would be too crowded to even reach the counter. And there stood your friend, behind the bar talking to some guy. They were both laughing at something as you walked up.

“y/n! You came!” you squealed out, “what can I get ya?”

“A beer?” you said it more like a question.

“Coming right up.” And with that, your friend walked off to the tap to pour you your drink. It was more out of reflex when you sat down on the stool, you leaned your head on your hand, but you understood the question from the stranger when he spoke up.

“Not looking forward to it?”

Still with your chin on your knuckles, you turned to face him.

“Huh? Oh no, I mean… she kind of made me come here, but-” you tried not to sound too pessimistic, but the guy saw right through you.

“So, I guess the answer is yes.” He chuckled. Right then, your friend came holding your drink and put it in front of you.

“I’ll put it on your tap.” She was going to join the conversation but right then a group of tonight’s spectators walked up in need of drinks, so she was soon off again.

“I’m not not looking forward to it?” nothing in your voice made it sound like you were sure of yourself, but it was enough for him. You took a sip of your beer, which you could feel helping the situation. While doing that you looked over the brim of the tall glass to look at your conversation partner. Like you, he was drinking a beer himself and considering it was almost empty, he had done that either very fast, or he had been there for a while already.

Next, you took a look at him. From the profile, he looked pretty good. He was wearing a loose tank, showing off his arms. His dark curly hair was held back with a black cap that he wore backwards. What definitely stood out to you was his jawline. It looked like you could cut yourself on it just with the slightest of touches. For everyone’s sake, you quickly turned your gaze over to the extensive liquor collection in front of you. But you could see in the reflection behind the bottles how he was smiling to himself. He definitely saw you stare. This was awkward, and you only got here two minutes ago.

“So, do you know the band?” you asked in the hopes to weed out this weird situation you had created. For some reason, your question made him smile. In that type of way as if you had just mentioned an inside joke. Except you weren’t in on it, so you couldn’t laugh along.

“Yeah, they’re alright.” He shrugged. Then, as if he suddenly remembered something, he shot up straight in his seat. “I’m Tom, by the way.”

“y/n.” Then you remembered how your friend practically screamed out your name when you walked in, “but you already knew that.” Your phone vibrated with a text, so you took it out and immediately saw the time, it was already past nine. You looked over at the stage where the two guys were trying to untangle some chords. Clearly, it wasn’t starting anytime soon.

“What kind of music do they play?” You asked Tom while still looking at the band trying to get ready.

“A bit of everything, I suppose.”

You bit your cheek not to say anything that might come off rude, but he could still read you.

“I guess that wasn’t the right answer?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I just hoped to get something more specific, but as long as they’re good, I’ll enjoy it.” You took another sip of your beer as an excuse to shut up. He must think you’re such a bitch at this point. You saw him glance over your shoulder at the stage and then smile at you.

“I like you.” there was that chuckle of his again, “I’ll see you later, then.” And he got up. You were gonna ask why later? Why couldn’t you hang out now? You didn’t like to admit it, but you enjoyed his company, even though it was only brief and most of the time you spent it making yourself look like a moron. As superficial it made you sound, you simply enjoyed the presents of a good looking guy like him.

You were going to ask him, but he quickly disappeared into the crowd that started to form along the foot of the stage. More and more people were coming and joining in. The two guys from the band had finally untangled their chords and were placing their guitars over their shoulders, and plugged them into the amplifiers. That’s when you noticed that a spot was empty on the stage. The big drum set had no occupant yet.

So, while everyone waited for the drummer to show up, you took this time to look at the other two band members, trying to decide which one was the cuter one.

That turned out to be slightly more difficult of a task, you quickly realised. Though they were both very different, they were both also extremely good looking. There was the blonde, strumming a few simple chords on his guitar to warm up. Even in the dim light, you could see how perfectly chiselled his face was. He was wearing a slightly oversized button-up shirt with about half of the buttons open. The skinny jeans didn’t seem comfortable to you, but he made them work. The rings on his fingers reflected in the lights as he kept on strumming.

The other had a bit more of a playful vibe around him. His curly mop of hair bounced with every move he made. You could hear his loud and contagious laugh all the way from the other side of the room without the need for a microphone. His outfit was something completely different compared to the blonde. It consisted of a baggy t-shirt (that you could read the band logo on), with ripped dungarees that were only attached on one side. He had rolled them up, showing off his bright converse. His bass guitar was currently hanging behind his back as he adjusted the mic stand one last time. There was something familiar about him, though you were sure had never seen him before.

Then finally, a third person joined them. People cheered since it meant that they could finally start playing. You tried to get a good look at him before he hid behind the drum set. Hair was hiding beneath a cap, tank top… wait… was it-

You got up and walked through the audience. There weren’t that many people, so it was reasonably easy to get to the front. Or, almost at the front row, standing right in front of them felt a bit intimidating. Now you could see all three of them much better, and there was no denying it. Your new acquaintance Tom was the drummer. And when you looked over at the curly bassist again, you realised why he looked so familiar. It was not an identical resemblance, but there was enough that made you think they were related somehow.

You watched Tom spin one of his drumsticks in his hand. He had the biggest smile on his face, then he caught your eye and winked. The cheeky bastard knew exactly what he was doing, you were sure of it. He was waiting for your surprised reaction, and you fell for it completely—hook, line and sinker.

The curly one got up to his microphone. “Hey everybody, we’re Winter Solstice,” his voice was much deeper than you had expected. Especially, considering that he actually looked younger than the other two, you noticed. “We thought you’d appreciate some more known songs tonight, so join in whenever.”

Alright, they were gonna do covers. That was not a wrong move at all. A lot of bands want to show off their own music, but most of the time that leaves the audience just swaying awkwardly because they don’t know the lyrics or what to expect.

“Here’s one you all should know.”

The blonde started playing his guitar, and it only took a second or two before everyone realised what song it was. Mr Brightside. It sounded a bit different, as their attempt to make the song their own, but the riff was unmistakably Mr Brightside. Everyone around you immediately cheered and started to dance along, waiting to sing the lyrics. You were too, of course, but all you could think about was Tom playing in the back. He looked so focused, but still didn’t let it sit in the way of enjoying the song.

In the song, the drums probably only started a beat before the lyrics, so you missed out on the first few words, but quickly you were singing too.

“But she’s touching his chest now, he takes off her dress now. Let me gooo,” the blonde guitarist sang. His voice wasn’t perfect, it was rough, some might have called it cursive, but in that right sort of way. It fit well with the rest of the band and how they played. In just a minute, they had gotten the entire room hyped up. Everyone was into it. Maybe it was because of the song choice, but you doubted it. A song like that can be tricky to sing to a new crowd. If you screwed it up, they’d hate you forever.

That was definitely not the case here, they had the crowd in the palms of their hands. With each beat, you were pulled in…or, was that just you?

The second verse started, and it was the bassist that began to sing: “I'm coming out of my cage, and I've been doing just fine-” There was no clear description of his voice. At least you couldn’t really pinpoint it. There was definitely that playfulness in it that he had been showing through everything he did. He couldn’t stay still, jumping in place, making his curls bump up and down as he went.

“It was only a kiss”

It was Tom that said the little interjection in the song. You had only looked his way at the end, while the other was already singing, but you felt as if he had been looking at you directly. No, he wasn’t. Why would he? You shook the thought off and continued enjoying the performance of the three men. You sang along just like everyone else.

And then the song ended. It was almost unbelievable that it had only been one song that they played, but they moved on to the next quickly.

The guitar faded out but came straight back, accompanied by a heavy bass line. Some people around you recognised the melody, but it took you a moment or two. Then it went quiet. The blonde leaned into his microphone, whispering the words.

“I’m the invisible man,” guitar riff “I’m the invisible man,” guitar, “Incredible how you can- see right through me!” His voice got louder as Tom joined in with the drums. Then those few seconds of bass followed which actually sent shivers up your spine. To put it simply, you were a sucker for good bass and beat. But what was it about them that sounded so good? You couldn’t think of anything particular that would have set them apart from all the other artists you had seen perform in the club through the years…

Still, seeing them have so much fun on stage, it was truly intoxicating, you wanted to join them. You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen someone jump around on that little stage while playing bass. You couldn’t wait to find out what their names were, but for now, “the curly bassist” didn’t take a second to stand still. The only time he stood in one spot was when he had to sing, and even then he moved around a lot.

The others didn’t have that same luxury. Of course, Tom did not have a lot of options, sitting behind his drum set. Yet still, he managed to light up the stage with his bright smile and the passion he put into his drumming. Any time you looked at him, you didn’t want to look away- which was hard, considering that the other two were also a great joy to watch.

The blonde, in his turn, stayed on his side of the stage, being somewhat stuck with his microphone since he had the most vocals. But he still had a great connection with the audience, you felt like.

Before you knew it, the second song had also come to an end. Cheers and applause erupted in front of the band, with you contributing to it as well, of course.

“Thank you, thank you,” the bassist took a little bow. Even though they weren’t playing any song, he still slapped one of the strings mindlessly. “Like I said, we’re Winter Solstice. My name’s Harry.” He introduced himself. Finally, you could call him something else than the curly bassist. Even though it was a very catchy nickname, you thought yourself.

“Here on the guitar,” Harry pointed out, “Is my good friend Harrison.” Harrison waved to the crowd, receiving screams from the audience as if it was filled with banshees.

“In the back,” Tom immediately started a soft drum roll, but Harry didn’t wait that long, “that’s Tom.” Tom reacted with a face that could only be described as “bruh”, making several people around you laugh. You wondered if it was rehearsed or if this was just how they were. Either way, it was cute.

Harry talked some more about how they were excited to play tonight, but you were looking at Tom. You watched him grab a water bottle and drink half of it in almost one chug. When he pulled it away from his mouth, you saw that he caught you staring. Even though you were between dozens of people, even though the light that was shining in his face- he saw you. And he winked again. In the next moment, you had to think if the heat burning through your body was an effect of that little gesture or because of how warm it was in the room. For your own sake, you went with the second option.

“Alright, here’s another song for you all,” it was a voice you hadn’t heard speak before. Harrison. “Here’s: You Oughta Know.” There was a mixed reaction from the audience, including you. Of course, you knew the Alanis Morisette song, but you had never heard it be played by men. It was definitely an interesting choice for them to play, especially after the Killers and Queen.

“I want you to know that I am happy for you,” it was Tom that started singing, as he drummed softly. You tried to control your thoughts as he kept on singing. Then the pre-chorus began, and you were shocked at how well they harmonised.

“Cause the love that you gave that we made wasn't able to make it enough for you to be open wide.” It actually gave you chills. How were you so excited about listening to three strangers sing?

At the chorus itself, everyone in the room went wild, singing along loudly. It was clear that the people were sold on this new version of the song. It was all fine. You were enjoying the show. It was actually fun. And then, Tom sang the next line-

“It was a slap in the face. How quickly I was replaced. And are you thinking of me when you fuck her?” It sure was a slap in the face. You had to remind yourself that it was just the lyrics of the song. And he was just a guy on stage that you had only exchanged a few words with prior. Yet, you couldn’t focus on anything from that moment on. You could barely comprehend their version of “Are You Gonna Be My Girl”, not even really understanding that they were playing a different song. It was just a big blur. But maybe it was for the better, because could you really cope with Tom singing the titular phrase of the song in that husky way that he did... debatable.

When you woke up from your daze, Tom had stood up to show the crowd the beat to clap to. You joined in before anyone noticed how far out of it you indeed were. Harrison finished the song off with a falsetto and then it was already time for the next song.

This time you knew what to do. You wanted to record at least some part of the show. And when harry started a bass solo, you made sure to get at least a bit of it and continued filming from there, ready to post it on your Instagram later on. Harrison joined in with the guitar, and you actually had no idea what song they were playing. More people didn’t seem to recognise the song immediately, which visibly amused the musicians. They couldn’t hide their grins even behind the microphones. Once again, the harmonies… how did they sound so good?

As the song continued, the more sure you were that you had heard it before, but it must have been very different from the original. No, actually… How did you not recognise Dua Lipa? It was not hard to forget about the original when you got to listen to this version. How had each song so far been this good, you still didn’t understand. You didn’t want it to end.

But unfortunately, right after that, they took another break from singing.

“Alright!” Harrison cheered (more squeals from his side of the audience followed. Apparently he had started to gain quite the following). “The next song is another classic, I like to think.” People whooed. “So we’d like some help from you guys if that’s okay.” The crowd seemed to be into it, so Tom followed with the instructions.

“Okay, so we’re gonna start playing in a sec, and Harry will sing a little melody. Just copy that, and we’ll be on our way.” In the meantime, Harry had gone off stage to grab a bottle of water, so everyone had to wait for a second. This gave Tom the opportunity to freestyle on his drum set. It was a simple beat, but it progressed into a more complex set. He, however, did it effortlessly.

Finally, Harry came back running, he threw bottles to the other two, which they both caught without a problem. Tom started to press the bass drum steadily, layering more on top of it. Then Harry joined with the bass, and ultimately, Harrison’s guitar finished it off. Harry leaned into the microphone.

“Ooooo-ooo-oo-oo, ooooo-ooo-oo-oo, oooo-oo-oo,” he almost whistled, but not quite. He continued a few times, together with Tom and Harrison until everyone in the room was singing along. Then made that kind of gesture to show you had to stop. Harrison sang the verse. Anytime it was your turn, you’d just follow Harry.

You had been to many concerts, but not many new bands had much luck in getting a full crowd to participate in the song. But by the way they played, everyone just wished they could be in the band, playing along with them. Even if it was just dangling the triangle. You, however, didn’t want that, necessarily. You assumed that it was the fact that you hadn’t been out of the house in so long, that now that you had the chance, everything felt hundred times more great. So a concert that was already amazing, suddenly felt like a euphoric, once in a lifetime, experience… though that might go a bit too far. And it for sure helped that all three band members were hot. Like, really really hot.

Literally, too, the room was getting really warm at this point, and the guys were visibly hot also. It didn’t stop them from performing at 110% though. A few songs more passed by and Harry was still jumping around the stage. Harrison sang every note perfectly as he slew that guitar of his and Tom…

You could barely look at Tom. Playing the drums as hectically (in the good sense) as he did, you thought he would be exhausted by now. But he still had that big perfect smile on his face. The sweat was dripping down his arms, but it just highlighted his biceps, making it very hard for you to concentrate on the music. And then, no matter what he was doing, he would find you in the crowd and smirk or wink, making you even more flustered than you were before. The first time, you thought he was doing it to someone else. But then it happened again, and again. And the beat of drums led your heart. You could feel it in your throat as it kept pumping with the loud music.

It was during their little break which they used to goof around and play the intro of “Chelsea Dagger”, that you decided to go back to the bar. Your friend had said she wouldn’t leave you alone for the entirety of the concert, but you were already quite some songs in and there was still no sign of her. And you quickly realised why that was. Since the show had started, the entire room had filled up with people. You had never seen it be so crowded, in fact. And then the bar was packed with people asking for their drinks.

Your friend was indeed there, with another bartender, doing her best to pour the drinks quickly. But more and more people got thirsty, so it was easy to assume you would have to spend the rest of the night alone as well.

By that time, the band started on the next song of their setlist, and you really thought they were playing one big joke on you. Or at least this Tom guy was. As he loudly sang Sex on Fire, by Kings of Leon, you decided to sit this one song out from the front row and stay back, near the bar. It actually did you well, because it was much less hot than upfront. You could just stay there for the rest of the show. They had been through around ten songs already, so they must be done soon, either way, you thought.

And you were right. Ending with Come Together, the applause was bigger than through the entire night. The boys finished with extended solo’s of their respective instruments and a bow, and it was really over. Harry came up to the microphone one last time as the other two were already getting off stage.

“Thank you! We are Winter Solstice! Buy our merch at the door! GOODNIGHT!”

The idea of buying a t-shirt was pretty fun. And apparently, you weren’t the only one who thought that. Far from it, actually, The line at the little merch booth quickly exceeded the length of the small concert hall. You wondered if they even had enough things to sell. Would it even be worth it to stand in line? You just waited for the stream of new fans to cool down.

Eventually, it did. Slowly, but surely, the line got shorter. You also noticed that there were a few people that had the exact same idea as you had, so you joined the queue before the rest could. You didn’t even have to wait that long. Before you knew it, you were standing at the little table. There were piles of t-shirts and cd’s, and there were more boxes behind the table too. They really came prepared. Harrison had just been folding up an empty box when you walked up.

“Hi. Can I get a (your size)” you asked, already pulling out your card to pay, “and a CD?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry grabbed a shirt for you with a smile. Tom had been talking to the girl that had been in line in front of you, but he quickly turned to look at you when he heard your voice.

“y/n!” He finished the conversation with the other girl before moving over to join his bandmate.

“Hey,” you wish it hadn’t been so, but a lot changed since the first time you spoke to him, let it only have been about an hour. There was something about him being in the band you just watched perform and buying his merch, that made you feel like a little school girl standing next to him.

“I thought you had left.” He noticed you leave? Not the point.

“No, I just went to the back. It was getting a bit hot for me upfront.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Did you enjoy the show then?”

“Yes!” you said, a bit too loud, “You guys were great.” You looked at the CD that Harry had just handed you and smiled. “And I was wondering if you could maybe sign this for me?” Out of nowhere, Harrison appeared behind Tom, grabbing the CD from your hands and putting his signature right at the centre of the packaging. Just as quickly as he appeared, he went back to whatever he was doing before. But not without sending you a wink first. What was it with these guys and winking? Not that you really minded it.

Harry took the slightly more polite approach, waiting for you to hand him the CD and he signed it above Harrison’s signature. Then he handed it over, together with the marker, to Tom.

“So, we got ourselves a number one fan, huh?”

“No, I’ll just wait ‘til you guys get famous so I can sell it on the internet and get rich.” That was probably not the response Tom had expected, which you immensely enjoyed. Next to him, Harry erupted in a fit of laughter.

“Haz, did you hear that? She thinks we’ll be famous.” His laugh was even better close up. While Harry and Harrison kept on laughing, you used the moment to speak to Tom, one on one.

“So why didn’t you tell me you were in the band?” you asked.

“What does it matter,” he chuckled.

“You let me ask all those questions about the band, it’s fucking embarrassing, man.” you couldn’t help but laugh yourself.

“Heh, sorry.” he took off his cap to rearrange his hair since some of it had fallen in his eyes through the night. You didn’t know what else to say, so the conversation died down. Then you remembered that there was still a bit of a line behind you of people that wanted to buy the merch as well.

“Let me just pay for these, and I’ll be off.”

“No, it’s fine, on the house,” Tom said. You looked at him with wide eyes.

“Are you sure? It’s really no problem.”

“Yeah, just promise me one thing.”

“What?” You raised an eyebrow, not sure what to expect. You didn’t want to jump onto that wagon too quickly.

“Will you stay? I’d really like to hang out.”

You weren’t sure what to answer at first. You did want to stay and talk to him, but it was getting late, and you had been standing for a long time, and you were kinda gross from how warm it was during the concert… but Tom was really hot. And he asked so nicely.

“Sure.” you gave in. “I’ll hang out with my friend at the bar and let ya get back to-” you pointed around the table to make your point across. He nodded and waved you goodbye as you walked away, clutching on to your newly bought merchandise.

Just like you thought, your friend was indeed still at the bar, cleaning up leftover glasses from the counter. She saw you walk over and you could tell she saw something different in you.

“Look at you beaming, girl! What happened?” she put away the half-dried glass to listen to you.

“Nothing?” you said casually. She saw right through you though, so you just decided to give up the little act. “Tom asked me to wait behind for him.” You bit your lip, expecting to get a lecture from her. But none of that happened. Instead, she squealed out in, what seemed like, excitement.

“Ooh, Tom is such a great guy!”

“You know him?” you asked, surprised.

“Well, he was the one that got their band the gig here, so we talked here and there, mostly planning,” she explained. “And I mean, look at him.” she sighed and her eyes glazed over a bit when she looked in the direction of the merch table. Not sure what else to do, you followed her action and glanced over. Of course, right at that time, Tom decided to look in your direction as well. He smiled and waved lightly, making your cheeks heat up and quickly look away. Your friend, however, waved back enthusiastically.

“So you think it’s safe for me-” what were you even gonna ask her?

“Go have fun, I say. But if anything does happen, remember the codeword?” Her tone changed to a more serious one, which you appreciated. You had agreed ages ago on a codeword to use. In case a date turned for the worst, or generally if something felt off.

“Broccoli, baby. I know.”

“Broccoli.” She held up her hand for a high five, which you gladly accepted.

You chatted for a little bit longer. Every few minutes tho, you’d be sure to glance over your shoulder to see if the merch line was getting any shorter. It didn’t seem like it. There was simply no end to it. You felt yourself getting frustrated. To the point that your friend actually pointed it out, snorting from holding in her laughter.

“He has got you whipped, hasn’t he?” she bumped your shoulder playfully. All you did was roll your eyes. Which, actually, said everything she needed to know. He did, didn’t he? You always had a soft spot for musicians, dated a few. But comparing them to Tom now… it felt like a joke. There was something about this guy that made you want to know more about him. You wanted to see him play and sing again. You wanted- do a lot of things. But you had to get that out of your head. Let the night speak for itself, see where it leads you. If it would be his bedroom… that would be fine. Just fine.

You knew you were crazy for thinking all of this, but a girl can dream, right?

You looked across the room and were glad to see that there were only a few people left. Harry had already started packing everything up that would most likely not be sold that night. You watched the three of them make some small chat with the people walking by, but all your real focus was on Tom and his deep stare right at you. It made your heart beat faster. With his arms across his chest, the muscles seemed even more prominent.

He was suddenly pulled back into the conversation, and it was as if he changed into a different person. All bubbly, none of that- what even was it that he looked at you? You decided to not think about it too much. One does not do well when dwelling about anything.

Finally, the last person bought their shirt, and they were done. Hoping it didn’t make you look too desperate, you didn’t waste a second to walk over to them. Harrison and Tom were helping Harry pack up the rest of the things that were left on the table.

“Hey,” you said awkwardly. Tom almost dropped the stack of shirts he was holding. Again, the attention fell to his arms. You had to force yourself to look up at his face, which didn’t help much either, but it made it easier to think thoughts that would not mean a one-way ticket to Hell.

“Hi! I’m so glad you stayed,” he said after putting those shirts in the box. “I thought we could go grab something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” He spoke really fast, just showing how excited he was to talk to you again. To be honest, you weren’t necessarily hungry, but going out to eat with Tom didn’t sound too bad.

“Don’t you have to pack up?” You pointed back to the stage that still counted all of their equipment.

“No, we’re playing here tomorrow, again,” Harrison explained.

“Oh, cool.” Was all you said. It was cool, you just didn’t know how to say anything without sounding dumb.

“Well, shall we? There’s a diner on the way to my flat. It has the best burgers.” Tom exclaimed. You ignored the little mention of his apartment and focused on the burgers. He wasn’t suggesting for you to come over to his place. It was just a fact… right?

“Lead the way,” you told him, but before you left, you turned to the other two members of Winter Solstice. “It was nice meeting you guys.” Everyone waved, and so on, and you were off to eat.

It was almost midnight by the time you got there, but the diner Tom had mentioned did advertise as a 24/7. And it held up. When you walked in, you were practically hit in the face with the delicious smell of pie. You sat down in a booth next to the large window and very soon after a waitress walked up.

“What can I get ya?” she asked, flipping her little notebook open.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries, thanks,” Tom asked. Then it was your turn.

“Just large fries for me, thank you.” The waitress wrote it all down, then continued to ask if you wanted anything to drink.

“Ooh, do you have milkshakes?” The woman smiled and nodded. “So a chocolate milkshake then.” You ordered.

“Make it two,” Tom added. Then the waitress went off, Tom leaned on the table toward you, with his hands in front of him. “So, just fries, huh?”

“I’m not super hungry, and I wasn’t going to steal your fries,” you explained, making Tom laugh and shake his head.

“You’re interesting, you know that?”

“I like to think so, yeah,” you answered straightforwardly. It was a pity you had not gotten your drinks yet, or you would have taken a very nonchalant sip. You leaned your chin on your hand, just like you did at the bar before the show. Except for this time, there was a smile hiking up the corners of your mouth. Tom mirrored your position.

“So how did you guys come up with the name?” you had been wondering that ever since you saw that banner hanging on the stage. It was always interesting to find out the thinking process like.

“You gotta ask Harry, he came up with it one day, and we just went along. He’s the more artistic one of the bunch.” Of course he is. Well, that didn’t answer anything then. But another question popped up in your mind.

“Are you guys related?”

Tom smiled at that question. “Yeah, Harry is my younger brother. Harrison has been my best mate ever since I can remember. We’ve always been close and messing around. Then one day we decided to grab some old instruments from the attic and- sorry, I’m probably boring you, aren’t I?” He took off his cap again and ruffled his hair. You thought he would put it back on, but he left it on the table. There was pretty good lighting at Suki’s, but the colourful spotlights were no match to the bright LEDs of the diner.

“I don’t see how you thought that was boring,” you assured him. You truly enjoyed his little story, talking about his friend and brother. You had doubted the choice of going out to eat so late at night with a stranger, but now the reason was apparent. He didn’t want to be strangers-he wanted to get to know you. And you wanted to get to know him.

The waitress came back with two large milkshakes, topped with whipped cream and syrup. She said that the food would be ready in a few more minutes and left you to continue your conversation. You nudged Tom on to go on where he stopped previously.

“So yeah,” he cleared his throat, “we played and thought, hey that doesn’t sound shit, and we practised for a few months and decided some time ago, why not try and play.”

“Was this your first gig?” you asked in disbelief. He shook his head, though.

“We’ve performed a few times, but this was the first one that felt… real, you know. Maybe it was just me, but I felt this great connection with the crowd, and it felt great.” You nodded along with every word, without realising that you had been getting lost in his eyes. He had been looking into yours as he spoke about that connection, and it made you feel that maybe, just maybe, he meant you specifically.

“y/n?” He eventually asked, waking you up. You almost spilt your milkshake from the abrupt movement you made as you tried to sit up.

“What? Sorry.” You held the glass until it didn’t shake.

“I asked if you enjoyed it? The show?”

“Didn’t you ask that already?” Stupid way to answer! “But yeah, I loved it. You were really great- I mean, all of you.” but especially you, you wanted to add on, but that felt like going too far. As you were trying to come up with a normal-sounding answer there, Tom sipped from his milkshake. Something in his eyes told you that he could tell what you wanted to say, and that thought scared you a little bit. All you wanted to do was to give this hot guy a good impression of yourself, was that really that hard?

But he didn’t say anything about it. Just continued the conversation as you hoped he would.

“Well, I’m glad. Honestly, you had scared me a bit back then, when you left,” he admitted. And there were the heart palpitations again, beating faster and faster. You grabbed the cold milkshake because you could feel yourself getting hotter.

“How so?” you choked out.

“Just because I could tell you weren’t exactly looking forward to the show, and then I saw you leave and didn’t come back. I thought you didn’t like us.” Us. He said “us”. Then we did it feel like he just wanted to say “me”?

“I wanted to check up on my friend, and then I realised that it was much colder in the back, so I stayed there.” you explained again, “But why be worried about me, there were plenty of other people enjoying themselves.”

He was about to answer when the waitress walked up with two large plates. She put them on the table with a smile, which you noticed was more directed towards Tom than you. He responded with a tight smile himself, but only shortly, turning back to you quickly to respond to your question.

“No one there was as cute as you.”

“What?” This time you made sure not to make any sudden movements to save your food and drink on the table. Did he really say that? But he didn’t clarify himself, he just smirked, enjoying your flushed expression a little too much. He put a fry in his mouth and still ate it with that smug smirk. You just went and ate some of your own fries, avoiding eye contact with him. You just needed a second to sort your thoughts.

That second lasted a little longer, but at least you had the food to use as an excuse to avoid “awkward silence”.

“So do you play any instruments?” he asked. You looked up to see that he had almost finished his burger. When you saw the dish being brought up, you thanked yourself and any god watching out there that you didn’t choose to order one. It was absolutely massive, meaning you would make a complete mess out of yourself—a sight for no one to see but your tv screen on a lonely night.

“Uh, I can play a few notes on the piano but all very beginner's level.” You dipped a fry in your milkshake.

“Like what?” He seemed genuinely interested.

“Uhm.. the Flintstones theme song, for one. There was more, but I haven’t played in ages, so I doubt I remember anything.”

“Flintstones, huh, nice.” He took the last bite of his burger. Knowing how weird it is to look at someone when they’re eating, you looked out the window for a second. It was dark outside, and the rain had come back, letting all the street lights reflect in the asphalt.

You both finished the remains of your fries and milkshakes while making some more small talk. You got up simultaneously from the booth. Was it over now? You hoped not. You didn’t want to say goodbye.

You grabbed your things while Tom paid for the food. Then you realised he had left his cap on the table so grabbed it too. But your hands were already full, so you decided to just put it on. Backwards, just like he had been wearing it through the evening.

“It looks good on you,” he commented when you met at the door.

“Thanks,” there was the heat up your cheeks again. “And thank you for everything else, I had a really great night.” you were about to take the hat off to give it back, but he stopped you.

“It doesn’t have to end here, darling.”

To be continued...

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed

> please leave a comment or ask with your thoughts. i love reading them and let me know if you want to be tagged in part 2!

>masterlist and link to taglist in bio

tagging:

@definitely-not-black-cat @artemisiaarm @nerdyhockeygirl @miraclesoflove @justasmisunderstoodasloki @thefridgeismybestie @m19friend @creative-happenings @parker-holland-osterfield @fanficparker @fanficscuziranout @peterparkoure @xxtomxo @happywolves81 @captainbuckyy @tra-gicx @qxeen-of-hearts @varshavisuu @kangaroobunny @petersunderoos96 @the-lost-fairy-tale @nerd-domland @sleepybesson @rissa067 @the-queen-procrastinator @scarletteclipze @screeching-student-unknown @tomhollanders2013 @miraclesoflove @playinonaloop @queenoflostspirits @roses-hxlland @hereiamhereigo @sunnydays0803 @averyfosterthoughts @moorehollandplz @beiroviski @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @peterparkerbabyyy @multifandomlover21 @lmaotshollandd @badbitchydecisions @tikapollak @starkeybabie @awesomehritz @madzleigh01 @oh-what a beautiful-parker @taciturnspidey @quaksonhehe @mountainsforwords @harryfobter @peepeeparkerr @viagracex @ethereal-beauty-p @perspectiveparker @slytherin-chaser @worldoftom @moonysoftt @peeterparkr @wazzupmrstark @saintlavrents @peachybloomss @blissfulparker @chloecreatesfictions @fallinfortom @londonspidey @spidey-reids-2003 @hollandcreep

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #band!au #drummer!tom holland #smut #tom holland smut #strangers to lovers #au

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hb-writes · 3 years

Text

Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should

Summary: After a few rainy days stuck inside during spring break, the whole Cullen clan is feeling restless and resort to pranking to pass the time.

Featuring: Emmett Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, and Mia Cullen

-- It had rained for fifteen days straight in Forks, a parade of stubborn drizzles followed by steady downpours and carrying over into the week-long spring break. Mia didn't usually mind the rain, quite used to it giving her something to watch out the window when she didn't care for a teacher's lesson or the drops of it falling against her window and lulling her to sleep at night.

She usually enjoyed the impromptu breaks her family took from school, too, more than happy to roam the woods or sit out in the sun with a book while Forks High School held the impression that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen had pulled the kids out of school for some outdoor activity. But being stuck inside while the school was closed for an endlessly rainy break had Mia feeling a little restless.

It had taken her only a day to finish her pending assignments, and just one more to completely rearrange her bedroom. She had actually grown tired of staring at things, her eyes fatigued by and bored with her laptop screen, books, and the view out her window. And she had grown tired of her siblings too, bored of their usual indoor pursuits and routines.

By day three, Mia had strayed to playing innocent pranks to pass the time—moving her siblings' things when they left the room and making failed attempts to sneak up on all of them, but most specifically Emmett, who'd first made a game of scaring her, wrapping the whole family up in it so that Mia could hardly go an hour without being snuck up on.

Because of that, her pride and joy in regards to the pranks had been the alterations she made to Emmett's jeep, a prank she entered into knowing it would likely be an act of delayed gratification, not like the hiding of frequently needed items or the botched pop up scares. Emmett had no need to take a vehicle out any time soon. If he was going anywhere, he was more likely to run, and once school was back in session, they would be more likely to take Edward's car. Mia knew she could be waiting weeks for any sort of acknowledgement.

She was willing to wait though, the mere recollection of all she had done sufficient enough to get her through Emmett continuing to scare her over and over. She’d done a few things to his jeep, easy stuff like rearranging the mirrors and seats, and adjusting the radio volume to its maximum, and changing the station to the local one that favored heavy metal. But all of that was mostly a distraction because Mia was far more proud of the collection of nuts and bolts in tin cans duct-taped under his seats and inside the spare tire set on the back to the jeep. The whole vehicle would be rattling if he hit a bump or tapped the break, two things she assumed Emmett would encounter before even making it out of the driveway.

Mia wasn’t usually one for such targeted and premeditated pranks, but Emmett had made a sport of scaring Mia over their week of near-confinement, and she felt he deserved something beyond the standard prank. So when the opportunity arose, with her siblings out for a hunt, her father at the hospital, and her mother occupied with some project in her studio, Mia took her opportunity.

She knew Emmett would discover the rattle was no more than a prank after he asked Rose to take a look at it, but she still giggled to herself imagining what would happen when he finally brought himself to ask for Rose’s help and then she laughed once again imagining the look on Rose’s face as she held up one of the offending cans. Emmett was clueless when it came to cars. Completely clueless.

But she had only had to wait a few days because Rose had decided she wanted to go on a date, and Emmett insisted on driving, insisted on getting dressed up, and settling himself down on the couch beside Mia while he waited for Rose to finish getting ready.

Had Mia realized they would be taking Emmett's vehicle, she wouldn't have stayed in such a vulnerable position, lounging there on the couch. She would have put some more distance between herself and her siblings, and a locked door, perhaps. She would have prepared herself a bit better to feign ignorance.

But as she had been caught off guard, she hadn't been prepared to fight when Rose stomped back through the front door with Emmett following in her wake. Rose had barely spared her a glance, the can rattling in her hand as she continued straight up the stairs.

And though it all clicked very suddenly that she was about to be told on, Mia couldn't scramble fast enough because it seemed to happen too quickly that Emmett had plucked her off the couch and was placing her down in Carlisle's office, less than two steps away from a seething Rose.

To Rose's dismay, there hadn't been any true repercussions for the prank aside from Carlisle's request that Mia issue a genuine apology and an acknowledgment that cars were not something to be messed with. Mia had laid low for a few days anyhow, avoiding Emmett and Rose, and even her father, to the best of her ability, which was why Mia had settled in for a day of self-care, feeling she’d earned an afternoon of soothing teas and good music and moisturizing skincare and nail painting after all of the effort put into pranking and the hassle of being found out.

With the rain and the music and her own voice filling her ears, Mia didn’t hear Emmett push her door open or tread across her bedroom floor. Had he been a human of his proportions, he’d not be able to sneak up on her, but as it was, Emmett was stealthy whenever he wished to be, able to take unassuming and delicate steps despite his size.

“Boo.”

The word was barely above a whisper and Mia stumbled and let out a scream, startled just as much by the hushed remark as she was by the quick rush of breath near her ear and the hands that grasped her before she fell.

“EMMETT!” she shouted, pushing at his hold and groaning once he settled her back on her feet.

He reached over to turn down the music, laughing. “You’re too easy, kid.”

“And you’re a stupid jerk,” Mia ground out, shoving against his solid chest with all her might only for him to stand there unaffected, chest puffed out and smiling down at her. “You scared me!”

“Same here,” he said, gesturing towards the green clay mask on her face. “Got a bit of a Wicked Witch of the West thing going on there.”

Mia’s rolled her eyes. “Actually, I was channeling my idiot older brother.”

“Ah, so Yoda, then?” Emmett smirked. “What an honor.”

“Hulk,” she offered. “You know, the incomprehensible behemoth with no self-control?”

Mia stepped away from him, heading towards the bathroom to rinse her face and Emmett appeared before her once again, another scream coming from her lips.

“Stop doing that!”

“I’m sure you’ve done something to earn it,” he answered, “just haven’t figured out what yet.”

“I’ve been up here all day, Em.”

“Yeah, and unfortunately your voice carries. Sounds like you’re drowning cats up here.” Emmett turned to glance in the open bathroom door and Mia smacked him on the arm.

“I’m going to tell Dad if—”

“Speaking of Carlisle, he wants to see you.”

“Why?”

Emmett shrugged. “I’m just the messenger, but you might want to clean that off and drop the Oscar the Grouch act before you go down there.”

Mia clenched her fist. If it would have done anything, she might’ve hit him, wiping that smug little grin off his face entirely, but she knew it wouldn’t, so she took a deep breath instead, releasing her fist and smiling instead.

“You mind giving me a minute, then?”

“Wait for wicked sister grouch, the Yoda Hulk brother will,” Emmett answered.

Mia took another deep breath, waiting a moment to see if he was serious, rolling her eyes as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame.

“I don’t need you to wait. I can remember how to get myself downstairs,” she said, but Emmett didn’t budge so she moved to the sink.

She took her time with rinsing and moisturizing and didn’t utter a word to Emmett as she tried to step past him, but his hand caught her chin, though his palm and fingers spanned the whole bottom half of her face really, and the whole maneuver stopped her from moving entirely with little effort on Emmett’s part.

“So soft now, your skin is.”

“Emmeh, lemme go!” Mia shouted, her words muffled as her cheeks remained squished between his fingers. “Yur nod fummy.”

Emmett laughed, dropping his hold and holding a guiding hand out in front of them. “Fine, grouch. Go ahead, then.”

“I will.” Mia massaged her jaw as she took the stairs nearly two at a time. “And I’m going to tell Dad you’re being an assh—”

Mia’s mouth closed as she took a step off the stairs, rounding the corner, nearly knocking into her father.

Carlisle caught her arm as she stumbled and Mia briefly checked his face for any sign he intended to reprimand her for the word choice, but her eyes were instead pulled to the mess of tin cans on the table.

"What's…"

"All of this?" Carlisle asked as Mia wormed her way out of his hold. "I was hoping you might be able to tell us."

Her eyes flicked back and forth between the cans, her father, and her brother, who had taken a seat at the counter.

"I've been up in my room all day. I don't even know what 'this' is."

Emmett put his feet up on the stool beside him. "You're busted, kid. Might as well give up the act."

"I'm not busted because I didn't do anything.”

"Well, the fourteen tin cans found in the cars would say otherwise," Carlisle answered. "I thought we were in agreement that there would be no more pranks played, especially where the cars are involved?"

Mia’s mouth fell open a bit before she gulped. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up the can that certainly had been Mia's doing, a neat 'With love, Mia,' painted out on the side of the can with nail polish.

"You did this?"

Mia couldn't find the words, but she finally nodded. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up another tin can, a nearly identical message written out on the side with the very same shade of pink and Mia stepped forward, pulling the can from his grasp to study it closer.

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered, "Emmett must've…he must be—"

"I must be what?"

Mia jumped at her brother's closeness and she smacked his shoulder as a reflex. "Stop doing that!” she said before turning back to Carlisle. “Dad, tell him to stop scaring me."

Carlisle sighed. "Amelia, I thought we were on the same page after our discussion. You agreed to stop with the pranks, but since our discussion doesn’t seem to have been enough—"

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered. "I—"

"What about this?"

Mia let out a rushed exhale, a nervous laugh coming at the end of it. She had forgotten about the photo she'd replaced days ago, switching out one of her father and her as a baby to that of her father holding a potato wrapped in cream-colored blankets.

"I did that ages ago. It was before we talked."

"Aw, come on, Mia. You don't think we're that stupid, do you?" Emmett asked.

Mia turned from her father to her brother. "I think you are."

She shrieked as Emmett twirled her around, wrapping one arm across her chest as he held her against his front, using his free hand to clamp down over her mouth.

"Alright, I think we've heard enough of her lip, Carlisle. It's time for sentencing. Fearless leader, do your worst."

Mia knew her father would never do his worst. She wasn’t even aware of what Carlisle Cullen’s worst entailed, having never seen him more than slightly aggrieved, but she thrashed against her brother’s hold anyhow, prying at his hands until he caught her arms, and then she kicked at his shins, but Emmett easily sidestepped her attempts.

Mia yelled her brother’s name, the sound muffled into his palm before she bit down. It didn’t hurt him, more of a shock that she’d even done it, than anything. She'd gone through a short-lived biting phase around three or four, but they’d been incident free since then.

Emmett smirked. “Are you sure you want to challenge me to a biting war, kid?”

Carlisle cleared his throat. “I think a more appropriate punishment would be for Amelia to clean and detail the cars.”

She groaned, her efforts to get out of Emmett’s hold renewed, if only because she wanted to voice her protest.

“And dust every picture frame in the house,” Carlisle continued as Emmett finally uncovered her mouth.

“But that’s going to take forever and I—”

“I suspect it will keep you busy for the remainder of your break and provide you with plenty of time to think about your behavior,” Carlisle said. “And you’re grounded...three weeks.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Mia groaned, “Dad, I didn’t even do this! I—”

Mia felt Emmett shaking with silent laughter before she noticed the mischievous glint in her father’s eye, the slightest of smiles coming to his face.

“You actually are joking, aren’t you?”

Carlisle shrugged. “Emmett and I thought you could benefit from a little dose of your own medicine, Mia.”

Mia sighed. “So I don’t have to do any of what you said, then?”

Emmett lifted her over his shoulder, moving steadily towards the door.. “You’re still helping me wash the jeep, kid. Need to teach you the importance of not messing with my things.”

“But it’s pouring out—Dad! Help!”

Carlisle stepped forward, beating them to the door.

“Thank yo—” Mia started.

He pulled his daughter’s rain jacket off the hook, handing it to Emmett. “We wouldn’t want your sister getting sick,” he said. “And let me get that for you.”

Carlisle opened the door, an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his face as Emmett carried her through.

“Have fun, sweetheart.”

Twilight Masterlist

#twilight #twilight fanfic #twilight fanfiction #carlisle cullen #emmett cullen #mia cullen #cullen daughter #cullen!daughter #cullen sister #cullen!sister

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens - “At Midnight” (Rated G)

Summary:

Crowley is devastated by how smoothly the world continues on after he loses Aziraphale to the bookshop fire. Adam stops the war between Heaven and Hell, and things go back to normal for everyone... except him. Crowley goes from demon to ghoul, haunting St. James's Park every night, caught up in his memories of his angel. Until one night, he comes across something unexpected that makes things a little better... (2416 words) ... and a whole lot worse.

Read on AO3.

The hands on Aziraphale's grandfather clock have crept dangerously close to eleven by the time Crowley steps out the door of the bookshop and into the night. He's not closing up. The shop was never open.

Not for anyone but him.

He’d spent the day lurking in the shifting shadows, coiled around the leg of angel's favorite chair, keeping guard.

Watching for movement.

Praying for change.

For resolution.

He marked time by the tolling of Aziraphale's clock, the ebb and flow of the commuters outside, and a single ray of sunlight carving its path across the floor, disappearing out the window at the stroke of seven. That’s when he came out of hiding, became his demon self once again.

Crowley pops his collar against the wind and locks the door behind him. He takes one last look at the pane beneath his fingertips, running them lightly over a ridiculous note affixed to the glass. It’s a note he wrote on Aziraphale's behest, proclaiming when customers can expect the shop to open.

The long and short of it being - don't.

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10 a.m. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday...

Crowley had written it to irritate his angel - a demonic dig, as it were. But after reading it, Aziraphale couldn't have been more delighted.

"Brilliant!" he'd said. "Masterfully convoluted! Now I can finally relax and finish my crossword puzzle in peace! Thank you, my dear."

Crowley had gone warm at Aziraphale's words. He had never felt so overwhelmed by praise.

But now, the sign makes him bitter.

It should have long been replaced with one that reads on holiday, circling the globe, or living the happily ever after life in Mayfair with my husband.

But that wasn't in the cards for Crowley and Aziraphale.

Crowley snaps his fingers to lower the blinds and snuff the lights, and takes off at a brisk clip to the park.

Alone.

He does this every night - haunts St. James's Park close to midnight when he'd rather be at home asleep. Crowley had planned to sleep the next seven millennia away, wait until the world started over again before he showed his face to the sun, but infuriatingly, he couldn't. It's impossible for him to get comfortable in his bed when there should be someone else beside him, sitting up and reading by his damned holy light.

Crowley never thought he'd miss that stupid light piercing his eyelids and interrupting his slumber, but he misses it more than anything.

There was nothing left for Crowley after he lost Aziraphale in the bookshop fire.

He'd always felt that if they went their separate ways, it would sever his heart, but nothing more. He'd go on. But the assumption had been that Aziraphale would still be - exist, just not in Crowley's life.

When Aziraphale went, everything good went with him - love, hope, color, and taste all vacated Crowley's world. But Crowley was too much of a coward to call it quits and join him in oblivion, since, as far as Crowley was concerned, that was where immortal beings ended up if they were eliminated from Earth. Heaven and Hell only existed for humans. Aziraphale and Crowley were created for this world.

For them, this was it.

He thought he would get into his car and drive, but he couldn't make himself leave. He would get as far as Kent or Surrey, then his Bentley would stop.

Whether he was the one pressing the brake or his car - it varied.

Either way, he'd take a deep breath, toss off his glasses, rub the blur from his watery eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was home.

Couldn't sleep.

Couldn't leave.

Couldn't escape.

Yup. This was Hell. Undoubtedly.

Since he couldn't stay put and he couldn't run away, he spent night after night roaming the park - a ghoul shrouded in shadows of the past. Selfishly, he did everything he could to make the park inhospitable after dark, the same way Aziraphale did for his bookshop to deter customers. He made the place dreary, filled it with suspicious shadows, cold spots, and feelings of dread. In his attempt to get rid of anyone who might bother him, he unwittingly thwarted a few mugging attempts and a handful of assaults, which eliminated crime in St. James's Park for the most part.

Otherwise, he kept to himself.

It didn't matter to Crowley one bit that Adam had saved the planet from Heaven and Hell's blasted war. Or that, in doing so, neither side seemed interested in Crowley anymore.

Without Aziraphale by his side, Crowley wanted none of it.

These nightly walks, re-visiting the spots where they'd met up through time, didn't help. His memories of Aziraphale had begun to erode what was left of his soul.

His regret over the one thing he had left unsaid.

But there was a handshake exchange afoot.

His late-night trips to the park were how he noticed the light, blooming, growing on the bench smack dab in front of the duck pond.

Their bench.

A thread of silver light that lasted one solid minute from beginning to end.

It was spectacular. Unbelievable in its brilliance. Of the few souls who braved Crowley's shield of demonic influence, only Crowley seemed to notice it. And he couldn't avoid it.

It called to him.

Crowley stalked the light for over a week, never getting too close. It seemed like the kind of thing Gabriel might conjure up to trap him. Heaven may not give two shits about him, but archangels have been known to hold serious grudges.

He resisted its pull, but Crowley is a curious demon, and curiosity got the better of him. Besides, what did he care if Gabriel got the drop on him? Crowley was up for a fight, even one he might lose.

He had nothing better to do.

Crowley walked straight to the bench and sat down the moment the light appeared. He stared at it, into it, trying to sniff out its origins, what it was doing there. Being this close to it, he realized he was wrong. It didn't appear out of thin air. It was a consequence - evidence of a seam ripping in the universe, and on the other side...

Crowley only saw him for a second, but that was all he needed.

Aziraphale.

They locked eyes. Aziraphale's face lit up as if he were seeing the stars for the first time.

Stars Crowley created.

He was quite a distance from the tear. Like Crowley, he avoided it as much as possible. But seeing Crowley on the other side, he ran toward it, calling out a single word. It was all he had time for before the rend closed, and he was gone again.

The word he managed was Crowley.

Every night after, Crowley would arrive at the bench with plenty of time for the two of them to speak. As best as they could deduce, something bizarre happened during that fire in Aziraphale's bookshop. Unprecedented. Crowley assumed, at first, that the flames that devoured his angel's pride and joy had come from Hellfire. But they didn't. And Aziraphale, standing in the center of the transportation portal in his corporeal form, never made it to Heaven. He got caught in between.

Purgatory.

A place that many supernatural beings consider scarier than Hell.

A railway station with a way in but no way out. For immortals, that is. Mortal souls can earn a place upstairs depending on how they behave in this celestial waiting room. But as humans and demons don't concern themselves much with Purgatory lore, there is no book in Hell or on Earth that can help. Crowley has tried finding one - traveled to libraries and broken into collections he would do only on Aziraphale's behalf. But for all of his lofty capers, he found nothing. There might be a book in Heaven, but Crowley has no way to access it.

And Aziraphale is trapped.

Wouldn't Crowley know it, but even under these circumstances, Aziraphale found ways to continue his insufferable good deeds, helping mortal souls trapped with him to move along. Though Crowley believes Aziraphale has an ulterior motive.

Peace and quiet.

Aziraphale has one of those faces that attracts people to him, people who long to share their woeful life stories. So he listens, and then he counsels. When that soul moves on, he earns the most sought-after prize of all - an additional measure of silence.

Crowley and Aziraphale thought Heaven would notice his absence by now. Gabriel’s memos were piling up on Aziraphale's desk, untouched. Or by the massive influx of souls arriving at the pearly gates.

But no luck.

The angels in charge of the prisoners in the bottomless pits of Hell are more on the ball than the ones who keep an eye on the poor souls stuck in between.

This boundary between Earth and Purgatory dissolves at the stroke of midnight but zips up as soon as the clock strikes 12:01. Then Aziraphale disappears, not returning again till the following day. They are permitted one minute to tell each other everything, and they do their best to get it all out.

There's one thing Crowley hasn't gotten to yet. Hasn’t for 6000 years.

His one regret.

He plans on telling Aziraphale tonight on the off chance they can't come up with a solution to this.

Crowley feels the light before it appears. It tugs at something deep inside, ushers him to his seat on the bench. It arrives with a clap like thunder, so loud he’s surprised when it doesn’t shatter windows and crack foundations. Air whooshes by him at hurricane speeds, sucked into the impending rend.

A second later, Aziraphale appears beside him.

In a different dimension but beside him, framed by the light as if he's a reflection in a mirror.

Crowley inches his hand close, knowing without seeing that Aziraphale’s hand rests similarly on the opposite side. They cannot touch. They’ve tried.

Neither can cross the barrier.

“So, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, looking through the shimmer at Crowley, “how’s the bookshop?”

“Right as rain as always,” Crowley replies. He used to mutter, “Hello, Crowley. How are you? You’re looking well this fine evening,” but realized how immature and hurtful that was when Aziraphale heard him, and his face fell. Aziraphale wasn’t disregarding Crowley by not asking after him first. It was too painful for Aziraphale to acknowledge how far apart they were from one another. “How have you been, angel?”

“Can’t complain. Although I could really go for a plate of crepes. Or perhaps a nice, hearty gazpacho.”

“Don’t you worry. The moment I have you free of there, I’ll take you to dinner. Anywhere you want to go.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Aziraphale says, the longing in his eyes heartbreaking. “It wouldn’t be so bad over here if I had a book or two.”

“I did try passing you one over, but… “

“Yes, yes, I recall.” Aziraphale sighs at the memory of a favorite Wilde hardcover disintegrating into thin air. Luckily, that didn’t happen to either of them when they attempted to cross. “Valiant effort. Disastrous outcome.”

“Meddled in anyone's affairs today, have you?”

“As a matter of fact… ” Aziraphale smiles brightly. “A charming lady named Agatha. Lived a good long life. Died at the age of 93, I believe she said.”

“Wot in the world did she do to make it into Purgatory?”

“The usual. Attachment to sin.”

Crowley nods, lips twisting with a knowing grin. “Let me guess… the premarital variety?”

“That’s the one. She also poisoned an abusive stepfather, not her own, broke into a research facility to rescue rabbits, and stole a petty neighbor’s tomatoes on the daily until the day she died.”

Crowley chuckles. “Ah, yes. You’ve got to love old ladies.”

“Indeed.”

“Wot did you do?”

“Same as always. I had her give a proper confession. I forgave her for the poisoning, of course… “

“Of course.”

“... and the rabbit liberation. But we talked through the issue with the tomatoes. I explained that trespassing on her neighbor’s property is wrong even if the woman did dye all her delicates on her drying line puce.”

Crowley makes a face. He has no idea what puce is, but it sounds vile. “Probably justified there.”

“But that wasn’t the crux of her dilemma.”

“Wot was?”

Aziraphale turns, eyes wandering in the direction of the pond even though he can’t see it. “She misses the love of her life.”

Crowley's eyes widen. “Oh.”

“I assured her that her lover would be with her soon. After that, she was fine moving on.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says wistfully. “He beloved misses her very much. They make a lovely couple.”

“That’ll be nice. The two of them reuniting.”

“Yes. It will be… for them.”

Silence falls between them. They steer clear of silence when they can, seeing how short their time is together, but it can't be helped. Aziraphale could work from here till eternity joining lost souls, but he can't help himself do the same.

The weight of that overwhelms them.

Crowley's phone vibrates in his pocket, signaling their minute together coming to an end. The silver frame phases, its light dimming, sputtering like a candle about to go out. As with every time before, Crowley tries to stop it, tries to stop time to keep Aziraphale with him longer. But it doesn’t work. Either this rend works outside of the laws of time, or time has had it with Crowley’s antics, but this can’t be stopped.

Crowley’s imagination isn’t strong enough.

“We only have a little time left,” Aziraphale says, “and we’re no closer to solving this puzzle!”

“I know,” Crowley replies. “I'll keep working on it. I promise. But before you go, I just wanted to tell you… ”

The air crackles as the rip begins to mend, the noise drowning them out.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I need to tell you... "

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts to fade as the gap sutures shut. “I’m so sorry… "

The tear closes, his angel gone, and in the ensuing silence, Crowley’s last words hang in the air, having escaped his lips a second too late for their recipient to hear.

“… I love you.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Victor’s Return Home Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

The date begins in a conference room, where a meeting has been going on for almost three hours

When LFG invested in an online video platform called SE, LFG held a press release stating that it was a strategic move for the international film and TV market

However, just within two years, SE found itself racking up billions of dollars in debt due to its poor project management

As such, people in the know have been secretly ridiculing Victor for making an error of judgement

Fortunately, LFG’s connections with the media prevented this information from leaking out

But it doesn’t change the fact that LFG messed up this time

Victor hasn’t slept in two days - he’s been poring through documents, project materials, and would sometimes sit in the conference room alone for several hours, forgetting to eat :

When Victor returns to the hotel, there are over a hundred unread notifications on his phone.

He doesn’t pay attention to such information, but taps on the only pinned message amid the countless lists of prompts.

Unsurprisingly, it’s filled with insignificant idle talk, coupled with several different emoticons.

Victor loosens his tie slightly, reading through the messages from top to bottom.

“I made an improved version of omurice. Want to try it?”

“What is Goldman talking about in his Moments - something about being angry and tired. Is the meeting not going smoothly?”

“Remember to eat...”

“And remember to sleep!”

Victor’s finger pauses at this line, and there’s a gentle emotion flowing in his eyes.

“The internet celebrity lawyer you mentioned the other time agreed to my invitation for an interview, so I’ll be rushing out the proposal this Saturday. Want to be a supervisor?”

Victor opens the dialog box. Once he sends an “ok”, the other party immediately responds with an emoticon of a winking cat.

Thinking of the time right now, he arches his brows slightly.

Nestled in my quilt, I’m just about to embark on a long speech regarding the weekend’s schedule, but the phone in my hand suddenly vibrates, surprising me.

Victor: Did you not sleep, or did you wake up?

MC: Haha...

Victor: What are you laughing at?

MC: It feels like that is something I often ask you. Why is it now your turn to ask me?

Victor: It’s only 5am now.

MC: I didn’t get a reply from you, so I couldn’t sleep...

I turn over, changing to a more comfortable position against the corner of the quilt. I press the phone tightly to my ear.

MC: What project are you busy with this time? Is it going smoothly?

Victor: Smoothly. It’s still early, you can sleep for a while longer.

MC: ...I can’t really sleep now. Are you still coming back on Thursday as you said last time?

Victor: Before Saturday.

MC: It’s only Tuesday today... and the sun hasn’t come out yet.

I hear Victor laugh, his low tone mixed with some tiredness.

Victor: You find it too late?

MC: I wouldn’t dare to. If it weren’t something important, you wouldn’t delay returning. However... even if it’s because of work, you did go back on your word, so you have to promise me one thing.

A deep and slow sigh enters my ear, revealing a faint sense of fatigue.

Victor: You can say it.

MC: You have to eat, and you have to sleep.

The other end of the phone call grows silent for a few seconds.

Victor: Mm, I promise you.

The misty morning light is on the curtains. In the midst of my quiet grogginess, I close my eyes, wanting to feel the frequency of his breaths.

MC: ...it has been raining continuously in Paris these two days.

Victor: It’s like that during this season.

MC: Is... is it very cold...

Victor: No, it isn’t.

My consciousness grows increasingly darker, but I can still clearly capture his voice in my bizarre dream world.

Victor: [in the gentlest of gentle voices] Sleep if you’re tired. I’m hanging up.

MC: N-not tired... don’t hang up...

Victor: You can’t even speak clearly, and you’re still unwilling to sleep?

MC: ...

I just need five more seconds to be clear-headed--

I let out a sound of agreement, unsure if I managed to say this aloud.

Very soon, only Victor’s long and steady breaths at my ear remain in my world. It’s very, very close. It’s a closeness that gives one a peace of mind.

Victor: Are you asleep?

MC: ...

Victor: Sleep then.

Victor: ...

Victor: Sleep peacefully.

On Saturday afternoon, I lift my head towards the wall clock for the nth time. When the needle points to the number ‘3′, I can no longer help myself, and give Victor a call.

After the dial tone, the notification that the other party is unable to answer the call sounds. Before I can react, the doorbell rings.

Victor is standing at the door and just about to put his phone back into his pocket. In a daze, I look towards at his empty hands.

MC: Your luggage...

Victor: Goldman took them back. I still have to return to LFG tonight.

As he speaks, he enters and changes his shoes in the hallway. After that, he walks straight into my bedroom.

Victor: What have you been doing these two days?

He walks to the coffee table, picking up the messy outline I was working on for an interview. He takes a glance and then lifts the corners of his lips.

Victor: You said you were working seriously for several days, but you just did a few outlines?

MC: Don’t underestimate me! I’ve looked through quite a number of materials. Look!

I point at the stack of trending societal topics and legal-related books on the floor.

MC: Preparatory work speeds up the actual process. Also, didn’t I recognise my inadequacies and ask you to be a supervisor?

I hurriedly drag a chair to the coffee table and place a headrest on the back of it.

MC: Please sit. I guarantee that from this second onwards, I’ll concentrate on the proposal. Before the sun sets, I’ll definitely have the first edition out.

Victor can’t help but laugh. He hangs his coat on the clothes rack in the corner, then pulls the chair over to himself. After sitting down, he seems to recall something and lets out a faint sigh.

Victor: Lend me your laptop for a while.

I hand him my notebook computer, and a thought flashes across my mind -- how could he not have brought a laptop out?

MC: Victor, when did you get infected by my scatterbrained habits?

Victor: Only this time. I forgot to take it with me after leaving it in the backseat.

Victor avoids my teasing gaze. With his expression unchanged, he starts approving documents on the LFG intranet.

Victor: The sun is setting in two hours.

MC: Who knows - maybe the sun wouldn’t feel like going home today.

I return to my seat, resting my chin on my palm while looking towards Victor.

The light golden sunlight streams in from the window, slowly enveloping Victor. The quiet, warm rays of light are coupled with a calming woody scent, and are very pleasant.

Victor doesn’t speak. His fingers tap against the desk from time to time. In this quiet room, the sound of our breathing is amplified.

After an inordinate amount of time, he finally lifts his eyes and meets mine.

Victor: Staring at me can help you finish your proposal?

MC: I’m not staring at you. I’m silently conceptualising ideas.

After my words are out, a short “ding” sounds.

MC: Wait for a moment~

In a flash, I rush to the kitchen and retrieve the aromatic cookies from the oven. After carefully placing them on a cooling rack, I bring it back to the room along with two cups of warm drinks.

MC: Afternoon tea time!

Victor casts a glance at the cups and arches his brows slightly. Steam floats from the hot cup of milk, and strands of warmth merge with the sweetness in the house.

MC: Your dark circles are so deep, so don’t drink coffee, all right?

Victor: I’m fine.

I thought Victor meant that he wouldn’t drink this, but he holds up the cup after speaking.

Once I sit down, I push the plate filled with cookies towards him.

MC: Look at my new mold - isn’t it cute?

I point at the cookies, which are shaped like cats with different expressions on them.

MC: This one is yawning, this one is full of grievances, this one has already fallen asleep, but I like this one the most. It keeps having an angry face. I called it “Qi Gu Gu”.

[Note: Names don’t translate well into English, so I left it as it is. The original name is 气鼓鼓, which means “seething”]

Victor’s eyes sweep towards my fingers.

Victor: Looks like you.

MC: Is that so?

I puff my cheeks, mimicking the cat on the cookie and squinting my eyes to look at Victor.

As predicted, Victor ignores me. There is a measure of speechlessness in his eyes.

I laugh and bring “Qi Gu Gu” to his lips.

MC: Give it a try?

Victor takes a bite straight from my hand, then returns his gaze to the laptop.

MC: Aren’t you going to evaluate it?

He purses his lips slightly, and I can’t tell if he’s smiling or not. He leans forward a little, then finishes the remaining half of “Qi Gu Gu” in my hand.

His warm lips brush against my fingertips, leaving behind a soft, lingering warmth. A fluffy, light, and sweet sense of happiness stirs up slowly in my heart.

Contented, I sweep the crumbs off my hands and take up my pen again.

Soon after, MC’s mind starts wandering to how fine the weather is

And how fine her man is 👀

He doesn’t show much emotion while working, and his expression looks as calm as always. But the deep look of concentration between his eyebrows is a little different from usual.

As for what exactly is different...

It’s probably how one just can’t look away.

Victor: It’s only been a few minutes. How many times have you lost focus?

I hurriedly retract my gaze, pretending to be scribbling on the paper like an “obedient” student who got caught doing something improper by a teacher.

But my ideas have not been completely formulated, and I can’t think of anything to write. The only thing I can do is draw a small heart at the top right-hand corner of the paper.

Sensing Victor’s lingering gaze on me, I continue scribbling until it becomes a solid heart, then attach a tilde at the end.

After pausing for a moment, I let out a soft sigh and lift my head slightly.

Victor: Why are you sighing.

MC: ...I can’t help it.

Victor: Can’t help what?

MC: Can’t help looking at you.

I cross my arms together, changing to a more comfortable position and plopping onto the table. I tilt my head towards Victor.

He lets out a barely audible laugh. Just as he’s about to speak, a familiar ringtone sounds from his pocket.

Watching Victor pick up the call, my messy thoughts instantly vanish, and I feel slightly downcast.

Victor: The time now is...

While speaking, Victor looks at the bottom right corner of the laptop. After a slight pause, he looks at the phone.

Victor: 4.30pm. Have them give me a reply by 8pm.

His words are concise. After he hangs up, I ask him a little hesitantly.

MC: Do you... have to go back to LFG now?

Victor: I'm not leaving.

While saying this, he sets his phone on silent mode and places it at the corner of the table. Meeting my hesitant gaze, there’s a sense of resignation in his calm eyes.

Victor: Your laptop is set to Paris’ timezone.

I fail to understand the implication behind his words, so I just nod subconsciously.

MC: Mm, it’s easier to tell the time like that.

Victor doesn’t speak. He sweeps another glance at the laptop. At this moment, the system sends a report of the weather forecast in Paris over the next five days - there will be continuous rain every day.

He smiles faintly, then closes the laptop slowly.

Victor: ...you’re really becoming more and more dumb.

MC: ...yes yes yes, taking care of a dummy like me is really a bother for Mr CEO.

I deliberately pout, but can’t help but smile along with Victor. I stand up and retrieve our two empty cups.

MC: I'll go wash the cups. Is there anything you want to eat?

Victor: No need. Are you treating me as you?

I let out an indignant “hmph”, then turn around and head to the kitchen.

I originally thought it would only take a few minutes to wash the two cups. But by the time I cleaned and tidied up the tools I used for baking earlier, half an hour has passed.

When I return to the room, Victor is lying on the bed, my incomplete outline in his hand.

I soften my footsteps and walk over, leaning close to his ear and whispering:

MC: Victor, are you asleep?

Victor doesn’t respond, but has a shallow intake of breath, his eyelashes quivering gently under the twilight.

MC: Are you really sleeping or just pretending to sleep?

Very lightly, I climb onto the bed, inching towards him.

MC: Victor?

I call his name again softly, but he still does not respond. But the corners of his lips curl up slowly, revealing a smile.

MC: You aren’t asleep, are you.

I lean one hand on the bed, and use my other hand to lift up a few strands of his hair.

Looking at his smooth and sharp jawline, my fingertips unconsciously rub the tips of his hair.

MC: ...have you been very tired recently?

Victor: No.

His words carry with them a certain sleepiness - perhaps he hasn’t had rest in a few days, so he gets drowsy once he relaxes just a little.

MC: Didn’t you already look at my interview outline? Why are you looking at it again?

Victor: To see what exactly you were scribbling.

I think about that heart with its little tail, and am left speechless, as though I got caught having a bad idea.

Victor: You specially got me here to supervise you, but you only wrote these few sentences the whole afternoon?

MC: Yeah. Next time, I won’t ask you to be a supervisor! When you’re in front of me, my work efficiency takes a nose-dive.

I reach out to take my notebook from his hand, then cover him with a blanket. Victor turns his head, his half-closed eyes meeting mine.

It’s very rare for me to see such a burnt-out look in his eyes. Right now, I can only feel the emotions in my heart towards this person becoming a hundred times more tender.

MC: Sleep for a while before going to LFG? I’ll wake you up at 7.30pm.

With the rigour of Victor’s schedule, several important meetings were cancelled at short notice so he could fly to Paris. After that, his return was delayed twice.

We already agreed that he’d return before Saturday, but it suddenly changed to Saturday itself...

This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t an extremely troublesome matter.

...and he still stubbornly said that he wasn’t tired.

I place my forefingers on his temples, making slow circles. After a while, a soft laugh drifts from his lips.

Victor: [releases a sigh which sounds like a moan lol]...

Victor takes my right hand and encloses it in his palm, wordlessly pulling me closer to him.

With this distance, every one of his breaths mingle with mine. I can’t help but bend down, pressing the corner of my lips to his fringe.

In the quiet darkness, I hear the frequency of our heartbeats and breathing mingling and becoming more and more synchronised.

Victor: ...there’s no need to worry about me. I haven’t reached the point where a dummy has to worry about me.

MC: Mm, I got it.

I respond softly, but can’t hide the touch of peace in my smile.

MC: ...I just can’t help it.

Can’t help but worry if you’re hungry or not, whether you're cold or not, whether you’re tired or not.

Can’t help but want to see you, whether you’re in front of me or not.

Can’t help but reveal the smile in my brows and lips just because you surface in my mind.

I look out the window - the clouds spread across the dim twilight and the stars are looming. The golden sunset and the quietness of the night meet at the end of the sky.

The sun is about to set.

MC: Victor, I didn’t finish the interview outline before the sun set. Are you going to punish me?

Victor: ...

The only response I get is the sound of his steady and peaceful breathing.

I lower my head and look at his sleeping face. This familiar side profile has gotten slightly thinner over the span of just a few days. I reach out, stroking his cheek in mid-air.

Afraid to disturb him, I silently watch him.

MC: Sleep then.

MC: ...

MC: Sleep peacefully.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #Victor's dates are always so comforting T^T

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heyitssmiller · 4 years

Text

Clandestine: Chapter Three

The first mission doesn’t exactly go as planned. Also, Logan has a thing for glasses, apparently.

@lumosinlove Thank you for letting me run away with your characters! <3

Again, @donttouchmycarrots is my hero and the best proofreader ever! This fic wouldn’t be what it is without her.

Clandestine Masterlist

The bank was quiet, save for the soft murmurings of tellers and customers. Sunlight filtered through the windows of the storefront, light and hazy. The office plant by the front door was growing way too big for its pot. There were a few people waiting in line, absently scrolling through their phones. Others were sitting in the waiting area, mindlessly taking in their surroundings. It was calm, peaceful.

Or it was, until a redhead came sprinting out of the men’s restroom, screaming “Fire!” at the top of his lungs.

The bank then descended into madness.

A man watched from the driver’s seat of his car as people frantically streamed out of the building and onto the sidewalk. He sighed, taking a second to rest his forehead against the steering wheel. “Damnit, O’Hara. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

29 Hours Earlier

“Good morning, cubs!”

“Fuck you, Black.” Logan muttered into his cup of coffee. “It’s too early to be that excited.”

Leo smiled a little and set a paper bag on the table. Logan stared at it. Where had it come from? He hadn’t seen Leo carrying it into the briefing room, but it was too big to stuff into his pockets. He didn’t have a bag or anything – the only thing he was carrying with him was a notebook and a pen. How did he manage to smuggle it in?

Logan was so confused, and it was still too early.

“I brought muffins.” Leo explained, opening the bag and handing one to Finn. “They’re cinnamon swirl.”

“Nut, did you make these?” Finn asked, removing the wrapper and taking a big bite. Leo shrugged.

“I like to cook.”

Black looked up at him in awe. “These are amazing.” He cradled the muffin in his hand like it was something precious.

“I can give you the recipe, if you want.”

Logan grabbed a muffin, looking up quickly at Remus’ snort. “He can’t cook.”

“Neither can you.” Sirius shot back, a little more hostile than his usual teasing manner. Logan glanced back and forth between the pair, tearing off a piece of muffin and popping it into his mouth. Fuck, that was good.

His partners had clearly picked up on the tension, too, but neither of them brought it up. Leo twirled his pen around in his hand, eyes moving from the pair to Finn. He smiled as the redhead enthusiastically grabbed another muffin. Logan snapped his gaze back to Sirius. “Can we get started, please?” He asked pointedly. “If you make me get up this early, we’d better be doing something productive.”

Finn laughed at him, nose scrunching. “Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”

Green eyes rimmed with dark, dark lashes glared back at him. Logan didn’t say a word but took a long sip of coffee instead, refusing to break eye contact. Finn let himself stare a little longer than he probably should have. He wasn’t lying when he told Logan he was a sucker for green eyes.

Sirius finally broke the tension-filled staring competition between himself and Loops and looked down at his files. Remus started the projector without a word, only speaking up when he was ready to begin his presentation. “We’re starting you three off with the easiest flash drives to retrieve – the two in the banks.”

He moved to a picture of the layout of one of the banks, pointing at a small room tucked away in a corner of the building. “So the safe is back here in this room. You can’t get back there without permission or an escort, which makes it a little trickier. The security system is also very high-grade, so I don’t think trying to break in after hours is our best bet here. There’s too many little things we might miss.

“The plan is to go undercover. Leo and Finn, you’ll be infiltrating this bank. Logan, you’ll be lookout. Leo, you’re going to pretend to be a safe specialist. Tell them the make and model of the safe Riddle uses is faulty and the company sent you to see if this one needs to be replaced. I don’t really care what you say, just make it believable.”

“What kind of safe is it?” Leo asked.

Sirius looked down at his notes. “It’s a… Tigerking Digital Security safe. Does that mean anything to you?”

Leo grinned. “Makes my job a hell of a lot easier. They’ve got a weak spot.”

“What am I doing during all of this?” Finn asked through a mouthful of muffin, crumbs stuck to his mouth. He swiped at them with his tongue before speaking again, “Distraction?”

“Yeah. It’ll have to be big – big enough to get Leo alone with that safe. How long do you think it’ll take to crack, Knut?”

He shrugged. “Ten minutes, tops. It’s got this small hole at the back where bolts are fed through. I can get a stiff wire through that hole and hit the reset button. Then I can reset the code of the safe and open it without leaving a trace.”

Finn smiled, mischief in his eyes. “I think I can manage a ten-minute distraction.”

That… that didn’t sound good.

Finn took one look at Logan’s fearful face and laughed. “Relax, it’s nothing too dramatic. I’ll probably just ask for whoever takes Leo back to look at the safe and then throw a fit when they say he’s not available. And then I’ll drag out our conversation to give our dear Nut enough time. Simple.”

“That… actually works.”

Finn scoffed, giving Remus a look. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because you’re Finn O’Hara.”

Finn thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “That’s fair.”

“Nut, when you open the safe you need to replace the real flash drive with this decoy.” Sirius said, holding up a blue flash drive. “This op might take weeks or months – if Riddle comes to check on this drive, he needs to see one instead of an empty safe. Now, if he actually checks the information on the flash drives… well, we’re screwed. Hopefully it won’t come to that. He doesn’t usually check the flash drives unless absolutely necessary – it’s too much of a hassle.”

“And I’ll loop the security camera footage when you get there, so there won’t be any evidence of you tampering with the safe.” Remus said. “Get in, get out. Not too hard, right? And we’ll both be with you every step of the way. You’ll have microphones and earpieces so that we can all communicate.”

Finn couldn’t tell if the bouncing of Leo’s leg was his normal restlessness or nerves. His face was a mask of calm that revealed nothing. For someone who didn’t have any previous experience in espionage or conning people, he sure was good at hiding how he was feeling.

Finn handed him another muffin anyways.

The dimpled smile he got in return was nothing but genuine.

***

Remus sat down on his couch with his dinner, sighing to himself as he stretched out his back. It had been a long day, but he finally felt ready for tomorrow. Their plan was solid, the cubs were as ready as they were ever going to be, he had his video loop for the security camera in the safe room, the rest of his tech had been checked over and deemed ready to go. There wasn’t much else he could do besides get a good night’s sleep if he could.

That would be easier said than done, though.

Sirius chose that moment to throw open the door and close it loudly behind him. Remus glared at him. “Is that really necessary?” He asked, but didn’t add anything else on as Sirius slammed down a stack of hand-written pages onto Remus’ coffee table.

“You want me to open up? Fine. There’s all you need to know about me.”

Remus looked down at the pages and instantly felt guilty. How long had he been working on this? “You didn’t have to-”

“You said you couldn’t trust me.” Sirius interrupted coolly. “I can’t get my brother to safety if you guys don’t trust me.”

It appeared that his brother was his sole motivation. For all of this. Remus could understand that. He’d stop at nothing if the safety of his own brother was put into question.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to do this.” Remus looked up at him, at the stiff set to his shoulders, the detached look in his eyes. He went too far the last time they’d talked about this, hadn’t he? “Look, we got along for over a week when you first got here. I think we can do that again, right?”

At Sirius’ skeptical face, he sighed. “This is on me just as much as you. I… I don’t trust easily.” He had to laugh at that massive understatement. “Perks of being a spy. But I feel like we can manage learning to trust each other the old-fashioned way.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“Getting totally, outrageously drunk and sharing all our secrets.”

Sirius’ straight face only lasted for about a second before he busted out laughing. “You go from wanting my entire life story to wanting to get drunk together?”

“It’s a failproof way to gain someone’s trust.” Remus said solemnly, cracking a smile when Sirius laughed again, incredulous. “But not tonight. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“This Friday, then?”

He couldn’t help but notice the hopeful look on Sirius’ face. Had he ever done this with someone before? Did he have any friends besides his brother previously? He put up this excitable, outgoing façade, but Remus honestly had no idea what lay underneath. He nodded decisively. “This Friday.”

Sirius hesitated, then spoke again. “Do you think they’re ready?”

“I think so. And we’ll be there if something goes wrong.” Remus met his eyes, trying to instill confidence into the ex-Snake. “No matter what happens, we’re going to do our best to get your brother out safely.”

“And what if that’s not enough?” Sirius asked, eyes haunted.

That was exactly why Remus hadn’t made any strict promises. There was no way to guarantee that they would get Regulus back. If Remus was in Sirius’ shoes, if this this was Jules instead of Regulus, what would Remus most want to hear?

“We’re going to do everything we can, I promise.” He said, soft but firm. “I know that’s not enough, but it’s the best we can do as of right now.”

Sirius stared back, then nodded. “Thank you.” He looked down at Remus’ food. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

Remus laughed, shoving him away. “Get your own, you leech. This is mine.”

“Leech?” Sirius demanded, dramatizing his offence. “I can’t believe you called me a leech. You were the one who offered to house me, after all.”

That was true. Even if he hated to admit it, Remus was lonely. He lived in this apartment all by himself, worked mostly on his own, and his family lived miles and miles away. And being a spy didn’t exactly make it easy to find friends. He was distrusting and cautious by nature, especially after... well. After he left fieldwork and transitioned to a desk job.

He didn’t know why he’d offered to let Sirius stay, honestly. He just got this gut feeling that it was the right thing to do.

And Remus Lupin always trusted his gut.

“Worst decision I’ve ever made.” He quipped, laughing as Sirius threw a pillow at him. Sirius was a horrible roommate. He left dishes in the sink, beard trimmings on the bathroom counter, and his shoes haphazardly strewn about the living room.

But he always had hot water on the stovetop in the mornings when Remus woke up, always let him pick what they watched on tv at nights, and always replaced anything he had used up without being asked. And, if Remus was being completely honest with himself, soft gray eyes paired with an even softer smile weren’t exactly a terrible thing to wake up to.

So far, this whole roommate business wasn’t too bad.

***

Logan hated nothing more than being lookout.

He watched on as Finn and Leo geared up, testing their mics and earpieces and making adjustments accordingly. He was supposed to be watching the entrance to make sure no Snakes entered the building. They were doing the first bank heist while Logan was stuck here, in the car parked on the street, where he couldn’t see what was going on or if his partners were in trouble.

Their first mission, and he was stuck outside.

Ugh.

“You ready for this?” Finn asked Leo as he discreetly tucked a wire under his collar and out of sight. Leo had his eyes trained on the building across from them, wrapped in his coat and a thick scarf, fingers drumming out a staccato beat on his thigh. He didn’t seem to have heard Finn.

“Nut?”

Leo swiveled his head to look back at them. “Hmm?”

“You ok?” Logan asked, watching the blond’s face for signs of nervousness or stress. But his gaze was steady, determined. For someone on their first mission, he was remarkably calm. Either that or a much better actor than Logan had given him credit for. But then his expression flickered and a shadow of doubt crept in.

“I’m fine.” He said, and Logan couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince them or himself. He reached out and gave the blond’s shoulder a squeeze, letting his hand linger before trailing it down his arm and pulling away.

“You’re fine.” Logan reassured with a smile and watched the resolve build back up in Leo’s eyes, causing the knot in Logan’s chest to ease up a little.

That was better.

Finn looked at him for a second, then took his glasses off. “Here, put these on. I feel like your cover story requires glasses.” He gently eased them onto the other boy’s face. Leo blinked rapidly, then squinted and widened his eyes to adjust to the lenses.

“Jesus, what prescription is this?”

“It’s not that bad.” Finn said, ruffling Leo’s hair in retaliation. He took a step back to see the finished product and whistled lowly. “Damn, maybe we should take those off again. We’re supposed to be unmemorable when we’re undercover. No one will be able to take their eyes off you with those on.”

Logan had to agree there. Soft blue eyes blinked back at them from behind tortoiseshell frames, looking larger than they normally did. Leo buried his nose in his scarf in an attempt to hide the blush caused by Finn’s flirtatious words.

The sight did strange things to Logan’s stomach.

Remus’ voice reached them through their com link, startling all three of them. “You guys ready to go?”

Leo took a deep, steadying breath. “Let’s do this.” He looked back at Logan, eyes fierce – a stark contrast to the soft look of only a few seconds ago. Logan sucked in a breath of his own. This kid sure was something.

“See you in a bit.”

“See you in a bit.” Logan echoed, grabbing the car keys out of his pocket and letting his lips twitch up into a smile at Finn’s cheery salute. He leaned against the car door and watched the pair make their way around the corner and towards the bank without glancing back.

He got back into the car and moved it around the same corner before putting it in park. His eyes shifted between the street in front of him and his rearview mirror, a book in his lap to keep from raising suspicions, and settled in to worry and wait.

***

Leo shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting and made his way to the front desk. Ignoring his pounding heart as best he could, he locked eyes with the teller and smiled. “Hi there. Is your manager here?” He asked, dragging his accent out slow and sweet like molasses. “I’ve got a few questions about your safes.”

She smiled back. “Sure thing. I’ll go grab him.” Leo thanked her as she left, looking around while he waited and trying his hardest not to squint too much in Finn’s glasses.

“Nut, between the accent and the glasses - plus your looks in general - I think that girl is half in love with you already.” Sirius’ voice teased, causing Leo to flinch slightly. He needed to get used to hearing the voices of people he couldn’t see during these missions.

“She is not.” He muttered back as he pretended to rub his nose, covering his mouth as he spoke so that no one else could see it. His hand absentmindedly played with the old, frayed bracelet on his wrist.

“You can do better, Nut.” Logan chimed in, voice a little gruff.

“How do you know?” Sirius asked. “You can’t even see her.”

“I’m using my imagination.”

Sirius barked out a laugh while Remus just sighed and requested that they all stay focused. Leo glanced around at the lobby again. Finn was standing in line behind him, looking at something on his phone. He forced himself not to look at his partner too long and kept scanning the rest of the lobby. It seemed to be a pretty quiet day - there weren’t too many people inside. A few people were seated in the waiting area and some were waiting in line behind Finn. Leo saw the teller and a short, balding man who must have been the bank manager making their way back towards him.

Leo stuck his hand out when they reached him, which the manager shook with a fake smile on his face.

“Hi, how are you doing?” Leo asked, withdrawing his hand. “I’m Fred Decker with Tigerking Digital Security. I have on record that you’re currently using one of our safes, is that correct?”

“Fred?” Sirius’ voice asked incredulously. “Of all the aliases you could use, you choose Fred? Nut, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Remus hissed at him to shut up. Leo ignored it.

“Yes, that’s right.” The manager said, a bit stiff. “What’s this about?”

“There’s a recall on a few of our safes. I was wondering if I could take a look at yours and see if it needs to be replaced. Free of charge, of course. This is an error on our part, and we want to do all we can to fix it.”

The manager hesitated, then nodded. “This way.”

Leo followed the man through a set of doors into a hallway, spotting Finn out of the corner of his eye as he approached the front desk and sent Leo a quick wink. That, more than anything, calmed Leo’s nerves. If Finn was acting like this was just run-of-the-mill and not a big deal, then they must’ve been doing something right. The door closed behind Leo, blocking his vision of the lobby. He took a fortifying breath and followed the manager into the safe room, secluded from the rest of the bank.

“Here we are,” The manager said, then pointed to a safe wedged into the corner of the room. “And there’s your safe.”

“The camera in the safe room is already on a loop, Leo. You’re all set.” Remus’ voice said, steady and calm. Leo looked the safe over, stalling as he waited for Finn’s distraction.

“Fuck,” he heard through his earpiece. “Leo, you’re going to have to hang in there for a few more seconds. The planned distraction didn’t work.”

Leo swallowed, looking back up at the manager. “So there’s these holes in the back, see?” He said, figuring a sure-fire way for him to stall was to talk about the safe. He could keep up a conversation like this for hours. “They’re used to bolt the safes into the wall. A few of our older models have larger holes.”

He grabbed the stiff coil of wire out of his pocket. “Some thieves have learned that you can get to the reset button in these older models if you use a tough wire like this and insert it through one of the holes. Basically all I want to do today is see if a thief could potentially do that with this safe. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, of course! If there’s a problem, our client would want that fixed immediately.”

“I’m sure they would.” Leo said absentmindedly as he started fiddling with the wire for as long as he possibly could. He straightened it out from it’s coil, looked down it’s length, and then pretended to straighten some kinks out.

Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic-

Remus’ voice was a little more tense now. “Finn, where’s that distraction?”

Finn, who was in the men’s bathroom grabbing handful after handful of paper towels and shoving them into a trash can, grumbled, “I’m working on it, ok? Sirius was right - that teller definitely has a type, and it sure as hell isn’t me. I had to improvise.”

“What does that mean?” Logan asked warily. Finn could practically see him gripping the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as he forced himself to stay put. “What are you doing?”

Finn grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer on the bathroom sink and took the top off, dumping the contents into the trash can as well. He grabbed the lighter in his pocket (he liked to be prepared, thank you very much) and produced a small flame.

“Something stupid.”

He lowered the lighter to the trashcan and prepared to run.

Leo could hear the shouting from Finn’s distraction all the way back in the safe room. He looked up at the manager, pretending to be confused. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure.” The manager frowned, shifting from foot to foot nervously as he looked towards the commotion. “I’m going to check it out. I’ll be right back, ok?”

Leo waved him off with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right here.” He messed around with the safe until the door closed, then hissed, “Finn, what the hell is going on out there?” He moved Finn’s glasses to perch on top of his head and shoved the wire through one hole in the back of the safe. He grabbed his flashlight to look through the hole on the other side, searching for a small red button.

“I might’ve started a fire in the men’s restroom.”

“You what?” Leo demanded, finally finding the reset button and moving the wire steadily closer to it. “You do realize that does the exact opposite of give me more time, right?” Sure enough, the fire alarm sounded, loud and clear.

“Fuck me.” Leo muttered as he jabbed the reset button with the wire. Someone - Leo thought it might be Finn, but he wasn’t sure - muttered something too soft and muffled to be picked up by their mic. Leo didn’t have the time to question it. The safe door opened with a soft click. He quickly switched the flash drive with the replica and closed the door again. The wire got recoiled and shoved back into his pocket, Finn’s glasses returned to resting on his nose. He climbed to his feet and made his way towards the lobby at a quick pace. “I’ve got it.”

“Nice work, Nut.” He heard Logan say, and couldn’t repress the jittery feeling he always got after a successful job. He exited the bank, looking around for the manager. He seemed busy as he talked to his employees in an attempt to get the situation under control. He caught Leo’s eyes and stepped towards him. “Mr. Decker! I was looking for you.”

Leo only just remembered to over-exaggerate his accent. “I heard the alarm and high-tailed it out here. Was it a prank?”

“No,” He said after a beat of hesitation, “Someone actually started a fire in the men’s bathroom. The fire department is on its way. Hopefully it won’t take too long and you can get back to looking at that safe.”

“No need, I already finished. The holes were too small for the wire, so y’all should be fine. Anything thinner than the wire I used will be too flimsy to press that reset button.” Leo glanced down at his watch. “I do have six more banks to visit today, though, so I’m afraid this is where I leave you. Thank you for being so cooperative.” He held out his hand for the manager to shake again and gave one last smile before walking back down the street towards their designated rendezvous, trying to look casual and not like he was running away from the scene of a theft.

Sure enough, a non-descript gray car was waiting for him, right where it was supposed to be. Without a word, he climbed into the back and sprawled across all three seats, throwing an arm over his eyes as Logan put the car into drive.

The three of them were silent for a few seconds before Leo cracked a smile and laughed. “The one thing – the one thing that could get me kicked out of that safe room too fast, and that’s what you decided would make a perfect distraction?”

Finn looked back at the back seat with a grin, which softened when he laid eyes on the blond. His hair shone in the late-morning sunlight, highlighting a streak of gray at his temple. Those long legs of his took up most of the back row, and even then he still had to bend his knees to fit all the way. His eyes were blocked by his arm, but Finn could’ve seen those dimples via satellite image from space.

“Hey, cut me some slack. I was making it up as I went.” This sent Leo into another fit of laughter, causing Finn’s smile to broaden.

“Besides,” Logan added, “You’re quick with your hands. You didn’t need all ten minutes, you barely needed three.”

Leo shrugged, which looked really strange in his current position on his back. “Got lucky. Found that reset button faster than I usually do.” He adjusted Finn’s glasses, which were still resting on his nose. “Maybe I need glasses, too.”

“Shut up. Those glasses are a statement piece, thank you very much.”

Logan snorted, watching Leo’s hand reach over the center console to return the glasses to their rightful owner. “Maybe that’s why you’re a terrible marksman, O’Hara. When’s the last time you got that prescription checked?”

Finn gasped in offense. Logan glanced over briefly and noticed the tips of his ears getting red. Cute.

“How dare you! I am not a terrible marksman!”

“That’s not what your file says.”

“What?”

“The evidence doesn’t lie.” Logan said, struggling to bite back his grin. Finn was just so fun to tease.

“Screw debriefing. When we get back to the office, we’re going to the shooting range.” Finn crossed his arms over his chest sulkily. “Terrible marksman. How dare they. Nutter Butter, back me up here.”

Leo blinked at the new nickname, but he couldn’t say he minded it too much. Especially when Finn said it like that, with such unfiltered affection. He watched the redhead turn around in his seat to look at him with big Bambi eyes, only then remembering that he was looking for an answer from Leo.

He put on a show of thinking about it, then shrugged. “I dunno, Finn. The evidence doesn’t lie.”

“Et tu, Brute?” Finn whined. “Betrayed by both of my partners. Unbelievable.”

Leo wished there was another word for partner. Maybe he should refer to them as just coworkers now. The term partner was giving him ideas.

Ideas he couldn’t afford to be having for the first and quite possibly the biggest op of his life.

“Also, you’re one to talk!” Leo looked back up at Finn when he realized he was talking to him. “Have you ever shot a gun before, rookie?” He stopped suddenly, then grinned broadly. “Oh man, please tell me you’ve shot a gator when you were back in Louisiana. That’s so badass.”

Leo arched an eyebrow.

“Just because there’s horror stories about gators doesn’t mean they deserve to be shot.” Logan said, switching his turn signal on and waiting for the left turn light to change from red to green. “They’re a big part of the ecosystem.”

“And they kill people.”

“Oh come on, when’s the last time you heard of someone being killed by a gator?”

“Literally last week, down in Florida.”

“Well, that’s Florida. Crazy stuff like that happens in Florida all the time.”

“Did you hear about that guy from Florida who made a beer run while holding a gator?”

Logan chuckled, glancing over at his partner in disbelief. “What?”

“You heard me! Apparently he walked in, looked around and asked ‘Y’all ain’t out of beer, are you?’ But then the story gets weirder!”

Leo just sat in the backseat and laughed at Finn’s dramatic retelling of Florida news as building after building flashed by outside their windows, feeling lighter than air. His first mission was a success. He grabbed the small, innocuous flash drive out of his pocket, twirling it in his hand. One down, six more to go. If all missions were like this, taking down the Snakes wouldn’t be so bad.

He should’ve knocked on wood after having that thought.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #coops #sirius black #remus lupin #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #clandestine

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onetoomanyfilms · 4 years

Text

champagne problems (reggie peters x reader)

hi everyone! here’s my first ever imagine and my first contribution to the jatp x evermore collaboration! warning... tissues are advised, maybe? x

inspired by: champagne problems by taylor swift

word count: 2k

the jatp evermore masterlist

——————

There had always been the thought in your brain. That the relationship was too amazing, too good to be true. But you loved him anyway. You fell deeply and truly. So, as you saw Reggie’s heart break in front of you, you couldn’t help but wonder how it had ever come to this.

——————

“He’s going to propose tonight.”

“What?” you looked over at Alex. The two of you had known each other since you were little and there was no way he was going to start keeping things from you now. Especially when you were about to ditch the party you were supposed to be getting proposed to at. You were ready to get back into their pjs and snuggle down. Having never been one for parties, not even when they were hosted by Reggie. As much as you loved him, the idea of them didn’t settle right. “He came over to us last week. I’m not going to lie, I’ve never seen him so happy. I think you’d just been on a date or something?”

“Yeah, last Thursday. To that café by the beach.”

“Well, he came into the garage and said ‘I’m gonna marry them’. He’s been a stress head this past week, that’s coming from me.” You chuckled slightly but your brain was ultimately filled with Reggie. He was going to propose. Just at the thought of it, a smile wiggled its way onto your face. “And I was about to go and ditch the whole party…”

“Yeah… I’m sorry I feel like I’ve ruined it now.”

“No, no,” you wrapped your arms around Alex, “you’re the reason we are together in the first place. Nothing could ruin tonight. Not even your blabber mouth.”

—————

Alex had left you to go and help Reggie set up. Sitting on your bed, you felt every positive emotion in the world bubbling away in their stomach. The red flannel shirt Reggie had given you last November was wrapped tightly around their shoulders, the smell filling up your nostrils. Everyone had always thought you were weird, keeping their distance saying you were ‘messed in the head’. Then Reggie came along. His bass guitar, goofy smile and heart of glass came and filled every gap you felt in your life. Closing your eyes, you remembered the night it rained as you were walking home. The lack of a coat or umbrella meant you were slowly but surely getting drenched. Then a Chevy came driving up beside you. You had expected it to zoom past and splash you with the dirty drain water. But it stopped. A recognisable, brown-haired, adorable dork opened up the door. “Hop in.”

Reggie never hesitated to help, never once thought about himself over others. Even when it came to his parents, you would often find yourself climbing the tree beside his window to check on him. Or you’d hear a tap tap tap on your bedroom door and see him standing there, the pained look on his face that you hated but saw too often. But the minute the two of you would intertwine in each others arms, all the problems in the world went away. You were both each other’s escape and home.

Smiling, you gently wiped the tear that escaped down your cheek.

Now, what to wear.

—————

“Hey, Luke?”

“Yeah Y/N?”

“Can you tell Reg I’ll be a bit later please? I’m gonna take the longer way around, try and escape the midtown traffic.” You buckled up your seatbelt, double checking the mirrors and turning the lights on low beam. “Yeah, sure. Just…” Luke didn’t know you knew about the proposal so had to tiptoe carefully around his sentences, “just, drive safe but don’t be too long yeah?”

“Of course dummy. I’ll see ya later. Love ya.”

“Love ya too.” Starting the ignition, the butterflies fluttered around your body. The streets of LA had a certain romantic quality to them as the sun set. The street lamps igniting gradually, the couples walking hand in hand down the boulevards. So much possibility in this town. But as you drove down the road with love in your heart, others were driving with a little too much alcohol in their system.

One of which was driving right towards the person Reggie kept a picture of in his wallet.

—————

Everywhere ached. Nothing hurt really, just as if your body had been pulled in every direction possible. But as you turned your attention to your surroundings, you hadn’t expected you had been pulled away from their body. A couple ran over to your body, the man performing CPR on the chest. “What? What’s happening?”

“Oh, it’s rather simple my dear.” A voice spoke from behind you as tears began to stream down your face. “I’m afraid to say you’re dead.”

“No.” Shaking your head, you began to run around to the people around. “Help! I need help, please!”

“They won’t hear you. Like I said, you’re dead.”

“But I’m here, so, what am I? A ghost or?”

“Yes, you’re a ghost my dear.” No. This can’t be happening. You had just been driving, going to the party. The party.

Reggie.

You collapsed to the concrete floor below. Reggie. He’d be at the party. Talking to everyone. Smiling. Waiting for you to walk through the door. Waiting to propose. “I’m sorry. I sense you were heading somewhere important.”

“My boyfriend. He was going to…” you had to spit the word out, “propose.”

“Perhaps.” You scrambled up quickly, spinning towards the strangers direction. “Perhaps what?”

“Perhaps, I can give you a few more minutes. You know, to say goodbye.” You knew there would be a catch, but you had to say goodbye. Reggie deserved it. “How?”

“I’ll do my work, you’ll have 30 minutes to bid your farewells and then we will meet here again.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch now, darling. You’ll be able to be seen by people as well as touch them. But I can only do 30 minutes.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” You held you hand out to the stranger in front of you, shaking in agreement. “What’s your name anyway?”

“Y/N, and you?” “Caleb, Caleb Covington.”

—————

Reggie had been pacing out back for a solid 15 minutes by the time Luke and Alex came to check on him. They’d been caught up with the other guests and the expensive champagne Reggie’s sister had brought, but seeing their mate in this state was something neither of them could ignore. “Hey bud,” Luke slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, “you ok?”

“Yeah, Reggie, it’s like you’re on a runway or something.” The anxious brunette looked between his best friends. “I’m fine, I promise. I just… I feel like Y/N should’ve been here by now.” They huddled together in a group hug, each one excited for the night ahead.

But as they spoke out the back, you arrived, waiting by the back gate with this Covington guy. “So which one is the lucky man?”

“Reggie, the one with the goofy smile in the middle.”

“Well, he’s a good looking one isn’t he?”

“Yeah, yeah he is.” You stared at the three of them. When you eventually did go, you knew Reggie would be alright because they had each other.

“So, Y/N. I’ve been thinking.” Here it was, here’s the catch. “Maybe it is best if, if you decline his proposal.”

“What?” You hadn’t even thought that was a possibility. All you wanted was to go up to him, greet all of them and then pretend you forgot your phone in the car. “I’m just saying. He’s going to see you and do it straight away. And if that happens, you should say no.”

“No, I…” but then it struck you. He’d wait for you. He’d obviously find out you were dead sooner or later but, if you said no. Perhaps, he’d move on quicker. It made your heart break even thinking about it, no matter doing it. But you had to put Reggie first. “Anyway, here we go.” Suddenly, with a click of his fingers and a push through the gate, you found yourself standing right in front of the three boys you adored so much. Their faces looking right at you.

“Y/N! You’re here.” You felt a pair of warm arms wrap around their middle, lifting them up into the air. Reggie always acted like an overexcited puppy, it seemed today was no different. As he was about to drop them to the floor, Y/N squeezed tighter. The minutes already seeming to fly by. Each one filled with kisses, hugs and affection. But as you stared into each others eyes, the world around them disappearing from existence, the other two boys looking on at them with heart eyes Reggie decided it was the right time. Little did he know, it never would be anymore.

“Y/N,” he coughed, clearing his throat a bit before he said anymore. His hand slipped to the box in his pocket, his fingers grazing the leather outside. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now. I know, I’m not the best with words but…”

“Reggie…”

Here it goes.

“I can’t be with you anymore.” The image of his face in that moment, would be engrained in your memory forever. The heartbreak, the disbelief, the sadness. You’d caused that. You’d caused his heart to shatter like glass. He was speechless. So you had to create the words instead.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment we met. You stumbled into the room and the whole world seemed to light up. You made my life change completely and I wouldn’t change it for the world. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this to you. A part of me will always love you but I can’t. You’ll find the real thing instead. Someone you can hold everyday and will follow you wherever you go.” You paused, swallowing back the words you wanted to say, opting for the ones that’d let him go. You cradled his head in your hands, wiping the tears sliding down his rosy cheeks. “You’ll find someone better, who will make you realise all of this was just the beginning. You won’t remember today, you won’t remember all of my problems. I mean, you’re playing the Orpheum next week! At 17! You’re too young for all this marriage stuff anyway,” you hesitated for a second, “we both are. You’ve got so much ahead of you. I’m just sorry I can’t be there to live it with you.”

Looking over at Alex and Luke, you nodded slightly. Hoping they got the message to look after him. And you knew they would, with their lives. But also to tell them goodbye. They weren’t Reggie but Alex had been like a brother to you since childhood, Luke filling that role later in life too. You hoped they knew how much they meant to you. Cause they meant the world. You kissed his forehead and turned in your spot. Slowly but surely heading towards the gate. Part of you wanted him to call you back, tell you none of this was happening. But it was, and as you made your way through the gate you felt it all come crashing down. You sunk down leaning against the rickety fence behind, hugging your knees in tightly.

“Y/N!!”

You heard the shout and the creak of the gate door. Reggie came sprinting through, looking every which way to see where you had gone. He couldn’t see you anymore. That was it.

“I love you, Reggie. I always will.”

And with that, you stood up. Trying to hold yourself together as you walked towards Caleb. The two of you silently walked away from the scene as two flashing blue lights zoomed past. You did the right thing, didn’t you? He was going to have a full life, a happy life. A long life in which he’d find someone else who could love him enormously.

That’s what you thought at the time. Before the gig at the Orpheum, where the boys met a fate you’d never wish on anybody.

——————

other collaborators in the series: @vanillann @pink-flame @dxestars

#jatp #evermore #jatp x evermore #jatp x reader #reggie peters #reggie peters x reader #reggie #reggie x reader #julie and the phantoms #reggie peters imagines #reggie peters imagine #julie and the fat ones #imagine

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wkemeup · 4 years

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By Any Other Name (17)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6k warnings: arson, cannon level violence, gun violence, the moment you’ve been waiting for 🌹series masterlist 🌹

"I said I’m fine, Steve,” Bucky groaned, swatting away the hand of the paramedic as he tried to disinfect his shoulder. Blood was bubbling at the surface over ripped and frayed edges, dripping down his arm and onto his ribs. He held his shirt balled up in his hands, clenching at the fabric as the sting of alcohol burned against the open wound.

“You were shot, Buck. Let the man work,” Steve warned, glaring at him until Bucky dropped his resolve long enough for the paramedic to begin stitching the mess on his shoulder. It was surrounded by hardened tissue; muscle that had been carved and mutilated in his time overseas and the time between. He’d lost some of his nerve endings amongst the scarring, so the needle twisting through his skin wasn’t so bad.

“She did a good job. Clean hit. Looks like it went right through,” Sam said, eyeing the gunshot wound in Bucky’s shoulder. He pursed his lips, impressed. “Y/n know about the vest?”

“No.” Bucky sighed, breath heavy like stones in his lungs. “There wasn't time to tell her.”

The vest he wore under his shirt was not bulletproof. No, it was a stage prop, a gimmick from the set of a television studio that actors wore when they were shot on screen, one that released balloons of fake blood. It was what was currently drying on the concrete on the office floor just a few feet away.

It was supposed to be used after he was arrested, to make it look like James Karpov died on his way to the station in a dramatic shootout with at least a dozen witnesses, giving Bucky Barnes the opportunity to walk as a free man again. It was a part of a plan that had long been thrown to the wasteland and it forced him to improvise. So, when he stared down the end of your barrel, he knew setting it off was the only way to get you out of this, to keep Rumlow from suspecting you.

Bucky managed to snag the release at the time of your shot, making it look like you’d hit a critical artery. He fell to the ground and played dead.

"Shit,” Sam cursed, hands on his hips. “Does she know you’re alive?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed, clenching his jaw as the paramedic tugged on the rudimentary string keeping his skin together, “but she’s out there somewhere, alone with that fucking psychopath. I can't be wasting time on this. I need to be out there looking for her!”

“We’ve got dozens of our finest searching for them,” Steve said, trying to reassure him, but it was no use. “We’ll find her. You need to let us do our jobs.”

Bucky pushed himself from the back of the ambulance, shoving away the paramedic the moment he pressed on the bandage over the mess on his shoulder. He spotted his reflection in the side mirror of the ambulance, grunting at the stain of red against his cheek. He wiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt, trying to scrub it away, though it only seemed to make it worse. Dried blood crusted on his jawline.

Bucky slipped his shirt back over his head, wincing at the sharp pain in his shoulder as he tugged it down to his waist. He brushed out the wrinkles, ignoring the heavy patch of red on the left side of the fabric before he retrieved his weapon from Sam.

“I’m going after her,” Bucky reported flatly, heading towards the door.

“Come on, man!” Sam chased after him. “Don’t be an idiot, okay? We’ll come up with a plan.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Buck,” Steve warned, though he was following close behind. A hand landed on Bucky’s good shoulder and he froze, tension hardening like a rock through his spine and Steve quickly pulled away.

“Look,” Bucky growled, hands clenched, “you can either come with me, or get the hell out of my way.”

“How about a third option where you come with me?” Natasha appeared at the edge of the doorway, holding a tablet in her hand. Pursed lips, raised eyebrow staring back at him and Bucky shook his head, pushing past her.

“I don’t have time for—”

“I found her.”

He froze dead in his tracks, head whipping back around. “You what? How?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Natasha said as she gestured for the team to follow to the van out back. She turned and started walking before caring to see Bucky’s acknowledgement. Steve and Sam exchanged a quick look as they quickly jogged behind.

She jumped into the passenger seat, instructing Sam to drive as Bucky and Steve piled in the back. Sam didn’t ask questions as the engine turned to a low purr and Natasha gave him the first set of instructions. Left out the back gate. Continue to the fork in the road, then right.

“Nat,” Bucky urged impatiently, hands squeezing at his knees as he tried to look over her shoulder to get a glimpse of the tablet, but she held it secure to her chest, like there was something she didn’t want him to see.

“I’ve already alerted the NYPD,” Natasha told Sam, “so they know not to pull us over. Don’t stop for the reds.”

Bucky squeezed his hands to fists, nails digging into his palms. His jaw was clenched, wired shut, and his breaths were hot like fire on every exhale. He tried to focus on the feel of his jeans, the faint smell of the corn syrup soaked into his shirt, the cool breeze of the window cracked next to him, but nothing eased the boulder forming in his chest, pushing down on his lungs and suffocating his heart.

“Nat,” Bucky gritted out again, voice strained in the effort, “where is she?”

Natasha sighed, eyes flickering back at Steve, who slowly nodded in response to her silent question. She tapped on the screen of the tablet, twisting around in her seat until she could see Bucky over the shoulder.

“You said Rumlow’s pet scientist removed all of the bugs from the house?” Natasha started. Bucky narrowed his eyes, remembering the pieces of the small listening devices broken on the floor of the factory. Natasha bit on her lip, slowly extending the tablet to Bucky. “Seems he missed one.”

The tablet was heavier than he expected and it dipped a little as she released it to his hands. His heart was pounding, like thunder, bursting at the seams and aching to push past his ribs, break open skin, and plummet straight to the floor.

Bucky stared down at the screen, the image in its reflection of a room he knew well; shelves upon shelves filled with books, assorted mugs left around the room still steeping tea from hours earlier, the soft light of the pale blue lamp by the couch, the series of awards and degrees hanging on the walls.

Bucky’s hands were shaking, gripping so tightly to the edges of the tablet he thought he might crack the glass, because what drew his attention wasn’t the familiarity of the room, the memories of the time he spent there loving you from afar, loving you up close.

He couldn’t see the pile of books on the end table that you’d gathered for him for him to read. He couldn’t see the solid black mug with golden marbled cracks you’d designated as his mug sitting upon the coffee table. He couldn’t see the aisles where he’d loved you, rushed and rough, laughing as he pressed your back to the shelves and your legs wrapped at his waist, the heated flush of your breaths as you clung to him, the sweet whimpers he drew from your lips.

No—instead, he fixated on the novels laying haphazardly on the floor, books you cherished face down, pages bending, where you’d once kept them meticulously organized along the shelves. The plants thrown from their pots on the windowsill, ones you talked so kindly to every time you watered them, wondering how they were still alive because you’d killed just above every other plant before them. The faint discoloration of cigar smoke filtering to the top of the room, clouding over wooden engravings at the tops of the bookcases, staining the room with a smell of a man you worked so hard to escape from.

Then, though his heart was in his throat, he let his eyes drift to you – you tied at the center of the room to a chair as Rumlow sat on the edge of a couch, your couch, dragging in smoke from a cigar. There were ashes on the cushions, smeared into the fabric where Bucky had laid with you on late evenings when he couldn’t stand to leave you alone in that home.

“I didn’t--” Bucky started, finding his voice dry, like sandpaper, and he cleared his throat. He gripped tighter to the tablet, knuckles turning white. “I didn’t think we were surveilling this room.”

“We weren’t,” Nat replied gently, sensing the tension in Bucky’s voice. “I had the transmission cut off since last year. It’s probably why they didn’t find it when they swept for bugs. There was no signal coming from it until I turned it on a few minutes ago. We lost audio though.”

Bucky nodded, feeling an ounce of relief, knowing that your sanctuary wasn’t completely tainted until now. This room, the only room in the house you truly felt safe in, was still yours. Or, it was, before your husband laid waste to it.

“This is a good thing, Buck,” Steve added slowly, setting a light hand on Bucky’s leg. “We know where she is. You can keep an eye on her until we get there.”

Bucky watched as Rumlow knelt down in front of you, gripping tight to your jaw as you struggled to recoil from his touch. He could see the tears reflecting on your cheeks, the tremble of your chest as you tried to find your breath, even from the angle of the camera high in the corner of the room.

He couldn’t stand to see you like this; afraid.

He was supposed to be on his way to you from the back door of the police station, clean of the theatrics and the corn syrup dye on his clothes, free of the name binding him to a vile organization, ready to start his life again as the man he always wanted you to know him to be. He was supposed to protect you from this, from Rumlow, from the life you’d been chained to for years.

But instead, you were bound to a chair in the middle of your safe haven, a witness as your husband tore it to pieces, like pieces of your heart breaking off with every novel tossed to the ground; alone, as Bucky let his promise you to go unanswered.

His promise to save you from this, to take you away, to give you back the life you’d lost.

He might not get that chance.

“I’m going to kill him.”

The words were heavy on his tongue but there was a relief in it, a certainty. It was a fate he’d been slated to from the start.

The car was silent; the only response the low purr of the engine.

***

“What’s her status?”

Bucky shook his head, unable to respond to Natasha’s question without finding bile in his mouth. It was like watching a horror movie, knowing that at any second everything could go up in flames. Rumlow was shouting at you, his arms waving about, and though they had no audio, Bucky could tell by the way you were avoiding your husband's eyes, that you were afraid.

But it was when Rumlow bent to pick up a large container, one with liquid that sloshed up over the top and spilled to the floor by your feet, that Bucky stopped breathing entirely.

“Bucky?”

He couldn’t hear Steve’s voice, not as he watched Rumlow spill the thick, dark colored liquid around the room, onto the couch, onto your shelves lined with books, onto the hardwood floors. You were shouting at him, struggling against the wires binding you to the chair, blood trickling down your wrists. You winced at the smell of it, pushing your nose to your shoulder the closer he got.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered out, hands shaking violently against the tablet. His heart was lodged up into his throat, threatening to choke him.

“What is it?” Sam called from up front. “What’s going on?”

“Sam,” Steve warned, eyes glued to the screen as Bucky veins filled with fire, with rage, and the heat of his breath was that of a dragon’s. “How far are we?”

“Five minutes, boss.”

Steve stole a glance back at Bucky, watching as he gripped painfully at the tablet, gritting his teeth as Rumlow stalked around you, dumping what looked to be gasoline to a room quite literally filled to the brim with novels that would go up in flames in a matter of seconds. Bucky was shaking, whether it was with rage or fear, Steve couldn’t tell.

Steve caught Natasha’s eye, a silent conversation between them before he leaned forward and put a hand on Sam’s seat.

“Floor it.”

***

Bucky jumped from the car before Sam could even pull it into park. He shoved his way out the door, the pavement still moving under his feet as he rolled along the driveway, back skidding into the rocky surface that only worsened the pain in his shoulder. He scrambled back to his feet, sprinting towards the mansion, when a thunderous explosion to his froze him dead in his tracks.

An arm came up instinctively to shield his eyes as an influx of bright light punctured through the night sky.

Glass shattered out into the grass and from the window of your library rose angry, orange flames into the night sky, dancing and crackling in the wind. A large gust of a breeze swept by and the flames seemed to scream, pulling down pieces of the wooden architecture of the outside walls with deafening snaps.

He could vaguely hear Steve shouting behind him, warning him to wait until the firefighters arrived, to stop putting himself at the front lines of a beast he couldn’t hope to tame. They were only a few minutes out. It was too dangerous to go inside himself. He wasn’t trained for this.

But none of that mattered to Bucky, not in that moment. All he knew was you were trapped inside, alone, in a burning room and he’d be damned if he stood on the sidelines and watched.

Bucky sprinted to the front door, bounded over the cracks in the pavement and skipping the stairs leading to the door. The knob seared hot enough that it burned right through his palm and he hissed at the sting of it, staring down at pink and blistering skin in his grip.

He threw his shoulder to the door, shouting out in frustration when it refused to budge. His shoulder was aching, pulsing, from the impact. Again and again and still nothing. Black smoke spilled out from the library just a few windows down, taunting him as it tainted the night sky.

“Come on!” he screamed, voice hoarse as his eyes kept darting to the flames bursting from your sanctuary. He only had so much time before the heat was too much for your body, before the smoke infiltrated your lungs and you were burned by the consumption of fire to your most prized possessions.

“Stand back!”

Bucky turned abruptly at the voice to find Steve at his side, gun in hand as he fired three shots at the knob and slammed the sole of his boot to the vulnerable wood at the left of the door. The wood cracked, the hatch falling loose and it cracked open, pooling thick, grey smoke from the living room.

“I’m not letting you run into a burning building on your own, you jerk,” Steve grunted, shouldering the door until it swung open, slamming against the adjacent wall, and they were met with a wall of smoke. Steve pulled the edge of his shirt over his nose and nodded for Bucky to lead the way.

Bucky nodded at him, unable to find his own voice. He rushed into the living room, crook of his elbow pressed to his nose, coughing at the sudden gasp of smoke. It was still high amongst the ceilings, but in a short glance down the winding hall to your library, the smoke only became thicker, heavier, and it was so clouded he could hardly see the door.

“This way!” Bucky shouted, taking off towards the library.

It was a path he knew well, one he’d once walked slowly with a careful glance over his shoulder and one he’d raced to the moment he stepped foot in this home. He knew the dip in the floorboards at the edge of the foyer, the slight stain on the wood from where you’d dropped a mug filled to the brim with herbal tea, the paintings lining the walls that you’d slowly replaced over your years to the works and designs of local artists depicting mountain ranges and sunsets and gardens and all the places you’d rather be.

Small pieces of you were embedded in this home. It seemed they, too, were up in smoke.

Bucky slammed into the doors at the library, though they didn’t budge. He pressed his hands to the wood to find it scorching hot and he hissed, jumping away from it. Eyes trailed down to the knobs and he found the double doors shackled together with a thick, metal chain.

“Oh God. What do we—”

“I’ve got it!” Steve shouted over the roar of the fire behind the door. He pushed Bucky aside and fired one shot to the lock. It released with a slight kick of his foot to the chains and they fell to the floor. Steve quickly holstered his weapon with a single look in Bucky’s direction, a nod, and he pushed open the doors.

They were met with a heat that singed at their skin, flames that pulled towards them in the flood of oxygen sweeping into the room.

“Shit!” Steve cursed, shielding his face from the fires as he stumbled backwards, but Bucky was advancing forward, as if the heat wasn’t drying his lungs with every breath, as if the smoke wasn’t winding him, like he wasn’t about to walk through a wall of flames. “Bucky, wait!”

Bucky took a deep breath though his lungs filled with smoke and he sprinted inside. He could feel burning on his skin, the singe of the flames against his exposed forearms, but none of it compared to seeing you strapped to that chair at the center of the room. Your head was lulled to the side, cheek to your right shoulder, eyes closed, and your skin covered in dark soot, some patches of burn marks seared raw.

He rushed at you, skidding to his knees and trying to ignore the fact that his jeans were soaking in gasoline pooling under your feet that was sure to light up at any second.

“Y/n,” he called, voice too soft, as he gripped at the sides of your face. “Sweetheart, wake up. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t respond and Bucky could hardly feel a touch of your breath under your nose.

“Please, I need you to come back to me,” he begged, shaking you, harder than he meant to, but God, he’d never been so scared in his life. A muffled groan pulled from your lips, a slight twitch in your nose, and that was enough for him.

“That’s my girl.” He exhaled, laughing through the adrenaline and panic in his veins.

He pulled a scalpel from his pocket, one he’d stolen from the ambulance back at the factory, and quickly began working at the wires binding your wrists. He tried to ignore the raw and bleeding skin underneath.

There was a loud crackling above and Bucky glanced up to find a large fracture in the ceiling, spreading rapidly to the window. Small pieces of the paint chipped off and fell down around him like snowfall.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted behind him, warning him.

Bucky gathered you into his arms, hulling you to his chest. You were like a rag doll, limp, though you curled into him, nose finding the crook of his neck as if you were only sleeping, seeking out his scent, his warmth, even amongst the flames.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispered, a gentle kiss at your forehead as he stared down the wall of fire ahead of him. “Steve!”

“I know! I’m working on it!”

Steve was prying the door from the hinges, the metal already warped and easily manipulated by the heat of the flames. It detached suddenly and Steve stumbled under the weight of it before he slammed down ahead of Bucky, acting like a bridge to suffocate the fire in his path if only for a minute.

Bucky didn’t waste a second, no hesitations, and he sprinted to the hallway with you safe in his arms, leaving your library up in flames.

“Can we get the hell out of here now?” Steve grunted, panting, hands on his knees though he was smiling. He straightened his back, looking down at you and Bucky was certain he saw relief in his friend’s face, to find the slight movement in your chest with every breath, even if it was shallow and rasping.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded with a tired smile, “let’s—”

The words died on his tongue as he spotted a figure in the distance, waiting, watching. It paused, incredibly still, before it descended further into the shadows. Calling him. Beckoning him forth. A challenge he would not dare go unanswered.

“Take her,” Bucky ordered flatly, already pushing you to Steve’s arms before he had a chance to object. “Get her to the paramedics.”

“Buck, what are you—”

"There’s something I need to take care of.”

The flames were starting to follow them into the hallway and Bucky gently released you to Steve’s arms. He leaned closer to you, swept your hair away from your eyes and kissed your temple; eyes closed, lingering, because he needed to remember this. He pulled back to find Steve staring at him in disbelief, eyes flickering down to the end of the hallway.

“Don’t,” Steve said, though there was an aching there, a pleading.

“Get her somewhere safe,” Bucky replied, putting a hand to Steve’s shoulder, a slight squeeze, an appreciation for a debt he will never repay. “Steve, please.”

“You won’t have long,” he warned, eyeing the unstable foundation around them. Your library was starting to cave in on itself, pieces of the ceiling falling into the flames, until the shelves collapsed, and hundreds of novels lent themselves to the fire. Steve pulled back, shielding you as the heat of it carried out into the hall.

“I know,” Bucky said slowly, guiding Steve down the hall to the front door. He kept his eyes trained on the man in the shadows. “I’ll see you soon, brother.”

Steve paused, his eyes catching on the man lying in wait. He clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and then nodded. “You better.”

Steve rushed out the front door, carrying you safely in his arms away from the flames, and Bucky stood still in the living room, staring down into the dark corner where Brock Rumlow emerged from. Bucky’s hands curled to fists as he stepped forward, watching while Rumlow poured himself a glass of scotch amongst the thick fog covering the ceiling.

“I thought you were dead,” Rumlow said, a bit annoyed, as he took a swig of the amber liquid.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugged, hand gripping around a vase to his left, “you’re used to underestimating my girl, aren’t you?”

Rumlow chuckled, though it was dark, humorless. He threw back the rest of the scotch, smacking his lips loudly. Then, he sharply pulled a handgun from the back of his waistband and aimed it at Bucky, quickly releasing the safety as a maniacal grin slithered along his lips.

“Guess I’ll have to finish the job myself.”

Before he could fire, Bucky threw the vase across the room with the full force of his strength. The crash of it against the wall to Rumlow’s right distracted him enough to give Bucky the advantage to propel himself over the couch, using the ottoman as leverage, and tackle Rumlow to the ground.

The gun was thrown a few feet away and Rumlow let out a grunt as he slammed to the hardwoods. With Bucky’s full weight on top of him, he fought like a feral animal, kneeing and kicking and shoving hands to Bucky’s face. The heel of his palm slammed straight to Bucky’s chin, causing him to hit his head on the end table beside them. It served its purpose as Bucky fell off of Rumlow and slumped to the floors, dizzying him enough for Rumlow to crawl out from underneath.

Rumlow smirked as he reached out for the gun, his fingers touching the warm metal of the handle for only a second, vengeance in the palm of his hand—

Bucky scrambled forward, grabbed a tight hold of Rumlow’s jacket and yanked him back, sliding down along the floors as the gun slipped out of reach again. Bucky threw a punch to the left corner of Rumlow’s jaw and a splatter of blood spewed from his lips and coated the white wall beside them and dripped down over his chin.

Within his rage, a vicious kind of roar released from deep in Rumlow’s chest as he bared his teeth, blood seeping through his gums and spilling from the edges of his lips. He slowly climbed his way back to his feet, legs wobbling underneath him as he stood from the exhaustion.

“You won’t survive this, Agent Barnes,” he spat, pacing to the edge of the room where the thick cloud of black smoke began to sink down from the ceiling.

Over Rumlow’s shoulder, Bucky caught sight of flames creeping in from the hallway making their way to the living room. He tried to catch his breath but it was hard to find, shallow in his chest, and he was losing energy quicker than he shoulder. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripped down his face, his neck, and he felt like his lungs were aflame. He hulled himself to his feet, feeling a little disoriented from the hit and the smoke in his lungs.

“You think you can just infiltrate the greatest underground empire this city’s ever known?!” Rumlow roared, diving forward and slammed a closed barreled fist to Bucky’s jawline. It nearly sent him spiraling to the floor as he clamped down on the inside of his cheek, blood pooling quickly in his mouth.

Rumlow’s lip twitched, a kind of chaos and recklessness lurking under his skin unfamiliar for a man who spent his life meticulously planning and strategizing, draped in Gucci and Armani.

“You think you stood a goddamn chance against Hydra, you fucking traitor?!”

A knee to Bucky’s stomach, then a fist to his nose, to his shoulder, until Bucky couldn’t shield himself anymore. The heat was singing on his skin, burning more than whatever Rumlow could dish out.

Bucky risked a glimpse a few feet away as Rumlow prepared for the next hit and the flicker of metallic caught his eye. He froze.

But so did Rumlow.

Bucky lunged for the gun, scrambling over the floors, nails digging into the exposed wood and diving splinters into his skin. He grasped it just long enough to spin the chamber of the revolver before Rumlow came up behind him and kicked him hard in the ribs, forcing him to curl in on himself as he let the gun slip through his fingers.

Rumlow bent down slowly and picked up the gun, admiring it in his hand as he backed away.

“You know, I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” Rumlow tsked, the spin of the chamber clear as Bucky forced himself to his feet. He was uneasy in his stance, blood dripping from his forehead, wet in his hair. Rumlow eyed him cautiously.

“It’s over, Rumlow,” Bucky warned. “You’re finished.”

“Finished?” he mocked, laughing, deep and boisterous over the roar of the flames behind them. “Wake up, asshole! You’re the one staring down the end of the gun. You’re not walking out of this house alive.”

“You’re not going to kill me,” Bucky replied defiantly, certain as he took a slow, calculated step towards the end table, pacing around Rumlow as he followed in opposite tracks.

Rumlow scoffed. “I’ve got six rounds here that say otherwise.”

“Do you?”

Bucky released his hand as six golden bullets fell from his grasp, chiming against the hardwoods in deafening clicks before they settled and rolled under the couch. Rumlow stared down at them in disbelief, slowly turning to the gun in his hand and spinning open the chamber to find it empty.

In the pause of his distraction, Bucky slipped his hand under the end table, grasped the handle of the gun he’d stored there on his first day patrolling the mansion and ripped it from the duct tape securing it to the underside. He aimed it at Rumlow, stone cold in his features as sweat beaded down his temple.

But Rumlow started to laugh.

“You can’t beat me, Agent Barnes,” he sneered. “Hydra will always win.”

“Not once we put you away,” Bucky hissed, hands gripping the gun impossibly tight, until his knuckles were ghost white. Above him, cracks were opening in the ceiling, the foundation slowly giving way to the heat.

“You think that’s going to stop me?!” Rumlow bellowed, advancing forward and causing Bucky to take a step back. “You think that putting me in jail is going to do anything?! Hydra may be burned to ash but I still know who’s responsible.”

Bucky swallowed, a slight give beyond the hardened mask he wore, and Rumlow saw straight through it.

He chuckled, low and demonic. “Yeah, I know she was a part of this. That conniving little bitch!”

Bucky clenched his jaw, knowing the panic was evident on his face but he held his stance, watching Rumlow as he started to pace, grinning like he knew he’d won.

“Here’s what you’re going to do, Barnes,” Rumlow smirked, folding his arms, “you’re going to hand over the gun and then, you’re going to let me go.”

The ceiling behind them gave way as wooden beams and scaffolding plummeted from above. Bucky turned back to Rumlow, holding the weapon steady.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I beg to disagree,” Rumlow shrugged, unbothered by the heat of the flames as they inched closer. “You’re going to let me walk out the back door, away from your buddies waiting to put me in cuffs and you’re going to do it happily –”

“Fuck off.”

“—otherwise, I’ll use every last resource I have to slaughter your girl.”

Bucky’s heart stopped, like the full force of a freight train to the sternum. Muscles to stone, blood to ice. His stomach twisted and warped on itself.

“That’s what you called her right? ‘Your girl?’” Rumlow rolled his eyes, laughing to himself. “Pathetic. You would have sacrificed everything for her, wouldn’t you? Its fucking weak! And for it to be her? Are you kidding me, Barnes? You risked it all for my fucking leftovers!?”

Rumlow was laughing – no, cackling – and maybe it was the smoke or the flames but there was something unhinged about it, manic, and the look in that man’s eye was chilling, like ice straight to his core.

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, voice low, cracking. Heat boiled in his veins that had little to do with the flames surrounding him.

“You took everything from me,” Rumlow growled, features shifting abruptly into something much darker. “I’m going to destroy you.”

Bucky shook his head, tightening his grip on the gun. “You won’t have the chance, asshole. Now start walking.”

Bucky gestured the barrel towards the door, but Rumlow didn’t budge. Instead, that small maniacal smirk returned to his lips, cracking through dried skin and leaving slivers of blood in his wake.

“You think some prison bars and an orange jumpsuit are going to stop me? You think I won’t be able to ruin your whole fucking existence with the snap of my fingers!? You think I won’t rip your girl straight from under you?!”

Stone in his throat, blood on his tongue, Bucky couldn’t control the pounding in his chest.

“You’re fooling yourself if you think I don’t have connections in the FBI! I’ll find her, even if you hide her in the smallest no-where-shit-town in the country!” Rumlow goaded, shouting above the flames, almost deranged as his pupils blew wide. “I’ll find her and I’ll send the worst kind of man to finish the job. She’ll be begging, crying, wondering how you could have let this happen to her when you could have just let me walk away! She’ll know when she takes her final breaths, when she’s choking on her own fucking blood, that it was your fault!”

Bucky’s breaths were uneven, rasped and wheezing from the smoke and heavy from the painful thumping of his heart. He gripped the gun tighter in his hold, until the crevices pinched his skin and the heat of the metal seared into his grasp.

“You won’t see it coming,” Rumlow sneered, shaking his head, baring his teeth. Vile. Evil. Unhinged. He stepped forward, challenging Bucky to pull the trigger. “You could have months, years together and just when you think she’s safe from me… just when you think this is all over… when you’ve let your guard down just long enough… you’ll come home to find her IN PIECES!”

BANG!

BANG! BANG!

BANG!

Rumlow stumbled backwards, the impact leaving him clutching to the bar cart for support. Slowly, he glanced down at his chest in disbelief, shaking hands reaching out and touching the blood as it pooled against his white pressed button up. It seeped along the pristine fabric, soaking deep stains of crimson as it spread.

His mouth was agape, trying to form words as his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed to the ground. Lips parting, breaths shallower with every inhale, and hazel eyes fell on stormy skies of dark blue until they glossed over, faded away, and soon, there was nothing left.

Bucky lowered the gun, staring down at the body of the man he gave more than a year of his life to put behind bars; a man with no extraordinary ability, but a malice wretched into his soul and darkness in his veins. He bled like any other man. He died like one, too.

Bucky felt cold, empty, but a boulder was lifted from his shoulders and he set the gun down on the desk beside him, leaving it behind to the flames.

The mansion was caving in around him as he turned to the front door. Flames erupting from the hallway to your library now taking root to the staircase, traveling along the back wall to the kitchen. It consumed the furniture, the paintings, the tapestries, the priceless artifacts Rumlow had illegally acquired to gather dust on his shelves.

It was all ablaze.

A section of the ceiling collapsed by the front door, blocking his path, and Bucky started to feeling the effect of the smoke taking hold. His breaths were far too short, like he was gasping for air at the surface of an ocean’s tide before it swept him under again. A piercing pulse ached through his head, leaving him dizzy, and he struggled to remain on his feet.

The second story was starting to cave in. He didn’t have much time left.

There was only one way out. Through the flames. To you.

Bucky pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose and ran.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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