#weirder than what happened last thursday but not as weird as what he was up to yesterday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

etoileholland · 4 years

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lead me to your door

@mayberosey asked: The Tom and reader are neighbors (apartment setting) and every time he passes by her apartment, she plays different types of genres. She would play classical to jazz to rock to indie and so on. Tom finds it endearing that she has such wide range of music taste, but one day it just stops. And it lasts for maybe a week or two. So he’s worried but doesn’t do anything. When he finally hears music playing, the sounds are more mellow and it doesn’t change for a few days. That’s when Tom decided to knock on her door...

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: none

A/N: so I've been on a lil hiatus from writing but I finally finished this so I wanted to share it. Requests are open and I’m personally out of ideas, so please don’t hesitate to send something in. Although please don’t send in any requests about drama revolving around Tom’s girlfriend, I’ve already received a few and I won’t write those xx also the gif isn’t mine, all credit goes to its respective owner

“L, is for the way you look at me. ‘O’ is for the only one I see, ‘V’ is very very, extraordinary…”

Tom smiled to himself when he heard the faint music from the other side of the wall. It was 8am and his neighbour was already playing music. It was something that he had to grow accustomed to when he moved in about a month ago. At first it was a bit annoying to always hear some form of music from the apartment right next to his, but now, he welcomed it.

He was eating breakfast in the kitchen, and the music accompaniment was a nice way to start the day. He mouthed along to the familiar words, a smile erupted on his face as he enjoyed his scone.

Tom had grown to find there was a schedule with the music that he heard from next door. Since today was Monday, it was usually old jazz tunes, like Sinatra, Benny Goodman or Louis Armstrong. Tuesday’s were a mix of contemporary pop music, Wednesday’s were nothing but music from The Beatles, Thursday and Friday were dedicated to Harry Styles, Saturday’s was an array of songs and genres from the ‘60s to about the 80’s, and Sunday's were nothing but sad songs, the theme usually revolving around unrequited love.

He often wondered why there was such a distinct schedule, and why you only listened to sad songs on Sunday’s. It had become a bit of a game for him to try to figure out why, but so far he’s settled on the idea that maybe you had your heart broken on a Sunday, and therefore, dedicated sad songs to that day only.

On the weekdays, the music would stop around 10am, and would pick back up again around 6pm, and would cease around 9pm. It was rare to hear music past that point, which made him think that you went to bed extremely early. And on the weekends, the music would go from noon to midnight, which suggested you stayed up later.

He loved building a fantasy around the person he deduced based on your patterns and music choice, but the truth is that he had never met you. He had no idea who his neighbour was, and he didn’t want to knock on your door in case you were a creep or something.

He figured his neighbour was a female, since he often heard a light airy laugh from the other side of the wall, but it could be a man with a really high pitched laugh. Or you could be married, or old, but he had no idea, and frankly he had no intention of finding out.

Until one day, the music stopped.

It happened abruptly, he awoke one day on a Tuesday morning and realised that there wasn’t any music coming from your apartment. But he didn’t worry since he figured you were either sleeping in, or you had left early for work or something. He was gone the whole day at a rehearsal for the show he was in, so he didn’t think twice about the silence.

The next day, Wednesday around noon, he was hoping to hear the melodic voices of Lennon and McCartney from the other side of the wall, but once again it was silent. Usually at this point in the day, you had already finished the first two Beatles albums, and were quick to put on ‘A Hard Day’s Night’. He began to wonder if maybe you were out of town, but the nagging thought in the back of his head wondered if something bad had happened.

I’ll give it a few more days, and then if I still hear silence, I’ll check up on them, he thought to himself.

—

A week had gone past, and still radio silence. It was beginning to worry Tom, and he knew that he would have to go check on you, but every time he tried, he couldn’t.

He would head out to go to the gym, and would walk past your door, hesitating to see if he should knock. His hand would hover over the doorbell, but always stopped a centimetre away from pushing it.

Maybe they moved, or maybe something really bad happened, he thought, or maybe they’re out of town?

The thoughts swirled around his head, making him anxious and flustered until he decided that he shouldn’t bother you. And besides, how would he even start the conversation?

He backed away from your door, but then swiftly took a step forward and nearly knocked on the dark wood grained door.

What am I thinking? He thought, before beginning to pace the hallway while he thought of the best way to handle this. Don’t be dumb, there’s no good way to start a conversation with them. Would I really be stupid enough to say, “‘Hey, not to sound like a creep but I noticed I don’t hear you playing music anymore?’ or ‘hey, so I’ve never once spoken to you before but I can always hear you from my apartment and I find pleasure in knowing you’re alive but now I hear nothing and I’m assuming the worst?’” They’ll call the cops on me for sure.

He paced around in front of your door for about a minute, until walking back in the direction of his apartment, surrendering to his ever-so-increasingly intrusive thoughts.

—

Today had marked two weeks without hearing music from your apartment, and Tom had grown increasingly worried. If it’s still silent by this time tomorrow, I’ll confront my fear and knock on the door.

Miraculously, he didn’t need to knock on your door at all. When he awoke at 9am on a Tuesday, he almost didn’t hear the faint music playing from the room on the other side of his bedroom wall.

He pressed his ear to the wall and could hear a somber song playing. His eyes nearly welled up with tears when he realised that you were okay. But as the day went on, he grew worried. Tuesday’s were your ‘pop music’ days, but he only heard sad Taylor Swift songs.

Well that’s odd, they only play those on Sunday, he pondered.

The next four days were filled with heart wrenching ballads, somber piano music floating through the air. The nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach never went away, and he knew that he would have no choice but to knock on your door.

He figured the best way to go about it was to inquire about the music, and say that as a caring neighbour, he wanted to make sure all was well.

Standing in front of the mirror, wearing his favourite pair of jeans and t-shirt, he left his apartment and walked over to your front door.

You can do it Tom, just say you’re concerned about their health and well-being.

As he lifted his arm to knock on your door, you had just opened your door and were startled to see someone standing in front of your door.

“Holy shit!” You exclaimed as you closed your door, but Tom put his hand out to keep your door open.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to startle you.” He exhaled, stepping back into the hallway.

“I figured, I’m sorry for that, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing on the other side of my door.”

“Me either.” He breathed, holding an arm out and propping himself up against the wall. “Were you about to head out?”

“I was just going to go down to pick up a package from the front desk, but it can definitely wait.”

He nodded his head and unsuccessfully pushed a stray curl away from his face, it falling right back near his eye in a matter of seconds. You stood there admiring the man in front of you, making a mental note of the loose curl in front of his face, and his slightly awkward demeanour. He was handsome, and you found it cute how he was speechless.

“Well, do you mind telling me why you were just about to knock on my door?” You inquired while Tom let out a small laugh.

“Right.” He placed his hand on the back of his neck and took a deep breath in. “I don’t want to overstep, but I was wondering if everything was alright with you?”

He saw a distinct shift in your facial expressions, but he continued to ramble on. “It’s just that I can always hear you playing music from my apartment right next door, and I love hearing it, but I noticed that it stopped for about two weeks. And then when it started again, it was only sad songs and you only usually play those on Sunday’s. Oh gosh, now I sound like a creep for observing that and I promise I’m not, I just thought it was odd and I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He took a deep breath out and paused before saying, “I hope that wasn’t too weird.”

You laughed lightly, before saying, “I’ve experienced weirder. But thank you for checking up on me…” you trailed off, realising that you don’t actually know your neighbours name.

“I-I’m Tom.” He stated, and you told him your name as well.

“It’s nice to meet you Tom, and once again thank you. I just went through a hard patch in my life, and listening to sad music made me feel better, in a way. But it’s nice to know you care, so thank you again.” You smiled, and Tom smiled back.

“Right, well I probably should get going since I know I’ve already made the weirdest first impression,” you both laughed, “but I’m glad to know you’re alright. But if you’re not, my apartment is 2B so you’re more than welcome to come over.” He blushed, gaze fixed on the carpeted floor.

“It was a perfectly fine first impression, but if you don’t mind me asking, do you like my music choice?” You laughed, and Tom’s face broke out into a smile, brown eyes piercing through yours.

“I wasn’t expecting that question, but yes, absolutely. I’ve found a lot of good songs and artists because of you. I’ve been loving FINNEAS’ album, and ELO, so I can thank you for that.” He grinned, the crinkles by his eyes becoming prominent.

“You’re welcome.” You had your door open all the way now, and you could smell that your pizza in the oven was nearly ready.

“Mm, that smells good.” Tom commented, and you looked into your apartment to make sure the oven wasn’t on fire.

“It does, I made some pizza and I think it’s nearly done.”

“I think so as well.” He added, the both of you sharing a comfortable silence. “I’ll let you eat though, but I’m glad to know you’re alright.” He smiled and began to take a step back when you lightly grabbed his arm, surprising you both.

“Wait, would you want to come inside? I made enough pizza for at least two people, and I also have a bottle of wine if you’d want some.” You asked, hoping that your very attractive neighbour would say…

“Yes, I’d love that. Only if it’s okay with you, of course.”

“It is okay, I asked you.” You smiled, and Tom laughed nervously.

“Right.” He half smiled.

“Well, come on in.” You motioned for him to step in, “let’s eat and listen to some music, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

————

mes anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow @sunflowerhollands @fangirlwithasweettooth @taciturnspidey @musicalkeys @harrysleftchelseaboot @quaksonhehe @halfblood-princess-505

#tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x female reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland and you #tom holland and reader #tom holland and y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland one shots #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland #tom holland writing #mine #text

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joonsrack · 4 years

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+Pairing: Namjoon x fem!reader, Taehyung x fem!reader (one-sided),

+Genre: Angst, humor, fluff, two-shots, sfw

+Word count: ~8.5k

+Warning: Mention of past recreational drug use (weed), blood mention (nosebleed), lot of pinning

+Rating: Pg13

+Summary:

Your roommate and long-time one-sided crush disappears one morning, leaving behind only a post-it note stating two things:

1. He’s off to finally meet the love of his life whom he met on the internet, might take the whole summer;

2. He’s sub-renting his room while he’s gone, don’t worry it’s all taken care of;

+A/N: Just six days late, nothing too major. This is the first part of a two-shot I’m writing for the bangtanscenery collab: April Shower & May Flower. This didn’t turn out as expected, but it is what it is lmao. Thank you to @gguksgalaxy for helping me brainstorm, and @spicykoreantatertots and @starlightseoks for reading over my stuff, fixing my mistakes and giving me the validation I needed to carry on 💖

The first day of summer vacation is supposed to be a good day, a great day even. No more finals, no more studying; just warm weather, lazing around, and maybe picking up some shifts at the grocery store.

Today is all of that, but it’s also the worst day of your life.

It had started as it was supposed to; no alarm clock, just your body waking up by itself. You had messed around on your phone for a while, not caring about the time you were wasting. After the last three weeks of nerve-wracking deadlines and exams, you had deserved a break. The next thing on your schedule was work on Thursday, meaning you had two days completely to yourself. You had big plans for these two days; doing absolutely nothing.

But then, as the day was slowly shifting from morning into noon, the stillness of the house cued you that something was… not right.

As you have come to learn, your roommate, Taehyung, is not one to go about his summer day without his 20 minutes of morning stretching on zen nature sounds. Sometimes you join him, sometimes you don’t. He has a morning routine that he sticks to a T, and in a way, you find the sound of him doing his routine comforting.

Two years you’ve been living together now; or well, almost two years.

You had met in your first semester of freshman year, both residing in the same co-ed dorm. The horror of shared bathroom, kitchen, and living areas had prompted you two to throw caution to the wind and start living together, even if you were both still technically strangers. Two years later, the concept of being a stranger with Taehyung is so far fetched, it’s like you’ve never not known each other.

Which is why this comes as a slap to your face.

After finally making it out of your room and to the kitchen, you find in lieux of your roommate, a single post-it note, stuck to his old fashioned shelf stereo.

There are barely fifteen words on it, but that’s enough to destroy your post-final, beginning of summer haze:

Going back to Korea for the summer, I’m finally going to meet Busan_baby!

I sub-rented my room, he should get here soon :) xx

Objectively, Taehyung doing spontaneous things is not out of character. But this… Leaving for a whole summer, without even hinting at it...

You had plans for this summer. Plans that consisted of spending quality time with him, and maybe, possibly, finally confessing to him. Him leaving kind of put a wrench into that.

Plus.

Busan_baby…

The mysterious internet friend that’s been plaguing Taehyung’s mind since they met during an Overwatch raid, whatever that means.

Your two-year crush had only evolved in the time you were living together, and a part of you had become possessive overtime. So these days, only the mention of Tae’s friend’s username was enough to put you in the worst of moods. And now you’re going to lose your summer with your roommate to her? To a perfect stranger living on the other side of the planet?

And the whole sub-renting situation...you’re boiling. He just... rented his room. To someone you might not know, with whom you’ll be stuck all summer.

The first day of summer vacation is supposed to be a good day. This, this is not a good day.

Your first reaction is to, well, do nothing. You feel tears of frustration welling up in your eyes, and you recognize the burning sensation in your chest as anger. You feel a little ridiculous; you’re always factoring Taehyung into your plans, always have, but clearly he isn’t giving you the same kind of courtesy. You grab your phone, knowing he hasn’t sent you any text, but checking anyways. You have no idea what time he left, he could already be in the plane for all you know, but you send him a message anyways.

Me 1:27pm: Is this a joke?

You wipe a tear away, trying to breathe through the negativity. He must have had his reason, he does have his whole family in Korea, maybe they’re the real reason he left and he’s just joking with you.

Just as the thought is starting to make sense, you hear the key in the lock, and your heart starts beating double time.

It was all the prank, he’s not leaving for real, it’s him coming back to surprise you. See? You had nothing to worry about. The smile grows on your face, and you quickly dry the tears track on your face, not wanting Taehyung to tease you about them.

But doubt quickly sets in your mind when it’s clearly taking too long for whoever on the other side to open the door. The bolt is old, and it had taken you and Taehyung weeks before you had been able to know the right way to unlock it without struggling.

You can hear them struggling with the key, rattling the doorknob, until finally the bolt clicks into place and the door swiftly swings open. Obviously, whoever is on the other side wasn’t expecting it to give, and they stumble past the doorsill, barely missing the floor by a few centimeters.

You’re shocked into stillness, watching the catastrophe unveil.

Mystery man then trips on the entry mats, throwing him forward once again until his head gets dangerously close to the kitchen table; but like a seasoned tripper, he flips his body mid-plunge, landing hard but cushioned by the shag carpet of the living room.

He groans, rolling on his side holding his head in between his hands, and you’re too shocked to do anything but stare in both horror and wonder.

The living trainwreck on the floor doesn’t seem to have noticed your presence yet, and you’re inclined to just lay low and wait until you can observe more accidental gymnastics, but you realize that would be weird. Would it be weirder than everything you’ve just witnessed though?

You clear your throat to announce your presence, and he freezes, opens one eye, spots you, closes it again, and groans even louder.

“Is there any chance you just materialized now and missed all of that.”

You shrug emphatically.

“I can lie if that makes you feel better.”

He sits up, smiling grimly and resigned, like this is not the first time this has happened.

You would go offer him a hand but you also have no idea who this man is, what he’s doing in your apartment, with a key, and seemingly enough bad luck to bring this whole building down by himself.

“So… Who might you be?”

He looks up to you in confusion, and for a second you think you also see hurt flicker across his eyes, but it disappears as fast as it appeared.

“Taehyung… didn’t tell you?”

Right, sub-renting.

You grab the post-it off the stereo and wave it in his direction, letting him connect the dots.

“He just did.” You say, voice dripping with sarcasm, and he winces, noticing how you’re clearly unhappy with the whole ordeal.

“I thought you knew...I... fuck. I can leave if you want? You don’t look like you agreed to this.”

You sigh, feeling bad that you made him feel bad. It’s not his fault after all. Plus, him sub-renting means he most probably doesn’t have a place to stay right now.

“No, no. Of course not. It’s not your fault, I’m just… he didn’t even tell me he was leaving. It’s a lot.”

Silence fills the room, and he smiles awkwardly at you before dusting himself off. You take the opportunity to finally properly look at him.

He looks vaguely familiar now, with his tall body, long limbs and soft brown hair. He’s wearing grandfather clothes, but it’s strangely fitting with his energy. The glasses perched on his nose are slightly crooked, but it doesn’t like it’s from the fall. It looks permanent.

If he’s Taehyung’s friend, you probably saw him around Uni or something.

“So, I still don’t know your name?” You finally break the silence, and he looks startled by the question, pushing the glasses up his nose.

“Kim Namjoon. Well, Namjoon Kim here.” He finishes with a faint blush on his cheeks, and you nod, well aware of the whole last name difference. You’ve been living with Taehyung for two years after all.

“I’m going to try calling him, you can...get your luggage in I guess.”

“His plane was leaving 3 hours ago, I doubt you’ll be able to reach him.” He says sheepishly, as if that was his fault.

You pinch your lips in anger containment, not needing Namjoon to watch you slowly lose your sanity. You feel a surge of dark emotions invading your chest, so you have to make your escape swift.

“Cool, nice. Ok. Well, I need to... be in my room. If you have any questions just knock on my door. Or call my name.”

You’re already off into angst world, making your way to your room, so you miss Namjoon’s parting words;

“But... you haven’t told me your name, y/n.”

You feel the need to grieve the summer that could have been, so you do.

The first stage is denial.

It’s a little hard to deny though, with Taehyung gone and Namjoon currently moving into his room, so you jump straight to anger.

You would feel bad for Namjoon, you didn’t even show him to Taehyung’s room, and your welcome was pretty cold. But you can’t be blamed, this was sprung on you. You were blindsided; betrayed; fooled.

You try to remember your chats with Taehyung in the last few days, but everything is covered by a mist of confusion. The last few weeks are blurred and blended together, a mess of studying, late nights, nervous breakdowns; so you and Taehyung were not exactly talking. You were more...existing in the same space. Or crying in the same space, really.

But still, you know that if Taehyung had mentioned his plans to disappear for the summer you would have surely remembered.

You write an angry text a hundred words long, fueled by the horrible feeling of having been wronged and a need for vindication.

You don’t send the text because you know at the bottom of your heart you’re being overly dramatic, but it’s still therapeutic to act like you’re going to send it to him.

Then comes bargaining.

You write another text, this one more conciliating. You promise to be a better roommate, to stop bunching up your socks and leaving them in the cracks of the couch (although he does that too, the hypocrite), to stop stealing the Korean snacks his mom sends send him once a month (which is a big commitment; they’re just so good, you can’t find this quality in your uni town), and to stop using up all the hot water in the morning.

You also do not send this text. There’s a little too many promises in it you just know you won’t be able to hold.

You’re transitioning into the depressive stage when you hear a crash coming from the living room, followed by a few curses.

With the whole thing you witnessed earlier, you’re surprised that nothing fell victim to Namjoon’s long limbs sooner. He clearly has coordination issues; you would be worried, except pretty much everything decorating the apartment belongs to Taehyung.

Everything except…

There’s a bad feeling creeping up in your stomach. You don’t have the worst luck in life, but you also don’t have the best. And bad things usually happen in a group of three.

Taehyung ditching you for the summer, Taehyung clearly being fooled by some internet catfisher, and….

You jump to your feet, following the sound to the living room. There, your new roommate is kneeling on the floor, gathering the pieces of dried macaroni scattered around him. You can see the picture frame on the floor, the glass cracked in the middle.

The first day you had moved in together, Taehyung and you had taken a picture together with a single-use camera. You were both exhausted from the move, boxes laying all around, but beaming with satisfaction.

You had gotten a frame for it but Taehyung thought it was too bare, so one time, completely high as a kite, he’d decorated it with macaroni and hot glue.

You hold it very dear, and it has a central place in the living room. Or well, it did.

The macaroni remains on the floor is probably the saddest thing you’ve ever seen, and you can’t bear the sight of them, so you give a parting blank look to Namjoon, who’s looking up at you pale as a ghost, and you walk back to your room.

Alright, so stage one of grief; denial.

Belting your heart out to Italian music is usually your way of dealing with sorrow, but with a new and strange presence in your home, it probably won’t be happening for a while, so you settle for laying in your bed, with your curtain pulled closed and some Andrea Bocelli blasting from your earphone. It works for a while, until your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten all day.

You sigh, bracing yourself for yet another reminder that you’ve been basically abandoned by the possible love of your life. You come out of your room dragging your feet, only to be basically assailed but the unmistakable smell of frying garlic. You’re both disgusted and intrigued, so you pick up your pace to the kitchen, finding Namjoon there, sweat on his forehead, with a concentrated look on his face. His glasses are hanging at the tip of his nose, probably having slipped there from the sweat, and you find yourself endeared by the sight. Only for a quick second though.

“Are you sure it’s safe for you to be left alone in the kitchen?” You ask, and he whips his head towards you, clearly startled by your presence.

“Well…” He says, followed by a deprecating laugh, and you kind of feel like an asshole. He probably broke the frame by accident, and it’s not like it’s his fault that Taehyung bailed on your summer plans to go run off to who knows who the fuck busan_baby really is.

“What are you cooking?” You ask, trying to change the subject, and he looks grateful but also very nervous.

“Hm, well Taehyung told me once garlic pasta was your favorite, and since I was trying to apologize for, well the frame but also just being sprung onto you so suddenly, I figured I could cook your favorite dish...”

You nod, but you can’t contain a snort, and Namjoon’s expression becomes worried.

“Taehyung thinks that because that’s the only thing he can successfully cook, and the first time he did I didn’t have the heart to tell him I can’t stand garlic.”

Namjoon looks at the dish, then back at you, then back at the dish. You see all the energy drain from his body, face falling as he groans in frustration.

“It’s fine you didn’t know.” You try to sound as apologetic as you can, but it doesn’t seem to be helping, and he moves the pan from the burner, closing the heat, plastering a hand on his face.

“This is going all wrong. This day is just mess after mess. I’m so sorry I’m usually much better at human interaction, I’m just very nervous right now, I guess.”

You want to ask what he’s so nervous about, but you feel like it might not help his distraught state. “Ok so, clearly this was doomed from the start.” You say, and his face falls even more, so you hurry to finish your thought before he can jump to conclusions.

“You showed up while I was having a horrible day; I had no idea you were coming; you...tripped and fell in front of me, probably making you feel embarrassed, then all this nervous energy lead to you having another clumsy accident, and I probably didn’t help with my overall coldness… and now, this, which again, is totally not your fault…” You let the silence hang for a little longer before you finish your thought. “ I think we should start over.”

“...What?”

“Yeah, I think we should start over. Like, come here.” You wave your hand in a motion for him to follow after you, and he does, albeit definitely looking reluctant.

You lead him to the front door, opening it, waiting for him to get the cue. He stands there, looking a little dumbfounded, glimpsing down at his slipper clad feet.

“Come on, only for a second.”

He finally follows your directions, stepping outside in the hallway, and you close the door behind him. After a good 30 second of silence, you realize he might be dumber than he looks.

“You’re supposed to knock.” You say just loud enough for him to hear on the other side, and there’s a split second before he finally does.

You throw the door open with the biggest smile you can muster, and he stares at you in actual worry.

“Hello Namjoon Kim, nice to meet you! Taehyung totally told me you were coming! Come on in!”

Namjoon finally catches up, pinching his lips to stop himself from smiling.

“Nice to meet you,-” He greets back, taking a step into the apartment, but the sole of his slipper gets caught on the doorsill, ripping it off.

He stares down at his slippers in betrayal, and you have to bite the inside of your cheeks to hold back a cackle.

“At this point, I don’t know how to convince you I’m not like this 24/7.” He says, and he looks a little bit more relaxed than before, which is good.

“I’m sorry to say that ship has sailed.”

Going to sleep at five in the morning is never the right decision, even when you have nothing planned, but the prospect of watching Hannah Brown finally eliminating Luke P off The Bachelorette is just too good, keeping you wide awake until you finally get the satisfaction of seeing the smug smile being wiped off his face. Taehyung was so looking forward to this, cursing out the man after every episode, and not having him by your side, yelling incoherently at your computer screen, definitely made you sad.

There's also the whole waiting-for-a-text-that-never-came thing.

You know his flight landed, you looked at the flight time between where you are and Incheon airport. The realization that you weren’t even worth an “I’ve just landed” text is enough to ruin you Luke P elimination afterglow, sending you straight to sleep.

So being rudely awoken at 9 a.m., eyes sore from the lack of sleep and maybe some possible tears of frustration, is not the best feeling.

At first you think you dreamed it, a loud crash from somewhere in the apartment, but then the groans of pain that follows are sounding pretty damn real.

You throw the comforter off, jumping out of bed in the same breath, trying to locate the source of the commotion but still woozy with sleep, and you find its origin in the bathroom;

Very naked, save for the shower curtain draped over the figure.

Namjoon squeals at the sight of you, making sure all the important bits are covered with the curtain that he probably dragged in his apparent fall, half of it still hanging off the pole.

Your sleep-deprived brain slowly catches up to the situation, and you slap both hands over your eyes, turning around with the intention to get out of dodge, only to walk straight into the door frame. The impact makes you lose your balance, the unforgiving tiles making contact with your ass at the speed of light. There’s a throbbing pain in your backside and there’s definitely something dripping from your nose. Another beautiful start to your summer vacation.

It’s your turn to groan, holding your head back to stop the blood from dripping all over your PJs. There’s wet fumbling in the general area of the shower, the sound of the water being cut off and then a moment later, a very naked man appears in your field of vision.

“Hum.” Is all you say, as he snatches his boxer brief from the counter, slipping them on in a flash. But you’ve seen. You’ve witnessed. You’re a changed person now.

“I forgot my towel.” He answers back, face so red it looks like it must hurt. There’s still shampoo suds in his wet hair, dripping down his forehead, neck, and shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to care as he grabs the toilet paper roll, offering it to you.

“Are you ok?” he asks with concern in his voice. He’s kneeling in front of you, skin glistening, and the sight he makes doesn’t help with your blood pressure. His handsomeness didn’t escape your notice, but this….this is a little overwhelming.

“I’ve known you for less than 24 hours and I’ve already seen your junk; I’m great.”

He looks a little thrown by what you’ve just said, but you can blame it on a concussion later, so you’re not too worried.

“Lean forward and breath through your mouth,” He says, choosing to ignore your comment. You follow his recommendation, pinching your nose.

“You seem familiar with nosebleeds.” You tease, knowing full well he’s clearly the clumsy type.

“I’ve had my share of encounters with flat surfaces.”

“So are you gonna tell me what possessed you to shower in the middle of the night?”

“Is 9 a.m. the middle of the night?” He asks, a grin playing at his lips.

“It sure is during summer vacation.”

Namjoon chooses to ignore your admission of being a living, breathing, couch potato.

“I wanted to go get a new pair of slippers, maybe a new frame as well. I obviously need to add a new shower curtain to the list.”

You look up at the way his tone goes slightly somber from irritation, and you’re having none of that; it’s 9 am, middle of the night, and all you want right now is everything to be happy and breezy.

“Do you mind if I tag along? I wanted to get a corkboard for all my pictures, so I won’t need a new frame actually. We could go get some middle of the night breakfast too.”

His eyes light up, a new energy filling the room.

“Of course! You can, totally.”

His metaphorical tail seems to be wagging, and you’re a little confused about the source of his sudden excitement, but he seems to be in a good mood so that’s the important part here.

“Alright then, I’ll let you finish your shower- oh my god, wait. Are you ok? I heard you fall; that did not sound like a painless descent.”

Namjoon winces, rubbing at the back of his head like he’s suddenly reminded of the pain.

“I’ll survive with only slight bruising, it’s all good.”

You nod, relieved he didn’t hurt himself seriously.

“Let’s get you some bubble wrap while we’re there.” You tease, and he rolls his eyes, probably having heard that one before.

There’s this moment of silence where neither of you are moving, and you’re wondering what he’s waiting for to go back in the shower.

“So...are you waiting to get another peek at my junk, or?” He teases.

You blush, staring at him dumbfounded. Your sleepy brain says yes, but your pride says no.

“Right, let me get out of here.”

You take your roll of toilet paper with you as you leave, pride almost intact.

Both of your loudly growling stomachs make the decision for the order of things, and your first stop is the cheap dinner a few streets down. The usual grumpy waiter that you’ve grown fond of is on shift, and his eyes zeroes straight on you two the second you step in.

His regular glare is already pretty intimidating, but the intensity of his stare is enough to make you want to take a menu and hide behind. Instead you walk with Namjoon to the table you usually sit at with Taehyung.

“Hey Joon.” Is the first thing Yoongi says, throwing the menu on the table with all the lack of grace in the world. Namjoon salutes him back with the ease of someone who’s used to being the target of Yoongi’s laser focus. You deduce they’re friends, by the way they seem to have a silent conversation with their eyes.

He switches his focus to you after a beat, and you gulp loudly, confused by the inquisition in his stare.

“Hi Y/N, where’s your tragic love story?”

Your jaw drops to the table, shocked by Yoongi’s blunt call out of your unrequited love for Taehyung. You two often come to eat here, but clearly you come too often if Yoongi figured you out so accurately.

“Jesus am I that obvious?” You mutter, picking up a menu to avoid looking at either man. You don’t need to see Namjoon's reaction when learning you’re crushing on your roommate who’s also one of his friends.

Yoongi snatches the menu out of your hands, having none of that.

“The usual I presume?” He asks snapingly, throwing one last unimpressed look at Namjoon before walking away.

Namjoon waits before he’s out of earshot to sigh. “Who pissed in his cereal this morning?” he scoffs, trying to lighten the mood, and you’re grateful for his attempt but you’re also feeling pretty shitty; why do your feelings for Taehyung seem so obvious to everyone but Taehyung himself?

“Well, I guess the elephant is out of the bag”, you say with fake enthusiasm. You want to be mad at Yoongi for his brusque ways, but Namjoon would probably have figured it out one way or another. This is kind of ripping the bandaid in a way.

There’s another beat of silence before Namjoon clears his throat, and you brace yourself for what he’s going to say, which is why what he asks comes as a surprise.

“Are you ok?”

His voice is empathic, genuine.

You look up to him, eyes a little glossy.

He’s got a kind face; a dimple here, soft corner smile there; eyes searching but not judging, the crooked glasses giving him a nerdy look. Yet, you’ve...seen. There’s nothing nerdy about the rest of him.

You smile sadly, biting your lips while looking back down at the table. You’ve known him for less than 24 hours and you already feel like Namjoon is the kind of person you can confide in, and before you know it, words are tumbling off your tongue.

“I guess… It just sucks that I was not even worth a ‘I’ve just landed text’. Or even better, him telling me in person that he was leaving for the summer, completely ruining all the plans we made together.” Namjoon nods along with your confession, and once you open your mouth, you just can’t shut it. “Like I’m always making sure he’s included in all of my planifications, and I always go beyond to do stuff that he likes… Like I’m sorry but I hated doing pottery, like, I suck at it. All I made always ended up having a vaguely phallic shape and I’m pretty sure the teacher was judging me, but I still put through three months of pottery class, which were very expensive by the way, because I knew Taehyung would love that. And the Pasta! I hate garlic, I can’t stand it, but I still told him it was my favorite since it’s the only thing he can cook!”

Namjoon clears his throat, looking around at the people starting to take notice of your meltdown. You were getting increasingly louder, you realize, so you sigh, letting the tension escape your body with a deep breath.

Yoongi stops by the table to drop two cups of coffee, raising an eyebrow at you, to which you answer with a glare of your own. He walks away with an evil glint in his eyes, and you already know what’s about to happen. You still risk a small sip of the steaming coffee, only to spit it back into the cup, face void of emotion.

Namjoon winces at you, offering you some napkins for the drops dripping down your chin.

“He put mustard in it, didn’t he?” He asks while you wipe your mouth, then taking your water to wash down the acre taste.

You nod slowly.

“He’s got a weird way to comfort his friends.”

You nod again, but grabbing his cup at the same time. “Do you mind?” You ask, and he agrees enthusiastically, only to frown when he sees what you do with it next.

You grab the table syrup, dripping some all over Namjoon’s coffee cup handle. You put it back on Namjoon’s side of the table, smiling warmly at him.

“Where were we?” You ask cheerfully.

“I think he might just ban me from the Dinner.” Namjoon says in a daze, looking back at where Yoongi is throwing daggers at the both of you from the window, wiping his sticky finger on his apron in vain; You know this stuff is impossible to get rid of.

You knew Yoongi would expect your handle to be sticky after the stunt he pulled, which is why you did it on Namjoon’s cup instead. You make sure to send Yoongi your most radiant smile as you walk away, waving. You should probably avoid the dinner for a few weeks.

But now, belly full of good food, mood lightened, you can go on your productive day of buying stuff. You take the bus to the closest Target, a comfortable chatter between the two of you, when something suddenly hits you between the bedroom aisle and the bathroom aisle.

“Now hold on a second; I just realized I never properly introduced myself. I mean obviously you already know my name, since Taehyung seems to have talked about me, and well, Yoongi used my name earlier too. But still... Wow, I’m so sorry I'm the worst new roommate ever.”

Namjoon shakes his head no, fiddling with the brand new slippers he picked up on the way.

“It’s...fine. Actually, well. I was hesitant to tell you since I don’t want you to feel bad about it but... we’ve already been introduced. Also we shared like, three classes so far. I’m minoring in languages.”

“Oh… Oh my god.” You say, stopping in your tracks. You look up at Namjoon with wide, confused eyes.

“It’s ok.” Namjoon says, pulling you after him into the bathroom aisle with a light touch to the arm.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,”

“It’s fine I swear.” He reassures, steering you until you’re standing in front of the shower curtains.

“Wow, all this time I was acting like we didn’t know each other-”

“Y/N...” He tries to stop you.

“I’m sorry I have the worst memory.”

“I think it was more your complete and utter lack of interest for anyone but Taehyung that did it.” He teases, not unkindly. There’s more an air of resignation to it.

You drop your head in your hands, feeling flustered and embarrassed.

“Wow everyone really knows, huh?”

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

Maybe your friends were right; maybe you need to take a breather. Maybe this summer away from him is a good thing.

“So… Namjoon Kim, how long have we ‘known’ each other?” You question, quotation marks and everything.

“Well…” He trails off, thinking about it for a second before answering, scratching his head as he seems to be wracking his brain for the exact information. “Taehyung introduced us during one of the first dorms get-together, so I'd say as long as you’ve known Taehyung.”

You groan, pulling on one of the displayed shower curtains, hiding your face behind, doing your best impression of an ostrich burying its head in the sand.

“I’m a horrible person.” You state to no one.

“To be fair though, I was not on the same floor as you guys, so we probably didn’t see much of each other.”

God, he’s such a good person, trying to make sure you don’t feel bad with yourself for basically ignoring him for two whole years. It literally took him moving in with you to notice him. You peek from behind the curtain, not ready to come out completely.

“I feel horrible, I’m really sorry I didn't mean to ignore you for two fucking years.”

“You’re good, y/n, I understand. Actually I think that you-.” He says, but cuts himself short, mouth slamming shut.

“You think that I...?” You ask, curiously, eyebrows going up.

“No, nothing. It’s nothing.” He answers, but it’s hurried, the look on his face borderline frantic. He doubles up on the fiddling with the slippers, the price tag close to coming off with the way he’s tugging on it.

‘Curiosity killed the cat’ they say, but you’ve never listened to that; when you feel like something is being hid from you, you’re like a starving shark smelling blood. You can’t let go, you need to know what’s putting Namjoon in this state; what he was about to say about you.

“Namjoon, it’s ok, you can tell me.” You try to go for a reassuring smile, but the look in your eyes must give you away because it only serves to make Namjoon look more worried.

“I- I think that.” He clears his throat, looking around nervously. “I think that you’re holding the ugliest shower curtain I’ve ever seen.”

You frown, looking down at the aforementioned curtain you're currently still half hiding behind.

It’s truly atrocious; it’s a solid ugly grey color, the top part bare of anything, but starting from the middle, the bottom part is layers of ruffles over ruffles, hemmed by some white lace. It’s truly horrifying; very hard to look at.

“Namjoon.” You say, and his eyes finally settle on you.

“Namjoon, if you don’t tell me what you were going to say I'm making you buy this truly horrifyingly ugly curtain.”

There’s a look of pure unadulterated horror passing through his eyes, before he composes himself, looking perfectly neutral.

“It’s your bathroom, I'll buy whatever you want.” He says, voice void of infliction, and you smirk, pleased.

“Amazing, I’m so grateful you’re willing to spend seventy bucks on this curtain.”

“Seventy bucks?!” He exclaims, choking on air. You know he’s a student; students are usually poor. Simple math.

“Or… you could tell me what you were going to say, and I can settle for this beautiful plain white curtain,-” You entice, coming out of hiding to grab the other curtain on the display, stretching it out and showing it off as if you were in an infomercial. “yours for only…” You pause, checking the price tag, “ $9,99.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment of silence, he mutters something so quickly you can’t catch any of it.

“Come again?” You ask, turning on your heels to hug the monstrous grey ruffle disaster to yourself in a threatening manner.

“I said…” He looks about ready to take a bite out of the slipper to avoid your questioning. “ I think that you’re- I think that- It’s cute.” He stammers.

Of all the things, you were not expecting that.

“What?”

“I think it’s cute, ok? I think that you’re cute for focusing all your attention on him like that.”

You’re shocked and confused. This is not the words usually used by your friends to describe your relationship with Taehyung.

“It’s like the rest of the world around you fades away when you’re with him or you think of him, and I wish-...I wish I had someone who liked me that much too.” He finishes, the tip of his ears burning scarlet.

You take him in at that moment, this broad and tall human, with the nicest set of dimples, the soft eyes hidden behind his glasses, the overall grand-father look that he somehow rocks; The way he’s so big yet he’s got this whole gentle vibe going on; how he’s so involuntarily destructive but he also has this calm aura surrounding him.

Suddenly, you’re kind of glad Taehyung is not around. You probably would never have noticed Namjoon if he hadn’t left. It’s only been 24 hours but you already know Namjoon is the kind of person you want to befriend. And he seems to want to befriend you too, so maybe, this summer won’t be so bad.

This summer is terrible.

You get a text from your boss first thing in the morning asking you to come in early, someone else having called in sick. Your bus shows up late, making you late, and you barely have time to catch a breath before Karen, the manager, is on you, lecturing you for your tardiness. Yes, maybe you’re often late, but you can’t really help it if mother nature skipped you when handing out punctuality.

You’re barely clocked in when you’re handed some cleaning tool, a customer having made a mess with some jam pots, meaning this is going to be a sticky disaster. Then you get screamed at because some prick disagrees with the pricing of a jar of pickles, as if that had anything to do with you; You hate pickles.

It just gets dumber from there on, and when the end of your shift comes around, you can’t wait to just be back home, with nothing to do but finally watch the finale of Hannah Brown’s season and maybe stuff your face with whatever you got from the grocery haul you did yesterday.

You wonder if Namjoon is cooking anything; a part of you hopes that he isn’t, worried for the state of the kitchen; another part of you would definitely be pleasantly surprised. As long as there’s no more garlic on the horizon.

It’s kind of weird how this is technically day 3 of you being roommates and you’re already used to his presence. Of course there’s still some awkward moments, but they never last too long.

Namjoon is such a sweetheart, and there’s a part of you that is mad for basically depriving yourself of his friendship for so long. Another part is happy that you did so, or his arrival in your life wouldn’t be the perfect distraction from Taehyung abandoning you. Not that you consider him a distraction, but he’s definitely distracting.

When he’s not falling in showers, he’s singing in them, apparently. Completely off tune, his voice not the most graceful, but still very, very endearing. A shame that you had to rush to go to work while he was having his very own concert, or you would probably have gotten out your phone to gather some blackmail materials.

There’s also his possible inability to cook anything other than pasta; it’s been three days but you’ve already seen him cook some kind of spaghetti at least thrice.

You’re not the most accomplished cook, but you can manage. You have a feeling that next to Namjoon though, you probably look like a professional Michelin decorated Chef. You’re thinking about taking over mealtime when you’re home, maybe assigning him the sous-chef role. A risk that you’re willing to take so you don’t have to see what would probably be a hurt expression at being completely dismissed from the kitchen.

There’s also his ankles. He’s got such pretty ankles, you’re kind of jealous. They’re all dainty and pretty, which is not what a man probably wants to hear when talking about his body, so you’ve decided to keep this compliment to yourself.

You’re not sure exactly what he does during his day. So far you’ve observed that he spends a lot of time in sweatpants, on his computer, earphones cutting him off from the world. He had spent a few hours on the couch yesterday, a focused look on his face as he was clearly working on something, but you didn't want to bother him to ask him what he was doing.

You get home, sighing deeply as you finally take off your shoes after nine hours of standing. It’s dinner time, your stomach is growling, there doesn’t seem to be any action in the kitchen, and you don’t have the strength or patience to cook anything right now, so you grab your phone, pulling up the UberEat app.

You plop down onto the couch, bouncing slightly before properly melting into it, but you can't fall asleep now, you’re on a food-oriented mission.

You’re about to pull up the page of your favorite pizza place when something in your peripheral vision catches your eyes.

It’s Namjoon’s laptop, open on the side table, earphone hanging from the side; The screen light is dim, but you can easily recognize the face on the paused screen.

It’s John Paul Jones.

You can’t believe your eyes, and you’re so shocked, you don’t hear the bathroom door open. You jostle when Namjoon appears in a flash, slamming the laptop shut, looking particularly distraught.

“You did not just see that.” He says, hand still on his laptop, frozen in position.

“I sure fucking did.” You exclaim, eyes sparkling. This is the best thing ever. “You’re watching The bachelorette. Alone. Because this is something you actually enjoy.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.” He whines, dropping into a low squat, wiping his face down with one hand. “I swear I’m a feminist.”

“You’re a romantic, you love love.”

Namjoon groans.

“That’s why you don’t judge me for my crush. You’ve seen worse.” You marvel, and he looks up shyly at your tone.

“You don’t have to worry, I won’t tell anyone...” You linger on the pause for a moment, keeping him guessing. “As long as you promise to do your marathon with me.”

He frowns for a second, searching your face for the teasing or ‘just joking’ that he thinks is coming. But it’s not.

“You’re...a fan of The Bachelor franchise?” he wonders aloud, and you laugh out loud at the bemusement on his face.

“If by fan you mean slowly but surely making my way through all the seasons, all the series, all the content I can, then yes, I would say that I’m a fan.”

There’s a shy smile growing on his face, his dimple going the deepest you’ve ever seen them so far in your three days of co-existing. You’re on the verge of popping out a ruler and verifying once and for all how deep those really are.

“Then yes, Y/N, I will accept your offer of being your bachelor buddy.” He chuckles.

There seems to be a lot of marathons on this summer’s horizon, and you love the idea.

Going to sleep at 5 am is never a good decision, but when it’s because you were binge-watching Bachelor in Paradise with your new bachelor buddy, then you can forgive yourself.

You step out of your room, yawning, at the same time as Namjoon does.

“Hey” You greet him, to which he answers with a small wave, squinty eyes avoiding the light.

“Hungry?” You ask, scratching your head as you make your way to the kitchen, Namjoon following behind.

“Ravenous” He croaks, morning voice ten tones deeper. But it’s not affecting you. Not at all.

You open the fridge to browse the content, pulling out some milk to make yourself some cereal, going to sit at the table so you can both eat and scroll through your phone comfortably.

Namjoon sits on the other side, buttering up some toast with an impressive amount of Nutella; but you’re not judging, being an ex Nutella-addict yourself.

You pull up your text like you’ve been doing for the past few days, checking if you received any messages that your phone failed to notify you about, sighing when you still have no answer from Taehyung. You would worry, except there hasn’t been any newsworthy event about planes or Korea or anything; you’ve been following the news just to be sure.

You peek at Namjoon, who’s staring blankly into his slice of bread with the air of someone who didn’t get enough sleep. You clear your throat lightly to get his attention.

He raises unfocused eyes on you, and you have to bite back a coo at how adorably soft he looks, with his soft brown hair a mess, eyes still half-open, a light stubble slightly apparent, and his mouth hanging slack.

“Did you...did Taehyung send you a text or something? Since he left?”

It takes Namjoon a second to register the question, frowning for a split second before shaking his head.

“He hasn’t, but I wouldn’t worry. His family would have reached out if he hadn’t made it safely.”

“Hmm good point.” You nod, going back to your cereal. You’re slowly coming to terms with the fact that Taehyung seems to have completely forgotten about you. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s getting bearable. You’re not sure how it’s going to be between the two of you once he comes back from his summer spent chasing his internet girlfriend, leaving you in the dust. You’ll definitely feel awkward around him, at least for the first few weeks. You’ll have to have a talk with him, maybe ask for an apology. So many of the plans you made together are now definitely not happening.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“The other day you said that you always plan stuff factoring in Taehyung’s interest and choices, and that kind of bothered me.” Namjoon mumbles, looking suddenly very awake but also very shy.

“Aw, don’t be bothered. In a way it’s kind of my fault you know. I could easily just do my own things, but I choose to plan around him because I want to spend time with him…” You pause, wince. “It’s kind of sad now that I’m putting it this way.”

“I know that he considers you his best friend, though, and relationships, even platonic ones, go both ways.”

You smile into your cereal, pushing them around the milk.

“I appreciate you defending my honor, Namjoon.” You tease lightly, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.

“Actually I was wondering-,” He cuts himself off, scratching his head, before carrying on, “I was wondering, is there something you’ve always wanted to do? But you haven’t since it’s not something Taehyung would appreciate?”

The question takes you by surprise, and you wrack your brain, trying to think of something.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to do a road trip to the future birthplace of Captain Kirk in Iowa, but Taehyung’s not really into SciFi, so I never brought it up.”

Namjoon’s face is the one of someone who was not expecting this answer at all, and he stares at you for a long moment, something akin to wonder sparkling in his eyes.

“You like Star Trek.” He marvels, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “How are you so perfect.”

You freeze, he freezes; everyone freezes.

“Wait, what did you just say?”

“Erhm, well, hum,-” He stammers incoherently, face growing red, before finally getting control of his tongue again. “I mean, your cinematic taste; they’re perfect. How is your cinematic taste so perfect? I just woke up, my brain is still half asleep.” He laughs, but it sounds forced, and you take pity over him.

“Sure.” You answer, dragging on the syllable. ”Anyway, that’s what I would do. I’ve always wanted to visit there, and I’ve always wanted to do a road trip, so, yeah.”

Namjoon looks grateful that you’re not insisting, taking a big swing from his glass of milk, and you’re scared that he’s going to choke and splurt milk all over the table and you for a second. Knowing his track record when nervous, it wouldn't surprise you, but he manages to keep it all in without incident.

It’s been a while since you’ve practiced your reanimation techniques and Heimlich maneuver, and you make a note to review some videos, just in case. You have a feeling that living with Namjoon is stressful

“The reason I’m asking is, well, I’ve got nothing planned this summer, and I would love to try new things. I know we’re basically strangers at this point, but, if you want we could, you know, do some stuff together. Like, I would love doing a road trip to Captain Kirk’s future Birthplace. Only if you want! I don’t want to impose myself either. If you want to save that for friends you know better, it’s perfectly fine. I’m just saying, like, I’m open to doing stuff with you. Like, I think we get along well and,- Now I’m just rambling.”

You giggle, finding this whole thing quite endearing. You’re tempted to torture him a little, but you decide to take pity on him; it’s morning after all.

“Namjoon.”

“Yes.”

“I would love to go on that road trip with you.” You state simply, and your words take a moment to register, but he gives you a beaming smile, the dimples making yet another noticed apparition. The joy is short-lived though, a frown making its way on his face.

“There’s just one thing; I don’t drive.”

You snort, extending your hand to tap lightly on his, comforting.

“It’s a good thing if you ask me.”

“...Do you?” He asks tentatively.

“Yeah baby,” You exclaim, pulling out your best southern accent. “I'm a licensed driver and everything. ‘Haven’t drove into a wall since 2016.”

“That's not as reassuring as you think it is.”

“Are you questioning my driving abilities?” You ask, leaning forward in a threatening manner.

“...No.” He gulps.

“Then let’s set a date!”

There’s a new air of excitement taking over the kitchen, the prospect of a road trip making you feel giddy like a child going to Disneyland.

“Wait, where would you get the car?”

“I can pull some strings.” You shrug with a taunting eyebrow raise, aiming for mysterious. There’s a certain someone who owes you one, and this is the perfect occasion for him to pay his due.

Before Namjoon can question you further, someone starts knocking on the door incessantly. You turn questioning eyes to Namjoon, who mirrors the look, and he stands up, hurrying to the door as the onslaught doesn't seem to be stopping.

There’s a flurry of movement as whoever is on the other side of the door jumps into Namjoon’s arms, sending him swaying back from the weight. There’s confusion and shock on Namjoon’s face, and you quickly understand why.

“Tae?!”

#btswriterscollective #btsboulangerie #bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #bangtanhq #magicshopnet #bangtanscenery #btswritersnet #plotsofpastel #bangtanscenerycollab #armysource #Bangtanidx

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lauwrite1225 · 4 years

Text

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria’s life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : Happy Finan Friday my friends! Alright it's still thursday to most of yall, but it isn't in France anymore and I was to excited to post to wait the morning lmaoo. I had so many good feedbacks on chapter one, you all can’t imagine how happy it made me! So as you noticed, I like to change the moodboard for each chapter, I hve fun making this ahah, I hope you all don’t mind!

Warnings : blood and death

Chapter 2 : There’s a truth and it’s on our side

Victoria blinks several times at the man standing right in front of her. Her eyes go down and up his body, analysing every inch of him and when she realizes he is wearing the same sweatshirt as the man in the bookshop, she’s panic-stricken. He doesn’t even have the time to say a word as she closes the door in his face and presses her back against it. Did this psychopath follow her to her home? She doesn’t see any other explanation, or maybe it’s just the one making the most sense. Because even if it's the guy from the bookshop, it doesn’t explain why he is the one she’s been dreaming of for a month now. Christ, things couldn’t get weirder.

She gathers all the courage she has and shouts through the door. “Who the hell are you?”

She hears the man scoff, the sound attenuated by the door. “Ya wouldn’t trust me if I tell ya like this.”

Her fingers nervously drum on her thigh. “Are you… Are you the “time traveller”?” This question would probably make her sound crazy, but a stranger knocking at your door after following you from your work place is undoubtedly crazier. The thought makes her realize that keeping talking to him maybe isn’t in fact the best idea, and as the man hesitates to answer, she looks around for her phone.

“Hum… Yes kinda.” He replies and Vicky freezes. He doesn’t even deny, which confirms her assumption that he really is mad. “But I’m not really a time traveler.”

Victoria frowns. “What do you mean?”

“That’s hard to explain to a door.” He jokes but Vicky doesn’t laugh, so he answers in a more neutral tone. “I think you and I are the same.”

“The same?” She repeats, her eyes finally falling on her phone. She walks aways from the door to take it from the table and leans against the door again.

She starts to type the number of the police when he speaks. “It’s goin’ to sound really weird. But… I’ve seen ya in my dreams.” Victoria immediately pauses, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Her breath strangely accelerates as she considers his words.

“How can I know you’re telling me the truth?”

“Ya’ve been in a car accident. That’s the first dream I’ve got of ya.”

Victoria is breathless. She has spoken to no one about it, only giving lies, affirming her car has been stolen. She doesn’t know if his answer should reassure her or not, but she switches off her phone and slides it in her pocket before unlocking the door and opening it just slightly. “How do you know that?” She asks him, her voice between fear and curiosity.

The man’s gaze is soft as he rubs the back of his neck. “Told ya, I dreamt of it. Maybe we could talk inside? It's better if there’s no one to hear us.”

Vicky hesitates, staring alternatively between him and the inside of her flat, until she finally moves away. Every part of her mind is screaming at her how bad an idea it is to let this strange, very strange man in, but her intuitions and curiosity are thinking otherwise. She has spent the weirdest month of her life, and something is telling her he would have the answers.

“What’s your name?” She asks, closing the door behind him.

“Finan.” He smiles. “And ya’re Victoria?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I am.” She studies him from a decent distance, actually more like a safe one. He is every bit of the man she’s been dreaming of, tall, thick dark hair, a few scars on his face, strong shoulders and something she has grown to find endearing about him, his childish smile. She wonders if he knows she’s been dreaming about him as well, he would have probably already mentioned it if he did. “So, why do you think we are the same?” She asks, her arms crossed over her chest.

Finan looks around, as if to be sure that there is no one else listening. “I think you died during your accident.”

“What?” She exclaims, her eyes widening. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I was dead.” She answers, tilting her head at what seems to be obvious to her.

“That’s why I said you died.” He replies, insisting on the last word.

“So I came back to life?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the craziest shit I’ve ever heard.” She says in an awkwardly neutral tone.

Finan rolls his eyes. “Then you should have a wound, anything that would prove you’ve had a crash. T’was quite violent of what I remember.” He raises an eyebrow and Vicky finds nothing to answer. He is right, she is miraculously alive, but the blood she found in the car and on her clothes doesn’t match that reality.

“How do you know all of that?” She asks again.

He moves forward but she immediately steps back. “I told ya, I think we’re the same. I died several times before.”

Vicky’s face twists in disbelief. “I can’t believe that.” She says.

The man sighs, his shoulders falling heavily and looking up to the ceiling. “I guess I don’t have another choice than to make ya believe me.” He puts his hand in his pocket and removes a folding knife from it.

“What are you doing?” She panics, stepping back even more.

He raises his hands in sign of peace. “Calm down, I won’t hurt ya.” He promises.

However, he unfolds the knife and to Victoria’s surprise he doesn’t try to attack her, but brings it to his neck. Finan takes a deep breath and murmurs something before sinking the blade in his throat, grimacing at the pain that occurs. A scream of horror escapes her as he falls to the floor, blood coming out of the wound and his mouth. She rushes to his side, removing the knife and pressing her hand on his throat to stop the bleedings.

“No, no, no, no… Stay with me, please.” She freaks out while Finan is bleeding to death on the floor of her flat, gasping for air. He holds her gaze, and in contrast to the time she dreamt of his death, he seems calm. With her other hand, she tries to find his pulse, but there’s nothing. “No…” She whispers, breathless. “No, no, no! You can’t be dead!” She starts to shake his shoulders and as he remains inert, she grabs her phone in her pocket and starts to tap the emergency number, trying not to tremble too much.

But before she can press on the green button, Finan takes a deep breath as if he is coming out of the water. Surprised, she drops her phone and falls back. He coughs several times, spitting blood as he sits up. Victoria can’t keep her wide opened eyes from him, especially when she notices how the wound in his neck heals by itself in a minute until there’s nothing, not even a scar. He wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at the red puddle around him.

“Hum… Sorry for the mess.” He apologizes as his eyes meet hers.

But Vicky can’t care less. “You were dead, and you’re fucking alive.” She whispers, not believing what she just witnessed.

“D'ya trust me now?” He asks her.

Vicky opens her mouth, but no sound comes out of it. She rubs her face with both her hands, not caring about the blood still on them. None of this makes sense, but it is undeniably real. “How did you do that?” She questions him, removing her hands.

Finan's gaze darkens for a brief moment. “I wish I knew.” He stands up, stretching his arms and her mind still can't grasp the fact that a few minutes ago he was dead. He walks towards her but he keeps the same distance she has settled before. “But I'm sure the same happened to ya.”

Victoria looks up to him and there's some sort of joy sparking in his eyes to know she is like him and she wonders if until now, he has been the only one like this. She frowns, she knows nothing of him, but in a short time, he has revealed her every secret of what she could only call a superpower, and she feels like he deserves to know everything as well.

“I dreamt of you too.” she says softly and it's Finan's turn to stare at her with wide eyes.

He crouches in front of her. “Really?”

She shakes her head up and down vigorously. “I saw your death too. But you were wearing a leather armour, fighting in a clearing during the night.” Finan's face becomes as pale as a ghost as she explains her own dreams. “And then you're stabbed from behind, and I can feel all the pain, how the life is leaving your body.” She is quite surprised she succeeds to actually put words on it, thinking of it still giving her thrills. “I dreamt of other things, during other periods of time, but you’re always there.” She concludes, looking up from her bloody hands to him. “What does it mean?”

“I’ve no idea.”

They both say nothing for a moment, simply trying to understand all the information. Everything seems so surrealistic to Vicky but she can’t deny all of this somehow makes sense. She sighs, like it could clear her confused thoughts and looks at the amount of blood on her floor.

“Hm… I think I should clean that.” She says, pointing vaguely at the area.

Finan looks behind him, grimacing. “Aye, let me help ya with that.”

“Sounds fair after you killed yourself in my entrance.” She adds as she rises to her feet, Finan doing so as well, chuckling lightly.

She walks to a closet and comes back with a mop and a bucket. While she fills it with hot water and a little bit of cleaning soap, she discreetly observes Finan. It’s really strange to see him in a modern outfit after dreaming of him so many times in Middle Age clothes. She frowns, this thought bringing a new question.

“I have a question.” She declares, stepping towards him with the bucket while he grabs the mop she has leaned against a chair.

“Ask it.” He sinks the mop into the water and wrings it out while waiting for her question.

“When did you die?”

The corner of his mouth rises. “I told ya, I died many times.”

Vicky rolls her eyes. “I mean the first time.”

Finan pauses, stopping to clean her floor, his eyes darkening as earlier. “Sometime during the ninth century.” He answers finally.

She makes a strangled sort of noise. “The ninth century? You’re what? A thousand years old? You look barely thirty!”

“I guess I should take that as a compliment.” He chuckles but Victoria isn’t in the mood to share a laugh.

“Oh fuck me, you must be kidding me.” She sighs, sitting on the nearest chair. “Are you the only one like this?” She hesitates on a word that describes what she means but can't to a better one than : “Immortal?”

Finan shrugs. “As far as I know, there was just me until now.”

“So we are two.” She points her finger at her chest and then his. “Just you and I.” He nods, pinching his lips in a thin line while she shakes her head. “That's fucking insane.”

“You're tellin' me!” He exclaims exaggeratingly.

But again Victoria ignores his attempt of jokes to ask another question. “How did you find me?”

His cheeky smile fades and he leans on the handle of the mop. “Well, in my dreams I could see moments of your life and I just tried to put all the pieces together.”

“That's creepy.”

This time he is the one rolling his eyes. “Trust me lass, when you'll have kept living for a millennial, being creepy will be the least of your problems.”

“So it was you in the bookshop?” He nods. “And you followed me?”

“I did.” He admits, finished with cleaning the floor. “Alright, maybe it really is creepy.” Victoria raises her eyebrows, as if she's surprised by his affirmation. “But it never happened to me before, and I just… I just had an intuition.”

“Well, it's maybe the least weird thing you told me since you knocked at my door.” She sighs taking the bucket and the mop from his hands to empty it in the toilets. When she comes back after putting everything back into the closet she pays more attention to the blood staining Finan's sweatshirt and her own clothes. “I should change clothes.” She says, pulling the edge of one of her sleeves, already annoyed by the time it will take to clean it correctly. “I must have something for you.”

Finan raises, probably doubting any of her clothes could fit him as she is a head smaller than him.

“From my ex.” She answers, clearly having read his mind.

“Ah, yeah. Thank ya.”

She walks away to her bedroom, taking the first clothes she finds and changing, making a pile of the dirty ones. Then she pulls out of a drawer a sweater from her ex that she hasn't thrown away yet. Before coming back to the living room she stops in the bathroom to wash her hands and face from the dried blood. The water is enjoyable, the only thing constant during this day where all her truths are being riled. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, meeting her own green eyes.

“Maybe it's just a dream.” She says softly and brings her finger to her mouth. She bites in it, hard enough to break the skin. She hisses when she tastes a drop of blood on her tongue. It wasn't a dream.

Suddenly, knocks at her door startle her and she bursts out of the bathroom. Finan is still in the middle of the living room, looking between her and the door. He looks as panicked as her and Vicky points at the room she just walked out of.

“Hide in the bathroom.”

Finan doesn't object, grabbing the sweatshirt she hands him on his way. Once she has heard the door of the bathroom closing behind him she rushes to the front door and slowly opens.

“Becca? What are you doing here?” Victoria asks after recognizing her best friend.

Rebecca raises a surprised eyebrow. “You seem pleased to see me. I texted you I was coming.” She says, waving the hand with which she's holding her phone.

“Oh… I'm sorry, I didn't really check my phone.” Victoria rubs the back of her neck. “Anyway, what do you want?”

Rebecca narrows her eyes, warning her that she's sounding weird, so she straightens a little and plasters her best smile on her face.

“I forgot my gym bag here, yesterday. I just wanted to get it back.”

“Yeah, sure.” Victoria moves away from the door and Becca steps in, patiently waiting for her best friend to come back with the bag.

She searches in the living room but she becomes pale when she hears a noise from the bathroom. “Is there someone else here?” She hears Rebecca ask.

At the time she answers, she has found the bag and is walking back to her, quite nervous. “No.” She replies dryly and oh, how bad she is at lying, especially to Rebecca.

Her friend's face breaks into a mischievous smirk. “Are you hiding a boy?”

Vicky stares at her with wide eyes before scoffing. “Absolutely not!” She hands her the bag quite abruptly. “Here's your bag. Do you need anything else?”

The tan skinned woman studies her for a second, no doubt knowing she's lying and Vicky is sure will probably hear of it in the following days. “No, that's all.”

As soon as she's gone, Victoria heaves a sigh and turns around when the bathroom door opens.

Finan's head appears from the small opening. “Am I the boy she's talking about?”

“Obviously not, you're a thousand years old, old man.” She snaps, joining him.“The hell were you doing?” She pronounces her last words slower as she notices that he is standing bare chested in front of her, his skin covered with scars. She tries to keep her gaze on to his face, the blood now washed away from his beard and neck. “Doesn't matter. Get dressed.”

Vicky waits patiently in the living room for Finan to come back. When he comes back he’s wearing an uncomfortable smile, one of his thumbs jammed in his trousers pocket while he has his dirty sweatshirt in his other hand. There’s an awkward silence but Vicky couldn’t care less, sitting on a chair, her elbows resting on her thighs and her hands sliding into her hair. Finan comes closer to her and gently puts his hands on her shoulder, she doesn’t push him away, even if she wouldn’t usually allow such proximity with a stranger.

“Maybe I should let ya alone, so ya can process everythin’.” He says softly and when she lifts her head his gaze is as soft as his voice. She nods and he squeezes her shoulder before stepping to the fridge and writting something on a post-it glued on it. “That’s the hotel where I sleep, if ya need anythin’.”

“Thank you.”

He leaves right after, and somehow, Vicky hoped that as soon as he’d leave things would appear to be just a big joke. But she looks at the finger she bit earlier and there is no mark of her teeth, no wound. Her skin is as soft and healthy as usual.

A/N : This chapter’s dialogues are clearly the base of this fic, espacially the “a thousand yo??!!” sksks, or Finan killing himself, as @maggiescarborough told me : a real drama queen. Anyway, see you next week for the next chapter ;)

Tag : @obipoelover @for-bebbanburg @naps4bats @osferth @maggiescarborough @finansarms @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby

#The Last Kingdom #finan the agile #finan #fanfiction #tlk fanfiction #finan tlk #somebody to die for #Finan x OC #finan x ofc #the old guard

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koeyohte · 3 years

Text

It’s bright in the hallway. Sunlight streams in from the expansive glass doors and windows just a few steps away in the atrium. The campus has received many remodels in the past few years and I’m fortunate to be taking two of my semester’s classes in this airy building.

I’ve never been good with school. Other students could casually discuss what they’d learned or cram their study session in the night before an exam and do just fine. I’ve always needed extra help - after hours work from the teachers, tutors, extravagant memory solutions. I’d finished high school last year and now was waiting, alone, outside a closed wood door where my english literature class would take place; not for a while though, I think, glancing down at my phone. I’m always early to class. For now, I’m sitting on the floor, plucking at stray fibers of material from my jean shorts and wondering if wearing leggings would have been a better idea. The tile is a cold shock to my skin whenever I touch it.

I’ve been taking this class for three weeks now - two days in each of those weeks on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I look hopefully down the hallway, toward the atrium. There’s usually a quiet young man who arrives early and waits across from me. He keeps to himself and is always reading something. I think he’s nice to look at, though I would never admit it out loud. He’s a bit unusual looking - angular features compliment a frame that’s thin and wiry, but with broad shoulders that make him appear larger than he likely really is. His hair falls just past his shoulders, which is unusual around here. I’ve never seen a man around my age with long hair. When I’m sitting on the floor, he seems rather tall, but when I’m standing, he’s actually about the same height as me. I don’t know anything about him but it’s nice to share the otherwise lonely wait in the hallway with him. I feel like there’s something calm and even comforting about him, though I’m not really sure why.

Twice, I’ve switched up what side of the hall I stand on, just to see what he’ll do. He stood farther away during the first week but after I accidentally dropped my notes and he picked them up for me in the second week, he’s been standing a little closer, still always across from me. I remember noticing a narrow but long scar across his wrist when he handed me my notepad. His hands were rather rough when they brushed mine. He hardly met my eyes and was quick to move away again, like he was uncomfortable with being near me. The dark circles under his eyes were much more apparent up close.

I look up when I hear the doors of the atrium open and my heart skips a beat.

He’s buried in his phone just like he has been every day before. He makes his way down the hall, barely looking up even once, and comes to lean against the wall opposite me like he always does. He looks past his phone to nod at me, which I wasn’t expecting. I try to smile at him but it comes out like more of a grimace. He doesn’t seem offended and brushes his long hair from his face while he continues to read. His hair is a strange, dark blond color and it frames his sharp features in a way that makes it difficult for me to look away. He doesn’t seem to attract much attention from anyone else but I realize as I stare at him that I find him oddly handsome.

I guess that explains why I’ve randomly thought about him more than a few times this past week. That’s new for me.

Confused by my revelation, I look away before he can notice. I don’t even know his name. There’s a subtle smoky scent that I now recognize is coming from his bag. It’s sweet and herbal rather than stale and dusty. His clothes are the same as always - a button down, earth-toned shirt with dark grey slacks. He looks like he should be working in an office.

He doesn’t say much and he won’t speak unless spoken to. I’m not sure if that’s just how he is, or if it’s a manners thing, or if he actually despises small talk. He seems too buried in deep thought for it, from my observations. He’s always reading something, whether a book in his hand or something on his phone. I can tell they’re not text messages by the way he brings the phone up and stares at it while occasionally scrolling for the entire 20 minutes we usually stand in the hallway.

It’s surprising and a bit bewildering to admit that I like looking at him, but it’s true. That being said, I find just about everyone nice to look at in some way. It’s confusing sometimes. I’ve never felt anything more for anyone, though, despite being pursued more than once. It just hasn’t happened yet I guess. I’m in no rush, so it’s alright with me. Unintentional flings don’t seem enjoyable and I can’t imagine being so intimate and open with someone who doesn’t plan to be there in the future. Unlike Sun, I think to myself - she’s been with lots of people, and while some of them still spend time with her just as friends, others have left a bad taste in my mouth. She’s easily forgiven them. Or forgotten. Maybe both.

Someone else walks between us and when I glance up, I’m surprised when the man across the hall looks quickly away from me. I watch him for a moment, wondering how long he was staring. Maybe he wasn’t. Instead of looking back at me, he scratches at his chin and tucks his phone away, looking at something over my head. I find myself glancing upwards, assuming there’s a flyer I must have missed, but there’s nothing there. When I look back at him, he’s watching me again, but he startles.

“Sorry,” he mutters and looks away. He sticks his hands into his pockets and avoids my gaze. I’m not sure what to say. That it’s okay? That sounds weird, possibly even creepy. Should I ask him if something’s amiss? That might be weirder.

He’s looking at me again and this time, he doesn’t shy away from my own gaze. His light eyes trail down to my knee, where I realize he’s eyeing a small cut from where I had banged it on one of Sun’s short coffee tables last week. He looks like he wants to speak but he’s holding himself back.

“Ran into a table,” I say awkwardly, gesturing at the wound. It’s just a small red line now. The man looks back to my eyes and nods.

“Looks recent,” he says after a moment. His voice is mellow and lighter than I expected it to be. He sits in the first row, close to me in our class, yet I’ve rarely heard him speak; certainly not more than a simple yes or no. “Not from this week, though.”

I tilt my head at him, surprised he can tell. “How’d you know?”

Something passes across his face. He looks almost disappointed - or angry? “I’ve seen a lot of… cuts,” he mutters. He shakes his head but falls silent again. His expression is mellow as he stares at the tiles between us. Relaxed, he’s very nice to look at.

I feel myself start when he blinks up at me again. I’m wracking my mind for something to say. There’s a palpable tension in the air - either that, or I’m just incredibly nervous, for some reason.

“What happened to your wrist?” I blurt, glancing at the pale pink line that reaches over his skin. He pushes his hand further into his pocket and I fear I’ve crossed some invisible boundary with him.

“Nothing,” he responds quietly, voice hardly more than a whisper. His posture is stiff now and he’s avoiding my gaze, so I don’t press him.

“What do you do?” I ask, hoping a change in subject will make him feel more at ease.

“Metal shop,” he mutters simply. He’s still not looking at me. Deciding he’s done with the conversation, I just nod and go back to my phone. Sun’s sent me a picture of some plants she wants to buy for her patio.

“What about you?” he asks after a moment. I’m glad that he’s not giving up so soon. He still looks upset, or frustrated, but his posture’s relaxed a bit.

“Just… this right now. I’ve been around.” I pause, realizing how that sounds. “I mean - I’ve had a few odd jobs. Nothing serious. Coffee shops, library, things like that.”

At mention of the library, the man perks up. “What did you do there?”

“Just inventory, organizing shelves, scheduling shipments from one branch to another.” I watch his features change, almost dramatically, from brooding and gloomy to fascination.

“I assume that means you like to read?” he asks, standing up straighter. He takes his hands from his pockets and folds them. He crosses one leg over the other and suddenly appears much more comfortable than he ever has in the hallway. The newfound engagement on his face makes him much nicer to look at.

“I do,” I begin, but before he can ask me what most everyone does, I hurry on, “but mostly nonfiction. I had to focus on school for so long, I hardly had time to read for fun reading. I’m just now getting into it again.”

To my surprise, he nods as if he understands. Most people find what I’ve said to be ridiculous, or a poor excuse to avoid reading as a hobby.

“I’m like that sometimes, too,” he says. “I’m always reading something, though reading purely for enjoyment is something I only very rarely get to do. I’m….” He tilts his head to the side and sighs as though he’s about to tell me something ludicrous. “I’m in the midst of a collection of European cavalry history, right now.”

I nod, unsure of what to say. It doesn’t sound particularly appealing to me, but I can understand the draw for someone who knows more already than I do. I try to smile in place of empty words, and the man drops his gaze to the floor again.

I notice a tear in the belt loop of my shorts and start to pull at it. They’re one of my favorites, as they actually fit. I have exceptionally wide hips, so everything is either too tight in the thighs or too loose everywhere else. I grumble when the string gets caught on my ring. I wear a thin silver band around my ring finger on my left hand - I grew tired of people trying to hit me up. Free from the devious string, I glance down the hall, but first I steal a glance at my classmate.

I nearly startle when I notice his eyes are resting on me again. It looks like he meant to just glance at me but upon noticing my staring, now he is too, in an effort to hide his intention. Whatever it was.

My heart is pounding in my ears. I can feel my pulse in my chest.

“Jeans,” I say weakly, shrugging at the string in my hand. The young man nods once. I see him swallow and lower his phone from his face.

“I had a sister who wore a lot of them,” he says slowly, as though he’s considering each word before he speaks.

I notice how he chose his words - “had” a sister. I offer him a polite smile.

“I’ve never had a sister.”

“Brothers?” the man asks. I shake my head. He shrugs. “More resources for yourself.”

I open my mouth to respond, then realize that nothing natural comes to mind. What an odd thing to say.

“I suppose,” I finally say. He had started to look at his phone again but when I speak, he pauses.

“You suppose?”

I look away. There’s an edge to his tone that wasn’t there previously. He seems frustrated with my comment. His brows lower and the creases along his mouth deepen. Whatever attraction I did feel toward him fades slightly. The man straightens himself up and tucks his phone into his pocket.

“You don’t get anything to yourself with six siblings,” he elaborates. A subtle, tired smile flashes across his face at my expression of surprise. “That’s all I meant.”

Realizing that he noticed my disenchantment with his tone, I begin to feel guilty.

“It’s alright,” I manage, hoping he’ll forgive my reaction. I’ve always been sensitive to people’s behavior. I assume it has something to do with a handful of particular years during my childhood. My mother went through something that I was too young to understand, but I didn’t miss the things she did and said to me before she found herself again. I’m quick to assume the worst from people rather often. It’s something Sun likes to remind me about, if she isn’t criticizing my willingness to help people.

“Seven of you?” I ask, realizing the man is still watching me.

He nods. “We’re fosters… so, none of us are really related. Different ages, come from different places….” He looks suddenly uncomfortable and trails off, looking away. He sticks his hands back into his pockets, shoulders slumping. He looks like he wishes he hadn’t told me.

“That must be difficult. I can’t imagine that.”

“Hmm.” The young man looks back to me. “It can be.”

A few other classmates are starting to arrive. I’m disappointed that we don’t get the hall to ourselves anymore. The man pulls his phone back out and resumes his reading like I’m not there at all. I get the distinct impression that his foster family is something he doesn’t speak about much and probably didn’t mean to offer to me.

The rest of the wait goes by as usual. Relative silence in the hall is replaced by shuffling shoes, the rustling of paper, the clamoring of heavy books against tile, and chatter.

The door to the classroom opens, the last of the previous class files out, and the professor beckons us inside. I take my place in the front row, all the way over to the right, where I’ve made a corner against the far wall. The man follows and sits two seats away like he always does. The professor does all the talking, until discussion time. My quiet companion and I aren’t exactly fans of speaking to the class. The professor hasn’t called on us yet and she doesn’t this week, either.

Once dismissed, I gather my things and wait patiently for the young man to take his so I can leave. He’s shuffling papers in his bag and muttering to himself. He looks upset, so I pretend to read a message, but am glad to see one from Sun to respond to anyway. She’s got some exciting news about a new girlfriend, it seems. I begin to type a reply but the man groans and moves aside, pinning himself uncomfortably against the table.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Go ahead.” He waits for me to pass him and I notice how he recoils further as I do, as if being near another person disgusts him. His knuckles are white against the table and he’s turned his head away from me like he’s afraid I’ll look too closely. I try not to think too much about it, hoping it’s not personal to me. I pause just after him when I notice the way he paws frantically through his things.

“You okay?” I ask, lowering my phone. He looks up.

“Yes. I just… lost something.”

“Can I help?” I start to move closer but he quickly straightens up, picks up the bag and sighs heavily.

“No. Thank you.” Clearly frustrated, he strides past me toward the classroom door. I’m surprised when he holds it open and looks expectantly at me. I thank him and sweep out into the hall.

“You sure you’re okay?” I ask again when he trudges past me. He frowns.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t seem fine. He seems to be silently fuming. His brows are low and the creases in his face are deep. I remind myself that I don’t know him and it’s best to leave him be. Despite the way my feelings get carried away so easily, I have to remind myself that they shouldn’t choose my decisions for me. It’s very difficult, especially when I see someone upset or in need. Sun likes to tease me about it, telling me I’ll spread myself thin trying to provide more attention to everyone I’ll ever meet than I ever do for myself.

Some days, I think she’s right.

I leave my disgruntled classmate behind and go to stand outside, waiting for my mother to pull the car up. We share the vehicle, so she dropped me off today. She had work for a few hours while I was on campus and doesn’t always get off on time. I could be waiting here awhile.

I look up when someone comes to stand next to me. It’s my classmate, and he’s fidgeting like he’s distressed or like something is wrong. His hands are flexing like he’s in pain and he’s gritting his jaw. I don’t ask him this time if he’s okay. He’s staring straight ahead as if I’m not there.

“You getting picked up?” he asks suddenly. I nod and ask him the same. He barely hides a scoff. “Ah - no. They would never… no. I just....” He frowns and looks down. “Nevermind.”

“Wait.” I follow him as he steps back toward the building. He looks strangely on edge, like a frightened, injured animal. I feel myself hiding an eye roll at the way he stares at me like I’ve caused him further upset. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask if you’re alright - but... do you need anything?”

He looks offended until he realizes why. “I’m sorry,” he begins, turning around to face me again. His voice is thin and suddenly soft. There’s something gentle in the way he speaks to me now. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s not… socializing isn’t my strong suit.” He looks sheepishly away again, hand anxiously rubbing at the strap of his backpack. I can see how worn it is there. “You don’t… have a lighter, do you?”

That’s what the herbal smell was.

“Sorry, no.” I don’t have anything against smoking, but I’ve never done it myself. Sun does, sometimes. I’ve sat in her room in the cloudy, sweet haze while her company languished around, discussing things they weren’t ever quite relaxed enough to allow themselves the luxury of doing before. It’s a great time it seems, but I won’t try it with so many strangers around. I trust Sun with my life, but she has a lot of strangers in her room sometimes. Some come and go swiftly and others stay for weeks.

The man casts me a small smile. I hate how charming he looks like that.

“Darn. Hope you won’t think any less of me for it, anyways.”

“What makes you so sure I’m thinking about you at all?”

I’ve spoken before thinking. I feel my face flush bright red. He blinks at me for a moment, then looks away. Neither of us say anything for several breaths. The tension is stifling.

I close my eyes and shake my head at myself.

“That - that was… I didn’t mean it like that.”

The man laughs quietly and I see him reach up to scratch distractedly at the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. He looks shabby but in a confusingly enticing way.

“‘S alright,” he mumbles. I allow myself to look at him for a moment while he’s busy looking anywhere else but at me. His face is lightly shadowed and his sharp features cast sunlight across his forehead and the bridge of his hooked nose. His eyes are light, unlike my own. As I look, I notice pretty, almost yellow centers. I’ve heard of heterochromia but I can’t tell from here if that’s what’s there for sure.

He looks at me again and I notice out of my peripheral vision that my mother’s little blue car is turning into the driveway.

“My mom’s here,” I announce, unsure of how else to proceed. The tension is still there but it’s not as taut. The man looks up and backs away from me as though he shouldn’t be seen so close. He’s chewing his lip but as the car pulls up to a stop, he just looks away from me again.

“See you,” he says, and turns back into the building before I can even respond. I open the passenger door and climb in, not allowing myself to stall, and glad when my mother doesn’t ask any questions.

#modernAU #short story #ch1 #idk what im calling this yet

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shipaholic · 4 years

Text

Omens Universe, Chapter 14, Part 1

Warnings! Asphyxiation, child endangerment.

Link to next part at the end. (From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 14

Oh.

Shit.

Zadkiel grabbed Adam. His hands engulfed the boy’s shoulders. Had he always been this tiny? Focus, focus -

“Adam, reality will listen to you. You are in control. Anything that you believe will come true.” Desperation tried to worm into his voice. He held it at bay. “Listen to me. You can hear me talking, right? That means there’s air. You can breathe, you just have to believe there’s air. Come on now.”

Spacedog was hollering. Adam clutched the dog to his chest, painfully tight. His arms were as pale as death.

Zadkiel made a strangled noise. He pulled Adam into a bear hug and dived.

Proxima Centauri B rushed up to meet him. He was breaking most laws of physics right now. He punched through the atmosphere, and didn’t bother to slow his descent as they streaked to the ground, miles of hard earth and marbled mud coming in fast -

Zadkiel burned through the alien sky, flaming like a meteor, and pasted himself on the rocky landscape.

His one safety protocol was to make sure Adam landed on top of him.

With a small explosion, Crowley and Aziraphale were flung apart like rag dolls.

Spacedog wriggled free and tried to lick Adam’s face. The space helmet got in the way. Spacedog pushed it into Adam’s cheek and frantically licked the glass. He whined, a piteous, unbroken sound.

The sprawled bodies did not move.

Then Adam’s face gave a twitch.

“Stop that, you silly Spacedog.”

Spacedog yapped his head off and ran around in circles.

Adam flexed his fingers, experimentally. They still held the Book.

Crowley and Aziraphale realised they had escaped being discorporated. To their dismay, this meant they had to move. They managed to roll over and flop towards Adam and each other. Sitting up could wait.

“You alright, Adam?” Crowley said without moving his lips.

Adam got the gist, even with none of the consonants. “Yeah. Thanks. It’s cool that you did that without being in a rocket.”

“Hell yeah,” Crowley managed.

“I’m so sorry, my dear boy,” Aziraphale said to Adam, just slightly more coherently than Crowley. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“He’s fine, children bounce,” Crowley said, his eyes closed.

Aziraphale tutted. “You’re incorrigible,” he said. Or tried to. It proved a little too difficult in his current state.

Crowley cracked an eye open. “Did you say I’m ineffable?”

“In. Corri. Gible.”

“Good. We don’t use that kind of language in front of the kid.”

Adam sat up, wincing. Spacedog leapt into his arms and tried once more to mash the fishbowl helmet into his face.

~*~

When they’d all recovered a bit, they took in their surroundings.

Crowley had been to the Grand Canyon. Proxima Centauri B was like that, but stranger. Its winding rock tunnels and quarries were an odd, half-melted brown. The sun was low in the sky, either setting or rising, no-one was sure. It was a shockingly pinkish-red, in a night sky tinged a deeper, richer purple than any twilight on Earth.

Crowley tried to appreciate it. It was home, now. And presumably, forever.

Perhaps he just wasn’t in the mood. They were all a bit on-edge. Aziraphale kept sneaking glances at Adam to check he was still breathing. The damn green dog seemed perfectly at home, but that just put Crowley in a worse mood.

He skulked at the back of the group, hands in his pockets. Aziraphale fell back and stood beside him.

“You changed back,” he said, nodding to Crowley’s outfit.

“Eh, yeah. White was never my colour.”

“I suspect it isn’t mine, either,” Aziraphale said, softly.

Crowley’s gaze slipped over the brown and blue and gold of him.

“No. You’ve a bit more character than that,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled up at him from under his lashes. There was a flicker of intent to that look. Heat crawled up Crowley’s neck.

Adam giggled nearby as Spacedog swam laps around his head. They turned to watch him.

“Do you think he’s still the Antichrist, out here?” Aziraphale said.

“Is that a, strand the King of Spain in outer space, is he still a King, kind of thing?”

“I suppose that’s an interesting question. Although I meant it more in a, does he still have his powers out here, kind of thing.”

Crowley’s eyes lingered on the frolicking dog. He sighed. “I think he probably does.”

Aziraphale looked grim. “Poor old Earth,” he murmured.

Crowley shook his head. “If we’d just got on the portal and not let him yammer on about the dog…”

“I didn’t think,” Aziraphale said, sadly.

“Me neither. And I’ve got no excuse. Beelzebub briefed us on that hellhound for an entire Thursday afternoon.”

They watched the boy and dog in silence.

“I suppose it is the Earth that will still - ahm. Be affected by his powers?”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s no chance he’s brought Armageddon with him?”

They stared at each other. They peered at the sky. No sudden rains of blood or other omens appeared.

“Nah, reckon it’s probably still going to happen on Earth.”

Aziraphale looked miserable.

Crowley put a hand on his arm. “Hey. All we could do was get out.”

“I know.”

“Don’t torture yourself.”

Aziraphale mustered a weak smile.

They watched Adam rooting around for a stick to throw for Spacedog. He found a sturdy one right at his feet that was the right size and hurled it across the marsh. Spacedog took off after it, yipping. It was unclear how, in the helmet, he was going to bring it back.

“There isn’t any wood on this planet,” Aziraphale said, carefully.

Crowley nodded glumly. “Guess that confirms it. Reality still bends to his will.” He thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, I doubt this planet has much of an atmosphere.”

“Mmm, yes. That should have been our first clue.”[1]

“I think a regular child would have frozen to death while he was floating in space.” And/or exploded. Crowley felt he’d seen something like that in a film once.

“...This wasn’t a very child-friendly plan, was it?”

“You’re just noticing this now? We kidnapped an eleven-year-old from his parents.”

“You talked me into it.”

“Of course I did. Demon.”

“A temptation worthy of a commendation,” Aziraphale said, with only a trace of a scolding.

Crowley turned and slipped his arms around Aziraphale’s neck.

“They’ll have to put it in a cannon and fire it into space. Hope it reaches me in a few thousand years.”

Aziraphale chuckled. It was a wonderfully warm, wry sound. It always sounded like he knew he was getting away with something. Crowley watched the tips of his hair stain pink in the alien sun.

Suddenly, Aziraphale’s face fell.

“Crowley, we don’t have to teach him maths, do we?”

~*~

Half an hour later, the euphoria wore off.

Adam trudged across the squishy, marshy ground, investigating his new territory. Spacedog trotted at his heels. Aziraphale and Crowley stood and kept an eye on him from a distance. It was nice, like an amiable family walk across a muddy field in late September.

And then, like an amiable family walk across a muddy field in late September, the mood soured. The mud that had been fun to tromp through sunk through the soles of the walking shoes that were supposed to be waterproof. The rustic landscape grew dreary. That cow had a mean look in its eye.

In other words, it dawned on Adam that he hadn’t eaten for hours, the alien planet all looked the same for miles around, there was a shocking dearth of cinemas, sweet shops or comic books in this area of the galaxy, he would never see his family again, and he had very recently almost died. Also, he forgot to bring snacks.

A suspicion had brewed at the back of his mind for a few hours now. It bubbled away, growing, gaining certainty. Now, grubby, cold and hungry, it was time to ask.

“Are you two actually aliens?”

Aziraphale and Crowley were having a murmured grown-up conversation behind him. They stopped. Their faces went blank in the way grown-up’s faces went when they were thinking how to lie to him.

“Perhaps it’s time to drop the pretence,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley frowned. “It’s not like the truth is any less weird.”

“I dislike lying, on general principle.”

“I’m in favour of lying, on general principle. Let’s compromise and say nothing.”

“You know full well that would be a lie of omission. Don’t think I’m going to start falling for tricks like that after six thousand years -”

“Would you both just stop talking?” Adam said loudly.

They shut up.

“You’re always talking rubbish and I don’t understand it.”

Adam frowned. He held the Book under one arm. For a moment, he heard its pages rustle.

“My whole life is just everyone talking rubbish at me, all the time. Nothing anyone’s ever told me made any sense. Like the stuff about how I was going to destroy the world. And then you two, with the alien stuff. I just believed it because everything was so weird, it’s not like aliens could be any weirder. The only person I’ve ever met who seemed like they properly knew what was going on was that woman back in the car. She’s the one who left me this.” He hefted the Book in his arms. “I’ve got more proper answers from this than I’ve got from anyone, ever.”

“What is that?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him.

Adam’s arms tightened around the Book. Spacedog leapt in front of him and growled.

Aziraphale blinked and halted. Crowley held out an arm.

A chill wind picked up.

“That woman was the only person who seemed like she wanted to help me and tell me what was really going on, and she said I shouldn’t leave. She said it was a mistake to leave. And I didn’t listen. And you zapped her away.” Adam pointed at Crowley.

Crowley inched backwards. “Hang on, I was under a lot of stress…”

“And you grew wings and flew around that bookshop. Aliens don’t do that. You didn’t look like an alien, back then, you looked more like…”

Adam stopped.

“I shouldn’t have come with you,” he muttered.

Aziraphale and Crowley stared at each other.

“You remember you forced us to bring you, right?” Crowley pointed out. “Just saying.”

Aziraphale frowned and nudged him.

The wind whipped at them. Adam was only in a t-shirt. He wasn’t cold.

“I want to go home,” he said.

It was not the lament of a lost child. The words resonated around the landscape. Aziraphale and Crowley felt them down to the bones.

A whirring pulse sounded from high above them, faintly. Nobody glanced up, but a prickle of warning ran up their necks.

“I don’t have to be here. You said reality will listen to me. She said the same thing. In this book.”

An emerald-green spotlight shone down on Adam. The wind became a roaring gale. It whipped Adam’s t-shirt. He stared down Aziraphale and Crowley through eyes that were suddenly dark under the livid green light.

Crowley squinted into the sky.

He said, “What.”

Aziraphale kept his eyes on Adam. Carefully, as though the boy were a skittish animal, he raised his hands towards him.

“Adam, we were not honest with you. I apologise. It is our fault you are in this mess. There are forces at work that it was too difficult to explain to you. You see -”

“Angel, you should take a look at this,” Crowley interrupted.

“Not now, Crowley!”

“Aziraphale, it’s a goddamned flying saucer.”

Aziraphale looked up.

A round, whirring alien spacecraft hovered in the sky above them.

“What,” he said.

Adam stood in the disco-glow of the green spotlight. Furious pulses of wind flapped down on him. He met Crowley’s eyes with a long, hard stare. Spacedog’s hackles rose.

Crowley blinked first. He edged back, one hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

The flying saucer whirred and spun. In a series of loops, it meandered down to the surface of Proxima Centauri B. It let out a gust of steam as it settled like a soggy cake.

A door opened in its side with a hiss.

A ramp descended, and three aliens got out. Two of them were green. The third was a small hump with wheels and an egg-whisker sticking out of it. It quickly got stuck in a marshy patch and made some angry distress noises that the other two ignored.

Adam stood like a king greeting foreign dignitaries as the remaining two aliens walked over to him.

“Hello,” he said.

The alien leader, who had a face like a duck,[2] approached first. “Adam Dowling?”

Adam squinted up at her. The spotlight was still blinding. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“All right, sir. I believe you called for a taxi service.” The alien looked slightly put out to be used as such, but she hid it well. “We’re here to take you back to Earth.”

“Erm,” Crowley said. “Hang on.”

Everyone ignored him, to his relief. He had no idea what he would have said next.

Adam followed the aliens back to their saucer. The slightly taller alien helped the pepper-pot alien back up from where it had tipped over in the mud.

“Wait - Adam -” Aziraphale called.

Crowley put an arm around him. Neither moved to follow. Without speaking, they conceded that this was going to happen whether or not they found it plausible.

The three aliens shuffled back up the gangplank. The round, beeping alien left a long streak of mud as it trundled inside the spaceship. Adam and Spacedog walked behind them.

A scrap of paper flapped loose from inside the Book. The wind carried it directly to Aziraphale. He caught it reflexively.

Adam reached the top of the gangplank and vanished without a backward glance. The spaceship door sealed shut.

The spaceship made a Whomm Whomm Whomm noise and floated into the air. It wobbled a bit, and then streaked into the stratosphere, leaving a green comet trail behind it.

The howling gale abruptly blew itself out. The planet’s surface was deafeningly quiet.

Nothing broke the calm but a tiny green speck in the sky, already winking out of sight.

---

[1] When you only breathe out of habit, you stop thinking about things like oxygen.

[2] “Ducks,” Crowley almost blurted, as a Pavlovian response.

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens fic #good omens #ineffable husbands #steven universe #ahhhhh the most batshit chapter of all #bless #I enjoy those aliens #the Dalek-y one is from Book Omens #I'm pretty sure I stole all the jokes about it from there but it's been a little while since I read it #I'm sorry about how hard I went with the cartoon physics I don't know how space works and none of these idiots do either

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buckmecaptain · 4 years

Text

The Cat Arrived in October

AU in which I ignore Infinity War and Endgame, Bucky is an Avenger, Everybody lives in the Tower because I’m a sucker for that, and Pepper and Tony had an amicable break up years prior.

It started as a drabble, from the prompt: “Halloween, but make it totally not scary.”

Image isn’t mine, neither are any of the Avengers characters. Only Rosa.

WARNINGS: Not many. Mention of accidental animal death (no description), vague mention of an explosion and subsequent hospital stay.

In which Tony Stark decides that pets are OK in the Tower.

The Avengers returned to the Tower after their Sunday brunch on a crisp October day and found Tony in the common room, relaxing in a recliner and reading on his StarkPad. A large black house cat lay across the back of the chair, its tail draped over Tony's right shoulder and a front paw idly kneading his left.

As the team entered the room Steve, who was in the lead, stopped short, almost causing a six-person pile-up. They gawked.

Tony didn't bother to look up; rather he asked “Did you remember my coffee?”

Steve approached him, coffee and a bakery bag in hand, head tilted and eyes squinting. “Tony, there's a cat on your chair.”

Tony's eyes remained on the tablet screen. “So there is.”

The cat regarded Steve with large bright green eyes. Its tail thumped its seatmate's shoulder once, then stood and stretched.

“It's, uh, it's a really pretty cat.”

“This is true,” Tony nodded, sipping his coffee.

The feline rubbed its nose along the edge of Tony's ear, then looked back up at Steve expectantly with one forepaw raised and uttered a soft “miao”.

“Oh, alright. Rosa, Steve. Steve, Rosa.”

Steve shifted from foot to foot, then glanced over his shoulder at his team mates. They shrugged. “Some help you guys are,” he thought.

The cat meowed and reached out its paw again.

At a loss, Steve offered his hand. “Nice to-to meet you, Rosa.”

Rosa placed her paw on his hand and pressed once. Twice.

“Did you just... shake my hand?”

She turned in a circle and looked up at Steve with her eyes nearly closed.

”Smug,” he thought.

The team crowded around to greet Rosa one by one and she charmed them all.

The last was Bucky.

He didn't reach out for her and she flattened her ears while staring him down.

Up came the paw.

“What's the matter, Tin man?” Sam grinned. “Don't like cats?”

Bucky rolled his eyes in response and reached out with his flesh-and-blood hand. Rosa sniffed it daintily and rubbed her head on his thumb, purring. Once Tony's pet had greeted the entire team, she returned to his shoulder and nuzzled her little face into his neck.

“That is certainly an affectionate cat,” Natasha noted after she and Clint left the room.

“Yeah, weird. Even weirder is Tony having a cat. Much less being affectionate with one,” Clint agreed. “Do you think it's a lab experiment? Maybe it's Bruce. Did Tony turn Bruce into a cat? Are they snuggling because they're more than 'science bros'?”

“Okay, calm down. Bruce is in the lab. Tony just decided to get a pet. It's been a long time since he and Pepper broke up, you know. Maybe he was lonely.” Clint snorted.

As the days and weeks passed, the team got used to having Rosa in the Tower and were enjoying her company. Tony seemed happier and his appetite had increased to a more-than-healthy level, but he wasn't gaining weight, so who were the team members to judge?

“Waffles? Do I smell waffles?” Tony breezed into the kitchen and made a plate for himself, stacking a tray with food and various breakfast beverages before heading back out again.

“He never eats with us anymore,” Wanda pouted. “I kinda miss his dumb jokes at the table.”

Sam nodded. “Well, he is a self-proclaimed 'mad scientist'. Who knows what's going on in that brain of his?”

After dinner that night, Tony strode purposefully into the common room with Rosa cradled in his arms. “Okay, guys. I need a favor. I have to leave for a conference in LA tomorrow and I need someone to look after Rosa. Just let her hang out with you so she doesn't get lonely,” he kissed the cat's head, “and, uh, feed her on schedule. Who's up for this?” He looked around the room.

Wanda raised her hand. “I'd be glad to!” she cooed enthusiastically and reached for Rosa.

Tony reluctantly relinquished his hold and Rosa rubbed her face along his jawline before slithering over to Wanda.

“FRIDAY will send you her schedule and feeding instructions. It's not difficult. Everything is in my suite and you'll have access as needed. I'll be gone for six days.” He squinted at the team and chewed his lower lip as he rapidly tapped his fingers on the back of his phone.

“Stark, it'll be fine. Wanda's more than capable of taking care of a simple-” Steve began.

“Not 'simple'!” Tony almost shouted. “Very special. Follow the directions and treat her the way she wants to be treated. If I can't trust you all, then I'm going to have to take her with me,” he huffed.

Rosa sighed and squirmed, jumping from Wanda's arms to Tony's. She looked him in the eye and rubbed her head against his jaw again, purring loudly.

“Okay, I get it.” He stroked her fur. “I'm trusting all of you.” He turned abruptly and headed for his suite.

The team were left speechless, exchanging looks and shrugging.

Finally, Sam broke the silence. “So that's it, huh? Tony is now a crazy cat lady?”

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** The team was all too happy to hang out with the Tower feline after Tony left that Thursday morning. Rosa spent some time lounging in the sun by the huge windows in the common room, then made the rounds from one person to the next as they filed in to relax. She retreated to Tony's suite when the team went to work out, but joined them again when they assembled for movies and pizza.

Bucky was particularly sullen tonight, slumped in one of the over-sized recliners and burrowed in his hoodie. Rosa had been watching him intently, but seemed to have come to some sort of a decision and stood from her perch on Clint's knee. She stretched as cats do and sauntered over to the arm of Bucky's chair, then sat primly with her tail wrapped around her feet.

The soldier gave the cat the side eye, receiving only a slow blink for a reaction.

“What?”

Rosa raised her chin and peered at him, front paw raised.

Bucky squinted at her.

She meowed quietly.

“Fine. Come on, then.” he opened his arms and Rosa hopped onto his chest, stretching her back legs out behind her and tucking her front paws into the neck of his hoodie. He glared at the cat.

Unbothered, she rubbed the top of her head on his chin and purred loudly. Before he knew it, Bucky was absently stroking the cat's luxurious fur and relaxing. It wasn't long until he nodded off. He slept deeply, dreamless at first, then came the demons of his past snaking into his rest. He hated the dreams and his lack of power to stop them, struggled to wake himself every time.

Something was different. This time when he aimed the pistol at Steve, the image in his mind blurred and faded away. Instead he found himself in a huge, soft bed surrounded with fine linens. The scent of flowers and vanilla filled his nostrils as he trailed his fingers over the curvy body of the woman draped over his chest.

Wait, what?

His hands stilled and his eyes flew open. She wriggled against him, warm and very naked, and sighed contentedly. Who was she? He couldn't see her face, but the hair and body didn't match Wanda or Natasha. He raised a hand to brush away her long dark hair so he could identify her, but she batted his hand away and snuggled under his chin.

Bucky knew he should wake up, should push the woman off of him, find out who she was, where he was, but he hadn't felt that comfortable and relaxed in so long, he couldn't force himself. What's the worst than could happen? He allowed himself to settle back into the marshmallow-cloud bedding and wrap his arms around his companion.

He woke as usual before sunup, his internal clock urging him to go for a run with Steve and Sam. As soon as he raised his head he was met with a pair of bright green eyes set in midnight black fur. Rosa touched her nose to his, then jumped down and headed for Tony's suite.

Bucky's mind flashed back to the dream he'd had as he watched the cat leave the room. He hoped his morning run would help would help dampen his feeling of unease.

After the third lap, Sam couldn't take it anymore. “Yo, Buck, you've been really quiet this morning. What's the matter, cat got your tongue?”

Bucky gave him the Winter Soldier Death Glare.

“Hey, just saying I'm not the one who fell asleep with a kitty cat on my chest.”

“Knock it off, birdbrain.”

“Geez, touchy!”

That night after dinner, Steve was parked at his desk going over some paperwork when FRIDAY alerted him. “Captain Rogers, Rosa is requesting entry to your quarters.”

Of course Stark would program the AI to recognize his pet. He chuckled and gave the okay, and the cat trotted into his room, taking a seat on the floor beside his desk chair. “Well, hello there. Nice of you to visit me.”

Rosa meowed once and raised a paw.

“Want to come up and keep me company? Okay, up.” He patted his knee.

Rosa narrowed her eyes and flattened her ears.

“Oh, excuse me, someone's spoiled,” he leaned over and reached for her. She allowed it and settled on his lap, purring quietly. She stayed there all evening, and when he emerged from the shower, she was curled up on the foot of his bed, sound asleep. He didn't have the heart to make her leave, so there she stayed.

In the wee hours of the morning, Steve dreamed about crashing the plane into the icy depths of the ocean. He was cold, so cold he was shivering in his sleep and mumbling “No. Please, no...”

The bed was vibrating from the Captain's shivering, rousing Rosa from her slumber. She stood, stretched, and ambled up to Steve's left side, nestling against him and placing her paws on his chest, kneading slowly but firmly. As he calmed and settled, Rosa purred and closed her eyes.

Confusion and calm both invaded Steve's dream state at once, pulling him from the freezing water that had closed over his head and depositing him into his nice, warm, too-soft bed. He sucked conditioned air into his lungs instead of sea water and his heartbeat slowed. So warm and comfortable.

And arousing.

Wait.

That wasn't a blanket pressed against his chest, drawing lazy circle patterns across his ribs. His eyes snapped open, body going rigid. All he could see was a head full of long, dark hair and a distinctly feminine arm stretched across his body. He wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing in his bed, and who the hell was she, but he was warm and comfortable so he allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep through the night.

Why are early morning alarms so loud? Steve was sorely tempted to throw his phone through the window. Annoyed with having his rest interrupted, he groaned and stood, preparing to meet the day.

A soft “meow” sounded from behind him.

“Hey there, Rosa. Good morning. Thanks for staying with me last night.” He rubbed her ear gently and she purred, then hopped down to the floor and sat by the door to his suite waiting for FRIDAY to let her out.

Steve smiled and went about getting ready for his morning run.

The next few days were busy for the Avengers. Interviews, meetings and briefings with SHIELD and training took up their days, so they were all more than ready for some R and R in the evening. The recipe for relaxation this evening was catered gourmet cheeseburgers, fries, a movie, and a gripe-fest.

“All I'm saying is, we look good on tv as is. Why did they think we need makeup? It's a crime to cover this up!” Sam gestured to his face.

Rosa meowed from her spot along the back of the couch.

“See? Even the kitty-cat agrees.”

“Well, at least we didn't have to deal with interviewers and Tony,” Natasha said between fries. “Would have made our day one hell of a lot longer.”

Clint laughed, “Yep, it's a relief not to hear the 'I'm Tony Stark and I'm awesome' stories every ten minutes.”

A low growl sounded from behind Sam.

“Well, Tony is definitely all about ego. Huge ego. Huge ego in a tiny suit,” Steve snarked.

“Ooh, short jokes. Someone is playing mean,” Wanda chipped in, “not that Tony doesn't deserve being taken down a peg or two. Often.”

“You should all be nicer to Tony, you know. He's good to each and every one of you,” said a new voice.

Combat training kicked in for each of the Avengers. They were on their feet and facing the enemy, makeshift weapons drawn, within a second.

In this case, the “enemy” was a stunning black-haired woman wearing a simple black chemise. She fixed each Avenger with her brilliant green gaze and frowned.

“Makes me want to cry.” She turned to leave.

“Wait a minute,” Steve ordered and she stopped, but did not turn. “Who are you and how the hell did you get in here?”

“My name is Rosalie Anderson. I've been here for a few weeks.”

Stunned silence.

“Oh! She's the cat!” Clint shouted, shaking the rest of the team from their reverie.

“No wonder Tony was so reluctant to leave you behind,” Natasha said with her signature smirk. “Wanted to keep you all to himself, huh?”

Rosa sighed and gracefully sank into the over-stuffed couch. “It's not like that. I'm more like a- ugh, I hate to even say it- like a therapy animal.” She rolled her eyes. “At least in cat form, I am.”

“It was you in the dream,” Bucky stated.

“Yes.”

Steve gawked at his old friend. “You had a dream, too? Started out bad, then the woman- her?”

Bucky nodded.

“Wait, wait, wait... you guys had gooey dreams about Hello Kitty, here? What's going on?” Sam sputtered.

Steve shook his head. “No, just the usual nightmare about downing the plane in the ocean, then it changed to me lying in a huge comfortable bed with a dark-haired wo- 'Gooey dreams'? What?”

Natasha broke in. “Let her talk.” She nodded at Rosa, urging her to go ahead. “I'm a low-level empath. Last year, I was doing research off-site for Stark Industries' Therapy and Recovery division, studying the effectiveness of different therapy animals, when that explosion happened.”

“The one at the dummy radiology lab? The one that turned out to be a Hydra front for alien weaponry?” Sam asked.

Rosa nodded. “My desk was against the a wall that was shared with the lab, so when the explosion happened, it tore through and hit me full-force.” She grimaced. “Well, me and Bella the cat. She didn't make it.

I spent three days in the hospital, and at the end of my stay I was picked up by Agent Coulson. He introduced me to Tony and we became friends.”

“Friends... who hang around as house pets?” Clint prompted, his eyebrows raised.

“Tony's idea,” Rosa supplied, “and I didn't mind. It was nice to be able to observe all of you with your guards down. Tony is overprotective sometimes, which reminds me, FRIDAY? Would you please message Mister Stark and let him know that everything is out in the open and it's okay?”

“Already done, Miss Anderson.”

“You said you're an empath,” Wanda stated. “How strong is your power?”

“Not very strong, I'm afraid,” Rosa replied with a frown. “I seem to only be in tune with panic or fear based emotions and help soothe them. For example, I can sense an oncoming panic attack, and if I can touch the person who is suffering, I can pull back the anxiety so he or she can rest.”

“That's what happened with my dream. I was on the helicarrier, just about to shoot Steve, then I wasn't. Next I knew I was in this gigantic bed. With a woman.” A muscle flexed in his jaw.

Rosa stepped forward, hands raised in supplication. “I'm sorry. Just doing what I'm meant to do. I hope you can forgive me for crossing lines.”

“No apology necessary,” Steve assured her. “Believe me when I say that was one of the best nights of sleep I've had in years.”

She smiled tentatively. “Thanks.”

“Same here, doll,” Bucky agreed, “Suddenly I'm a cat person.” He grinned, looking at her through the overgrown fringe of hair hanging over his brow.

Her smile turned genuine and she sighed in relief. “Now that you all know I'm not the enemy, do you think I could snag one of those cheeseburgers? Dying for some real food.”

As she powered through her burger, she answered questions from her new friends about what it was like to shift to cat form and back, how did she deal with the perspective change from that point of view, did she find that she had any particular cravings for milk and fish (thanks, Clint), and so on. She was patient and even happy now that she'd devoured her meal.

As the team cleaned up the wrappers and crumbs, FRIDAY interrupted them. “Incoming call from Mister Stark for you, Rosa.”

“Oh! Please put him through, FRIDAY.”

Tony's worried face popped up on a holo-screen in mid-air. “Rosa, sweetheart, are you okay? They're being nice, right? Tell me if they're not being nice.”

Rosa chuckled and smiled fondly at the screen. “Yes, everyone has been understanding and friendly. They even shared their dinner with me. Cheeseburgers”, she said in a sing-song voice.

“You mean to say the super-soldier garbage disposals actually had leftovers?” His eyes widened comically. “You sure you're okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be? I'm surrounded by most of Earth's Mightiest Heroes,” she said with a quiet giggle.

“'Most'. I'll be home in a couple of days. Keep the bed warm for me, will you?” He winked and smiled, and his face looked much less tired.

“Of course. See you soon.” She blew him a kiss and the holo-screen disappeared.

She turned back to the team, all of whom were regarding her with raised eyebrows or smirks.

“Thank you all for being kind to me, and especially for the burger,” she smiled.

“I'm gonna turn in now.” She headed for the elevator.

“Hold up,” Sam called, and she paused.

“Yes?”

“You and Stark? You're together?”

Rosa looked puzzled. “No. He's in California, I'm in New York.”

“Woman! You know what I meant.”

“I wouldn't say we're together, but I do sleep with him every night.”

Sam stared at her, jaw dropped.

Rosa tilted her head. “What's the matter, Sam? Cat got your tongue?”

Bucky guffawed.

#avengers fluff #tony stark x oc #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #black cats deserve all the love #this should have been a drabble #happy halloween

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sevi007 · 5 years

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(@rex101111 this is kinda for your birthday, since you always encouraged my weirdest ideas - even wrote them WITH me =D - and I didn’t really have time to make something real for you... I hope this makes you, at least, smile a bit on your big day!)

Saw this amazing Undertale comic-stripe again where Frisk is taken to cool by someone else every day, from Undyne over Sans to Mettaton – most of them in the weirdest fashion possible – and thought:

Hey, take the same premise, but make it with the DMC crew, right. So like:

On Monday, Patty doesn’t show up to lectures by foot as usual, but gets a ride. She hops out the passenger side of an older vehicle, only to scramble back in at the call of the driver and dropping a smacking kiss to his cheek with a grin before slamming the door and running off to greet her friends. Classmates nearby by pause, the sight just unusual enough to make them wonder, but not enough to really worry about it, and everyone sort of goes on about their day.

Aside from someone who scratches their head, wondering aloud “Was that Patty’s dad?”

“Do they look like they are related, genius?”

“That doesn’t have to say anything, ya know.”

On Tuesday, everyone turns in surprise as shrieks of laughter can be heard over the roaring of an engine. A motorcycle swings around the nearest corner, coming to a sharp stop in front of the school yard. Patty jumps off – they only recognize her as she rips the helmet off and shakes her hair out, grinning from ear to ear.

“That was awesome!” Some hear her say, loudly, over the still running engine when she passes the helmet back. “You really need to come around more often, lady!”

And some wonder what weird way of address that is, for someone the girl is familiar enough to ride a motorcycle with, familiar enough to hug her goodbye and get an affectionate hair-ruffle from.

Someone else is more caught up wondering “Was that lady carrying a bazooka?!” but nobody really believes them. Surely, that was a fake.

On Wednesday, there’s the sound of thunder to be heard. The students look up, worried – the forecast has promised sunshine and blue skies, not rain and especially no thunderstorms.

There’s no clouds to be seen, which makes the thing even weirder.

Another clap, the sound of frizzling and the smell of ozone, and people jump away, some shouting, as there’s suddenly a woman amidst their group that has not been there a second before, blonde hair whipping around her head as if she just been hit by a windblast, leather corset creaking faintly as she completely ignores the stares she gets. Instead she bends forward –

And Patty scrambles off her back where she’s been carried piggyback, breathless from laughter and looking like she just came out of a wind tunnel.

“How was that?”

“I think that was faster than lady’s motorcycle, honestly!”

“I sure hope so,” a headpat that looks slightly too mechanic to be really practiced. It seems enough to make Patty’s smile widen. “See ya, kiddo.”

And she’s gone as suddenly as she appeared. Patty shoulders her backpack and strides off humming, doesn’t even seem to notice the people around her, staring, blinking, some pinching themselves to see if they had just dreamed the whole thing up.

On Thursday, the crowd of bleary-eyed students scatters unnaturally quick when someone screams “Out of the way!” and honks can be heard. Everyone dives to the side or gets dragged along as a van swerves way to close past a pole and stops sideways, brakes screeching, in the middle of the school yard, instead of the street before it.

The side door flies open with a bang, and someone can be heard swearing

“Nico what the fuck have we said about speed limits-“

“I didn’t hit anything, calm your tits-…”

Another swear, a deep sigh and something being murmured into a palm that to those close enough to catch it sound like “Why me?”. The young man who has just clambered out the danger-vehicle runs a hand through his hair – dyed white, for some weird reason, maybe a punk? – casting a glance at the sky as if to ask for patience.

Patty exits the van behind him (and at this point, no one in the crowd is really surprised to see her in the middle of that mess). Her expression is one of innocence – only the twitch around her mouth betraying her. “Sooooo I shouldn’t call you guys next time you’re in the area?”

The glare the man levels her with could have made the bravest people take cover. Patty just laughs. He sighs, rubs his nose. “You’re gonna do it anyway.”

“Yu-p!”

“Get lost, you.”

“See ya Pats!” the woman behind the wheel calls, before abusing the car horn. “Com’ on, we got work to do!”

“Gimme a break, will you!”

And they are off again, engine roaring like a beast, brakes screeching to be heard still when they are out of sight already. Half of the students are late to class for being too busy staring after the spectacle and wondering what the fuck just happened?

On Friday, everybody knows. The entire school knows, and at least half of it makes a point of crowding around the school yard or linger near windows at least. A lot of them pretend its coincidence. A few admit it outright. A few of those who do even start bets over it. But whatever they say – they all are sure they want to see who Patty Lowell brings around this time.

The outcome is… disappointing, to say the least. “Fucking let down,” someone who lost their bet notes.

There’s no bang, no flashiness. Nobody startles; nobody has to take cover. They don’t even arrive in a car, but by foot: Strolling as if they have all the time in the world, Patty even dragging the giant of a man along by the hand, which he comments with an unamused quip that she counters with one of her own, back and forth, back and forth. The bickering seems to be the most interesting thing about this new friend of hers, anyway – sure, he is kind of outstanding with his bright red leather coat and his white hair (again; is this some kind of group those people are part of?). But all in all, he’s too normal, too scruffy, too tired-and-worn looking to really catch anyone’s interest. A serious letdown after all the weirdness this week, this guy.

Patty seems to think so, too; or at least, that might be the reason for the way she snaps at him, gestures at him, drags him around like a puppet.

(He lets himself be dragged, someone who looks a bit closer than others points out, he’s okay with that, but it falls on deaf ears.)

Then the reach the school gate, and the bickering stops so abruptly as if it’s been cut off. Patty tugs – the guy bends down easily, readily. A quick, tight hug around the neck while she tiptoes, squeezing so hard as if he could disappear when she lets go of him.

“Ice cream when you pick me up?”

“Sure thing, Kid”

“Don’t take any naps again, okay.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then the separate. A last wave with two fingers – more a salute, really – and the strange guy wanders off, still dragging his feet and slouching as if he has nowhere to be, not really.

Patty waves back, turns – and stops when she sees not too few gazes snap away from her quickly, guilty. Her eyes narrow and she says loud and clear, to all of them, because this is Patty Lowell and she doesn’t back down no matter how many she faces, “What? Anybody got something to say?”

There’s uneasy shuffling. Some people sneak off, which is only because the show is over, not because they are intimidated of course.

One voice pipes up, mumbling something along the lines off “Friend looked more boring than the rest.” They get hit by an elbow to the rips – everybody knows you don’t mess with Patty’s friends.

But instead of blowing up at them, getting in their face and straighten them right out – Patty laughs. Bright and amused.

“You guys have no idea.”

And it’s settled then and there –

Nobody really gets what’s going on in Patty Lowell’s life, or with her family.

#i had a lot of fun with this =D #patty lowell #dmc #devil may cry #fanfiction #kinda #dante #nero #nico goldstein #morrison #trish #lady #my writing

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arysafics · 5 years

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be my baby (i’ll look after you)

for @bisexualbellamyblake. Happy birthday my love!

Summary: Finn lets slip to Bellamy the reason he and Clarke broke up -- he wasn't into being called Daddy. Bellamy, however, is.

Rated E, ~3k words

It seems like a regular Thursday night shift at the bar for Bellamy. Suits lined up for a drink after work, girls flirting with him to try and get a free drink. But then, the last person he expects to show up at the bar he works at walks in, and plants himself at a barstool, right in front of Bellamy. Clarke’s ex, Finn Collins.

“Finn,” Bellamy says, trying not to sound too unhappy to see him. He’s presumably a paying customer, after all. Though why he has to come to this bar, Bellamy doesn’t know. “What are you doing here?”

“For a drink, obviously,” Finn says. “I’ll have a rum and coke.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes as he turns away to make Finn’s drink. He’s never liked the guy, from the first moment Clarke brought him home. He has no idea why they broke up. Clarke refuses to tell him. He figures it’s Finn’s fault. Clarke never cried about it though, and though it’s only been a couple of weeks, she’s already dating again. Maybe she just woke up and realised Finn’s a huge waste of space.

Bellamy places Finn’s drink in front of him. “Are you opening a tab?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’ll probably be here a while.”

“Okay, well—maybe get Josie to serve you next time.”

“But I came to talk to you.”

Bellamy stares blankly at him. What could he and Finn possibly have to talk about? “I thought you came here for a drink,” Bellamy huffs.

“That too.” He takes a sip, while Bellamy waits impatiently for Finn to speak. “It’s about Clarke.”

“I don’t want to get in the middle of it.”

“I think I want her back.”

Bellamy’s jaw ticks. “What makes you think she’d take you back?”

“Well, I’m the one that broke up with her. She didn’t want to break up.”

“She didn’t?” Bellamy repeats dumbly. His stomach twists. It shouldn’t matter to him, and yet it does. As hard as he’s tried not to think about her like that, his efforts have been futile. Of course, he’d been sympathetic when she told him it was over with Finn, but on the inside, he’d been celebrating, and not just because Finn happens to be the worst.

“Does she talk about me?”

“No.” It’s not a lie. Bellamy doesn’t think he’s heard her mention Finn’s name once since they broke up. But maybe she’s secretly pining in silence. The thought sours Bellamy’s mood even more.

“Can I ask you something?” Finn says. “Not as Clarke’s friend. Just as an impartial third party.”

“Whatever.”

“Would you think it was weird if a girl asked if she could call you Daddy?”

Bellamy manages to keep his face expressionless, thought his heartrate kicks up a notch. He’s not about to tell Finn Collins of all people about his kinks. And he’s definitely not going to give him advice on how to get back together with Clarke. Because he’s assuming Finn is still talking about Clarke. He has to be talking about Clarke.

“Is that why you broke up with her?” Bellamy asks cautiously. “Because she wanted to call you Daddy?” He has to know for sure.

Finn shrugs. “Partly. I thought that was weird enough. I don’t want to be part of her daddy issues. But she also wanted me to—I don’t know. Treat her like a little girl. It freaked me out.”

Bellamy feels like he’s about to combust with this newfound information. Clarke Griffin has a daddy kink. As if he wasn’t already attracted to her enough. As if he hasn’t thought about spanking her for being a naughty little girl, thought about her on her knees, calling him Daddy, begging to suck his cock. He always felt guilty about it before—after all, she’s his best friend, and his roommate. He shouldn’t be having any such thoughts about her. She’d be horrified. But now… well, maybe she wouldn’t be so horrified after all.

“So should I be concerned? Or should I just try to be into it?”

Bellamy’s mind whirs. He wants to tell Finn to go to hell. Instead, he says carefully, “Don’t force yourself to be into something you’re not. You’re both better off finding people you’re more sexually compatible with.”

Finn nods thoughtfully. Bellamy didn’t know he could think.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He downs the rest of his drink, then jumps up from the barstool. “Thanks, man. The drink was on the house, right?”

“No,” Bellamy says, but Finn is already leaving, and Bellamy can’t be fucked causing a scene over one drink. He’s just glad to see the back of Finn.

He’s not exactly sure how to act around Clarke after that. At first he kind of just… pretends he doesn’t know. Pretends like he’s not thinking about it twenty-four hours a day, even though he keeps fantasising about everything from fucking her so hard she can’t walk straight to tucking her into bed and kissing her goodnight. Most of all, he keeps imagining how it would sound coming out of her mouth. Daddy.

The thing is, he really, really wants to act on it. Wants to be her Daddy more than anything. But for one thing, he has no idea how to bring it up with her in a way that isn’t awkward and potentially friendship ruining, should she not be interested. And for another, he doesn’t want her to think he only want to be with her because of the Daddy thing, when in reality that’s just the icing on the cake, because he’s been at least half in love with her for years now.

A fact which he’s rudely reminded of right now, when she walks into the living room, fresh from a shower, dressed in a robe, running a comb through her wet hair. Something between affection and desire lodges in his throat.

“What?” Clarke asks, raising an eyebrow, and Bellamy realises he must have been staring. He swallows.

“Nothing,” he says, but his eyes follow her as she wanders over and sits beside him on the couch.

“You’ve been weird lately,” Clarke muses. “For like—a week.” She runs the comb through her hair again, tugging at it when it gets tangled at the end.

“Let me do that,” Bellamy blurts out, reaching for the comb. Clarke pauses, and Bellamy thinks he notices a faint tinge of pink appear across her cheeks. She slowly hands him the comb.

“Okay.”

Too late, Bellamy realises this isn’t exactly a good case against him acting weird. It’s not like he’s ever offered to brush her hair before. But changing his mind now would just make it seem weirder.

“Come sit on the floor between my legs,” he says, gesturing for her to move. She obeys, sliding to the floor then shuffling over so his legs frame her shoulders.

He combs her hair gently, starting from the ends, the way his mom showed him how to do with Octavia when she was little. Back then, he was just trying to be helpful son. Now, he can feel his cock stirring as he tries to fulfil his stupid primal need to take care of his baby girl.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Clarke says, filling the silence Bellamy hadn’t noticed had risen. Too focused on her hair, on how much he likes running it through his fingers, on how pretty she smells.

“You didn’t ask me a question,” Bellamy points out.

“It was implied.” Clarke waits for him to answer, and when he doesn’t, she prompts him. “Why are you acting weird?”

“I don’t think I am.”

“You keep looking at me weirdly. I feel like I’ve got something on my face all the time. And I feel like you’re hiding something from me.”

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

“If it’s something to do with me, then yes. We’re best friends, it’s your duty to me.”

Bellamy finishes combing the tangles out of Clarke’s hair, and starts gathering up sections to braid. He stays silent for a moment, concentrating on the braid, while considering what he should say.

“I ran into Finn last week at the bar,” he says finally. Cautiously.

“That’s what this is about? If he has a new girlfriend, you don’t need to worry about telling me. I really don’t care about him.”

Bellamy tugs on her hair, a little too hard, and she winces. “Sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay.”

“You’re sure you’re over him?” Bellamy asks. “Because he said he was the one who broke up with you.”

“Technically true,” Clarke says. “But it was for the best. We weren’t—compatible.”

“That’s it?” Bellamy presses. “I mean, you never really did tell me what happened with you two. Seems weird that he broke up with you. It’s not like he could do better, you’re already way out of his league.”

Clarke laughs, almost nervously. “Thanks. He, um, didn’t like some of the things I was into. You know, sexually.” She’s trying not to be embarrassed about talking about this with him, Bellamy can tell, but she obviously feels awkward. He wonders if she’d even say that much if she wasn’t facing away from him.

He doesn’t push her any further. He finishes the braid, and Clarke hands him the hair tie from around her wrist so he can tie it up. He strokes her hair, just like he’s smoothing it out, and Clarke leans into his hand.

“There we go,” Bellamy murmurs. “Good girl.” It’s an accident, a slip of the tongue, but he knows he doesn’t imagine her tiny whimper. He sweeps the braid over her shoulder, baring her neck. He rubs his thumbs against the back of her neck, then across her shoulders as she lets her robe drop a little. She hums in appreciation. “That feel good, baby?” Bellamy asks.

“Uh huh,” Clarke says, nodding slightly. If she notices his second slip of the tongue, calling her baby, she doesn’t let on. Though perhaps this time it was less a slip of the tongue, and more a careful test of the waters.

“Such a good girl,” Bellamy repeats, his voice low and soothing. Clarke tenses, and Bellamy pauses his ministrations, heart pounding.

“He told you, didn’t he? Why he broke up with me?”

“Yes,” Bellamy admits. Clarke turns to look at him over her shoulder, blinking up at him, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

“Are you making fun of me?” she asks quietly. Bellamy’s heart skips a beat. He doesn’t blame her for thinking that, of course, but she sounds so small and vulnerable that it makes him feel sick to his stomach that he could let her feel that way. He shakes his head.

“Clarke, I—” he starts, words sticking in his throat. How to tell her that he’s madly in love with her, and wants to take care of her for the rest of her life, without coming on too strong?

He cups her face in one hand, thumb brushing over her cheek. She doesn’t pull away as he leans down, and her lips are already parted for him when he meets them with his own, kissing her more gently than he knew he was capable of. His stomach flips over when she turns further so she can rise up to meet him, kiss him harder. He pulls away, and she chases his lips, on her knees in front of him, whining when she doesn’t find him waiting for her. She opens her eyes.

“What was that?” she asks, a little breathless.

Bellamy snorts out a nervous laugh. He’s never been good at expressing how he feels. “Um—” he starts, ducking his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He manages to meet her eye before he speaks again. It won’t seem sincere if he doesn’t. “I kind of—have feelings for you. For a while now. I was so jealous of Finn, you have no idea.”

Clarke gives a small, bashful smile. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a jerk.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. He lifts his chin, gaining confidence. “He wasn’t man enough to take care of you. But I am.” Clarke bites her lip, cheeks pink. Bellamy swallows. “Would you like that?” Clarke nods, and Bellamy feels like he can finally breathe again. He smiles, relieved, ecstatic.

“Yes, Daddy,” Clarke says. Bellamy’s breath catches. Her voice is low, a cheeky expression on her face, like she knows exactly what the word will do to him. He manages to keep his composure, but his cock jumps, straining hard against the fly of his jeans.

“Come up here,” Bellamy says, patting his thighs. “Come sit on Daddy’s lap. Want to hold my baby girl.”

Clarke hurries to obey, eagerly climbing into his lap, and Bellamy’s arms guide her, then wrap around her as he cradles her in his lap. He’s never felt so giddily happy and so turned on at the same time.

He kisses her over and over, her lips urging him on, taking from him what she needs. He can’t keep his hands still, stroking her back and side through her soft robe.

“Are you wearing anything under this, baby?” Bellamy whispers, between kissing her. Clarke shakes her head. “Can I see?” Clarke nods, then buries her head into his shoulder as he reaches for the tie around her waist, pulling at it, then letting her robe fall open.

God, she’s gorgeous. Her full, round tits, pretty pink nipples, her soft tummy, the small patch of dark blonde hair between her legs, her swollen cunt, dripping with desire.

“So beautiful, darling,” Bellamy coos. “I’ve waited so long to see you like this. Can Daddy touch?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Clarke says meekly, flushing under his admiring gaze. It’s strange for her to be so shy with him, but he can’t deny it’s a turn on.

He runs his hand up the side of her stomach to cup her breast, then rubs his palm across her nipple, feeling it pebble beneath his touch. He takes his time caressing her tits, allowing himself to really appreciate them before he dips his hand lower, watching her hold her breath as he trails his fingers down her stomach, stopping just above her slit. She squirms.

“Please, Daddy,” Clarke whispers, blushing.

He kisses her, drawing it out, sweet and dirty. He slips his finger a little lower, then sinks it into her folds, feeling her shift to open her legs for him. He runs his finger along her slit, gathering her arousal on his finger. God, he’s trying so hard to be cool, to be the one in control, but his heart his thrumming, his cock throbbing. He’s nervous and excited and so fucking aroused he thinks he might burst.

Clarke watches him with wide eyes as he brings his finger to his lips and sucks it into his mouth, tasting her for the first time.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You taste so good. I want to lick your cunt. Think my little girl needs her Daddy to make her come, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Clarke nods frantically.

“Not here,” Bellamy says. He’s so not fucking her for the first time on their couch. Instead, he scoops her up into his arms and carries her to his bed. It’s their bed now. There’s no way he’s letting her sleep in her own bed again after this. Unless, of course, he’s there too.

He settles himself between her legs, and hooks her knees over his shoulders. He turns his head to press gentle kisses up her thigh, slowly, teasing, savouring every moment with her. Her noses her folds, breathing in shakily, her scent filling his nostrils.

“Daddy,” Clarke whines. Evidently, he’s being a little too leisurely for his baby’s liking.

“Impatient, aren’t you, darling?” Bellamy says. He’s not teasing, or even amused by it. He’s too aroused, too in awe of her.

His tongue slips between her lips, and he closes his eyes for a moment as he lets the sweetness of her arousal coat his tastebuds. He finds her clit, teases her with his tongue, her every tiny squeak and whimper a jolt to his cock. He licks into her, pushes his tongue as far inside her cunt as he can, and she tilts her hips to meet him.

He devours her, unable to fight his passion, and she only spurs him on, gasping for air, moaning, begging him not to stop. He thighs tremble around his head, and she cries out for him as a rush of liquid pours onto his tongue, her walls clenching around him as he laps up her come, the taste of her already becoming an addiction.

He waits until she’s stopped spasming to pull his tongue from her cunt. He presses his lips to her pubic bone, running his hands over her thighs.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “Such a good girl, coming for Daddy like that. You taste so good, sweetheart.”

He slips her legs from off her shoulders, but remains between them, tracing circles on her stomach. Her flushed chest rises and falls dramatically as she tries to regain her breath. He’s hard as hell, but he doesn’t even consider asking her to suck his cock. Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about proving to her that he can look after her like she deserves.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she manages.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he tells her. “It’s my job to make sure my little girl has everything she needs, okay?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Clarke smiles. “Will you cuddle me?”

“Of course, baby,” Bellamy says. He scoots up the bed so he can spoon her, his big arms wrapping around her little body. He kisses her shoulder, and she wriggles back against him, a sigh of contentment escaping her mouth.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #mine

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Fifty-Five: Timer ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

She’s always thought of it as some kind of pseudoscience, like astrology or basing personalities off of blood types. While many of the other girls she grew up with looked forward to their sixteenth birthdays like it was some kind of rebirth, Hinata just...couldn’t bring herself to put much stock in it.

“Everyone in my family swears by it!” Ino gushed at one point. “It’s how my mom met my dad, and several of my aunts and uncles! And guess what? My cousin’s timer is up in like...three weeks. He’s so nervous he can barely stand it!”

“Doesn’t it seem a bit, y-you know...self fulfilling?”

At Hinata’s quiet interjection, several girls turned to her with disbelieving expressions. “...what’s that supposed to mean?”

Squirming a bit under their gazes, she’d gone on. “...it’s just...people look at their countdown, and they trust it implicitly. Doesn’t anyone t-think for themselves? Or...or want to find love on their own, rather than be shoehorned into it…?”

Ino scoffed. “Y’know, ever since they figured out how to make these timers work, divorce rates, like..cut in half! People are meeting those they’re meant to be with and staying with them!”

“...if it’s so great, then...why are there still divorces at all?”

That earned a cacophony of squawking replies about disbelievers ruining the statistics, and...Hinata quickly removed herself.

She just...had her doubts, was all.

Her parents, and her only aunt and uncle met through their timers. Her uncle, sadly, died when his son was only four, and Hinata three. Therefore, she has no real way to know how their marriage had worked.

Similarly, her mother died not long after having her sister. Hinata was five. All she really has to go on are blurry childhood memories...and her father’s current attitude.

And she really can’t see how the woman she recalls being so kind, so soft, so gentle...could love and marry a man like Hiashi. Cold, calculating, and seemingly emotionally stunted. He rarely if ever smiles.

...she remembers her mother’s smile. So warm…

...so how…?

It’s why, as her sixteenth birthday looms closer, Hinata gets more and more knots in her stomach. The implant isn’t required, but her father has made it very clear that she’ll be getting hers. Likely so he can marry her off as soon as her timer hits zero, and be rid of her.

While so many girls in her year have looked forward to their birthdays...Hinata can do nothing but dread hers.

Like many young people, she attends a school segregated by gender. It’s meant to help avoid fraternizing with the opposite sex and therefore affecting a timer’s readings. Of course...not everyone is attracted to said opposite sex. Hinata herself doesn’t really mind if a person is one or the other, but...she keeps that to herself. Admitting as much would make just about every girl who isn’t highly uncomfortable.

...and yet she wonders what will happen if she’s already met her soulmate.

Will the timer just...not work? Will it already be at zero? If so...then how is she ever to know who they are? Not that she believes it...it’s really all a bunch of nonsense…

...and yet…?

Each day that passes in December sees her more and more anxious - more and more depressed. Hiashi has already arranged for her to have the day off from school, her surgery to implant the timer set for early in the morning. Set into her left wrist, it will allow her to return to school the next day, her dominant hand unaffected and allowing her to write.

The day before, she finds herself at the last stage of grief: acceptance. There’s no fighting it. No use in trying to say no.

This is just how things are.

“Good luck with your procedure!” Ino and Sakura call as classes let out for the day. “See you Thursday!”

She doesn’t answer, just waving farewell. While there’s excitement in her friends’ voices...she can’t bring herself to feel it, too.

Just...get it over with.

Once home, she works on her assignments, numbly browsing social media and not really taking anything in. All she can think about is the surgery. The stupid timer…!

Part of her wants hers to be broken. To prove that it’s wrong. But the rest - despite her stubborn belief that it’s all rubbish - is afraid, so very afraid that it won’t work.

That she’ll always be alone.

Too restless to do much else, she finishes the entirety of her homework, turning in to bed early...and yet unable to sleep, mind too full. Worries eddy in her mind like a slow-moving whirlpool: around and around, always circling back and starting all over again.

By some grace she falls asleep for a few hours, snapping awake at her alarm. Heart fluttering and stomach churning, she gets up, has a light breakfast...and then gets in the car for Hiashi to drive her to the hospital.

The ride is completely silent. Only once they park does he turn to her, expression - as always - unreadable.

“I know you’ve been dreading this...but best we just get it over with. Best to know for sure.”

Hinata doesn’t reply, just exiting the car and following him inside as they check her in. Prep doesn’t take too long. Dressed down in a powder blue gown, she’s wheeled into the surgery suite, given anesthesia...and then goes blissfully blank.

Waking is a slow process. First thing she notices is a dull ache in her arm, eyes dragging open to peer down at her wrist.

It’s wrapped in gauze, her IV in her other arm. The urge to peer at it itches like the skin beneath the wrappings.

Looking groggily around the room, she finds herself alone. Of course her father wouldn’t be here - probably off hounding a nurse somewhere, badgering them about releasing her so he can head home.

...the hospital has bitter memories, after all.

Going lax with a sigh, Hinata stares up at the ceiling. Well...it’s done. No going back now, unless she wants to try digging it out. But she’s not that desperate. She could keep it covered...never look at it...but even now, the temptation is great…

Why does it have to be so repulsive, and yet so enticing? It isn’t fair!

“Hinata.”

Glancing to the door, she finds her father. “...yes?”

“Once the anesthetic has worn off, we can go home. The nurses say an hour or two. Do you...need anything?”

The question surprises her, even more so given his awkward tone. “...no, I’m all right. Um...thank you.”

As he goes, she wonders if he’s been made aware of what her timer said when it was fully implanted. Or maybe they weren’t allowed to tell him…? But something about him just now seemed...odd.

With nothing to do while she waits, Hinata does her best to doze and make up some of her lost sleep. After nearly two hours, a nurse checks on her status, and gives her the clear the go. Hinata changes back into her clothes, moving to leave on her feet...only to have another nurse approach with a wheelchair.

She immediately balks. “Oh, I...I don’t need that -?”

“It’s a precaution for anyone coming out of anesthesia to prevent falls. Just until you get to your car, miss.”

Rather embarrassed - it’s not like she can’t walk! - Hinata sheepishly obliges, head ducked as they pass by other patients, visitors, and staff. As they go, her bowed face is turned to her wrist. Maybe she can just…

Carefully fiddling with the gauze and trying not to be noticed in case she gets scolded, Hinata nibbles her lip as they approach the elevator to the main floor. Easing the material back, she doesn’t look up as the door opens, two other figures in the lift already.

That’s when it happens.

With a soft series of beeps, Hinata flinches back from her arm, holding it aloft as though it’s suddenly on fire. Both Hiashi and the nurse balk, turning to her in question.

And inside the elevator comes a responding chorus of sound.

Time seems to slow.

Looking up, Hinata finally sees the other occupants of the lift. At the front is a young man in a wheelchair like herself, arms loosely folded atop his lap. And behind him, pushing the chair, is a boy more her age.

But he isn’t looking at her. He’s looking at his wrist, which is rapidly trilling.

...oh...you’ve got to be kidding.

The little group remains frozen, half in and half out of the elevator. Hiashi’s face is aghast, looking between his daughter and the stranger opposite them.

Said stranger then looks up, clearly just as taken aback.

The only one calm is the man in the wheelchair, who simply quips, “...Sasuke, I believe you should introduce yourself.”

.oOo.

So it occurred to me that I've never written a soulmate AU. Like...ever. At least that I can recall? Admittedly I have a slightly sketchy memory, but...yeah. As soon as I saw the prompt, I remembered seeing this AU floating around, and was like...okay sure, lmao I know it's a cliffie, but I think I can make tomorrow's prompt work for a part two! So you won't have to wait long, lol - also...with this one done, we're officially down to just ten days left to catch up. It feels a bit weird, admittedly, but I know it'll be even weirder when we're all caught up! Finally xD It's honestly a bit embarrassing having it drag on this long, but...well, couldn't help Life's interruptions. On that note tho, I really need to get to bed! Thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #hyūga hiashi #uchiha itachi #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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k-drabblings · 5 years

Text

only then (pt. 5)

KIM JIWON (BOBBY) X READER Type | Genre: badboy au | fluff/angst Word Count: 1663 A/N: I thought this was much longer than 1.6k words... Guess not. Also I do update very very slow, I know. It’s mostly because I have no idea what to write next, and I don’t want to write nonsense. So thank you for your patience. I hope this doesn’t disappoint! To be honest, it feels a little weird to write about Hanbin after the huge scandal, but it felt weirder leaving him out of the story after including him in the beginning.

Also wtf happened to line breaks? Why is that not an option anymore? This sucks.

part one two three four

Jiwon looked at the well healed scar on his arm fondly, running his finger along the raised ridge. His smile couldn’t help but widen as his phone buzzed.

[23:22] y/n: i can’t sleep [23:22] jiwon: y? [23:22] jiwon: cause ur too excited to be talking to me? [23:23] y/n: ... zzz ... [23:23] y/n: o look i fell asleep

He chuckled. Within a matter of days, teasing had already become part of their regular banter. So cute.

[23:23] jiwon: ... [23:23] jiwon: do u think ur funny or something bc let me tell u rn that u r not [23:23] jiwon: boooooooo [23:24] y/n: if im so unfunny then y r u texting me hmm HMM??? [23:24] jiwon: cause i pity u [23:24] y/n: ... [23:24] y/n: GOODNIGHT

Even though he knew was joking, his fingers still quickly scrambled to reply.

[23:24] jiwon: im just kidding!! [23:24] jiwon: ur funny sometimes [23:24] jiwon: a little bit [23:24] jiwon: real little [23:25] y/n: then go talk to ur other super exciting and funny friends y dont u [23:25] jiwon: now dont be jealous [23:25] jiwon: the more time u spend with me the more exciting and fun u become [23:25] y/n: ive only seen u like 3x [23:25] jiwon: thats y ur so not funny

His finger hovered over the keyboard, wondering if he should type out the next line. He knew it was probably a bad idea, but he couldn’t help himself. Fuck it. He firmly pressed the upward arrow.

[23:26] jiwon: so i guess we’ve come to the logical conclusion that we should hang out more [23:26] y/n: i guess we have

You felt bold as you sent that last message. Was this considered flirting? You hadn’t known that your heart rate could increase so much within a mere 4 minutes. The past few nights had consisted of increasingly witty and teasing messages - messages that got your heart racing, your face flushing, and your imagination going a little crazy. Nothing even close to romantic had happened between you and him, and yet your ridiculous mind was coming up with possible scenarios that could maybe (just maaaybe) happen in the nearby future. You felt like an silly high schooler again, getting too easily excited over someone you barely knew. You didn’t even know how exactly how old he was or what he did for living.

But all those unanswered questions just made you more excited - kind of like a good mystery book you just didn’t want to put down.

[23:27]: jiwon: ok so whens ur next day off

Your breath hitched. You were off the upcoming Thursday, which was in 2 days. You hadn’t expected the next time you were going to see Jiwon to come so soon. You were used to seeing him like twice a month. You knew you could simply lie and give him your next day off, which was in a week or so, but you knew you didn’t want to wait that long.

[23:28] y/n: thursday [23:28] jiwon: ok cool so ill see u then [23:28] jiwon: and if ur busy... [23:28] jiwon: make yourself unbusy thanks

Your lips curled into a smile. How could someone this cute possibly be bad news?

“You’re distracted, Hyung.” Donghyuk mumbled quietly so Hanbin wouldn’t hear.

“Hm?” Jiwon murmured. “Nah, I’m good.”

Donghyuk’s eyes narrowed as he carefully tried to peer over Jiwon’s shoulder to see what was keeping him so preoccupied. A girl’s name. He rolled his eyes. He was more than willing to bet that this was the same girl that had so nicely bandaged Jiwon up that rainy night. “Let’s keep outsiders... outsiders, okay, Hyung?” Donghyuk warned in a hushed tone.

Jiwon immediately shut off his phone screen and gave his younger friend a long hard stare. “I’m not fucking stupid, okay?”

And of course, despite Donghyuk’s words, he still went to see her on Thursday. They met up later in the afternoon, mainly because he slept in well into the afternoon. Since he did his work mainly at night, his sleeping schedule tended to be slightly off. When he woke up, you were getting some errands done - groceries and such. That gave him some time to get dressed and ready - he wanted to look good for the first date. This is a date right? He hadn’t made it explicitly clear, but he was hoping you were on the same page as he was.

He recalled the the other day that you had said you wanted to try this restaurant that you had seen on some celebrities eating on TV. And since it was on the other side of Seoul Station, they could walk along Seoullo 7017 along the way. He supposed that would be a good, somewhat nice way to start the date.

And you were delightfully surprised at how much Jiwon had actually planned out. You wouldn’t say it aloud, but you had been expecting somewhat of a haphazard schedule of activities that randomly popped up into his mind.

“You look cute.” You jokingly scowled. “Are you saying I wasn’t cute before?” He rolled his eyes and laughed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He put his hands up defensively when he earned a playful punch to the arm. “Hey, you gotta appreciate my honesty, right?” He grinned. “No, but seriously. You should wear dresses more often.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled shyly, having always been slightly awkward at accepting compliments. You glanced down at your outfit. It was a pretty plain dress, but this was the most dressed up he had ever seen you.

“Where’s the scar from - if you don’t mind me asking?” He asked, pointing to the mark on your forearm. If it hadn’t been for that scar, he probably would have never recognized you. “Nothing cool,” you responded. “Got it while I was helping out at the bakery a while ago. Hot stuff can do that to you sometimes, you know.” He laughed. “See? You’re already getting funnier - thanks to me.” You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly but couldn’t help but join him in laughter.

You were sure he had a fair share of scars all over his body, and also exciting stories behind them. But you were reluctant to ask, afraid that it could ruin the lighthearted mood.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur - partially because Jiwon had convinced you to share a bottle of soju with him during dinner. ‘You can’t enjoy pork belly without soju!’ he had insisted. You had initially refused, being worried that you might end up blabbering and saying something stupid or embarrassing. But Jiwon was one convincing young man.

But luckily the only embarrassing thing that slipped out was a, “Fine, you’re kinda cute, okay?” after he had pestered you about what you thought about him. And boy, did he enjoy that answer.

You were partially disappointed when the date ended with a simple hug. You probably would have thought he were moving too fast if he had gone in for a kiss, but by no means would you have refused. In fact, as much as you hated to admit it, you'd immediately have shut your eyes and puckered your lips. But a long, warm hug was what you got tonight. And you weren’t complaining. "Thanks. Today was really fun,” you said with a warm smile. “Okay, so when can we have fun again?”

All of a sudden, you had something to look forward to every week. Every date with Jiwon was exciting. You got to experience thrilling things like ziplining, but even just sitting at a cafe and chatting got your heart pumping. You felt like your life had been recharged. You had even bravely kissed him on the cheek when he had dropped you off at your door tonight.

As Jiwon walked over to work after dropping you off, he heard a familiar voice calling his name. “Jiwon Hyung! Hyung!” Junhoe shouted from down the block. "Where’re you coming from?” He asked, frowning. Wherever Jiwon was coming from, it wasn’t from the direction of his home. Jiwon played it off vaguely. “Just was doing something. Don’t worry about it.” “Come on, tell me!” Junhoe whined. “Why’s it a secret, huh?” Jiwon pressed his fingers against his tall friend’s forehead and gave it a good shove. “Have you ever heard of a personal space? Look it up.” He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had made him so easily excited, and he wasn’t willing to part with you now.

His friends had also noticed that he was constantly in a good mood these past few weeks. Donghyuk wasn’t too happy about it, but the others seemed to enjoy having a less moody Jiwon around. He wondered if Hanbin knew what Jiwon was getting himself into outside of work. But he didn’t want to tick off Jiwon, so he kept his mouth shut. A pissed off Jiwon was one scary man.

“How long do u plan on keeping this up, Hyung? It’s going to serve as a distraction to you and a danger to her. She doesn’t even know what you really do. If you tell her, do you think she’ll stay?” Donghyuk hissed. “Yeah, right.” “I know. I know.” Jiwon mumbled. This was like the fifth time he had approached him about this issue. He was thankful that Donghyuk hadn’t blabbed to the rest of the guys, but it was a disturbing reminder every time. Why was it so wrong to enjoy it while it lasted?

#jiwon #kim jiwon #bobby kim #bobby #ikon #ikon bobby #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfics #jiwon x reader #bobby x reader #ikon scenarios #kpop imagines

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littlepiecesofwords · 4 years

Text

Friend

“Be that friend you said you’d be for her” phrase I kept thinking. Two days passed and didn’t hear or saw Sam at school.

Wednesday.

Sitting under this big oak tree, listening to my U2 playlist. Such a nice day to just relax after all my classes. Closing my eyes. I felt someone sat next to me. Opened my eyes to my surprise it was Sam. Slowly, she started leaning towards me. Took my other ear pod, and she listened to my songs.

I froze, not all kids now a days appreciate this kind of music. She might think I’m weirder than the weird he thinks I am. School bell ring, she looked at me, and smiled. Stood up and didn’t even said a word.

Puzzled what just happened. I stood up, and walked towards the gym for practice. I saw her laughing with the other C Girls. I kept walking, then...

Alexis: Alex! Alex! Alex! (running towards me - shouting my name)

Alex: Al, what’s wrong?

Alexis: You have to help me!

Alex: I have practice Al, you know that.....

Alexis: I know but this is very important...

Alexis grabbed my hand and started running.. We run towards the open field where her friend Chris was being mobbed by some guys. Alexis pushed me, shouting help him please... I run towards Chris, took one hit on my back. The moment I was able to turn and face this guys hurting Chris, they realized it was me, Alexander Stockholm who got punched. They stopped and looked at me puzzled. I picked Chris from the ground and called Al to take him.

I’m not the type of boy that will just throw a punch to anyone, if there’s a reason why then it’s fighting mode for me. I grabbed the other guys shirt, then little did I know my other teammates came and grabbed the other guys. Then, it was the Alexander Stockholm Day!

After that incident, I was grounded for a week. But I totally understand, and my parents learned what really happened. They understand why I was in a fight, but still the end doesn’t justify the means.

After a week of being grounded, I was given my freedom back. No more extra works for me, I was able to go back to practice and be a normal school boy again. I didn’t hear from Sam again after that hallway incident and sure enough will not hear from her again after I got in to fight.

Thursday (A week after)

Went to Milky’s to work on a paper, their chicken sandwich and homemade fries are always my favorite. Anita who’s the owner is always sweet and friendly to her customers that’s why the whole town loves her.

Getting lost in writing my paper, someone suddenly sat beside me. I looked and it was.... Sam!

Alex: Sam! (surprised)

Sam: Hey A!

Alex; Hey, what’s up?

Sam: (laughing) what’s up? well? this is up... you owe me a date after you dumped me last time. Then, you didn’t called or message me.

Alex: I dumped you? was I supposed to call or message you? (confused what’s going on - I have to keep my cool, “be the friend you said you’d be”) I’m sorry for that, didn’t mean to offend you.

Sam: Are you really this formal? (laughing) Friends?

Alex: Yes! Friends.

We end up talking for 2 hours, and I learned she’s the only child of her parents. And her parents are lawyers, which are always out of town so, she’s left with her Grandmother’s care most of the time. Samantha Anderson is an interesting person, what you see on the outside doesn’t seems to meet what is in the inside. As days comes, we meet for often, and I learn more and more about her and I guess she too about me. We share a common love for old movies, music and beaches.

We grew closer and closer, her friends knows me as A. Al seems to like her as well, they became extra close as well. My family didn’t met her yet, but they knew her by name. My Dad keeps teasing me about her and enthusiast I am when I tell them about this girl named Sam.

#short story #storytelling #not a love story #read

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melyaliz · 5 years

Text

Night Person

Fandom: Yu-Gi-OH

Summary: All the best things happened to Amie at night.

Pairing: Seto Kaiba x OC

Notes: Ok so @speedypan reminded me of my TOTAL and UTTER love for Yugioh. Honestly, I have both my DC fanfic revival and now Yuigoh credited to her. Just wait, soon I’ll be bringing back Avatar and Naruto soon 😂😝

Like as we speak I am working on re-editing my old series and posting it on archive but I figured I could post some of my NEW stuff here? I promise I am still working on Nancy’s second part and @werewitchling’s Charlie request :P Life has just been rough and I guess Seto calms my nerves (weird)

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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Amie was a night person. She had her best ideas late at night, her breakthrough on projects, and adventures late at night.

Honestly, she hadn’t thought too much about it but her best moments happened at night too.

-Thursday 10:32pm-

Everyone was gone. Most of the lights were off. At least they were in the rest of Kaiba Corp As for the animation lab, everything was still bright and cheery.

WHY?

Because Amie was still hard at work and she was NOT about to be stuck in some creepy Freddy Kroger style office. If she had to stay late to cover her idiot co-workers the world around her better be bright and cheery.

A large soda at her side and music blasting in her ears while she tried to get the Dark magician’s hat just right. It just wasn’t folding the way she… wait, was that a kid?

Glancing over their screen she blinked again before rubbing her eyes. Contacts starting to dry out. Honestly, she should just go home but she was sooo close. Maybe if she just…

There it was again.

Leaning out of her chair she studied the doorway. Ok, now she was getting slightly creeped out. This was some Chucky style shit. Glancing back down at her screen she clicked save several hundred times on her project. Never can be too safe. Then glancing up, her brown eyes locking onto a pair of dark blue ones.

“Uhhh Hello child of the corn.”

“What?”

“Nothing… are your parents around”

The boy laughed shoving his hands into his pockets. “Are you new?”

“Yes… oh fuck… I mean fudge… oh, fudge. Sorry... Mokuba right?”

“That’s me.” he shrugged waving his hand at her apologetic smile, “It’s kind of late why are you still here?”

“Because of the hat from hell.”

“What?”

“Why are you?” change the subject, no point in bitching about the design issues with the big boss’s kid brother. Would he be considered the Big kid? The small boss?

“Because my brother is a work-a-holic.”

“I feel it.”

Mokuba walked over to her screen glancing over at the screen studying her work, “looks good to me.”

Amie couldn’t help but snort, “Yeah but that hat.” clicking the space bar the small magician started to move making the hat flip in rather unrealistic movements causing Mokuba laugh.

“It looks like… it looks…”

“Oh yeah, I’m very aware...”

“Well can I hang out with you while you work on it?”

“Only if you tell me about your day, I like listening to things while I work.”

“Well you’re in luck, I happen to be a GREAT storyteller.”

-Friday 11:53pm-

It was late and Amie was just finishing up. That total complete moron Jeff had ONCE again spectacularly destroyed the files they needed to get to Seto that Monday for the pitch.

And instead of staying and cleaning up his mess the wonderful oh so hard working moron ditched saying something about “having to go.” Amie was about 90% sure he was just going to see his girlfriend and probably get an early start on his weekend.

Something Amie had hoped to do. But no, instead she was trapped cleaning up his mess working well into the evening.

“Fuck that guy,” Amie grumbled to herself as she walked down the halls holding her 4th mug of coffee hoping that would jump-start the creative process for her. Although it was really just helping her brain come up with a million ways she hoped Jeff would suffer for his idiocracy. Maybe some burning diarrhea or maybe he would get a HUGE dent his beloved car?

“What are you still doing here… wait…”

Amie winced as she paused looking up from her thoughts to see the CEO himself Seto Kaiba. The only time Seto had bothered to pay attention to Amie the intern was when her brother had faked her submission to get her in. After that, he had never sent her a second glance.

Which was good because she was too young for this position and if anyone found out she was NOT a college student she could lose this opportunity of a lifetime.

“Yes Boss Dude?” she muttered glancing up at him from under the dark black bangs of her work wig.

“Don’t I go to school with you?” Seto asked taking a step closer, his piercing blue eyes studying her. Ok, it also didn’t help that Amie found the dueling champion super hot. Like not in a “we’re soulmates” kind of way but more of a “You’re eyes make me nervous” sort of way.

“If I say yes will you fire me?”

“Humm” he studied her for a moment, “Why are you here so late?”

“Just finishing up the prototypes for the pitch on Monday.”

“And your supervisor couldn't do that?”

“He had a hot date.”

“Then no.” with that he turned and walked off.

“Wait!” a weird rush of confidence came over it. Maybe it was the 4th cup of coffee or the fact it was almost midnight and she had been listening to Paramore on repeat for 3 hours. Regardless of the reason, her command made Seto pause glancing back over his shoulder, “If you fire me then I can go home and if the images aren’t perfect it won’t be on my conscience?”

At that moment a million puppies died as hell froze over because… Seto cracked a small smirk.

“Make it perfect and I’ll promote you.”

“Deal.”

-Tuesday 9:06pm-

Tap tap tap, Amie hummed along with the Supremes as she tapped her stylist on the table waiting for the computer to render. She was oh so close to being done. A stack of science books next to her because she also had a quiz tomorrow she may or may not have studied for.

“Jeff ditch you again?” A voice broke into her song as the rude voice pulled an earbud out.

Lucky for this intrusive voice Amie had a soft spot for him.

“At this point, I would be annoyed if he didn’t,” she said spinning around in her chair which caused her headphones to unplug the song blasting across the editing bay.

“What is this?” Mokuba asked raising an eyebrow. Amie let out a gasp.

“Mokuba! Don’t tell me you have never heard the Supremes!”

“Nope. It sounds kind of… Chick”

“It’s very chick. They are in love with love, listen.” clicking on You Can’t Hurry Love she started swinging around in her chair to the music.

“I guess it’s ok…”

“Chair dance! Grab a chair”

“Ooookk” Mokuba knew better than to argue with Amie once the clock passed 8:45. That was when she had her third cup of coffee and the weird ideas started.

Three songs later Mokuba and Amie were rolling in a very impressive choreographed routine across the isles of computers screaming “I Want You Back” By the Jackson 5 at the tops of their lungs.

“Good to see there is a lot of work going on in here.”

Amie laughed turning to see Seto leaning the door frame, “Are you the only one who ever stays late?”

“I would say yes but you are here.”

“I’m here too!” Mokuba said scooting his chair next to Amie reminding her that he was, in fact, also there.

“Yeah, but you don’t work here, just make everything better.”

Mokuba laughed flipping his thick black hair, “I do don’t I.”

“Well, It’s time to go,” Seto said nodding toward this brother. Mokuba nodded getting up pushing his chair back to its rightful desk. “And Amie.”

Dear God, he knew her name… did the world just stop spinning or was that her heart? Amie wasn’t sure if it was that annoying crush on his pretty blue eyes or the fact that he was basically her boss and had the power to ruin her animator dreams.

“Go home, the project will be there tomorrow.”

Ok, the world really had stopped, had she somehow entered some paralleled universe? Had THE Seto Kaiba just told one of his employees to STOP working? “Uhhhh, Yes sir.”

Mentally she kicked herself as she slowly rolled back to her desk feeling her cheeks heat up. Mokuba watching her as she quickly saved the project before closing down her computer. Shit girl, could you get any weirder?

-Monday 10:17pm-

Nothing had changed yet everything had changed.

Amie had quit last week. Jeff had blamed her on the whole project crumbling and when she stood there in front of a angry Seto she broke. She didn’t deserve this. She worked harder than anyone else at this fucking editing lab and had covered that dick weed’s back so many times and he just threw her to the flipping wolves.

I mean SURE Seto Kaiba’s rage was probably the most frighting thing Amie had EVER seen in her life but even facing his dragon size temper she wouldn’t have thrown a teammate under the bus like that.

She didn’t deserve this.

Which is what she told Seto.

He had stood there wide-eyed in pure shock. No one had EVER quit Kaiba corp before. With the best pay and benefits, there was a reason people put up with the companies CEO.

But not her.

She had been done.

Until the famous CEO showed up at her apartment door telling her that he needed more people like her on his team. People who cared about their craft and did this because they loved it not because of the money or prestige of it all.

So goodbye Jeff and hello personal editing lab.

This didn’t mean she still didn’t have late night because… well, nights seemed to be her magic time.

A cup of coffee slid into her peripheral. Glancing over Amie almost had a heart attack seeing Seto standing over her desk.

“You just jumped almost a mile.”

“Well, you just scared the hell out of me.”

“Mokuba will literally rip your headphones out of your ear and you will not flinch.”

“But I’m expecting him…” Amie bit her lip trying to find the right words as she took the coffee taking a sip her dark brown eyes not leaving Setos, “What’s up?”

“Just checking in,” he said taking a chair and sitting down next to her.

Well fuck, there was NO way she could work with those blue eyes watching her. And at this close range, he smelled good too. Of course, he would smell good, he’s a rich CEO he probably bathed in Versace. She, on the other hand, probably smelled like coffee and insecurity.

They both sat in silence for a moment then Amie turned to him, “Do you want me to like explain where I am or something?”

“If you want.”

“Helpful”

“Pardon?”

Shit, did she just say that out loud? Whoooops. Maybe she could quit again?

“Uhhh I mean… well at the moment I am coming up with color pallets for each character. Like what shades we want for them so that regardless of who is animating the character they will always look the same.”

Seto nodded as he watched her click through the files copy and pasting the code into a document before going back to the Coral Dragon she had been working on adjusting the shades trying to brighten up his wings just a little bit more.

“I would add more undertones of red”

You can’t say no to the boss, so she pulled up the color wheel moving it, “Like that,”

“Just a bit more… yeah there.”

“Ohhh I like that. Guess you’re the boss for a reason.” Amie could feel his eyes on her but for the first time, she didn’t feel so tense like maybe they had just had a breakthrough. Bonded? Maybe just a little.

Mokuba found his brother and Amie a few hours later still in Amie’s new office going over characters. Seto pointing out changes and Amie suggesting ways to make it work. Both of them seemed to relax and just working in harmony that Mokuba didn’t want to bother them.

It was nice to see his brother actually enjoying himself.

-Friday 11:11pm-

“No stop touching!” Amie snapped swatting away Seto’s hand as he tried to direct her on the computer. It was already very late and everyone else had left for the day but Amie had stayed trying to fix the editing issues they kept running into. Her pink hair pulled up in a messy bun several pencils lost inside the mess. Must like her mood at the moment.

“You are doing it wrong”

“No, you are just messing me up being this close”

“I don’t see how me being close would mess you up, just do your job.”

“It’s the blue eyes.”

“What?”

“They need to be at least 5 feet away from me,” Amie said turning to look at her boss who was only a few inches from her looking over her shoulder trying to direct her work on the new dueling virtual game. This seemed to be happening a lot more. Seto popping in and not leaving. Normally Amie didn’t hate it but today… today something was just bothering her about how close the CEO was to her.

Seto turned slightly as if he finally realized how close he was to her. Something she had been feeling all night.

“Then again they are pretty nice this close up.” Amie snickered coffee brain kicking in. Words she was thinking seeming like a good idea said aloud.

“Are… you flirting with me right now?”

“Wait you haven't been?” Amie laughed deciding to call him out, “You had your arm on my shoulder for like 20 minutes telling me how to do my job while we worked on the graphic for the points counter.”

This caused Seto to pull away. Amie felt her stomach clunch. Shit, shit she had just made things super awkward. Deciding to just play it cool she turned back to her screen, pushed some loose strands of her hair away from her face.

She continued her work trying to ignore the mess of butterflies in her stomach until they all lept and died at the feeling of a hand on hers. She turned, confused about to ask what Seto was doing only to have him kiss her.

Soft and sweet. A little clumsy as if he really didn’t know what he was doing but he was confident in it. She found it funny how confident he was really. It was one of the things she liked about him. How confident he was. That and how dorky he was. Her confident dork.

Leaning forward she kissed him back trying to fight back the smile that was on her lips.

They were never going to get this project done in time.

Yep, Amie was a night person. How could she not be when all the best things happened?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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