#but really what happened: as soon as i could read sheet music i bought a wizard of oz songbook

[wickedhawtwexler]

shoutout to the wizard of oz (1939) for continuing to influence my journey as a musician

[klitzy-please]

Missing, But Not In Action

Leon Kennedy x Choir teacher! Reader

SFW; fluff: angst; not thoroughly proof read

Author’s Note: Haiii! Klitzy here! I’m so sorry if this seems a bit chopped, I’ve been busy and only had certain times to work on it! I hope y’all enjoy, and please put what y’all’s thoughts (and prayers) in the comments if comfortable enough to do so!

You pace back and forth, just waiting. You keep calling the DSO, but they keep telling you the same thing. ‘We have this under control, Y/N.’

You don’t believe them, you can’t believe them. If they had this under control, he’d be in your arms, kissing your face off before work, he’d be there helping you with breakfast as you brushed your hair and teeth. He’d just be there.

You tried calling his cell, but you still got that same result.

‘Hey, it's Leon, leave a message.’

Oh, how you hate his job.

You checked the clock, reading 6:30. Shit. If you stayed in that living room, you’d be even more late for work if you mopped in your living room any longer. You grab your bag and hurriedly rush out to your car, keys jingling as you trot hurriedly.

Getting into the metal box, you start the ignition and speed out of that driveway. You and Leon were lucky enough to find this cute little Victorian era house that had about an acre of land around it that served as your yard. The two of you wanted children, hell, you wanted to put. Anything in that yard. He even got you a puppy on your first anniversary of dating. The house was close enough to your job and it was basically out of your dreams. Your whole life was almost actually. Beautiful house, a hot and loving husband, a job you can’t get enough of, everything was perfect, other than what your husband does. for work.

You couldn’t help but think about what he was doing, you knew that if Leon got enough booze in him, he’d drunkenly cry about it to you, but right now, he wasn’t home. He wasn’t in your arms and he wasn’t drunk off of the new bottle of Jamison’s you bought initially for yourself.

Your train of thought was fought off by your phone ringing. It was hunnigan.

You pick up the phone hesitantly. “H-hunnigan..? Why are you calling me? Did something happen?” Your breath hitched in fear and anticipation.

You could hear her sigh “We found him… or at least a sign of him. I could be wrong, but it seems that we should be able to get connected to him soon.” Hunnigan swallowed hard. She was also a bit uneasy about this, but for different reasons.

“Well I don’t know if that’s a good thing… he should’ve been home by now.” Your eyes dart around as you park your car in the “teacher of the year’ spot. “Wait.. how do you know it's actually him?”

“Well, we don’t truly know. But what we do know is that it's in the area that he was sent to…” Hunnigan swallowed hard. “Look, I’m not supposed to say anything, but it’s Leon we are talking about. The mission was a domestic one. Ergo, he’s still in the states… We might be able to get something out of that…”

“You’re actually serious, right? Please tell me you are.” Your lips start to bleed from all of the nervous biting you’ve been doing.

“Yes, I am… I’ll get back to you once I have more information…” Hunnigan clears her throat. “How did you know it was me calling?”

You relax a bit. “I’ve been calling the DSO so much, they just gave me your personal number… I could ask you the same actually.”

Hunnigan chuckled. “Well, I looked through Leon’s emergency files… you were listed as the spouse there. Also, I’m not going to ask why they gave you my personal…”

“Noted… hey, I’ll get back to you later. Please tell me what all you can. I really can’t spend another night not knowing if he’s safe or not.” You tried to stable yourself and swallowed your tears to your best abilities.

The two of you bid your farewells and then hang up. Now, all you have to do is go clock in, check your mailbox, answer emails and get all of your music sheets organized for the 6 periods you teach in a day.

You sit down in your empty classroom in silence. You don’t even want to check your emails, your eyes dart to the pictures of Leon that sat on your desk that was encased in a cute metal frame. It was one of the first dates you ever had with him. You were looking for some vinyls to add to your collection and funny enough, Leon was in that same exact music store looking for some cds for his new (and soon to be totaled) car.

You can’t help but gain a bitter-sweet smile on your face.

Before you knew it, the bell had rung. It was homeroom day… yay.

The bell rang long and a group of kids started to pile in just as always. You sat down at the piano like you’ve done the past a decade you’ve been teaching here.

A tall, blonde kid walks into the class, eyeing you. He’s a junior if you are correct. He’s in your 6th period.

“Mrs. Kennedy?” The kid asks you.

Your mouth opens and then closes. “Uhm.. What's up ,sport?” You ask awkwardly.

He gives you a look before handing you a piece of paper. It’s a permission slip. You nod your head at him and he takes a seat in his respective spot. you can’t help but look at it, to be fair you forgot the kid’s name. It was something that sounded familiar enough.

You read the paper to see the kid’s name. Leo Kents.

L.K..

—————————————————————————————————————

‘L—Le—Leon-n-n!’ Leon’s comm rang as he tried to go somewhere with service. There was an outbreak in rural appalachia. Close enough for him to get home in 3 hours or sped fast enough. He grabbed the thing and proceeded to bang it on his thigh.

“Hunnigan?!” Leon yelps.

“Oh thank g——————safe.” Hunnigan beeped through.

Leon’s brows furrowed. “What? I… I can’t understand what you are saying…. Ah hell, the job’s done… I’m going home.” Leon put the device in his pocket after turning it off, he needed to get a car…

—————————————————————————————————————

It was about 12 in the afternoon and your lunch would be finished in about half an hour. All you could do was stare at your phone. You knew that they’d find him. Hunnigan promised! Right? I mean she told you that they found a sign, so the possibilities are endless.

You sighed exasperatedly as someone knocked on your door. You looked up to see a head pooping up to look through your window. As you stood to see who it was, a second head of hair popped in the window also, at that point, all you could do was chicken to yourself.

“What is it? Shouldn’t you be at lunch or something?” You lean against the door frame looking at the girls expectantly.

The girl first spoke. “We came to tell you our song choices for S/E. You told us that you’d get back to us by December, and here we are.”

Your eyebrows raised as you nodded your head. “I did say that, didn’t I? So, why is it that y'all came to me instead of vice versa?” The two girls blushed at the question which was more of a statement than anything.

“Well, we wanted to go over the ideas. We have many but we mainly have two to show you.” You boy finally piped up. The girl gave you a nod, agreeing.

You sigh and move out of the way so they could come in until it was time for their next class or however long it took them to go over the songs with you.

You start to read the music sheets that they provided you, all you could do was look at them in shock.

“Seriously? I understand ‘As the snow begins to fall”, but ‘When I am laid in earth’?’ You blinked at them in surprise.

The boy chuckled, almost like he knew you’d say that. It was a very odd mix of two songs with two very different voice ranges.

You sighed and shook your head. “If that’s what makes you happy.”

You put down the sheets into your fabric covered lap. All you could do was give these kids a weak smile. At this point, you just wanted them out of your room. You didn’t have to deal with these two and their jokes for another two periods and all you wanted was just a break.

The pair looked at you with looks of triumph and satisfaction. They finally bid their adues and went out of your classroom.

The second they walked out, You ran to your cell to check for any more calls. None.

You bit your bottom lip hard. When in the hell would she call you back?

—————————————————————————————————————

“Baby cakes?!” Leon practically screeched as he ran into the house. Stupidly, he came from the back door. Somehow, he found a ride that’d take him to the gas station closest to your place.

He rummaged through each and every room he could, looking for you. All he could do was yell and scream out your name. He needed to find the love of his life. His world.

The only thing that stopped him was the sound of Hunnigan tapping back in.

“Hunnigan?” Leon barked.

“Leon?! Where are you?! Did the assignment go through well?” Hunnigan shot questions at him quicker than an auctioneer could even talk. This, of course, made the infamous agent chuckle.

“I’m back home… I was looking for Y/N. And yes, it was completed. Once I get to my wife, I’ll be in shortly to put in the documents… though I think back up could easily finish that.”

Hunnigan gave him a glaring look through the screen. “Well they are only there for clean up. You, on the other hand, are the person who was sent in to get the information needed and take out whoever was wanted. But I’m sure your wife and the safety of the country must come first. I bet our boss would just love that!” She quipped, making Leon sour.

“Well, I bet she’s pulling her hair out of her head at the moment… It’s only for a few minutes, she at least deserves that much. And besides, she doesn’t answer her phone at work often.” Leon tried to reason.

Hunnigan leaned back into her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Well one of those few times must’ve been today. I talked to her.”

Leon’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?! Is she okay?”

“Leon… She’s more worried than anything. You haven’t been home. I think she’s a bit desperate.” Hunnigan chuckled. “Hell, she is desperate. She got whoever to give her my personal cell!”

Leon laughed at the mention of your sudden desperation.

“Look, I’ll just put in that you are en route to the main office.” Hunnigan started clicking away at her keyboard.

Leon smiled, relieved that he could at least do this. It was almost rewarding.

—————————————————————————————————————

You reread the score in front of you, making sure to play it just right this time. The students sat there quietly, some murmuring about the sudden and rare fatigue, others, zoned out, reading over their own sheets of music.

Your eyes closed as you sighed out of your nose. ‘You got this’, you told yourself.

your fingers played around on the keys, re-warming them up. You hit the starting notes, the time signature being pentatonic and a 3/2. Suddenly, the rhythm came to an abrupt stop. The students looked up at you as you waited for their expected gazes.

“Open to the beginning of the song, but go to the last measure.” You chirped as you brushed the bangs of your hair to the side, studying the way your hands rest on the piano. As if you were programmed, your fingers fell onto the keys, playing the melody of the music.

Your playing almost took you away from reality, from the aching pain of a very long period of not seeing your husband, from the aching pain that your life just loves to inflict. The sound of the piano brought you to a bit of peace as you ended at a different measure. You look at the children, who were closing their folders and putting them up. All you could do was give them a small smile. It was just about the end of the period.

You stayed. Silent as you watched them get up to the sound of the bell as if they were robots, moving to commands. You silently waved goodbye as they curtly walked out, one-by-one.

The second the last kid walked out, your face dropped. You turned back around, you sighed as your head fell into your hands. No call from hunnigan, no Leon, nothing.

“Why did I get myself into..?” You silently mumbled.

You shot up as you looked at the ceiling. You sniffed, holding back your tears. You had students coming in at any minute. You couldn’t just let them see you like this, they didn’t need to see you fret.

You sat there on the bench, basking in the loneliness that you didn’t know would be interrupted sooner than you were hoping for.

There was a knock on the wooden door frame, making you jump.

You quickly scrambled to your feet, flattening out your skirt and fixing your sweater. You twirled around with a hopefully convincing smile plastered on your face.

You opened your mouth, trying to cover up what you were just doing, as though it would paint you a good excuse. Let’s just hope they weren’t there for long.

“Hey! How can I-” your smile faltered as you stared at the taller, tired being in front of you. “Oh my god…”

Suddenly, your eyes filled with tears, threatening to ruin your perfect makeup.

Leon smiled as he hoisted himself off of the frame, making his way towards you.

“My sweet girl, oh how I’ve missed your ass!” He opened up his arms, just as he always did.

You sauntered towards him, grabbing him and pulling him into a tight embrace.

“I… I thought you were dead? You left me!” You choked on your sobs out of relief, anger, and sorrow.

Leon felt his heart cave. He really did make you worry your head off, he really did put you through that.

He chuckled out of relief. “Well I’m here now, ain’t I? It’s okay, I’m here, I’m safe. We both are together.”

You know that he was right, but the feeling of him not being there lingered. You prayed that it was real, that he was actually holding you and not just some dream.

But this was no dream, he was actually here in your arms. Now, you could go back to your usual routine of drinking coffee on the back porch and watching old westerns as you ate breakfast on the weekends. Just for this little bit, your life would be normal. You knew to hold onto this little bit. Because soon enough, your Scottie would be gone again.

[kinocomix]

Devlog 16: capturing the magic of living indoors

The script for TSTW is around 7 scenes long so far. At the beginning every story needs time to introduce its characters, movies get away without this by structuring the plot itself around meeting the characters in some way– think about how you always hear about having to “challenge” your characters or how they “evolve”. When a story has lower stakes it can be a bit more difficult doing this without boring the reader, so I've been putting some extra care into carving out the first section. in any case…

Hopefully the title of this devlog gives off the correct vibe which is “ew how tf”. Here's one of the central ideas I want to put across in the killouette project and I'm going to illustrate it with an anecdote. Some years ago, I bought a used notebook from a bookshop. I unfortunately don’t have it on me right now to be able to share pictures of it but it looked something like this:

(this image is not the notebook, this is from google)

to clarify, this notebook is USED used, this was someone’s diary in the 40’s or something. it didn’t have anything too earth shattering– i’m not about to find some hidden treasure any time soon, however it still was really fascinating. This fascination is why a lot of stories are told in the form of  “found media”. it’s not necessarily because the narrative is trying to be passed off as legitimate, it’s because a lot of times, the way you tell a story is equally as important as the contents of the story itself. here’s an example. compare texts A and B below:

A:

the boy fell unconscious and had to be taken to the hospital. the paramedics answered his phone and told his mom.

B:

“-hey, do you know anyone by the name of [name]?

-yes, it’s my son, who is this?

-M’am, your son is currently passed out. we’re taking him to the hospital right now.”

Both of these texts say the same thing. it could even be argued that B says less because it doesn’t mention that the mom knows she’s talking to a paramedic. However, B is less boring to read because it frames it within the context of “something is happening” instead of “let me tell you that something is happening”. In games this is called immersion and it’s vital to your enjoyment of any piece of media. This is why when a story breaks the 4th wall too many times it becomes hard to be invested in its narrative. Even deadpool knows that there’s a limit to this and you’ll notice that when the authors of deadpool want you to take it seriously, they stop fucking around.

going back to the notebook i bought, you can now sort of see why the act of reading someone’s mundane thoughts is way more interesting with the right framework. This is the framework that Diary of a wimpy kid  is built around.

now I already know that I want to do this for killouette as well, but I want to dial it up a notch. Killouette is going to make her diary a fully illustrated comic, basically reenacting things panel by panel. this makes the animal designs diegetic if done correctly and gives us the chance to do something else that’s really cool, which is to have her pass her notebook around to all her friends and have them write things in it as well. So effectively, what we’re really making isn’t just a notebook, it’s an entire folder of documents and papers compiled by these kids. this could include stuff like schematics, pictures, sheet music, another smaller book, handwritten notes by people, annotations by the kids, etc. etc. 

there is an added value by deciding to give the book this treatment. First, it gets rid of the annoying “all seeing reader” element. In TSTW and Almost Home, seeing everything makes sense because the camera is meant to highlight the emotion of the scene and not spoon feed you information. think about how in this scene in Almost Home, I never actually show or tell you what happened to Adelaide in detail. You just know it from her saying something about it. I didn’t show you because it’s meant to be inferred. Here, showing more would have been spoon feeding you a sad story which I didn’t want to do. 

In contrast, I wrote an entire chapter to tell the reader that someone is afraid of being poor. The reason I did that is because I thought the scene after it where you see the same person being a jerk regarding money would be more impactful knowing the journey they took to get there. 

the second thing this decision helps with is production. As long as the end result look pretty and was made ethically, it really doesn’t matter how short the production timeline was. A comic book drawn by a child would be best done on an actual ruled notebook using whatever a child would have access to and scanned. If you’ve ever doodled comics with a big pen before, you know those don’t take much time at all. this would give more time to work on the more complex aspects of the project like making the sheet music, the pictures, putting the whole thing together… you get the idea.

now let’s go back to the title real quick. In the story, Killouette can’t leave her house (we’ll be talking about that in a later devlog). What this formatting of the book needs to do is show you the mental goings on of this child. The mantra of “show, don’t tell” applies best here. I don’t have a lot of interesting set designs to show you cause it’s just going to be the inside of her room. What I can show is the inside of her brain.

next week we’ll be tackling some of the themes.

devlog updates on tuesdays.

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

[darlingletshurttonight]

The Piano

(okay yall i wrote something. this takes place after gaon finds out yohan is alive the second time. i had written this for myself but if this helps anybody get their daily dose of gahan, here it goes. its not proofread or anything so bear with me :’])

Gaon walked out of the mansion, feeling empty. Of course, he was happy that Yohan was alive, and he was with Elijah. He was relieved that he was able to keep his promise to Elijah. It was such a relief that they were together again.

Only, without him.

Yes, he had fucked up. Yes, he almost messed up the bleak relationship Yohan and Elijah had. It never struck him how easily he blended in with them. Okay, it did strike him, but he chose to ignore that it might not have been permanent. It probably never would be. He just... wished he could go back.

As he walked his usual path home, he noticed another sapling, growing in dire conditions on the side of the road. The leaves were yellowing, roots sticking out from the mud.

"Are you alone too?" he murmured, picking up the broken pot.

He held it close as he walked down the stairs, wondering when was the last time he felt so lost. Alone.

Maybe this was a good thing? Even if the thought of having nobody made him shiver in anxiety and pain. He couldn't even process how he lost so many people so quickly. He regretted some things, he appreciated some things. By the time he reached his front door, his sleeves were stained with the mud, and mind still hazy from everything that had happened. He was hoping the walk would clear his mind. But this wasn't something a walk would fix. He soon realized, this wasn't something that diving deep into work and losing the little sanity he had left would fix. He skipped meals, came home late and didn't talk to many people. His only company was his mind, which wasn't really helping.

He was sitting on the bench on his terrace with his dinner that consisted of a single coffee. He knew that he was getting a fresh start, he had to start living for himself now, there was no other way. He wondered how Elijah's rehabilitation was going, was she able to feel her legs? Was she able to stand, walk around? What was their relationship like now?

He felt a turmoil every time he even vaguely thought of Yohan. His emotions would fly through a spectrum. The more days went by, the more he got time and clarity to think, and the more his anger and acceptance clashed.

Was he not enough?

He was never a part of them, he was just visiting.

Did he not repent for his mistakes enough?

They needed time away to heal.

Did Yohan lose all the trust he had in him?

Elijah's treatment was a priority.

Had Yohan finally pushed him away?

He must have needed space from the person who didn't choose him many times.

Had Gaon, read it all wrong?

There was only so much he could do to convince himself that there was once a beautiful phase in his life - short, surrounded by pain and betrayal - but beautiful nonetheless. He now had to build meaningful relationships with people from the ground up, and people were exhausting. He was tired of losing.

Why was he the one always losing his people? As he watered his plants, he noticed the newest one not doing so well. He put in some fertilizer, adding some rocks at the bottom and placing it in a different location.

Maybe this is what he needed. Some reorganizing.

Gaon had known how to play the piano. His father's piano was still in the house, by the corner. He had learnt a few things from him. He wasn't the best, but Gaon liked learning it exactly the way his father played it. After their death, he never looked at it. He had managed to sideline its existence, simply because no one could play it the way he was used to.

It seemed old now, worn out. Gaon had cleaned it once in a while, just as any other furniture in the house. Not a single key had been played since the last few years, this was the first time Gaon was properly looking at it. He sat on the seat, immediately regretting it. He felt the keys softly, trying to gain some familiarity.

Nothing.

He pressed a key, another one, and another one. His pace got quicker and the sound messier as he desperately tried to make sense of the unfamiliarity,

He stood up in frustration, and gave up on the attempt. As he lay curled up in bed, the weight of not just the loneliness but the strength he didn't have to continue weighed on him. His tears fell, and he was at the rock bottom again.

He came home the next day, and stared at the piano from the kitchen table. Why he was so adamant on playing it, he didn't quite understand. He rummaged through some old boxes in his house, and found a music notebook, with some loose sheets inside. Placing them on the sill, he tried to read and play. He didn't care if he was playing it right, he just wanted to play. He wanted to feel something. He wanted to feel the comfort of sitting next to his father who played a love song for his wife, every time she came home from work. He wanted to feel that belonging.

He played after work everyday. He missed a lot of notes, he had to look up tutorials to understand things he had forgotten. He wasn't acing this, but it kept him going.

He chose to ignore the images of Yohan that crept in his mind as he played the piano. And then one day it didn't hurt so much to think about Yohan as he played. And the next day he deliberately thought of Yohan, not that he had to put in much effort for that. He imagined playing the piano for Yohan. He might never have Yohan again, but this was for him. For letting him choose his own paths, for giving him a family and that feeling of belonging, for allowing Gaon to see him vulnerable, for trusting Gaon. And, for accepting the way Gaon was.

Gaon was planning to reorganize his house after the day of the reform meeting. He'd have some time on his hands to give it some thought. A few days ago he had bought groceries and made himself proper dinner. A few days before that he had cleaned up the mess that his house had become.

Before he left for the meeting, he noticed the leaves of his new plant turning a rich shade of green. He smiled on the way to work.

But the smile disappeared when Jin Joo mentioned she was leaving. He realized he could've spent some more time for her. But he wasn't going to regret it. enough of that. He promised to visit and keep in touch. He knew that she wouldn't expect him to, but he was still going to try.

What he did not prepare for, was to see Yohan again. He had given up. And here Yohan was, standing in front of him. His unkempt hair, informal clothes, the vulnerability in his eyes, and the hopeful smile. Was this another chance? There was so much Gaon wanted to say. There was so much Gaon wanted to make sure Yohan knew. His heart raced as he tried to conjure up some words, something, anything.

But he realized he didn't have to say anything, Yohan knew. Of course Yohan knew. He knew him better than anyone.

He stood frozen, a smile and tears plastered to his face, as he watched Yohan walk away. Now he knew, they were finally on the same page. Gaon would chase Yohan to the ends of the world, if Yohan allowed him. But Yohan was always by his side, right from the beginning. He loved Yohan, and it was only a matter of time before he would bring up the courage to tell him so.

He visited the mansion as soon as he could escape from the office. He saw the lights on for the first time in a month. He'd never understand how he had conflicting emotions, yet a sense of comfort everytime he was here. He entered the house, on his way to Yohan's study, where he knew Yohan would be. The last time he did so, he was holding a knife. This time, it was his own heart in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks as he turned around the corner and watched Yohan leaning against the table, hands folded across his chest, as if waiting for him.

"I was waiting for you" he said. His eyes were unreadable but Gaon knew he didn't just mean about this meeting.

Gaon closed his eyes and let a tear fall. He'd never thought he'd hear this voice again. This was all real, after all. He really was here.

"What brings you back?" Gaon managed to ask, taking a few steps forward. He didn't even try to hold his tears back, whatever the answer was going to be, he was going to show Yohan his honest feelings. That's what he was here for. He wanted Yohan to see him.

He watched Yohan's face softening, relaxing his arms. Gaon wished he'd hold him.

"I came to check on you"

Gaon felt like the floor was swept off from under his feet. He was worth it after all.

"Thank you" he whispered, sniffing away his tears.

"How's Elijah? Is she here?" Gaon asked, after a pause.

"No, she's getting adjusted to the center there. She's okay, she misses you"

"And you?"

Gaon watched Yohan look for an answer. He hadn't prepared for this blunt question, and frankly, neither had Gaon. The longer the silence was, the more afraid Gaon felt to know the answer.

Yohan had a habit of communicating with his eyes. Gaon was pretty good at reading them, but today he just had to be sure. What he didn't know was that Yohan was remembering every waking memory of him missing Gaon in the last month. Elijah's first appointment, their first meal they had made themselves, every single meal they had, the milestones Elijah was reaching, just...everything. How was he supposed to say this?

When Gaon got impatient, he decided to simply confess.

"I've missed you," he let out a breath he was holding all this while "a lot. I was losing my mind"

"Gaon-ah"

"I really thought I had lost you two forever," he paused to get a reaction, anything, from Yohan. He realized Yohan wouldn't have anything to say unless Gaon laid himself bare for him. So be it.

"I didn't even think you were real today, at the office. I was really really happy that you got out of all that alive, only that, you left. I wished you'd have told me. I was angry at first"

Yohan furrowed his eyebrows.

Gaon continued, "But I know Elijah's treatment was important, and you needed some peace, after... after all that. I'm sorry for everything I caused. Honestly, you gave me a second home and I, I just can't imagine...I cant imagine a world without you"

He averted his gaze and said one last thing, "If you want me to leave, please say so. I'll -"

"I've missed you, Gaon-ah"

Gaon dared to look at Yohan.

"So much that it hurt"

Gaon swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Yohan stepped forward.

"After everything we've been through, I could never leave you behind. I thought you knew me better than that"

They stood close, their faces inches apart. Gaon couldn't tell what the anger in Yohan's voice was for. But he was willing to take it. He would take anything.

He stepped forward and held Yohan's shoulders, gently pulling him into his arms. He buried his face in Yohan's neck, the cloth of the robe absorbing his tears. He felt Yohan's arms sliding up his back, grip slowly tightening.

Neither would let go for a long time.

Later that night, Yohan watched as Gaon moved about the kitchen at Gaon's home, preparing dinner. He sat on one of the chairs, arms folded, eyes moving wherever Gaon went.

Gaon felt his gaze and didn't hide his smile.

"I'm guessing you haven't been eating well" Yohan observed.

Gaon bit his lip. "Guilty"

Yohan shook his head and looked around the place. "You play the piano?"

Gaon looked over, his hands still working on the stove. His saving grace stood there in all its glory.

"My father used to play, mostly for my mom. I had learnt from him but didn't touch it for a long time. I got back to it a few weeks ago"

"I'd like to hear you play"

Gaon's eyes welled up but he focused on the cooking. He smiled back at Yohan, like it wasn't a big deal.

Gaon stared at Yohan as he ate. He ate like a child, and Gaon adored him. He rubbed some crumbs off Yohan's lips and fed him some more. Was this really happening? He didn't really care, he was just happy.

They sat on the piano seat together. Yohan stared at Gaon as the latter played. Although Gaon's face felt hot with Yohan's gaze in such proximity, he focused on the music. He wanted to play it right.

"This is something my father used to play for my mother. I used to watch them sit here and reminisce about their college days"

Gaon struggled to get more words out. He wanted to be explicit with Yohan. He wanted to be unabashed. He took Yohan's hand, the one that held the scar. As he traced a finger over it, Yohan laced their fingers together.

Gaon looked at Yohan, who had scooted closer than ever. He squeezed Gaon's hand, reassuring and soft.

"Let me love you" Gaon whispered, as if saying it any louder would break the delicate moment.

He closed his eyes and gently pressed his forehead against Yohan's.

"Please" he added.

"Are you sure?" Yohan asked, his voice heavy. Like he’d played this conversation multiple times in his head before, and had thought of all the responses he could come up with, with very few of them favorable.

Gaon swooped in, closing the short distance between them.

On the terrace, the new plant bloomed a flower bud.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Five Kisses pt. 1

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky is defined by five different kisses. 

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,895

Author’s Note: Coming out of retirement! I hope that you all enjoy. I didn’t want to split this up into three parts, but it would have been a really long one-shot if I had. Le me know what you think! I haven’t written anything in like four years, so I’m not even sure if people still read fics. So toss a reblog to your fic writer, o’ readers a plenty! 

You can read part two here!

You weren’t sure what to call Bucky Barnes. He wasn’t really someone you’d call a friend, but he was a little more than just an acquaintance. In fact, he was more of a pain in your ass than anything. Natasha introduced you to him, half in hope that the two of you would hit it off. Only, after an hour of knowing him, the only thing you wanted to hit was his head off of his shoulders.

Avoiding him after that first encounter was hard, seeing as he was always around with that stupid, shit-eating-grin plastered to his face. You could tell that he knew just how much his mere presence annoyed you; he enjoyed watching your jaw clench, teeth-grinding at the sound of his voice whenever he said something incredibly stupid- which was every time he opened his mouth.

You tolerated him, but only because you had to; for Steve and Nat’s sake. No one said you had to like him. You didn’t want to like him.

That was until he wound up in your dreams.

You might have been in an elevator or a doctor’s office, you couldn’t really remember. The details of the dream were fading fast, and the only thing that continued to stick out was Bucky. And your hands grasping at the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him down to you. And the way your noses bumped together. And the sound of a desperate moan escaping the depths of his throat. 

And how ridiculously soft his lips were.

A blush crept across your cheeks as you sat in your bed, embarrassed; hands holding your head as you wondered how your subconscious had let this happen. The thought of kissing Bucky Barnes had not once crossed your mind before, and now the thought of kissing Bucky Barnes had your mind racing. It was just a kiss and then you woke up. But as you sat atop tangled sheets, you thought of what might have happened if you had stayed asleep; your heartbeat kicking as you imagined him kissing you in other places.

You sighed; eyes clamped tight as you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of it and push any thought of the man out of your mind. Natasha tried to make small talk with you in the kitchen when you went to make a cup of coffee, but at the first mention of Bucky you made up some excuse to get the hell out of Dodge. 

Over the next few weeks, you were avoiding him more than usual. You turned down invitations to go out with the group-, knowing that he would be there. And when he and Steve came over to your apartment, you’d find some reason to leave; work, needing something from the grocery store, going to the gym or going to hang out with one of your other friends. Sure, it was just a dream, but you couldn’t deny that you had begun to think of Bucky in a different way since then. And you were sure your feelings would disappear if you stayed away from him for long enough.

You were coming home one night after work, completely exhausted and drained, and before you even opened the door to your apartment, you could hear the faint sound of laughter on the other side. You sighed as you slid the key into the lock, completely forgetting that it was Thursday night, or as Nat liked to call it, ‘Family Night’. 

Natasha heard the door shut behind you and called for you to join them. Not feeling like fighting this one, you made your way to the kitchen. Nat stood at the stove, a steaming pot of noodles in front of her while Steve was leaning against the counter, in the middle of telling some story about when he and Bucky were in Italy. And Bucky was at the table, beer in hand, smiling as he tried to dispute Steve on a few of the details in the story.

“Hey guys,” you mumbled as you walked into the kitchen towards the refrigerator to grab a beer. “That smells great, Nat.”

“Thanks,” she beamed, obviously proud of herself. Your roommate rarely did any cooking, and most of the time the two of you were ordering take-out or going to the nearest ‘pizza-by-the-slice’ joint. You knew this newfound love for cooking- she had even bought herself an apron- was to impress Steve. And it was cute, you couldn’t deny. “How was work?”

You nearly collapsed in the chair across from Bucky and kicked off your heels. His eyes were burning a hole into you, but you kept your gaze fixed in the direction of Natasha and Steve; not wanting to look at him, afraid of what would happen if you did.

“Today was rough since we have that audit coming up.” You replied before taking a swig of your beer. “It’s nice to be home.”

“Amen to that,” Steve declared as he held his bottle up in the air. 

You copied his movements and sat back in your chair with a sigh. The kitchen was filled with a comfortable silence, save for the sound of the water boiling in Nat’s pot. You ran a hand through your hair and finally looked up at Bucky who was glancing down at his phone. Your eyes skimmed over his features and you wondered how you had never noticed his freckles or the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at something. 

How could you have never noticed that Bucky Barnes was beautiful?

“Buck, did you find something for this weekend?” Natasha asked, breaking the silence and your stare. 

“This weekend?” You questioned.

“Yeah, I thought it would be nice if we all went out and did something fun,” she replied. “You’ve been so busy lately, Y/N, and you told me that you didn’t have any plans this weekend, so I figured we’d go somewhere and let loose.” 

“Oh,” you said quietly.

“They’ve got a band playing at Josie’s on Saturday night,” Bucky informed, as he looked up from his phone and met your eyes for only a moment before you averted your gaze to look at Nat.

“I’m always down for Josie’s,” Steve stated.

“Yeah, Josie’s sounds good,” Natasha added. “Y/N, what do you think?”

“Sure, Josie’s it is!” You replied with a nervous grin.

Saturday night came way, too soon. Natasha had texted you that she and Steve were going to be running a little late coming from dinner and that they’d just meet you and Bucky at Josie’s soon. Your stomach churned at the thought of spending any time alone with him, but it quickly turned to butterflies as you opened the door and saw him sitting at the corner of the bar.

He looked good. The sleeves of his dark sweater pushed up his arms as he brought the beer bottle up to his lips and took a drink. He noticed you and waved as if you hadn’t immediately spotted him the moment you walked in. He was hard to miss, after all. 

“Hey,” he said as you reached the barstool next to him. “You want a beer?” You nodded and he motioned for the bartender to grab you a bottle. “Steve and Nat are going to be late.”

“Yeah, she texted me.” You told him. He nodded his head in reply and thanked the bartender when he placed the bottle of beer in front of you. “Thanks,” you told Bucky with a soft smile before pressing the bottle to your lips.

“You look nice tonight,” he mentioned and your cheeks began to blush.

“Thank you,” you replied. “So do you.”

“What?” Bucky’s face was shocked. “No smart ass remark?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

The silence that fell over the two of you wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was unlike Bucky to compliment you, and you figured he was just doing it to be civil, but that didn’t stop your cheeks from forming a light blush. You kept your gaze downcast, checking your phone every few seconds out of boredom. Bucky absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the marble countertop to the beat of the song and you noticed just how nice his hands were. 

You talked about work, mostly. He asked about the audit, which you were surprised he remembered, and he boasted about his own work. The band started playing not long after that. They were good; a classic rock cover band that only played the hits. And for what seemed like the first time, you were actually enjoying spending time with Bucky Barnes. He had even asked if you wanted to move to the dance floor, and you did; dancing to song after song, drink after drink, you couldn’t remember the last time you had this much fun.

“Hey!” He called over the music. Bucky held up his phone to you, showing a text message thread from Steve, but at that point your vision was pretty blurry. “They aren’t coming.”

“Who needs them?” You replied with a smile. “You want another round?” 

“I got it,” he replied and turned to head back to the bar.

You placed a hand on his chest to stop him, “I got this one.”

Bucky smiled at you when you came back with two more shots of tequila. “Cheers to pleasant surprises,” he said as he held his shot glass up to yours.

“Pleasant surprises indeed,” you replied before you downed your shot.

You both laughed at each other’s faces after you downed the sour liquid and sat your empty glasses on a table nearby. The band finished their last song and announced that they were going to slow things down a bit. You could feel the alcohol swimming in your veins as couples gathered on the dance floor to dance to some, old slow song. 

Bucky held out his hand and you took it, not thinking twice about it. He pulled you in close to him, and you rested your head on his chest; eyes closing at the light scent of his cologne. You were thankful that Steve and Natasha didn’t show up; you weren’t sure how you and Bucky would have acted towards each other if they had. You could hear him humming along to the music and a smile made its way to your lips as you also began to sing along. 

Before you knew it, the whole dance floor was loudly- and drunkenly- belting out the lyrics during the song’s chorus. As the song began to fade, people began to move off of the dance floor while the band announced they were going to take a break. However, you and Bucky were still holding each other closely as the bar began to play their own music in the interim. You looked up at him from your place on his shoulder and he glanced downwards and smiled. 

“You want to get out of here?” He asked. His hands release their grip on your waste and you groaned inwardly. “I know a really awesome food truck that is stays open late, and cheese fries sound really good right about now.”

“I am not going to argue with that.” You said and reluctantly took a step back from him, knowing that it would be a good idea to eat something to hopefully save yourself the hangover that you knew you would have in the morning. 

Once you had both settled the tab, you stepped out of the bar and into the cool air of the city. The wind kicked up, causing your hair to fly around your face as you looked out at the glistening lights of New York City in the distance. You could see Bucky looking at you out of the corner of your eye, he smiled when you turned to him. 

It was quiet, save for the sounds of the streets, as you began walking along the sidewalk- side by side. Your arms brushed against the other every few seconds, and you began to relish in the warmth, even if it was only for a fleeting moment before he took another step. He broke the silence first, making a joke about Steve and Nat not showing up and you laughed. You were surprised by how easy it was to talk to him; opening up more and more, little by little. But then his fingers brushed against yours and you thought he was going to hold your hand. Suddenly, your story about falling out of the tree in Mrs. Johnson’s yard trying to rescue her cat was cut short, as your heart and stomach fluttered at the feeling. You glanced downwards wondering if he noticed your face blushing red, and bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to pull yourself together.  

“So did you rescue the cat, or not?” Bucky asked, stopping on the street corner. You stopped too and looked up at him. His lips were pulled into a ridiculously attractive grin, and it was hard not to form a smile of your own.

“Of course, I rescued the cat.” You said with pride, rolling your eyes at him. “Wait a second,” you looked around at your surroundings as you realized that you had no idea where you were. And Bucky’s food truck was no where in sight. “Where are we?” 

Bucky also looked around and chuckled. “Well, I thought the food truck was in this direction a few blocks down from the bar, but I am a little drunk and I may have been wrong.” 

You sighed jokingly and pulled out your phone, “I’ll call us a ride.” 

It didn’t take long for a cab to show up and the two of you slid into the backseat. You gave the driver the directions to your apartment and he pulled off, allowing a noticeable silence to take over. You looked over at Bucky who was glancing out the window, and when he turned his head in your direction, you quickly looked away, chewing on your lip. You kept your hands in your lap, mindlessly plucking at the hem of your blouse before sneaking another glance over at Bucky. His beautiful blue eyes were fixed on you, and you gave him a small smile. 

There was so much tension in the air, it was hard to breathe. You silently thanked God as the cab driver pulled up on the curb outside of your apartment so that you could open the door and get some fresh air. There was something about the way that he looked at you that was unlike anything you had every experienced before. You knew, just from that one look, that he felt the same- and you weren’t sure how to feel about that. 

“Thank you,” Bucky told the driver and passed him a tip. “Have a good night.” As the driver took off, Bucky turned to you. 

“Well this is me,” you told him with a smile. “I’d ask you if you wanted to come up, but who knows what Steve and Natasha are doing up there since they blew us off.” 

“Right,” Bucky laughed as he rocked back and forth on his heels. 

“I had a really nice time, though.” You told him, not wanting to discourage him. “Who knew you were such good company?” 

“There’s that smart ass remark I’ve been waiting for all night,” he laughed. 

“Don’t tell Steve and Nat, but I’m kind of glad that they didn’t show up.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, taking a tiny step towards you. “Why’s that?” 

You also took a tiny step towards him and the gap between the two of you was closing inch by inch. “Because,” you managed to say whilst swallowing a lump in your throat. “I don’t think we would have had nearly as much fun as we did.”

“I’m glad you had a good time,” he said in what was barely a whisper as took the last step to close the space between you.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You asked.

“Do you want me to?” He replied, you could feel his breath. 

You nodded and Bucky closed what little gap there was left between your lips. The kiss was soft and warm, and everything that you expected- but better. You could still taste the tequila and lime on his tongue as you explored each other’s mouths, and you gripped on to his sweater, pulling him as close as you possibly could. It felt like a long time coming, like you had always wanted each other, but weren’t able to admit it to yourselves. It was as if a weight was lifted off your chest. 

And, quite literally, it was your dreams coming true. 

You pulled back and caught your breath, smiling like a fool. “I, uh- Before I end up saying something really stupid and ruining the moment, I’m going to go.” Bucky smiled and shook his head. “But, just know I had a really great time tonight. So thank you for that.” You said as you backed away, almost running into the door as you turned around. 

“I’ll see you later?” He asked as you pulled the door open and stepped inside.

“In your dreams, Barnes!” You replied, turning back around only to stick your tongue out at him and then disappear up the staircase. 

[klbwriting]

Unexpected Allies - Chapter 4

Fandom: Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone

Pairing: eventually will be Kaz/female!Reader, and that is really starting to happen

Warnings: I mean, Kaz Brekker is involved, someone is getting maimed

Summary:  The journey to town doesn't go as planned

Notes:  I’m trying my best to respect Kaz’s touch aversion while also working him into accepting someone, its a fine line to walk so I hope I’m doing alright, also Kaz can be soft in private we’re learning

They had spent the evening planning their next day, what supplies they needed, who would get what, and how they would get out of the town. Y/N knew trusting Jesper with anything extreme was a bad idea so she told him that his only job was to find them warm clothes for the trip, giving him just enough money to get them. Kaz was going to gather the food and water canteens while Y/N was getting the camping supplies. She had gotten the tents and blankets, lugging the bags with her through the town when she noticed that the Grisha presence in the town was increasing as the day went on. This was concerning. She walked the perimeter of the town monitoring where the Grisha were gathering and frowned. Damn, the only road north had Grisha guards checking every traveler who walked or rode out. She went to the woods around the town, her dismay growing. Grisha were everywhere. She headed to the meeting point near the stables, finding Kaz and Jesper already there. She waited out of sight, listening as Kaz reamed Jesper.

"You gambled the money and didn't get the clothes? Is that what you're telling me?" Kaz said, voice low, dangerous. She could see Jesper from her place, fidgeting, eyes looking anywhere but at Kaz.

"I won some, but then I lost it," he said. "Its alright, you have any money left? I'll go and win it all back, get us some nice warm coats." Kaz let out an annoyed grunt.

"No, I thought and bought some clothes on top of the food. Now, the other important thing, when we get our crew back, how are we getting out of that resistance?" he asked. Y/N thought this might happen. She knew he wasn't just going to join up out of desire to help others. Kaz Brekker didn't care about anyone but himself, she knew that really, dark eyes and a jawline that could cut glass had blinded her for a minute and now she felt foolish for mooning over him last night. She took a deep breath, making sure to calm her demeanor. No reason to let herself be blinded again, she had convinced the Darkling she loved him, should be easy to convince herself that she didn't have feelings for Kaz. After collecting herself she stepped into full view, making them halt their conversation.

"We have a problem," she said, approaching and handing off the bags she had bought for each of them. She explained about the Grisha presence as they stashed their supplies. "They are in the woods even, probably looking for you two, possibly me, I can't imagine the body is convincing them I'm dead anymore." Kaz pursed his lips and she used that moment to steel herself because the last thing she needed was to think about his lips. Not that he would allow them near her in the first place, she didn't need the visual in her mind. She turned and used the moment to check their surroundings. It was getting dark now and she knew soon the Grisha would establish some type of curfew.

"At the gambling hall I was at they had rooms to rent, we could stay there for the night, they were cheap? The place had a no Grisha policy and it was loud so I doubt anyone would notice us," Jesper offered. Y/N smiled and put a friendly arm around his shoulder.

"You're a genius Jes, pure genius," she said, motioning for him to lead the way. She didn't notice the look on Kaz's face, but Jesper had, and now he was a little afraid of sleeping in the same room as his boss.

 Kaz had instantly figured out that Y/N had heard the conversation he and Jesper were having at the stables, the icy look she gave him when she came out of hiding was enough for him to know that her infatuation with him might be over. He should have been overjoyed by that, it would save him trouble in the future, but he found that he was irritated by it. He looked out for himself and sometimes the Dregs, why did she think he would look out for her too? If she wanted to be moody then fine, but when she put her arm around Jesper and called him 'Jes' Kaz nearly walloped the Zemeni boy with his cane. Now they were stuck in a room together for the night and Jesper had abandoned them to get dinner brought up.

"You know he's an addict, he's gambling the food money right now," Kaz said after he washed his face and upper body in the basin. Y/N had gone behind a makeshift privacy wall she had created with a sheet and some rope to wash herself also. He only spoke to get his mind to focus on something besides the fact that her shirt was hanging on that rope line right now.

"I know that Kaz, I didn't give him much and I requested dinner be brought up to us at 9 bells when we rented the room, I just wanted at least one of you gone while I cleaned up. Saints know you weren't going to leave the room," she snapped. She had pulled on a new shirt, this one long enough that she could remove the pants she had been wearing for a little while. "Are you decent?" Kaz pulled a new shirt on, pulling down the sheet himself and tossing it onto Jesper's cot. He stood still, leaning on the wash table, cane leaning next to him, buttoning his shirt up slowly. Despite trying to avert her eyes Kaz caught Y/N glancing at him as he dressed. She met his eyes and he cocked his eyebrow at her. She scowled and folded her arms, a naked leg crossing over the other. Now he gawked for a moment. Their eyes met again and this time they both smirked. Damn.

"Are you going to finish dressing?" he asked, folding his arms now that his shirt was properly done up. She shook her head and stood up, showing that the shirt she wore went down to her knees.

"This is nearly the length of a proper night gown, and its hot in this room," she said, leaning across from him and folding her arms. They stared at each other for a long time, both trying to figure the other out. Kaz didn't know her thoughts which irked him. Most people were easy reads and in most cases Y/N was the same, but there was something underneath the shallow exterior she showed the world. Those big brown eyes held hidden depths that he couldn't quite capture, but he desperately wanted to explore them. He could tell himself that he just wanted to know his associate, make sure he knew all her secrets so he could use them when the time was right, but he knew that he truly wanted to know her secrets so that he could really know her, and he would take her secrets to the grave with him. He could see that she was once again, studying his body so he did the same to her. She was curvy, and looked soft in all the right places, and he imagined for a moment what it would be like to feel those soft places, his bare hands tracing those curves, exploring her hips, breasts, lips. He swallowed hard, shaking the thought from his mind, but noticing that the thought of Jordie took more time to arrive than it normally did when he thought about touching someone. Progress was being made, prison must have worked some magic on him. He had been forced to touch nearly everyone he came in contact with there and after awhile he had just braced himself all the time for the interaction. That was probably why he could brace himself now, without the thought occurring to him.

"Are they playing music now?" Kaz asked suddenly, hearing what sounded like a full band playing downstairs. Y/N perked up and smiled some.

"We used to dance to this song at the Little Palace before everything went to shit," she said. "Have you ever danced Kaz?" Kaz looked at her surprised.

"You think that I dance? Do I look like I dance?" he asked, not sure how anyone could think he would dance. Not only was his aversion to touch a problem but his knee wouldn't handle a dance well either. Y/N just laughed.

"You could do this dance, I'll show you," she offered. He stood still for a moment before he found himself standing. What was he doing? Why was he letting himself dance with her? He needed a strong drink and someone to torture, he was becoming soft. "Hold your cane level with the ground." Despite his mind telling him to just go to bed something else had him holding the cane how she asked.

"Now what? Do I swing it around, take out as many dancers as I can?" he asked, trying to sound annoyed and reluctant. Y/N just laughed, making his lip twitch up again.

"No, put your one hand on the end and put the cane behind your back, good, now the other hand sits next to your hip holding the cane again," she explained. He was now standing with his cane held behind his back, half of it sticking out at her. She approached and he inhaled sharply. "Don't worry, I won't touch you, just the cane. Normally we would have our arms behind each others' backs holding hands but this will work." She took hold of his cane the same way only facing the other direction. She started the dance by taking two slow steps forward, forcing Kaz to follow suit. They were a few inches apart and he watched her feet as she took a quick step this time. She let go of the cane and it dropped back to standing. He watched her and followed as she did a bow he did too, their eyes never losing contact as they danced. She stepped up to him and he moved to her, mere inches apart again. He could feel the energy from her body before she spun away, back to him. She looked back over her shoulder at him and for a moment he thought about how easy it would be to just touch her hair, brush it aside, feel the skin of her neck. His hand was starting to reach out, eyes still staring into hers when the door to the room flew open and Jesper rushed in.

"I won a chicken!" he proclaimed, holding up the roast bird high above his head. Kaz looked from Jesper, to the chicken held high above, then back to Y/N. She was shaking with laughter and before he could control himself Kaz let out a laugh, gripping the cane for support.

"I knew you could smile!" Y/N said triumphantly. This sobered up Kaz and his clamped his mouth closed, bringing back his sour demeanor. There was no way she was getting him to dance and laugh in one evening. He wouldn't allow it. Not in front of Jesper. Being soft around the girl you were falling for was one thing...

 Y/N could pinpoint the moment that Kaz's brain stopped working. He had just clammed up again, going from dancing and actually laughing, back to being the leader of the Dregs, the Bastard of the Barrel again. She wanted to be annoyed but she couldn't, not after Jesper had come acting like a chicken was the jackpot of the tables downstairs. He set it down on the end table, pulling the bird apart with his hands and sharing with them. They all ate in silence, enjoying a hot meal for the first time that day. It was dry and turned to dust once chewed but Y/N found herself enjoying it, helping herself to two servings as she listened to Jesper tell the story of his win.

They were just about to get into bed when someone shouted down the hall that the Grisha were there. Y/N dashed to get pants on, yanking on her shoes and then her vest and coat. She could hear Kaz and Jesper around her getting ready in the dark when they heard footsteps. They froze in place praying they would pass but instead the door was shoved open by a Squallor wind, sending Jesper down on his ass. Two Second Army Grisha entered the room, having seen Jesper and Kaz but not Y/N. As quiet as she could Y/N moved towards the door, hoping to get the drop on them, but she was not naturally stealthy. The two turned and stared shocked for just a moment. It was all Y/N needed she moved her hands and sent one Grisha flying with a gust of wind while her other hand clenched, bringing the Squallor down unconscious. Jesper was still getting to his feet, not noticing her abilities but she knew that Kaz had seen what she had done and judging by the look on his face he had already started to figure her out more than she hoped.

"Come on, we need to leave now," she said, grabbing her pack. She waited for the other two to grab their bags before entering the hall. She could see Kaz tense as they pushed through the thrall of people trying to get out, being pushed to the ground as soon as they got to the bottom floor. An Inferni stood guard at the door, trying to keep the crowd inside as the rowdy bunch tried to force their way out. In the melee Jesper drew his gun and shot first at the Inferni and then at the glass of a nearby window, breaking it. The Inferni screeched in pain, throwing a ball of fire randomly into the crowd, catching on the gambling tables on fire.

All hell broke loose.

The crowd started to stampede in all directions. Jesper took off out the window and ran off into the night while Kaz tried to follow. His cane was knocked out of his hands, moving away from him. Y/N threw herself into motion, a hand reaching out to draw the cane back to her, while also bracing herself over Kaz, coat spread open and forcing the crowd to go around her. She felt her muscles ache as she held firm, protecting Kaz the only way she could until he could get to his feet. He finally was able to compose himself enough to stand and hurry out the window. Y/N moved after him, giving him the cane and running towards the woods. Other Grisha was hurrying to the burning gambling hall and Y/N found herself praying to whatever Saint would listen to let them get into the woods.

They were almost there when a carriage stopped in front of them. Panic washed over Y/N for a moment before she saw Jesper in the drivers seat.

"Get in!" he shouted. Kaz threw open the door and dove in, his hand reaching out to yank Y/N in after him. They landed on the floor awkwardly, her on top of him, but she was able to keep herself held up on the seats, keeping her hands to herself so to speak. Kaz sat and then she did as Jesper drove the horses out of the town and into the night.

[ethanesimp]

TORNA DA ME // ONE

Pairing:  Damiano David x Med Student Fem! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, things that would never happen irl

Word Count: 5.1k 

Summary: Y/N’s big decision and how it affects her life.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: I made sure to remove every description that was too specific to the OC (ex. eye color, skin tone, etc.) but please let me know if I missed one. There are some specific things regarding family members that I couldn’t remove without them eventually changing/messing up the plot later on. I’m really sorry about that :(

Previous

-Winter Fourteen-

The New Year was supposed to be all about changing perspectives and clean slates. It was the only time of the year where everyone could try and have a fresh start. Y/N thought of it as bullshit, but for the first time, she was willing to listen and try to have a fresh start herself.

Ever since she could remember, Y/N had spent most of her afternoons at the music conservatory close to her father's workplace, learning everything there was to know about the violin, an instrument her family had played for years. Her mother had started teaching her the basics as soon as she turned two years old. While playing was something she loved and was very good at, no part of Y/N thought of it as the thing she wanted to spend her whole life doing.

She knew all about how her mother had been in different orchestras growing up until she became a soloist, and eventually a famous violinist in her country. Truth be told, it sounded like an amazing thing, but something about following in those footsteps had never felt right.

Y/N never fully understood why until she was introduced to anatomy class during her second year of middle school. She was brilliant at it and loved to hear all about the different functions a human body had and just how much work it took to do even the simplest of tasks. She'd spend all her free time reading more about it in a book she'd convinced her parents into buying or ones she found at the local library. It didn't take long for her to fall in love with it all to the point where, if she wasn't reading, she'd surely be watching videos about it on YouTube.

Then, out of nowhere came the thought that had caused many sleepless nights and confusion to arise. She didn't know when the thought had originated exactly, but it had been roaming her mind for a while... She wanted to get into Med School. The more she found herself thinking and investigating about it, the happier she became with the idea. It didn't help that she'd gotten Medicine as one of her best matches in an aptitude test they'd done for fun during their last day of school before winter break.

Y/N still hadn't told Damiano a thing and she was dreading doing so after the way her parents reacted to the news. He was her best friend though, and she needed a second opinion on the matter. Damiano was the perfect person to give her one because he knew her better than her parents and wasn’t as biased as they were.

That was the only reason why she finally convinced herself to whisk him away from her family's annual New Year's party a few minutes after the clock hit twelve-thirty. He followed Y/N to her room without complaining and sat on her bed quietly as she paced around the room. She needed to find the perfect way to break the news to him in hopes that he wouldn't freak out the way her parents had.

"Damià" She stuttered out after a few minutes of silence, "I have something to tell you but it's kind of important so I need you to be as serious as possible about this as you can."

Once she stopped talking, Y/N saw it all over his face that he was more than ready to make a joke, so she interrupted before he could even open his mouth, "I'm serious, Damiano. One joke and I tell your Nonna what happened to the porcelain vase she bought in Paris during her honeymoon."

"Oh, wow. That serious, huh?" He questioned playfully, but immediately erased the teasing smirk on his face when he saw Y/N shooting daggers right at him. Damiano raised his hands in defeat, "Fine, I'll shut up. Just, please stop walking all over the place. It's making me nauseous."

Damiano gestured at the empty spot beside him. She climbed on the bed and made him sit so they were facing each other. Y/N grabbed one of his hands and toyed around with the ring on his index finger to stop herself from shaking or stuttering much because, even though the stutter had faded as she grew, it still took her a huge effort to string sentences together whenever she was nervous.

"O-Okay, so... I'm most likely leaving the conservatory," She finally confessed, "As you know... I barely have time to even eat after school because I spend most of the afternoon at the conservatory every day. It's taken a huge toll on my grades and I cannot let that happen now that I've started High School."

"Listen I-I've given this a lot of thought, but I'm almost a hundred percent sure that I want to get into Med School. I uh... don't think the violin thing is for me, not anymore at least," Y/N finished.

He stayed silent for a while, not because he was shocked or disappointed. In fact, he kind of saw it coming when she slowly started replacing her music sheets with diagrams and science infographics. Damiano just needed a second to find the right words because, by the way her hand was shaking and her eyes were focused on him, he could tell that his opinion was important to her.

"Se è questo che ti rende felice, penso che sia un'idea eccellente. Hai tutto il mio appoggio amore," He responded simply and gave her hand a firm squeeze of reassurance. (If that's what makes you happy, I think it's an excellent idea. You have all my support love.)

"Sul serio?" She asked. Damiano seemed calm and not shocked at all by her decision. (Seriously?)

He nodded and was about to say something else when she threw herself into his arms unexpectedly. Damiano laughed as he fell back onto the bed. She kissed both his cheeks repeatedly and then his forehead.

Once she stopped kissing his face, Damiano spoke once again, "Of course I'm serious. Not gonna lie, I think I saw it coming a long time ago. You looked happier after your first Anatomy and Physiology class than I've ever seen you after a violin lesson."

Eventually, she rolled off him and just laid in his arms while he rubbed her back, "Have you told your parents yet?" Damiano wondered after a bit of silence.

Y/N sighed but nodded, "Yeah, honestly wish I hadn't said a thing."

"I get they didn't take it too well, did they?" She shrugged and went back to playing with the ring on Damiano's finger.

"I mean, dad didn't say much, you know how he is. Mamá on the other hand freaked out. I swear she almost used her whole repertoire of swear words in Spanish. Said I was throwing my future at the conservatory away to focus on something that I'll probably stop liking once the time comes for me to get into college."

Y/N's mother, an elegant Mexican woman was always the face of serenity. Her eyes were calm and warm, and her smile was always soft. But God protect whoever dared to make her mad. All that kindness easily transformed into hostility. While she'd never dare raise her hand at anyone, much less her daughter, the woman was still sort of terrifying.

"She's probably right, I don't know," Y/N rambled, knowing Damiano wouldn't mind, "I do get terrified every once in a while when I think about the fact that I'll be studying very well into my late twenties, but then I think about all I would be able to learn and all the people I could hopefully help and it seems so worth it."

Damiano nodded along to her words, "I mean yeah. If it's something you love, you won't even notice time passing by. Besides, you're one year ahead so you've got that to your advantage, right? You'd be a year younger than everyone once you finish."

"And if you do end up studying until you're like thirty-three, I'll do everything in my power to help you keep your sanity and make you enjoy your youth," He added with a large grin. Y/N rolled her eyes. It sounded like a joke, but she knew he was telling the truth.

-Spring Seventeen-

It was already a few minutes past four in the afternoon and Y/N was still sitting at her desk as she'd been since very early in the morning. She flipped through one of the many flashcard packets she'd made and repeated all the information out loud to try and memorize as much as she could.

Y/N was about to present what could be a life-changing exam. She had always thought there wasn't such a thing, that her future would never depend on a few sheets of paper, but it turned out that there was.

While she'd allowed others to think she wasn't nervous or dreading it, on the inside Y/N was going insane. She had spent years working towards her dream and the test was the one thing that would make or break all her hard work. It was an absurd thing to place all her worth into one thing, especially when she'd spent so long separating her grades from her self-worth. Yet, it was the very thing she couldn't get out of her head.

Someone knocked on the door softly. Y/N sighed in relief, thankful to get her thoughts interrupted before chaotic scenarios where she failed the test started playing in her head, "Come in."

A few seconds later, a plate of food and a cup of mint tea were placed on her desk. Without looking away from the flashcards, she mumbled, "Thanks mom, but I'm not hungry."

"God, you really are out of it, aren't you?" A voice she knew all too well spoke. She turned around in her chair and almost squealed in excitement when she saw Damiano. Y/N didn't hesitate to jump out of her chair and into his open arms.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her forehead against his. It'd been weeks since they had seen each other after he left on vacation with his family for almost a whole month and seeing him had already lifted her mood and made her forget all about the negative thoughts that clouded her mind just a few minutes earlier.

"I missed you," Y/N told him before placing a quick kiss on his cheek.

Damiano kissed her forehead and smiled, "I missed you too, cara mia," He said and put her back down. A frown appeared on his face the moment he saw the dark circles underneath her eyes. She looked exhausted.

"So, how's studying going?" Y/N shot him a knowing look, fully aware that he'd started to worry. She shrugged her shoulders and sighed before sitting back down and picking up the flashcards from her desk.

She scratched the back of her neck, "It could be uh... going better. I guess?"

"Why don't you try and take a break?" Damiano suggested. He understood better than anyone why she worked so hard, he knew about her constant fear of her efforts not being enough when they mattered most, but even Damiano wasn't blind to the fact that she was starting to overwork herself, which would do her no good.

Y/N shook her head, "I don't need one. I'm doing fine, I promise."

Damiano gave her a pointed look, which she didn't even acknowledge because she was too concentrated on trying to learn the information in front of her. He sighed, knowing it was useless to try and convince her because she was far too stubborn. He took off the boots he'd been wearing and let himself fall on her bed, "Fine then, I'll stay here until you take a break and eat something."

He grabbed the first thing that was at the very top of a small pile of books she kept on the nightstand and almost laughed to himself when he saw it was another Agatha Christie book because he swore those were the only ones she read.

Every once in a while, he'd stop flipping the pages and would glance at her. Y/N found it amusing and just a tad bit endearing that he'd actually spend all afternoon sitting on her bed while flipping through a book he didn't give a shit about if that was what it took to make sure she was fine. She shook her head and bit her lip, then went back to revising the cards.

"Adoro il tuo sorriso," Damiano commented after a few minutes of silence. He could tell Y/N had been holding back a smile while she tried to keep studying and he found it entertaining to tease her just enough to distract her and make her laugh. (I love your smile.)

"Stai zitto," She responded and finally laughed, unable to hold it back, "Mi stai distraendo." (Shut up... you're distracting me.)

"Sei tu quella che mi distrae sempre," He fired back and nudged her shoulder. Her jaw fell wide open and she placed a hand over her heart to feign offense. Damiano rolled his eyes at that and shook his head. (You're the one who always distracts me.)

"That's a dirty lie and you know it, Damià. Now leave, I need to finish studying this section before dinner."

"Oh, c'mon, just a quick break. You've been studying since... when? Like seven in the morning?" Damiano insisted as he sat down on her bed and flipped through the flashcards she'd spent weeks making. They were all color-coded and kept separated in different piles according to the topic.

He tried to read one and smiled when he noticed the small doodles she'd drawn all over them to try and retain the information better. It was a little thing she'd done ever since they were in kindergarten trying to learn numbers, colors, and shapes. He'd taken on the habit himself and would often draw small doodles on pages with song lyrics he'd written.

"You're not going to leave until I listen to you, are you?" Damiano shook his head, which made her sigh, "Fine."

She climbed on the bed and sat down next to Damiano, who looked more than pleased. Y/N rolled her eyes and ate while she listened to him excitedly talk about his vacation and everything he'd done since winter break started. He sounded the most excited about how his band had found a local contest for bands and they were going to participate in it soon.

They were both similar in their level of ambition when it came to making their dreams come true. They worked hard and now both Damiano and Y/N were one step closer to making what they wished for reality. He'd found a band with ideals that matched his, with people he loved and was close to. She'd finally let go of all the doubts that held her back and was going to make the big jump and try to get into one of the best colleges in the city to study Medicine.

It was an exciting yet scary thing, but they knew that no matter what happened, they'd always have their best friend to turn to for love and support. For some strange reason, that seemed to ease them enough to forget about what could go wrong. At least for a while.

"So yeah... Oh! And before I forget, make sure to have tonight free, yeah? We're eating out with the guys," Y/N looked back at her best friend with a slightly annoyed look and was about to open her mouth to complain when he spoke again, "Nope, don't even try to get out of it, I promised. Besides, they miss you."

She rolled her eyes but didn't say a thing because she also missed the three people she'd gotten closer to ever since they started playing with Damiano. Y/N already knew Victoria and Thomas because they were only two years below her in school and one below Damiano. They'd hang out together sometimes and were part of the same circle of friends. While she hadn't met Ethan before, they instantly became good friends thanks to their mutual love for books and similar sense of humor.

"I seriously hate you sometimes," She admitted jokingly, only to receive a cheeky grin in return, "But fine, I miss them too. Could we take a nap before we have to go, though? Honestly, I'm exhausted."

Damiano laughed but nodded nonetheless. He opened his arms and beckoned for her to get closer, "Sure, c'mere."

After placing the dirty dishes on the nightstand, Y/N laid down right next to him, with her head comfortably placed on his chest and his arms wrapped around her waist. With the help of Damiano's soft humming and the warmth of his body against hers, it didn't take long for her to fall asleep. He just stroked her hair and kept humming until he eventually fell asleep too.

-Summer Seventeen-

Damiano dropped the last box of stuff by the living room, where a few more boxes already sat. The place was mostly empty except for the old couch and coffee table that sat in the center of the room. Other than that the apartment was bare.

Even as Y/N stood in the middle of the room and looked around, she still couldn't believe the apartment was her new home... and Damiano's. It was a crazy thing, for two seventeen-year-olds to move out of their homes and into a small apartment in the heart of Rome.

Ever since Damiano had brought up the idea after Y/N's parents had told her to turn down her place and scholarship at the college because it was too far away from their home, they'd had countless fights about the whole thing. Y/N didn't want to burden her best friend with something so big, but he was stubborn and insistent.

 Damiano kept on telling her they both had enough money to cover the rent for at least a year. The owner of the apartment building was a family member of his who had been kind enough to adjust the price to one that was affordable and manageable for them both. Apart from, that, they both had a considerable amount of savings, her from working at a small restaurant throughout High School and him… well, he had never been too specific about how he’d saved enough money for it.

In the end, she agreed, and thankfully so did her parents. Luckily for Y/N, they trusted him much more than they probably should, so when Damiano put the idea on the table during dinner one night, they agreed without much convincing.

"God, this is crazy," Y/N mumbled as she followed Damiano to the small balcony they could access through a sliding door by the kitchen.

They both stood side by side and admired the beautiful view before them. It almost felt like it was all a dream they'd wake up from soon enough, "Tell me about it," Damiano added as he blew out a cloud of smoke from the cigarette he had just lit.

"Thank you," She stuttered out and bit her lip to try and stop herself from crying, "This wouldn't have been possible without you. How can I ever pay you back for this?"

He turned to face her and tilted her chin up with his hand, "You can by going out there and following your dream, pretty girl," Y/N smiled up at him as tears started falling down her face. Damiano wiped them away with his thumb and kissed her nose, "You're brilliant, truly. I've seen how hard you've worked these past few years to get here and I know you'll be an amazing doctor one day. I believe in you just as much as I believe in myself, hell, maybe even more."

She laughed, "Woah, then you do believe in me a lot, don't you?" Damiano rolled his eyes and chuckled before he pulled her into his chest and wrapped one of his arms around her body.

-Present Day: Winter Twenty-

The apartment was unusually quiet when Y/N arrived. She was more than used to the sound of Damiano singing while he cooked breakfast in the kitchen for her and his bandmates who'd surely arrive shortly after her so they could work on songs for a few hours. That morning, however, he was nowhere to be seen. As much as she loved him with her whole heart, it was a relief to have the apartment to herself for once.

While she had planned to go directly to bed and sleep off the stress of her two-hour class, it quickly changed the moment she saw a red envelope mixed in with their mail. The piece of paper inside it was the main reason why she was glad that none of her friends were around like they usually would be.

She'd applied to a program in early October to try and get a scholarship to study in Madrid and complete her first month of hospital rotation there. The chances of it happening were pretty slim so she didn't expect much of it, but even then, she knew that a part of her would've felt ashamed if she had opened the letter while her friends were around only to get her application declined. They were just as anxious as she was to know the final results and she didn't want to let them down.

Right as Y/N had gathered enough courage to break the seal that kept the envelope closed she heard the familiar sound of keys being dumped on the bowl they kept by the door, shortly followed by Victoria's contagious laugh.

Her first instinct was to hide the envelope, but before she could even try, she felt the weight of Victoria's arms around her neck, "Ciao, bella," The blonde smiled and pressed a kiss to Y/N's cheek. (Hi, beautiful.)

Damiano, Thomas, and Ethan greeted her with warm hugs and kisses on the cheek. She felt herself relax when they all sat down in the living room and started talking about plans for their next tour. Phew, she relaxed, no one had noticed the envelope, everything was fi—

"Hey, what've you got there?" Ethan asked as his eyes fell on the envelope. Oh, for fuck's sake.

Y/N diverted her gaze to one of the plants that sat in the corner of the room as she played with the ring on her finger, "Uh... No-Nothing," She smiled nervously and cursed mentally for stuttering because that gave her mediocre attempt at a lie away.

Damiano frowned, "Tutto bene?" He questioned, voice laced with worry. (Everything alright?)

Before she could even come up with a lie convincing enough to get them to relax, Thomas spoke up, "È la lettera sulla cosa di Madrid, vero?" (It’s the letter about the Madrid thing, right?)

She sighed and nodded, "Sì, ma la verità è che non mi aspetto molto. È molto difficile essere selezionati per questo e io—." (Yes but the truth is that I don't expect much. It's very difficult to be selected for this and I-)

"Dai, Y/N! Sei una ragazza molto intelligente. Sono sicuro che la risposta nella lettera è sì. Se no, sono un mucchio di idioti per non aver realizzato il tuo talento," Ethan reassured while the other three nodded in agreement. They all believed in her far too much and she was sure they'd all be disappointed if the answer was a no. (C'mon, Y/N! You're a very smart girl. I'm sure the answer in the letter is yes. If not, they are a bunch of idiots for not realizing your talent.)

Still, she brushed off all the insecurities and sat down in between Damiano and Victoria, who had scooted over to let her sit. Y/N broke the seal but hesitated to open it. She looked at Damiano and Ethan for reassurance, both nodded.

"Okay, shit. Here we go," She mumbled and took out the thick paper from the envelope. Her hands were shaking as she tried to unfold it.

Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a split second before she started reading the contents out loud, skipping the first few sentences of greetings, "Miss Y/L/N, we regret to inform you that all the vacant spots for the UoM Program for Medicine have already been filled..." The last few words died down in her throat as disappointment started to sink in.

She was about to place the letter back in the envelope when Victoria stopped her, "Wait, wait. N/N, keep reading."

When she didn't, Damiano gently grabbed the letter from her hands and cleared his throat before he started reading from where she'd left off, "However, after carefully looking at your résumé and evaluating your application, we are pleased to inform you that you qualify for the Martin Scholarship for Medicine. If you decide to accept, it gives you the opportunity of studying at the University of Madrid for six months to complete your first semester of hospital rotations in the areas of Gynecology, Obstetrics, and Pediatrics with the same terms as the UoM Program..."

Silence fell upon the group as they all tried to process what Damiano had just read. Y/N's body had gone stiff after taking the letter back and reading over the thing once again. It took a while for realization to hit, and when it finally did, it felt as if all the blood had rushed out of her body.

Ethan was the first one to react. He jumped out of where he was sitting on the couch and pushed Victoria out of the way to wrap his arms around Y/N, "Complimenti per la borsa di studio, piccolina. Sono così felice per te." (Congratulations on the scholarship, little one. I'm so happy for you.)

His sweet words and warm embrace were enough to snap her out of the shocked state she was in. Y/N didn't even notice she had started crying until Victoria wiped her tears away. It felt as if a bucket of freezing water had just been dropped over her head. There was just no way she had just gotten accepted for a scholarship that just happened to be better than the one she had signed up for initially. God, her parents would flip out.

She sat there for several minutes with Ethan, Victoria, and Thomas all huddled together in a little ball as they hugged. Meanwhile, Damiano stayed on the same spot, still unable to move from the shock.

Once they all took notice of Damiano's state, Victoria cleared her throat. She nudged Ethan and Thomas on the ribs not-so-subtly and stood up, "I have to go to my dad's and pick up some furniture for my apartment and the guys are gonna help me. Isn't that right, Ethan?"

Ethan looked at Victoria with a frown on his face, but her deadly stare was enough for him to nod, "Right, of course. We'll see you two later."

"Congrats again, amore," Thomas mumbled and gave her one last kiss on the cheek before the three of them walked out of the apartment, leaving Damiano and Y/N alone.

After minutes of awkward silence and Damiano looking like he'd seen a ghost, Y/N spoke up to try and dissipate the tension, "You look more surprised than I do Dami."

He blinked a few times before wiping his teary eyes and looked back at his best friend, "Sorry, sorry. It just took me a bit off-guard. I mean, six months. That's... that's—"

"A long time," Y/N interrupted and Damiamo could only nod, "I was honestly not expecting this one bit either. I doubted I was good enough to study there for a month, imagine half a year."

"Are you sure it isn't a mistake? They probably got your application mixed up with someone else's." Damiano asked with a huge smile on his face, which made Y/N burst out laughing.

"Sei un stronzo," She chuckled and shoved him jokingly. Just as she was about to say something, one of their four cats jumped into Y/N's lap and cuddled into her arm. (You're an asshole.)

She smiled down at the little dark-brown cat she'd rescued from the streets just a few weeks back and softly stroked its small head, "I'm going to miss my little babies more than I'll miss you. You can go fuck yourself."

Damiano rolled his eyes and laughed, "You're adorable," Then he asked the dreaded question, "When are you supposed to leave?"

"I don't know if I'm actually going to accept, to be honest. My parents still don't know and I'm pretty sure you remember how they reacted when I showed them my acceptance letter last time. If it wasn't for you, they would've made me turn it down and this time around, I'm pretty sure you cannot move all the way to Madrid with me even if we both wanted to," She added the last part with a chuckle to try and make it look like she wasn't too worried about her parents and the way they'd react.

He sighed and placed one of his hands on her thigh reassuringly, "You know I love your parents, but honestly, fuck what they think. You have to accept this offer, the chances of something like this happening again are incredibly slim. Besides, they need to stop reflecting their dreams and failures onto you and just let you do what you love. You don't even need their money for this, it's a full ride, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I mean if they're the same terms as the UoM program they pay for everything except for my meals, but I'm sure I have enough money to cover those. But what about the apartment, Damiano? I mean, I can still deposit money to your account to pay my part and—."

"Don't even start stressing about that right now. You just achieved something amazing, why don't you let yourself enjoy it for a while? Let's go celebrate and afterward I'll take you to your parents' place and we can tell them about this together, okay?" She nodded and smiled gratefully at her best friend. Y/N didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around his neck and let herself relax for a little while.

[ask-rp-devra]

The night was short, the pair were able to sleep a good 8 hours before getting ready the next morning to set off towards the train station. The pair decided to come back through to pick up the Pokemon to bring back to the island before heading home, but for now they could stay behind with Devra’s mom, just for a little while longer. The only team members that went with them were coal, the little hybrid houndoomxarcanine pup, and Aliza, who had taken a shine to the ponyta gifted to Peach, they seemed to play well together, even Dreepy liked her. With bags gathered, goodbyes said, and tickets bought, the pair stepped onto the train, waving off Olivia who came to see her daughter go, and off they went, towards the new Galarian island, the Crown Tundra.

Devra settled into her seat, waving goodbye to her mom as Coal jumped up in the seat next to her. He was small enough to be on the train, but Aliza had to stay in her pokeball for the time being. She looked over at her friend and smiled. “I hope you slept alright. I always thought the guest room bed was too hard.”

“‘you saw me right? I was asleep in an aeroplane chair sitting up right, the bed was just fine. Much better than most of the places I sleep while away from the lab.” She recalled a few occasions being able to just about catch an hours rest while being trapped in a tree by aggressive Pokemon. “it was a warm, dry bed, with actual sheets and a roof over me haha. It was great.” She mindlessly petted Val, ordering a good coffee off the trolley that passed by, a sweet little wigglytuff in the train companies uniform asking for payment. She got her wallet out...or so she thought? Her hand reached into her bag, and hit something very cold and very smooth, reeling from the weird texture. Val sniggered to herself, shifting to the empty seat the bag sat on, to peer inside.

“I think we have a stow away.” Peach murmured, carefully opening the bag much wider than needed to get a good look. “‘Dreepy?” Inside was the little ghost type, she swore while waving to Devra’s mother at the station when they left, she had also spotted this Pokemon amongst others that had come to see the trainers off. He was wrapped up in one of Peach’s shirts, and seemed a little nervous about being caught in her stuff.

Devra looked over at Peach from her camera, having been looking th right some pictures. “Dreepy? He’s here? But I saw him with my mom. Here, I took a picture of the group when we left.” She held the camera so they could both look. “Oh....well. I thought he was in the picture.” She looked at the little Pokémon and sighed. “I guess he really wanted to come with you.”

“well, it’s fine with me, if he wants to come then I guess we’ve got a new team member.” She smiled a little at the Pokemon and let him and Val go and pick some snacks off the trolley before paying. She gave eyes at her steadfast fire type while Dreepy’s back was turned, asking without words for her to tone her usual disinterest down by like 20%, and she began chattering to the ghost Pokemon as she selected a strawberry filled dumpling thing in a wrapper. With the stern silence broken between the two, peach could relax a little, perhaps they two would be fine together for the trip.

“You’re right though, I swear I saw him on the platform too.” She glanced at the screen on the camera, seeing no signs of him. “‘how strange. You’re faster than you look hey bud?” Dreepy seemed quite proud of the compliment, and finally chose a chocolate-orange flavoured pastry twist before returning to the open bag to snack. “I’m buying, you and your team want anything?”

Devra nodded to Coal, who bounced over and happily started sniffing around until he found a pumpkin muffin. She then grabbed an apple cake and raspberry pastry for her other two team members before sitting back down. “I don’t need anything. Mom made sure I left full.” She laughed and opened Coal’s treat for him. “Tell Peach thank you young man.” The little pup barked happily as me bounced over to her for pets.

“she’s a good mom that one, I bet she’d enjoy a little holiday in johto, lots to see, I can hook you both up with some fun things to do for sure.” There was plenty of art galleries, heritage sites, and excellent restaurants throughout the region, not to mention live music, public gardens of great beauty, and a butt load of areas to sightsee in. Peach paid up and petted Coal, she was very glad to see him in capable hands, he took to Devra like a Ducklett to water, and she was confident he’d grow fast now he was out exploring with her. The Dreepy seemed to peep its eyes out at the hybrid Pokemon, still nibbling away on its snack.

Coal bounced back up next to Devra and started to munch on his treat. “I’m sure she’ll love the trip.” She looked out the window, watching the countryside roll by. “What’s the first thing you want to do once we get to the tundra?”

The professor sipped her hot drink, also enjoying the windows view. “hm, that’s a good question. I suppose I’d really like to find a place to stay, I’d normally not mind camping but I see the name ‘Crown TUNDRA’ and feel like I wouldn’t want to stay over night outside as much. What about you? You’ll be knees deep in herd Pokemon in no time I bet, anything else you’d want to check out?” The little Dreepy had snuck closer to the window to look out, still nibbling.

“Well, there is this big ruin building with a massive old dead tree that’s I’d love to see. But it’s at the top of one of the mountains here. So it might be tricky getting to.” She mindlessly pet Coal as she slowly started seeing snow. “And I think there’s a small town that we could ask about lodging at. Day trips to the tundra and back by dark?”

“‘oh I do love a tree, that sounds interesting, you could always try to find a Pokemon who could get you up that mountain a bit easier?” Peach had planned to do just that, the cold sneaking in, she could feel her bad knee aching ever so slightly already, and almost exactly after that thought crossed her mind, Val crept over to radiate heat, sitting in her lap, easing the dull pain.

“perhaps we can camp out some of the time, it’d be nice to see what happens at night, what Pokemon come out, just perhaps not in any heavy weather if it can be avoided. I did take a look online, the village there is usually pretty open to travellers, think I noticed a B&B or two with vacancies posted, I’m sure we’ll find somewhere to stay.” By this point, the views had turned pure white, in the fields you could see grazing Pokemon, a herd of wooloo who almost blending in with the surroundings.

Devra spotter the wooloo right away, fawning over one of her favorite Pokémon. Coal picked up on his trainer’s excitement, his tail wagging happily as she told him what snow was like. “Oh I can’t wait to see Aliza’s face when she sees her first snow!”

“thats right, she’s not even seen a December yet, or a snowy route. Good thing you got your camera then isn’t it, I’m sure mom and pop would like to see her first experience with it, you know Cole hasn’t seen snow either before. Bet he’s real excited about now.” The pup must have felt something, seeing all this white for the first time. “‘what about you Dreepy, you seen snow before?” The little ghost type looked back, didn’t turn its body at all, but bent it’s neck fully back to look at the Professor upside down, giving no clear answer, which to her seemed like a big fat no, but perhaps he was a little shy about answering right away. “no matter, we’ll soon be in the thick of it.”

She giggled at the sight of the little dreepy. “He’s seen some light snow before. I caught him in the wild area. The weather there is always so weird. But he hasn’t seen this much before. This is going to be a big busy day.” She snapped a quiet picture of dreepy being cute, then one of Coal barking at the snow through the window.

The train began to turn a final corner, the tannoy alerting passengers to the upcoming station, the only stop on the journey coming up very soon.

“looks like we’re nearly there, ready to get going?” The trip had been only short, but outside it looked like a completely different region, so much snow and ice everywhere, nothing but pine trees. The woman grabbed her bags, not before waiting for the little Dreepy to return to the inside where it wrapped up in the spare clothes to keep warm. Val took to her shoulder as she usually did.

Devra nodded, standing up to gather her things. She then picked up Coal, holding his stout body in her arms to keep him from running of into the snow. “We’re ready. I’m so excited to see this area. I’ve read about it but they took forever to get it safe enough for more visitors.”

Safe enough wasn’t always entirely foolproof, and Peach was quietly happy she packed a first aid kit. She had heard some murmurs it was a little risky here, a lot of tough Pokemon roamed about.

“I hope you’re right, I’m sure the locals wouldn’t put people at risk.” The pair stepped off the train once the doors pinged open, the brisk cold air swept past, pulling them all out onto the platform. People came and went, and before long they became aware of the exits and where to head to next.

Devra took a slight lead of the two, following signs towards the little town. “Well, they did give all of us coming here a safety talk too. I just hope trainers actually listen. You gotta be smart about this place.” She then set Coal down and let the little guy run circles around the two humans. “I think I’ll wait to let Aliza our until we’re settled.”

With the pup thoroughly enjoying the snow, the trainers paused to check their phones, a map was needed for a moment, before they began to hear some loud ruckus just outside to the right of the station, sounded like a man and a young woman, peach didn’t even register it much, turning her back to the noise almost instinctually, trying to figure out which way to go. Val however was being nosey and sat on her shoulder judging the people making all the noise pretty hard from the look on her face.

“I think you’re right, we should find somewhere to stay before we really go out on a wild adventure.”

She nodded, looking at her own map on her Rotom phone, thanking the Pokémon inside for his help. “It looks like we head on that way.” She pointed to the road as it took a slight left turn. “Shouldn’t be more than a 20 minute walk.”

“‘sounds good to me, wonder what Pokemon we might see on the way?” Pocketing the phone and hoisting her bag up a bit, Peach began to take a few steps, noticing the pair who were making such noise earlier, avoiding them entirely, they seemed to be having a dad-daughter tiff that was no ones business. Onward, to the first route of the Crown Tundra!

Devra took a glance at the arguing people and sighed, hoping the wouldn’t bother her or the Professor. Coal bounded ahead as they walked, but kept in his trainer’s sight. “It’s really pretty here. Just look at all the ice on these pine needles!” She crunched her way to a tree and found an angle to catch light in the ice.

[hes-writer]

If I Could Fly

Summary: y/n wants harry to come home

Warnings: angst and a bit of fluff

Word Count: 3522 words

Based on: Harry being really busy all of the time, like hardly coming home or spending time with the reader and one night the reader is at home listening to ‘If I Could Fly’ and she’s just wishing the words he sang in the song were true 

____

“I can’t believe you’re leaving before you even get here,” Y/N remarked, a hint of dismay enveloping her voice at Harry’s statement. Her fingers gripped the phone tightly, almost as if the device was the only connection between her and Harry.

He was miles and miles away from her, somewhere where the sun rose while the moon adamantly plastered itself on the night sky where she was. She wished countless times that maybe one day he would surprise her by coming home unexpectedly, his arms in an open gesture, bags laying heavy on his feet beside his worn Vans with the brightest smile on his face. His clothes would reek of the airport and travelling and his tired face drooping where the eyebags lay underneath his lashes. Harry would release a quiet breath of relief when his girlfriend trudged down the stairs with the same loving arms that he comes home to every time he returns, legs peeking out from an oversized hoodie that he left for her and an equally happy yet worn-out face that would glimmer once she saw him. 

But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, and it hasn’t happened in months.

“I just need some time alone, Y/N,” He replied with a soft tone, fatigue was taking over his every limb and was seeping his throat. The thought of passing out in a dreamless sleep in his plush hotel bed was too tempting. “Please understand,”

“I do understand that you need time alone. But I don’t get how you can go so long without seeing me,” She dug her fingertips into her bare thighs, limbs folded beneath their shared bed. The lamp on her bedside table was switched on to dimly cover the room in an orange-yellow hue. She eyed the shadows on the wall with a sad stare, chest slowly deflating at the thought that maybe he didn’t miss her at all. 

Harry sighed through the speakers, his lashes weighing heavy on his lids as another wave of tiredness washed over him. “I do miss you and I do want to see you,”

“Then why don’t you?”

Harry’s first world tour was a global success. Millions of his fans saw him from all around the world and it made Y/N very proud of him. The endless joy and happiness he brought to peoples’ faces made her admire his caring nature more and more each day. Sometimes she felt as though their relationship was in the back burner of his mind, but he proved time and time again that that wasn’t the case. Until now, that is. 

His tour had ended in September. Usually, he would be on the first plane back home to celebrate his achievements with Y/N, but work commitments smothered him and he never got the chance to visit her. And she did try her best to take time off work, but her studies didn’t agree with what she wanted. School was becoming increasingly difficult with the upper-division requirements being thrown at her, to be finished in the four-year timeframe it took to finish her degree. Y/N just couldn’t find the time to drop everything and spend a few days in a rented hotel just to see him--no matter how much she wanted to. 

Y/N thought to herself that she could handle a few more weeks without Harry, choosing to focus on essays and research papers that needed to be read and written. However, a few weeks turned into months, and soon the holidays passed by without as much as a glimpse of his face showering her. She didn’t want to throw him under the bus, but it was clear that Harry didn’t bear the same weight as she did. His excuses built every time they shared a call, the disconnection between them was obvious in the sense that their calls lasted only a few minutes--nothing like the hours they shared, drunk on wine, talking about anything and everything. 

The couple didn’t spend the holidays together as Harry was stuck, unable to find a flight back home and Y/N forgave him because it wasn't like he promised to spend it with her. It was okay until she caught the pictures swirling on social media. A massive grin plastered on his face as he partied on a yacht with Kendall--- a slap to the face, a shot of reality. Whatever it was, it broke Y/N down on Christmas day where she walked down the living room alone. The Christmas decorations mocking her lonely festivity, the tree decored with red and green ornaments and presents stuffed at the base. All invitations to spend the day were rejected in favour of spending it with Harry, hopelessly hoping that he would open the door with an apologetic face and a present in his hand. She was stupid to even let her fantasies take over reality. 

“Y/N,” Harry’s gruff remark of her name brought her back to the present. “I’m heading to bed now,”

“O-okay,” She stuttered out a response, not having much in her to argue more about why* they needed to see each other. “I love you,”

“Love ya’too,” The ringer clicked shut, signifying that he had hung up. The receiver emitted a dull tone as Y/N took the time to press the end button on her screen. 

______

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to play a playlist full of sad songs but Y/N was way past questioning her decisions when she was drunk on white wine and sadness. The dejection that floated in her lungs made it difficult to breathe--or maybe it was the heaving sobs she was about to release when the first few piano keys of If I Could Fly reverberated in the cold bedroom. The vinyl player that Y/N bought Harry added a sense of nostalgia to the record spinning continuously. A symbolism that Y/N couldn’t move on from ever-changing times and wavering discomfort that the world threw at her. She wasn’t able to adapt to his needs of having time for himself. At the same time, she wondered if he understood her apprehension--if her sense of abandonment was discernible in the way she practically begged him to come home. 

If I could fly, I'd be coming right back home to you I think I might give up everything, just ask me to

It hurt more to recall that Harry had written this song for her as a way to commemorate the same despondency he felt while he was away. The relentless urgency to drop everything and come home to her used to be something that laid all cards on the table and left no questions to be asked. Their actions were enough to show much they truly loved each other.  

Pay attention, I hope that you listen 'cause I let my guard down

Right now I'm completely defenceless

And when they were smothered with each other scents, legs tangling underneath the sheets as his strong arms wrapped around her waist like a taut bowtie did they see each other at their most vulnerable. It seemed as though Harry was drained from everything, having given his all to the fans, his everything to the ever-prying lenses of the media. His whole being to be extracted by questions and criticisms yet nothing could refill the void in his chest like Y/N did. Her love was powerful enough to have him addicted to the feeling. 

For your eyes only, I'll show you my heart

For when you're lonely and forget who you are

She reminisced their conversation on the blank wall in front of her, the flute of wine held by her unsteady fingers as she gulped another swallow of the burning liquid. The feeling of Harry’s soft palms draped over the expanse of her eyes, covering her sight even more so than her closed lids. His excited giggles tickling her ears as he directed her body in front of his, encouraging her to walk wherever he needed her to be. 

I'm missing half of me when we're apart

Now you know me, for your eyes only

Y/N could remember his words clearly; how he confessed his deepest desires for a love that only she could give, how he uttered the three words she longed to hear ever since she watched him flip a pancake on the pan, chin jutting over his shoulder when he heard a soft giggle after seeing the pancake fold on itself in a failed execution. He didn’t know who he was without her by his side, a piece of him seemingly swimming in a sea of the unknown when he failed to hear her voice on the daily. 

I've got scars even though they can't always be seen

And pain gets hard, but now you're here and I don't feel a thing

And when he opened up to her for the first time; about his past and the pain, he endured with previous relationships that left him with nothing but a reminder that most people only liked him because he was Harry Styles. Handsome, rich and a branch of connections; a mere business transaction to be stepped on to move up in the industry. 

I can feel your heart inside of mine, I feel it

I've been going out of my mind, I feel it

His hand grabbed her dainty wrists, lips puckering to press a gentle kiss at the crown of her head. Their chests faced against each other, his head ducking down to meet her eyes as he continued to place the flat of her hand against where hist heart lay. The hammering of his heart felt as though it would beat right out of his chest and Harry wondered if she could feel it through his thick skin, the layers of vulnerability being peeled back in a moment of openness and complete trust between the two of them. Y/N looked up at him with a confused face, brows quirking in a silent question until she felt it--the dull throb of his heart against her palm. 

You’ve got my heart in the palm of your hand, he admitted. 

Know that I'm just wasting time

And I hope that you don't run from me

The music drifted to silent background noise, Harry’s voice coming stronger with more emphasis on the words that meant the most to him. Y/N’s heart clenched; how could she run away when all she thought about was him? When all she needed was his figure beside her, warming her up when the morning breeze developed goosebumps on her skin? She thought about the times she relied heavily on him that her happiness didn’t exist without him; what a sad conclusion to her dumpster day. She didn’t want to flounder her brain with doubts, not when she could call Harry and get a direct answer from the source. 

Y/N shakily dialled his number, thumb drifting past the screen to see his profile pop up right before the keypad signalled that it was ringing.

And it rang until she got sent to voicemail. She tried again, hoping that he was too far away to hear the ringing of his phone and that he would answer soon before she deteriorated in on herself from overwhelming emotions of missing him and ruminating what this meant for their relationship. 

The dial tone screeched her ears, making Y/N want to throw the device across the room in frustration. Beep.

_____

Harry rested in his bed for the next few weeks, dizziness dissolving into thin air once his bum hit the soft mattress, instantly relaxing his tense muscles from the activities of the day. His face mask lay folded on the nightstand, his pink beanie crumpled from being stuffed in his coat pocket. He sighed softly as he was met with silence; the city was sleeping, the roads were empty with an odd couple of cars. The only thing running was his mind taking him to his last conversation with Y/N--the irritation they held for each other coupled with fatigue surely wasn’t the way he preferred to have ended the call before he left for Japan.

He wanted complete isolation from the outside world--as outside as it gets. No phones, no social media, no paparazzi following him to and fro his dinner to a restaurant. Living as a normal person even if it was only temporary. 

Still, he couldn’t help but eye his phone planted screen-down on the table. The lifeless device seeming odd when it wasn’t buzzing incessantly. 

“Fuck it,” Harry muttered, reaching over to press the power button for a few seconds, watching a bitten apple appear on the dark screen. “Come on,”

His breath got caught in his throat when his lock screen popped up; a picture of Y/N and him in their backyard. His face was scrunched in a smile while her pink lips pressed a chaste kiss on his skin, her hands squishing his cheeks as he jokingly tried to getaway. His arm was outstretched in a selfie pose, ending in teasing jokes about Harry’s inability to take such photos on his own. The phone buzzed in his hand, the tag of missed calls making Harry sit up straighter on the bed, followed by a line of “Voicemail(s)”.

Harry used his fingerprint to unlock the device, clicking on the green phone app to check out his messages. He rolled his eyes slightly at the automated machine instructing him to press whatever buttons until the keypad appeared and a message from Y/N started playing. 

“Why won’t you come home?” She wailed through the receiver, stuttered breaths muffling her words but still discernible. “Why won’t you come home to me, Harry?”

He clicked on the volume button, increasing the painful cries that Y/N released. The shakiness of her voice caused a chill to crawl up his spine; he couldn’t believe that she even thought of saying that to him. Of course, he wanted to come to see her. 

But not right now. 

“Don’t you want to come home anymore?” 

She sniffled a bit, ceasing her dry sobs as she tried to control her breaths. In the background, he could hear the piano chords of a special song that made the ache in his chest much more prominent. 

“I understand. I get it,” Her quiet confession caused him to strain his ears further, almost too quiet to hear. “But I miss you and it hurts,’

“It hurts too much and I’m not sure if I can take much more,” The pain in her voice was too much to bear for Harry, “I haven’t seen you in so long. It’s all my fault,”

Harry shook his head, curls catching his temples as he desperately tried to deny her words as if it would do anything. “No, no it’s not, Y/N”

“I should’ve flown out to see you. I should’ve tried harder to understand. I should’ve been more prepa--,” Beep.

He hurriedly tapped on the next message, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He had barely unpacked his items, his toiletries scattered in the bathroom but everything else was otherwise intact. 

“Remember this song?” 

He nodded, hearing the melody in the background. 

“Do you s-still feel the same?”

Harry nodded once again, cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder. His large hand shoved his electric toothbrush and toothpaste in his toiletries bag. He sheathed his head in the pink beanie, face mask elastically going around his head. He slipped on some socks and his black Vans. He made a quick conversation with his friend who had generously let him stay in his home, for the time being, informing him that he would be leaving earlier than planned. 

The ride from the house to the airport seemed like the slowest time he had ever experienced, his body itching to hold Y/N’s frail and pliant body in his arms. The taxicab made great headway for him to book the next flight home, his small amount of baggage making it easier to go through security and the checkpoint. He felt a couple of stares on him as he sat near the boarding gate, but the people kept a respectful distance from him, giving him shy smiles and timid waves to which he returned despite the turmoil in his heart building with each passing second that he spent away from Y/N, 

The next announcement informed him that his flight would be boarding soon, making him stand up and stretch his limbs, passport and boarding pass on hand for a breezy exchange. He walked the tunnel with a heavy heart, his duffel bag feeling denser on his shoulder. Harry greeted the flight attendant with a small smile before plopping on his designated seat. He sighed heavily watching the runway blink with various lights. 

His mind was dizzy with words to say to Y/N when he came home but he knew that there was only one thing that Y/N wanted; honesty. 

_____

His driver welcomed him with a polite nod and tired smile, the early hours of the morning paired with the unforeseen circumstance causing a pang of slight guilt on Harry’s part but he couldn’t quite focus on that when he was practically the closest he had ever been to Y/N for the first time in months. His jaw twitched as he refrained from clenching it at the thought. 

The car slowed down to a stop, his thoughts distracting him from the drive to the airport and to his home. “Thank you, James,”

The man nodded in appreciation, “Welcome home, sir. Been a long time, huh?”

Harry felt his eyes gloss over at the emphasis, “Yeah,”

He exited the vehicle, breathing in deeply as he took in the sight of his home where Y/N would be. His feet couldn’t take him to the door fast enough, tripping over the gravel a few times before eventually reaching the front door. 

The house was eerily silent, a blanket of coldness lapping at him when it would usually scorch him with comforting warmth and the scent of vanilla cookies. He toed off his sneakers, curling his toes from being confined for hours. He ascended their staircase where their bedroom was, noting the way the Christmas tree was still up, yet the presents remained unopened.

“Y/N?” He whispered, his timbre hesitant yet excited with building anticipation of seeing his love for the first time in quite some time. He found her curled up in their bed, dressed in his frequently worn ‘donuts’ hoodie, her feet clad in his black Nike socks. Y/N even had one of his basketball shorts draped over her waist, his red patterned bandana clutched between her small hands. 

Her cheeks were pink with dry tears staining the skin, lashes curled with exhaustion. Harry mirrored the frown on her lips, the crease between her brows deepening until her mouth choked on a sob. She was crying in her sleep. 

He dropped his bag softly on the ground, slippery socks causing him to fall by her side, barely catching his weight before it crushed her and jerked her awake. Tears cascaded from her closed lids, silently muttering his name.

“Shhh, I’m here,” He caressed her hair, pressing kisses on her temple. He laid against the headboard, pulling her pliant body closer until her head met his chest. “Don’t cry. ‘M home,”

Her chest rattled with a breath, lurching her body awake. She awoke with a gasp, frantically looking around to take in her surroundings, realizing that she was still where she drifted off last night. 

“Hey,” Harry quipped, watching Y/N with glazed eyes, catching salty liquid on his waterline.

Her head snapped upwards, seeing Harry’s face staring down at her. Y/N opened her mouth to speak but no words escaped. She fought against his grip, almost melting at his arms wrapped around her body. Her knees straddled his waist, burying her face against the junction of his neck and shoulder, smearing the skin with wet tears. Her hands enclosed his thin waist into a compact hug, pulling him as close as he could go to hers. She was afraid that he might disappear if she let go.

“You’re here,” Y/N sobbed, hauling back to press her palms against his wet cheeks, green eyes gazing back at her. “You’re home. With me,”

She leaned in for a heated kiss, whimpering at the touch of his soft lips on hers. Their mouths moulding in a searing act of love that relieved both of their chests in silent agreement that they were okay. 

Harry pulled away, knocking his head gently against the towering headboard, his breathing heavily from the passionate kiss, “I’m here. I’m home. With you,” 

________

Permanent Taglist: @fangirl-moment-x @kissme-hs @agoddamnmango @harrys-kingdom @harrysstyleseyes @calums-sugarbaby @queenbeestuffs @ashkuuuu @kettxo @send-me-styles @littledreamybeth @trustfulhaz @harrysfeastedflower @harrystxleslx @befourep @moonandstars-xo @babebenhardy @particularnarry @mendesromano @harrystylinsince1994 @juliassgem @miscll-fangirl @little-dragon-ate-my-heart @myfangirlworld @haroldssfedora @winchesterwife27 @w0wfxck @arypesanchez @harriemelonsugar @someinsanefangirl @derangedcupcake @bobo-bush @peachesaquari @shawnsnovel @ivegotparticulartaste @adore-you-hs2 @combativehood @simonsbluee @hockeyschmockey​ @belovedcherry​ @harrysahottie @adore-you-hs2 @splendidsunsetsx @turtoix @la-cey

[wayward-dreamer]

Life’s Lessons - Part 1

Title: Life’s Lessons - A Lesson in Settling In

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Female!Teacher!Reader (eventual)

Word Count: 3,362

Part Summary: Y/N settles into her new house, in a new town. Right off the bat, she meets her gorgeous neighbor, finding an instant connection with him. As she goes to work on Monday, she starts to think that she could get used to Lawrence, Kansas.

Warnings: some swearing, first day of work nerves, Dean being cute (yes, that’s a warning lol)

Music: Lookin’ Out My Back Door, I Heard It Through the Grapevine by Creedence Clearwater Revival (Setting up the house scene).

A/N: The first part is here! I’m so excited for you all to read it! Please let me know what you think, I can’t wait to hear your thoughts and feedback! P.S. I have a full playlist for this series coming soon, just finalising some selections! Happy reading and I hope you guys like it! :)

Dividers by the wonderful @firefly-graphics​! Check her out for all your AU needs!!! 

Y/N leaned against her car, a content smile on her face as she looked up at the house that she was about to call her new home.

The house was clean white, with a grey tiled roof. White wood railings encased the front porch, that had a porch swing in front of one of the windows. The front yard was freshly mowed, with the flower beds on either side of the porch steps. It was a modest, two-bedroom house, with not a whole lot of backyard space, but it was the most rent she could afford with her previous salary. It didn’t matter though; you could make a house a home no matter how big or small it was. Her job as a teacher wasn’t just rewarding when the kids did well, but it was able to put a roof over her head, and that was all she could ask for.

Y/N started with her bags before she opened the large U-Haul trailer attached to her car, and started taking out the boxes. It had been a long journey from Rhinebeck, New York, stopping off overnight in Ohio and then Missouri, but she made it to Lawrence, Kansas that morning, giving her enough time to start unloading her things. Considering it was just her, she knew it was going to take some time, but she was hoping to finish by lunch time so she could explore the town a little.

Luckily for her, complicated things to move like a couch and a bed, weren’t things that she had brought with her. Those things were reminders of what she had done on them with her ex-boyfriend and the last thing she needed in her new house were memories of him. He was the reason she had searched for teaching jobs outside of New York, and luckily, she got the furthest one. She missed her family already, but she needed to get as far away from the memories of him as possible.

Moving her bags and the boxes from the trailer had been the easiest part. It was moving the furniture – dining table and chairs, armchairs, record player, coffee table and two bookshelves – that was going to be the hard task on her own. She started with what she could do on her own, moving all the dining chairs into the house. When she got back to the trailer, she sighed heavily. There were too many things to move.

Y/N stepped into the trailer and started to shift one of the armchairs but growled in frustration as it got stuck on the edge. She couldn’t get the right hold on it to get it off the edge, her legs shaking as she tried to keep it steady.

“Whoa, hey. Let me help you with that” a male voice said behind her. She didn’t turn to see him yet, but watched as he grabbed the other end of the armchair and helped her put it down on the pavement.

“Thanks” she smiled, relieved.

“No problem” he said as he turned to face her.

She almost wished he hadn’t because now her legs were shaking more than they were when she couldn’t hold the damn chair. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, handsome but incredibly hot at the same time. The black and white plaid shirt he was wearing was tight across his arms, and she couldn’t help but get lost in his gorgeous green eyes and sinfully pouty lips.

She smiled politely, keeping the thoughts she was having suddenly, at bay. “No, really, thanks so much. I probably would’ve ended up trapped under this chair if you hadn’t stepped in.”

He laughed, laughter lines appearing near his mouth and crinkles around his eyes. “Well, I would’ve hated to see that happen.”

She smiled, not knowing what else to say to him. This was the first time she had ever been this flustered with a man. The sound of his laugh and the way those lines appeared around the creases of his eyes made her heart flutter.

“Can I help you with rest? I mean, I gotta get to work but I can be a little late” he asked, as he looked between the chair and the rest of her stuff.

She looked at the rest of the things and frowned. “You sure? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I’m positive. Helps to be the boss, so…” he smirked, as he shrugged.

She nodded, impressed. “What do you do?”

“I’m a mechanic, I own the auto shop on Main street. Winchester’s. I’m Dean, by the way” he said, as he offered his hand.

She took his hand in hers and tried to ignore the spark she felt radiate through her when their skin touched. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Good to meet ya, Y/N” he smiled.

When she smiled in return, Dean was completely floored by her. She was beautiful; dressed in loose boyfriend jeans, a white t-shirt, red converse sneakers and a red bandana around her head with her hair in a messy bun. She really had the girl next door vibe going on. That was dangerous with the situation he was in, so he had to tread lightly. When he saw her from across the street, he was reluctant to help because one look at her, even from a distance and he knew he was in trouble. His mother raised him to be a gentleman though, so he couldn’t hesitate to help a person in need.

With Dean’s help, moving the furniture she did have into the house only took about 20 minutes. She was incredibly thankful for him helping and hoped that it wouldn’t have been too forward to ask if he wanted to grab dinner with her, that night. She straightened out the medium sized, round dining table and chairs with Dean, and sighed in relief once it was done. Her furniture was now in place in all the appropriate rooms. She had to unpack now, which was almost harder than this, but at least she could take her time with it.

Dean looked around her house and nodded, noticing how many boxes had “BOOKS” written on them in black marker. He had only been in this house twice, when the previous owners still lived there before they moved to be closer to their children.

“Big reader?” he gestured towards the boxes.

“Definitely, but I’m a teacher too, so it’s an abundance of books” she laughed, as she looked at them. “It’s a little ridiculous, really.”

Dean laughed quietly to himself, trying to get the teacher fantasies out of his head. She really had to be a teacher.

“Well, I should head out” he said, as he made his way to the door.

She followed behind him and leaned against the doorway. “Thanks for the chivalry.”

“You’re welcome. I guess it’s not dead, after all” he smirked.

She laughed; it felt like the millionth time in the last 20 minutes. He was carefree and had made the tedious process so much easier with his humour.

“I’ll see ya around, Y/N” Dean said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned away from her.

“Thanks again” she called out.

Dean walked down the porch steps and turned back. He gave her wink before he walked across the street. She sighed to herself as she watched him walk away, his dark blue jeans doing wonders for his behind, though the black and white plaid was hiding his back from the looseness. She thought against asking him for dinner just yet, at least not on her first day in town. She would give it a couple of weeks, enough time for her to settle into her new job and into the town.

Y/N closed the door and walked back into the main room. Looking at the boxes, she knew it was better to return the trailer to the Lawrence location and then explore the town a little. Get some lunch, do a little grocery shopping. She picked up her bag and keys, heading out of her new house. She would start on the boxes when she got back.

Before she got in the car, she fired off a quick message to her family, telling them she had gotten there safely. It had been text after text and call after call asking if she was okay when she left Rhineback to drive to Lawrence. She reassured her family that all was well, and then drove into town.

The next day, Y/N was thankful that it was a Saturday. It would give her some more time to set up the house but also start getting ready for the first day of school on Monday. She was nervous about meeting the staff and the students, but she was excited about the new experience. She had walked through town the day before, grabbed the essentials like bedsheets and towels, plus some grocery items for the immediate need. She was already beginning to like Lawrence.

The first thing she did was set up the record player her dad had given to her. Once everything was plugged in where it was supposed to be, she put on one of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s records. She bopped her head along to Lookin’ Out My Back Door as she started to unpack the other records, before starting on the other boxes.

About 15 minutes later, as I Heard It Through The Grapevine played, she stood on the front porch, watching her furniture delivery unload from the truck. Before she even got to Lawrence, she had bought a new bed frame and mattress, couch, office desk and chair online, and thank goodness the place had Saturday delivery. She had made a makeshift bed out her new sheets and pillows last night, and with the way her back clicked and cracked into place when she woke up that morning, she was incredibly fortunate that her new bed was here.

She followed them inside and instructed the delivery guys on where to put the items. As she was helping them, she heard a loud knock on the open door. She turned around and saw a woman, maybe her age or a few years older, standing at the door. Next to her, stood a young boy, probably about 13 years old. Y/N smiled as she walked to the door, seeing a plate of something in the woman’s hands.

“Hi, we saw you moving in and wanted to welcome you. I’m Lisa Braeden, and this is my son, Ben” she introduced themselves, with a bright smile.

Y/N shook her hand and smiled in return. “It’s great to meet you, guys. I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“These are for you, I hope you like chocolate chip” Lisa said, handing her the plate of cookies.

“Maybe a little too much” Y/N laughed. “Thanks.”

“Listen, if there’s anything you need, we’re right across the street” Lisa gestured behind her to the house across the street.

Y/N nodded as she looked at the place. It had darker features, but the lawn was equally maintained. “I appreciate that.”

“So, Ben. What grade are you in?” Y/N asked, wanting to engage with Ben a little, who looked quite bored.

“I’m starting 8th on Monday” he mumbled.

Y/N smiled, looking between him and Lisa. “Well, I’m starting work on Monday. Maybe I’ll have you in my English class.”

“Cool.” Ben didn’t seem to care. “Nice choice” he said, gesturing to where the music was coming from before he turned away, walking to the porch stairs and waiting for Lisa.

Lisa looked at him with a “we’ll talk later” look, before she turned to Y/N. “He shouldn’t give you too much trouble, but if he does, you know where I am.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine” Y/N shook her head.

“Anyway, we should go. Welcome to the neighborhood” Lisa said, smiling again.

“Thanks” Y/N smiled.

She watched as Lisa and Ben walked across the street, clearly waiting to be behind closed doors before she talked to him about what just happened. Hopefully she wasn’t too harsh on him; no kid would want to meet their new teacher outside of a school setting. Y/N walked inside the house and saw that the delivery guys were done. She signed off on the delivery and the guys left. She picked up one of the boxes still in her living room and walked to the second bedroom she was using as an office. She was excited to set it up and get started on some work for Monday.

Y/N sat in her car in the parking lot of the school. She had gotten there a little early, just trying to calm herself down before going in to meet the principal. She had spoken to him for her phone interview and again when she got the job, so she was familiar with him. He seemed like a nice man and she just hoped that the rest of the staff were the same way. She was more nervous about the students. Moving schools wasn’t just hard as a kid.

She checked her make-up in the mirror and then got out of the car, walking towards the entrance. She fixed her white top and smoothed down her brown skirt, thankful that she had chosen brown sandals with a small heel instead of something higher. She didn’t need anything to go wrong today. Once inside, she walked over to the administration office, as guided by the signs. At the very first desk, sat a red-headed woman, the name plate on her desk reading: Anna Milton – Receptionist.

When Y/N approached her desk, she looked up from her computer and smiled.

“Hello, how can I help you?” she asked.

“Uh, hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m starting here today and need to meet Mr. Shurley first” Y/N replied, trying her best to keep her nerves at bay.

“Oh of course” she picked up the phone and pressed a number.

Y/N waited a minute or so before a short man with greying hair and a beard, walked out of an office at the back of the room. He saw her and smiled, extending his hand as he approached her.

“Miss Y/L/N, wonderful to meet you” he said, shaking her hand.

“You too, Mr. Shurley” she smiled, as confidently as she could.

“Alright, let me show you around before your first class” he walked ahead of her, not leaving her too far behind.

It took Chuck, as he insisted on being called by his first name when it was a one-on-one basis, a few minutes to show her around the main parts of the school; the staff room, the library, the gym and the cafeteria. After that, he took her to the classroom she’d be using, just before the students came in. They watched as they came in, sitting down at their desks. Ben walked in and she smiled at him, but just received a little twitch of his face back. They all looked scared to see the principal in the room.

“Class, I’d like you meet Miss Y/L/N. Your new English teacher. So, make her feel welcome” he said to them in a commanding voice, before he turned to her. “If any of them give you any trouble, just send them down to my office.”

“I’m sure I won’t need to” Y/N looked between him and the students.

“Alright, take it away” he smiled before he left the room.

As soon as he was gone, the class erupted into loud voices as they began chatting away. Y/N sat on the edge of her desk, her legs and arms crossed as she waited, patiently. She would give them a few seconds before she got their attention. Before she could do that however, Ben looked at her and then at the rest of his classmates.

“Guys” he called out. The noise level didn’t go down.

“Last one to be quiet has to tell their next teacher why they were late” she called out.

The noise level dropped instantly.

Y/N smiled, happy that worked. “Alright. As Mr. Shurley said, I’m Miss Y/L/N. We’re going to start off with the role. As I call out your names, you’re going to tell me what you read over the summer and a short answer about what you liked or didn’t like about it.”

For majority of the class, things went well. Most of the students were well behaved except for one group of three boys who kept talking and disrupting the others around them. They were rude and weren’t listening to her when she asked them to stop several times. She would have to keep an eye on them. To say that her first lesson had been difficult would be an understatement, but she got through it. That’s what mattered.

Y/N had a break in which prepared for her class with the 7th graders. They were a breath of fresh air and exactly what she needed after the previous class. They were much more engaged and a lot softer spoken, so while she would have to get them out of their shells a little bit, they were pretty well behaved.

At lunch, Chuck introduced her to a few more of the teachers. She shook hands with everyone and engaged in conversation. The usual chatter about where she was from and how she got into teaching. As she sat down to eat, she looked over some of her messages. She smiled as she saw one from her sister, sending off a quick reply to tell her she was doing okay.

“Mind if I join you?” a voice asked.

She looked up to see a man with brown short hair and blue eyes smiling at her. He was adorable, looking cute in his white shirt with rolled sleeves, black pants and blue tie to match his eyes.

She smiled in return and nodded. “Sure, of course.”

He sat down across from her with his lunch. “I’m Castiel Novak, history teacher. Everyone calls me Cas, though.”

He offered up his hand and she shook it. “It’s great to meet you.”

Just as he was about to say something, a red-headed woman, not Anna, walked over. “Hey, you must be the new English teacher, I’m Charlie.”

“I’m Y/N” she said, shaking her hand.

“Charlie teaches Math but she’s a computer whiz too. Helps out the I.T. guys every now and then” Cas told her as Charlie settled into the seat next to him.

Y/N smiled approvingly. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

“Thanks. They ask me because I think they secretly know I’m better at it than them. I was in the corporate line for a while, but then I moved back home to help my mom” Charlie explained, between bites of her salad.

Y/N liked her already, her nerdy vibe with colourful plaid shirt and band t-shirt suiting her chirpy personality. Cas was a little quiet, but there was a calm presence to him. Though she had no doubt he had the ability to get kids to listen to him straight away.

“Yeah, we’re all glad she came back and stuck around” Cas smiled at her.

When she smiled in return, Y/N had to ask. “So, you two…?”

They both laughed as they looked at each other and then back at Y/N.

“No, we’ve just been friends for a really long time. I have a girlfriend, Meg. She’s a nurse at Lawrence General. She’s tougher than nails and I don’t know how I got her” Cas replied, laughing slightly.

“Yeah, and I’ve just started dating a few weeks ago. Her name’s Dorothy and she’s a writer for the Kansas City Times. She’s really cool” Charlie smiled softly.

Y/N nodded, understanding. “They both sound amazing. I can’t wait to meet them some time.”

They continued talking over lunch and Y/N couldn’t have been happier to have met them. They were both incredibly kind and lovely people, and she was really starting to get along with them.

As lunch finished and they went their separate ways, Y/N smiled as she walked to her next class.

Hopefully moving to Lawrence, Kansas was going to be the best decision she’d ever made.

-x-

Tags: @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @katehuntington @akshi8278 @hobby27 @michellethetvaddict @spngirl05​ @kyjey​ @halesandy​ @440mxs-wife​ @stoneyggirl​ @deanswaywardgirl​ @wonder-cole​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @redbarn1995​ @marianita195​ @babypink224221​ @deans-baby-momma​ @parinarain​ @thoughts-and-funnies​

[sumeshi-t]

falling.

fwb!sakusa x reader

wc: 1.7k

warning: slight nsfw mention here and there

i tried tried making this as just a drabble, but i think i might have gotten carried away sksksks 

tagging cheesecult: @akaashit-baeji @bubbleteaa @yamagucheese @milkandc00kiez @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes  @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma  @kawanisshi @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @airybby @kawaiikraykray @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei

and thank you mom @taeiliee for beta-ing this omg ilysm

you were sat at the corner of the large hall, watching as strangers kissed strangers, brushing their sweating bodies against each other on the dance floor, the smell of alcohol and lust and sin heavy in the air, all this muted by the loud blaring of music, the bass thumping along with your heartbeat, sending vibrations to your skull.

sighing, you swiveled on the chair, before asking the bartender for a drink. you were just going to enjoy one more shot, give your friends a text, and go home, sleep, end the night as dull as it should be.

until this man, whose curly hair framed his face perfectly, two distinct moles just above one of his brows, the scent of fresh laundry and lavender reaching your nose, caught in your periphery, sitting a chair away from you. his mask prevented you from seeing him in full view but just a look at his eyes tells you that he's been through hell just by being in that place. 

he only asked for water, took out a handkerchief and wiped the rim of the glass before pulling down his mask to take careful sips. he must've noticed you watching him, so he turned to you.

as silly as it sounds, you hiccuped at having realized how cute this man actually was without the mask. you quickly cover your mouth and, surprisingly, he asks the bartender to get you a glass of water. 

"you having fun?" you ask him once your hiccups subsided, apologizing for bothering him. the man who has yet to introduce himself groans, "obviously not. i don't see you having a good time either," 

"this isn't really my type of fun. not at all; i'd rather be at home but..." it's the alcohol, you're going to stupidly put all the blame on the drinks that you've had; on the way his eyes scanned your face; on the way your eyes watched his lips move; on the way his arm brushed against yours once you two decided to get the hell out of that shit-fest.

you thought this was only going to be a cute little encounter with a man who also hated crowds that rescued you and himself, and you were in no way expecting to be ending the night like this–

tipsy and naked, legs spread, back against the wall, nails digging into his smooth back, warm shower water trickling down your body; your breath fogging up the glass, panting with every snap of his hips against yours. 

it was a weird way for introductions to be made, but as you both neared your high, he whispers his name in your ear, "say it, call my name, scream,"

and you did. 

as you rode out your orgasm with him, the sensation of his name rolling out of your tongue felt more euphoric than what really led to you being unable to stand on your own, knees buckling soon as your feet touched the floor, that he has had to give you and himself a real and decent shower.

when you lay in his bed moments later, his back was turned to face you. no "good night" or "sweet dreams"– you realize you'd preferred it that way, to stick to the reality of what this was: a one night stand. and since it's like that, you guessed that this was the last time you'd be seeing or even be breathing the same air as this man. 

so even if he was merely breaths away from you, you knew what you shared with him just now wouldn't shorten the ten thousand miles between you. you knew it was wrong to be feeling this way for a stranger; even so, your clouded thoughts got the best of you.

and you reached out.

"kiyoomi,"

"what? can't sleep?" his voice was a low grumble, the sound muffled by the pillow he was hugging to his chest.

"it's y/n," meanwhile, your voice was barely audible, you were sure it was just another whisper in the wind. but for sakusa kiyoomi, it was louder than the moans and gasps you made that night. "though i don't think that's important," you drawled before succumbing to sleep.

the next day, you wake early and leave him, his bed, and the memories of last night without a word. just as how one night stands should be.

so for the next week, you were confused, angry, for feeling so desperate to see sakusa kiyoomi once again. if only you knew that this was how it was going to be, you would've left your number on a little note; or maybe do the things they would in movies, used your lipstick to write it on his bathroom mirror with hearts and your name in case he didn't hear it.

and your desperation has you coming back to that shit-hole of a party. if only to relive the memories of that one night. you knew the chances of seeing him there again were slim, absentmindedly twirling your glass of vodka in your hand while letting the alcohol slowly numb you.

only to see a familiar set of eyes, and half of a face obscured by a mask beside you. 

"thought this wasn't your fun?"

"i could say the same about you, didn't you hate it here?" you place the glass back on the counter, completely turning to sakusa, "wanna get out of here?"

he downed the shot you didn't take, before standing up to leave. 

you both hated having to go back to that club. but for some reason, the two of you just indulged in the prospect of meeting each other there, only to be in each other's heat, and for one of you to be left alone in the cold the morning after.

then it was the third, fourth, and soon it was the sixth-night-stand.

you did something you've never done before: that was, pressing your lips against his. there was a surge of boldness in you that you assumed was only from the alcohol, when you didn't know yet that it was already something more addictive and dangerous than that.

you thought the kiss would ruin everything that you had with him–whatever it was–but, it didn't. instead, sakusa kiyoomi responds with a bite to your lower lip, a chaste kiss, a teasing lick, before pulling away to rest his lips to nip at your neck.

for the rest of that night, his movements weren't so rough. from his lips came out your name and his praises, and with those same swollen lips he left behind a burning trail of butterfly kisses on every corner of your body covered by skin he could taste–all this replacing the usual grunts of approval or the loud smack of his palms against your ass.

this time, sakusa's bed wasn't cold nor empty. the first thing he saw as soon as he opened his eyes the next morning was you; cradled in his arms, hickey-filled chest steadily rising and falling with each breath. his calloused fingers brush against your cheek once, and it was too bad that you couldn't see the soft smile he has for you.

after the seventh night, you two began texting. the texting escalated to phone calls. the phone calls turned into meet-ups that you all but wanted to call a date but couldn't because you had no idea just what you were to him, and what he was to you.

"woah, you can do that? don't your wrists hurt?" your eyes widened, almost dropping the ice cream he bought for you after one of his practice games. 

"really, omiomi? that how ya flirt with such a pretty lady?" one of his teammates quips from behind you. sakusa glares at the blonde guy who you remember as their setter, and you decide to laugh it off. "don't worry, he doesn't have to do much to have me on my kne–"

sakusa slams a mask to your face to keep you from saying anything more. and then, once he knows the two of you were out of their earshot,  his arm wraps around your shoulder to pull you close to him, and he warns by your ear, "that filthy mouth of yours needs a little cleaning tonight,"

to his surprise, you smile up at him, which gives him a hard time concentrating on what you were saying, his quickening pulse echoing in his head making him unable to hear your voice. 

it was no longer the sex that you craved from him. it was no longer just sex for him. deep in your heart, you knew what you shared with sakusa–it was making love. and he knows this too. it was a feeling that to him was so familiar yet so distant. 

"kiyoomi,"

"y/n,"

"i... i think, i'm already in love with you,"

you were so blinded by the brightness of the emotions you knew you felt with and for him, that you failed to notice he never answered you back, nor did you see the fears and worries that he keeps hidden behind his mask.

after all that build-up, only for sakusa kiyoomi to drop you at the last second. as if nothing happened. as if you were nothing. the meet-ups stopped, your calls were declined, texts left on read. 

it's been a month since then, now you were in your bedroom on a friday night, refusing your friends' invites for yet another party downtown. this time, they tell you it was for you to forget. which was dumb, considering that place was where it all started.

"it" meaning... what? it's not even valid to call it a one night stand anymore. a friend with benefits? then again, did you even fit his description of a friend? or were you just another fuck buddy to him? someone he used as an outlet of his sexual frustrations and when he caught on to the feelings you shouldn't have and even you didn't even know why–

you wished forgetting sakusa kiyoomi was as easy as getting rid of the stains on your sheets.

but the tears and pain he's dirtied you with was a mark no bleach or detergent could ever erase.

little did you know, for the past month, sakusa kiyoomi was patiently waiting for you in that same old stool back in the bar, with three words he wished he'd told you sooner. 

[bopbopstyles]

1. December 26th, 2016

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6.4k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

A/N: welcome to chapter one of THE ONLY EXCEPTION! i’m so flipping excited i could scream!!!!!! this fic is going to be a long boi so buckle up. also thank you to @meetmeinfleetwood​ for supporting this fic from the start ilysm!!!! xoxo, willa

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Y/N’s dad had been having these Christmas parties for the past five years or so, each time on the 26th of December, each time packed with music industry people and lots of bottles of tequila and red wine. Her first time had been two years ago, and she had found it surprisingly enjoyable—she had expected it to be boring and to want to leave after the first hour. Instead, it was full of people she had known since she was a kid, musicians and producers and her dad’s old A&R guys who she had grown up hanging out with in recording studios and backstage at her dad’s shows. They had come to family dinners before and after her parents’ divorce, and so when she ran into them at the parties it was easy to catch them up on her life and suddenly it was after midnight and the party was emptying out. 

This year she had volunteered to help set up. Her dad had rented a massive house out in the hills and it came already decorated, but it was on Y/N to make sure there were chairs set up for the music circle, a massive bar laid out and plenty of glasses ready. Her dad’s friend was making the food, eager to use the opportunity to promote the new restaurant he was opening, so when Y/N opened the door it already smelled like garlic and olive oil, her favorite scents on earth. 

“Karl!” She called through the house, shutting the heavy oak door behind her. Her arms were laden with boxes of plastic glasses—her dad was too scared of the guests breaking glass ones—and she wandered into the kitchen. The tall ceilings of the entryway where a massive Christmas tree sat adorned with ornaments gave way to a modern, sleek kitchen. Karl twirled around to greet her, a grin on his face. “Smells delicious in here.”

He set down his spatula and came over, grabbing a box and giving her a kiss on each cheek. “Hello, darling. Are there more in the car?” 

She shook her head, unwinding her scarf from her neck and placing it on the counter. Karl had been her father’s college roommate and somehow they’d stayed close over the years, every one of Y/N’s birthdays spent at one of Karl’s restaurants with all of her favorite dishes made special, a birthday cannoli with a candle in it for her to blow out. “This is all of the glasses. Dad told me to get the bar ready—he’s bringing the booze in a bit.”

“Hope there’s a glass of wine in there for the chef,” Karl said and Y/N chuckled—there always was a bottle of Karl’s favorite expensive wine set aside when he did one of these things and he knew it. It was part of the pay, her father always said. “Want to taste test?”

“Always.” Y/N joined Karl at the stove, eagerly tasting the sauce he was cooking. It was a simple sage butter sauce, but Karl always excelled at the most simple dishes. “Delicious, as usual,” she said. 

Karl jabbered her ear off about the updates on the restaurant—they’d run into problems finding a good sous chef and he was about to do the job himself if he didn’t find someone soon—while Y/N decided where to set up the bar. Finally, she settled on a high table against the glass wall in the wide hallway between the kitchen and the sprawling dining room, which opened up onto the patio. She tugged open the accordion glass doors and breathed in the cool Los Angeles air, thankful for a relatively cold evening, since she always got overheated at parties like this, where people were crammed into every corner. Her dad seemed to know more people every year. Satisfied with the position of the table, she set out the glasses and paper napkins, before asking Karl if he had an extra cooler he’d brought with. She’d forgotten to ask her dad for one before she had left. She filled it with ice and set it next to the table with a scoop, and grabbed the special shot glasses her father had told her to bring, placing them on the table next to a bouquet of flowers. 

Her job done, she wandered through the rest of the house. It was gorgeous—she wondered how her father had found it. If she remembered correctly, he had said something about it being an official venue for music and parties, he’d done a private gig here a few years back and the owners had loved him enough to offer it for this party. It’s not like anyone really had gigs on December 26th anyway. She closed all the doors to the back bedrooms, remembering her father’s request, and set up a coat closet of sorts out of the bedroom closest to the front, before heading to change into her outfit for the evening. 

“Y/N!” She was securing her favorite pair of earrings in her ears when she heard her father’s voice through the halls of the house. “Where ya at, sweetheart?”

“One sec, Dad!” She grabbed the hanger she had kept her top on and shoved it into her massive purse, settling it into the back corner of the room for safety. Her father was waiting for her in the kitchen with Karl, also getting a sample of the sauce she had tried earlier. 

“Hi you,” her father said when she came in. His salt and pepper hair was balding a bit, but his bright smile was what drew people in, olive skin that tanned easily in the California sun. Y/N had selected his suit for the evening, a maroon red and a black tie, something a bit out of the ordinary for him, but Y/N loved it. “Look gorgeous.”

She hugged her father tightly. She had spent Christmas with her mother, as usual, so this was the first time she’d seen her dad during the holidays. “Not too bad yourself, captain.”

“Ha!” Her father pinched her cheek softly, just as he had when she was a child. “I’ve got your present in the car, come grab it with me?”

“Sure.” They had decided to exchange gifts at the party and Y/N had hers tucked in the back pocket of her jeans—dinner on her at Karl’s new restaurant, something she’d discussed with the owner a few weeks ago. Her father’s car sat in the driveway, trunk open where boxes of alcohol laid waiting to be carried inside. “That my gift?”

“You wish,” her dad answered, and Y/N gave him a pouty look that he just shook his head at. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an envelope. Y/N couldn’t help but hope it was cash—she needed a new computer and was running a bit short. She knew her dad would help if she asked, but she hated asking him for money. 

She took the envelope and opened it, a sheet of paper and something thicker hiding between its folds. She opened the letter and found a homemade coupon of sorts, just as she had done for him. 

TWO TICKETS TO ANY SHOW IN LA - NON-REFUNDABLE, FUN REQUIRED!

“Papa,” she said, giving him a beaming smile. “My favorite!” She threw her arms around his neck and he chuckled, hugging her right back. 

“Just give me a few weeks heads up, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and looked back down at the letter, eyes running over her dad’s sweet words of love and pride. It was their thing—homemade cards always, never store bought, despite that neither of them could draw. “Thank you.” 

“Welcome, sweetheart.”

“Now yours!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out his envelope, aptly addressed, Dad, and handed it over. Her father read her card as well, and chuckled at her drawing of them at dinner together. 

He kissed her forehead gently. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said, squeezing his side. “Now let’s get all this booze out of your car before I drive away with it!” Her dad laughed and followed her to the back of the car, them each grabbing a carton of wine. There had to be enough for over a hundred people, Y/N thought to herself. Who would be new this year?

The party was in full swing, her dad’s favorite music playing softly through the speaker system, people littered all over the house with the alcohol flowing. Karl was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, his food a massive hit, and Y/N couldn’t have been happier for him. She’d caught up with her dad’s friends and people who were essentially her godparents, sharing how her job was going (fine) and her relationship prospects (non-existent), sipping tequila and red wine on rotation. 

Y/N leaned against the patio railing overlooking the hills, a glass of tequila on the rocks settled in between her palms. She could hear her father’s voice in the distance calling people to come and start the music, the scrape of chairs and strumming of guitars. It was about time for her to go in, but she lingered, relishing the quiet of the night and the biting air wrapping around her. Since she didn’t play an instrument, despite her father’s attempts, this part of the evening was the part where she just sat back and observed. And also usually got quite drunk since all she had to do was drink and sing along. 

“Y/N, right?” She turned around, eyes focusing on the person standing a few feet away. “I’m Harry.”

Harry Styles. How had he ended up here, and how had she not seen him yet? “Nice to meet you,” she answered, standing up straight and taking a sip of her drink. “Not going in to play?”

He shook his head. “Bit nervous, if I’m honest. Lot of talent in that room.”

She cocked her head to the side as he joined her at the railing. “You’re plenty talented,” she told him. It was true. She was a huge fan of his, had been for a while, following his work in One Direction since its inception, and now in the solo career her dad had mentioned. He was recording with some guys out at The Village a few months ago and called her at the end of the day, saying he ran into Harry Styles in the middle of a session doing some solo stuff. Said it sounded good, which she wasn’t surprised by in the slightest. 

But Harry just chuckled. “Nah, those people are legends,” he said. She knew who he was talking about, too. One of the Dixie Chicks was there, some guys who had written with John Mayer and Kanye West, a dozen other Grammy-nominated musicians, some record label execs who had practically formed the industry as they knew it today, the A&R people who had found them. It was intimidating, definitely, but for Harry she didn’t think it would be. 

“Just people.” She sipped on her drink, studying him. He was in a long black coat, a loose black v-neck silk shirt and red and white plaid pants that tapered at the leg, his cropped curls falling into his face slightly. He also had a tequila on the rocks gripped in his hand, rings adorning every one of his fingers. A skull, a red stone, a silver band, amongst them. “Having fun?”

He smiles at her, thankful for the change of topic. “Loads. Haven’t been at a party like this in a while.”

“What do you mean?”

The breeze passed between them, ruffling his hair a bit. “I don’t know. Just, people who didn’t really give a shit about me, if you know what I mean? Holidays can be a bit much sometimes.”

She nodded as if she understood what it felt like to be a popstar of his fame, which she didn’t, but she could imagine. “Didn’t go home?”

“My mum and sister came here, actually,” he said. “They were craving a respite from the cold English winters.”

“Well, this is definitely a respite,” Y/N said, and Harry chuckled.

Silence stretched between them and Y/N tapped her fingernails against her cup. Maybe it was time to go inside, she thought. “So, Y/N, what do you do?”

His question pulled her out of her head easily. “Brand strategy,” she answered, thankful for a comfortable topic. “I work mostly with fashion and product companies, preferably sustainable ones.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.” She did. She loved her work—she’d gone to school for it and thrown herself into it after school, loving pitching projects for clients and helping them understand their core purpose and how they could grow and evolve  most authentically. “It was that or books, but I decided this was a bit more profitable. Also wasn’t too keen on living in New York.”

Harry nodded, twirling his glass in his hands. She took the opportunity to run her eyes across his face—he was gorgeous in this way that you weren’t sure was real. It was interesting to see how much he’d grown up. At 22, his cheekbones were cut and his jaw defined, his former long locks he had recently cut and Y/N liked these more, she decided. “What are your favorite writers?” He asked, pulling Y/N back into the conversation. 

“That’s like asking which one of your children is your favorite,” she joked, and he chuckled, the sound music to Y/N’s ears. “Dunno, really. I read so much it’s hard to choose, you know? Reading a Louise Erdrich book right now that’s absolutely stellar. The Round House—you should give it a go if you’ve got the time.”

He pulled out his phone and she watched him type in the name to his Notes app, the action making her smile. “Been looking for a new book,” he said. “Just been reading The New Yorker and my mum about took my head off for not reading enough.” They both laughed, the sound filling the night air. 

“Harry!” A man was standing in the doorway to the patio, a guitar in hand. “Come sing, mate.”

Harry glanced back at Y/N. “Coming?”

Y/N nodded and followed him inside, refilling her glass on the way. Harry handed her his, and she did the same, giving them both another glass of tequila to sip on while they listened to the circle of musicians. Someone had decided to do some Christmas tunes she Y/N smiled when she heard her father’s voice—he’d made it a bit country, just like he loved to do with popular songs. He’d grown up on a steady diet of folk music and country, just as Y/N had, and he always joked it was in his blood. Harry took a seat next to his friend who Y/N didn’t recognize—probably some producer her dad had met recently, maybe one of the guys from The Village if that was how they’d connected, and Y/N grabbed the seat her dad had saved for her next to him. 

She joined in immediately, knowing this rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy” by heart, since it was the same one he had made up when Y/N was eight or nine. Karl was in the circle too, a plate of food in his hands and his bottle of red wine on the ground, and he gave her a warm smile. This was her favorite part of the night—feeling a part of something her father loved so dearly. When he gave her a kiss to her temple and introduced her to the group, she couldn’t help but find Harry’s eyes, his irises twinkling back at her under the lights. 

At one o’clock, people finally began filtering out of the party, and Harry decided it was probably time for him to head. Jeff, who had invited him to come with, had already left, exhausted from the holidays with family, but Harry had stayed, hoping to talk to Y/N for a little while longer. He had unfortunately failed to catch her, though, the music running long and after it had wrapped up people had tugged her in for hugs and conversation. Despite knowing who she was through her father, he was still in awe of how intimately she knew all of these people. He overheard snippets of her conversations, asking about children and partners, parents who had cancer and career-defining moments she’d missed out on because of work. Harry was in this world too, but many of the people at this party were a bit older than his usual set—they belonged to the group of his heroes, rather than necessarily people he felt were his peers. He was still getting his solo career together, still only a boyband member in their eyes. He tried not to feel less than, but sometimes it was hard when you were sat next to Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks with utterly nothing to say but awe-inspired ramblings. 

Finally, Y/N was alone, the older couple she was talking to having left for the door, and Harry seized the opportunity. “Y/N,” he said, and her head popped up from her phone to look at him. Her dark brown hair was soft against her skin, and he eagerly wondered what it felt like against his skin, brown eyes that searched his soul. “I loved talking to you earlier.”

She smiled and Harry loved it when she did. Lit up the whole room, just about. “Me too. Glad you came—with Jeff, yeah?”

He nodded. “He introduced me to your dad when we were at The Village.” Y/N nodded as well, obviously having figured out the story. “I—I was wondering, would you want to grab coffee sometime? I’d love to chat more, get to know you.” He restrained the urge to bounce on his heels, nervous in front of her. He felt like a kid asking out his crush, but that’s what this was, a crush. Even if it came to nothing, she was kind, interesting, and fit into the world he revolved in. It wasn’t the most important thing, but he appreciated it all the same. 

“Oh,” she said, tone somber. “Sorry, Harry, but I don’t date musicians. Get home safe, yeah?” She turned away from him, feet carrying her back into the living room, presumably finding her father.

What? She didn’t date musicians? “I’m sorry—what?”

Y/N turned back to look at him. “I just don’t. Bit of a rule.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Don’t feel the need to explain it. Bye, Harry.” Then, she walked away and Harry was left in shock. The abrupt change in tone was like whiplash—she had seemed so interested, involved in their conversation, only to tell him she didn’t date musicians? What the fuck kind of rule was that? 

He huffed and tugged out his phone to tell his driver he was ready, and went outside, leaving behind Y/N and her confusing rule. But this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, he decided. He wanted to know why she had this rule, this stupid rule that was stopping her from getting to know him. It wasn’t like he even asked her to date him, just to get coffee for Pete’s sake. Harry sat down in the car and pulled out his phone, composing a text to Jeff. 

Could I write with Peter? Seemed like a great guy, really talented. Maybe if she got to Y/N’s dad, he could earn some brownie points. Maybe then she’d bend her rules for him, because despite their short conversation, Harry was intrigued. 

Definitely, Jeff replied. I’ll text him tomorrow.

Harry closed his phone and smiled. Hopefully this worked, because Harry was dying to know more about this rule of hers. 

Y/N’s eyes narrowed when she pulled into her dad’s driveway. There was another car sat in the drive, a black 4-door SUV she’d never seen before, the windows tinted so she couldn’t see in. It reminded her of those cars the FBI drives in crime dramas, which obviously led her to a part of her brain that was not necessarily a hopeful place. She scrambled to grab her bag from work and her keys, launching herself from her car and towards her dad’s door. 

“Dad!” She called into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. “Whose car is in the drive? Didn’t tell me we’d be having company!” Gripping the wall for balance she toed off her shoes and set her bag on the floor next to the door, shrugging off her coat and setting it on a hook. “Dad?”

“He’s in the toilet.”

Her head whipped around and found Harry Styles standing in her hallway, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. As much as she had planned to forget about him after the party, never really expecting to see him again, she hadn’t been able to. And now he was in her house, hair pushed back from his face, a grin painted on his lips. It was irritating how gorgeous he was. “The fuck are you doing here?”

A hand went up to scratch the back of his neck and for a second Y/N regretted being quite so aggressive. “‘M writing with your dad,” he explained. “Guess he didn’t tell you.”

“No,” she answered. She brushed past him into the living room where, as Harry had said, it was obvious they had been writing. Her dad’s treasured old Gibson guitar leaning against his favorite armchair where he’d set it, computers out with GarageBand up for recording demos, papers with scribbles strewn across the coffee table. “Good session?” She decided that there was no way he was here just to pursue her—he was there for professional reasons, after all. Her dad and Harry must’ve hit it off at the party last week. There was also the fact that her dad was a really fucking good songwriter, so of course Harry would want to work with him. Ever since he’d stopped touring, her dad had started doing mainly writing, his songs appearing on records from everyone from up-and-coming artists the label found him to John Legend. 

Harry just nodded. Her eyes drifted to his own guitar, a soft brown wood that had obviously seen some heavy use and travel. She recognized it from her dad’s own guitars that he used to take on the road with him, the nicks and faded wood at the base of the bridge. 

“Y/N!” Her dad’s voice fell through the silence of the room as he re-entered. He was wearing his favorite old UCLA shirt, where she’d just graduated from not too long ago. “Home earlier than usual. Was going to give you a heads up about this one,” he pointed to Harry then, “but I see you’ve already found out.”

Her eyes drifted to Harry, who stood awkwardly next to the couch, unsure if he should sit or stand. “Finished my projects early and didn’t have any meetings, so thought I’d get out early and surprise you.”

“Well,” her father said, giving her a quick hug, “glad you did. I’m getting hungry, how about you?” She nodded, she was always ravenous after work. “Harry, would you want to stay for dinner?”

No, she thought. The last thing she wanted was to sit at a table with a guy she’d rejected and her father and eat an awkward dinner on a Friday night. She just wanted a massive glass of red wine, her delicious romance novel from her bedside table, and maybe lighting a fire in the pit in the backyard. 

Instead, Harry said, “Sure. Don’t want to impose though.”

“Nonsense! Y/N why don’t you go change and Harry and I can tidy up from working. We were about done anyway.” Her dad kissed the top of her head sweetly and she just did as he said, Harry a forgotten thought behind her as she went to her room upstairs. 

It was her childhood bedroom which she had been residing in for a month now. How her landlord could put her out for this long was beyond her, but she hadn’t had the energy to fight it—plus, it was an opportunity to spend some quality time with her workaholic father. So she was spending her evenings in her light blue colored room, sleeping between her soft pink sheets, and picking her work clothes that butted up against remnants from high school she’d left behind as memories. Y/N pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt that probably belonged to an ex-fling from college—Daniel maybe? Y/N couldn’t remember. Slipping on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm from the tile floors of the kitchen, she left her room, tugging her door shut so if Harry went exploring he wouldn’t stumble into her room. 

Downstairs, Harry was sat at the kitchen island with a glass of wine and a smile on his face, deep in conversation with her dad about Fleetwood Mac’s chord progressions. A glass of red was waiting for her on the counter and she picked it up, wandering over to where her dad was cooking

“Whatcha making?” She asked, peeking into the pot. 

“Pasta,” he replied. “Now stop being a nosy Nelly and talk to our guest while I try to focus on not burning the pasta.”

“Dad you haven’t even put it in yet.”

Her dad shooed her from the stove and she chuckled, backing away. “Get out of here, ya pest.”

She turned to Harry, realizing her dad was actively trying to get them to hang out. He was so annoying sometimes. “How do you feel about a fire?”

“Positively,” he answered and she led him outside into her backyard. 

It was chilly out, but nothing too bad. She set her glass on the table and went over to the stack of wood her dad kept against the fence, picking up some logs and carrying them over to the fire pit they’d had for years. At first it was so Y/N could roast marshmallows at home, her father trying to do anything to get her to come over to his house more after the divorce, and as time had gone on it had become her favorite place in the whole house. When her dad was out of town and she came over to check up on the house in high school, she’d bring her weed and smoke out here under the stars. 

Harry sidled up next to her and picked up a few logs, following her to the fire pit. “This is cool,” he said, words breaking their silence. 

Y/N dropped the logs into the fire and looked up at him. “Favorite part of the whole house.” A box of matches sat next to the door and she grabbed them, as well as some kindling, and brought it over to the logs, setting the kindling under the logs before lighting them. The fire leaped up, the wood nice and dry from the lack of rain recently. “So, who got in touch with who?”

Harry looked at her in confusion. “Huh?”

She settled into one of the chairs set by the fire, wine tucked between her fingers. “The writing. You or my dad?”

“Oh,” he answered, joining her in the chair next to her. “Me, actually. Through Jeff.”

As expected. “And?”

“He’s really good,” Harry said, to which Y/N chuckled. 

“That he is.”

“What was it like growing up with him as your dad?” He asked, breaking the silence between them.

Y/N shifted in her chair. She’d been asked this question so many times over the years, but it still was hard to answer. “Hard, if I’m being honest,” she told him, truth surprising her. But she had a feeling Harry would get it to a certain extent. He was a hugely popular star, after all. She’d heard rumors that he was a part of a movie coming out this year, something historical. “Like, my parents are divorced, which I assume you know.” He nodded,  probably having figured it out by now. “And with my dad’s tour schedule when I was in school, I didn’t see him all that much, especially in elementary and middle school. He was gone all the time, even missed my birthday a couple times because of tour dates, so I just didn’t really know him that well, I guess. Fuck, sorry, this is a lot,” she breathed out, realizing she was rambling. Harry was just surprisingly easy to talk to, his eyes steady on her, intently listening to her every word. Boys didn’t usually listen to her like this.

“S’fine,” he replied. “When did it change, if you don’t mind me asking? Seem so close now.”

The fire, having grown by now, crackled in front of them. “Late high school, but mainly when I was in college. My mom moved to San Francisco for a job and I went to UCLA, so my dad was closest. Came over to do my laundry sometimes, have a home cooked meal, he’d take me to dinner, that stuff. Came to football games with me, sometimes, which he always tried to be interested in but never succeeded.” Harry chuckled at that and Y/N smiled at the sound. Harry was obnoxiously pretty. Like, impossibly pretty in this way where you couldn’t help but look at him again to make sure that yes, he was a real person. And it was really fucking distracting. “His touring kind of stopped when I went into college too,” she added, trying to refocus on the conversation. “Started writing mainly, putting out music only when it suited him. He’s a lot happier now, I think.”

“That’s good,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I’m glad you guys were able to have that kind of relationship, even if it was later.”

Y/N blinked at him, his words so kind and honest. “Me too.”

“Always been one of my fears, if I’m being honest,” he said, words soft in the cool night air. Sun was starting to set and it was getting dark around them, the light of the fire putting an orange ember to his face. “About having kids with my career, you know? I want to be a dad, but it’s like…how do I do that while being gone all the time?” His honesty shocked her, but then again Harry Styles seemed to be excelling at that in every regard. “Sorry, that’s a lot to unload on you.”

“No it isn’t,” she reassured him. “Just told you about all my daddy issues, yeah?” He chuckled, and it lightened the mood just enough. “You’ll figure it out.”

Harry nodded, taking another sip of his wine and she did the same. It was her favorite, the one her dad bought multiple of whenever she came to stay. Even though they’d gotten closer over the years, his desire to make his house perfect for her never seemed to fade. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“The rule—I—why is that?”

Well, fuck. This was the exact conversation she didn’t want to have, the one she was hoping he wouldn’t bring up. “It’s actually related to what you were just saying,” she said slowly. He’d get it after everything she’d explained and the fears he shared, right? “I don’t date musicians because they’re always gone.”

Harry was quiet, absorbing her answer. It was true, they always were gone—she had every right to her rule, she told herself. She didn’t want a repeat of what her parents had experienced, what she’d experienced. Her dad’s job had ruined everything in their family, ripping her parents apart, keeping him away from her for more of the year than he was home. She didn’t want the same thing for her kids. “That’s a pretty broad stroke, isn’t it?” Harry said though, pushing back against her. “Like all musicians. Kinda a generalization ‘bout us.”

“You said it yourself,” she said, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on her thighs. “You’re gone all the time. How do you build a life with someone who isn’t there half the time?”

“Devil’s advocate,” Harry said, setting his wine on the arm of his chair, “but hypothetically you’re dating someone who tours all the time. But they make you a priority, coming home and seeing you, putting your relationship first. That wouldn’t matter? You wouldn’t even take the chance that it could work out okay?”

This time it was Y/N who was quiet. “I mean, musicians only have so much control over their schedules,” she said, remembering the excuses her dad used to tell her. “Plus, it’s not the relationship that’s the problem. It’s the part when you get to marriage and kids.”

“…So it’s better to just avoid the whole thing entirely?”

Y/N nodded, her logic laid out in front of her. She’d never had to do this before—most times, guys just took her at her word and dropped it all together. Harry pushed though, wanting to understand in a way the others didn’t care enough to do. “It’s safer.”

“But then you miss out on the opportunity to fall in love with someone,” Harry says, his words like rocks in her stomach. “And what if that person was a musician?”

Y/N had a feeling they were no longer talking in hypotheticals. “We can fall in love with tons of different people.”

“No soulmates and shit for you, then?” She shook her head. She didn’t believe in all that crap, never had. Relationships were about work, effort, time. The person was important, but the life that person led mattered more to her. How much they’d prioritize the relationship, the kind of life they wanted to build. “That’s kind of depressing,” Harry said. 

The fire crackled and popped. “I don’t think so. It’s…practical.”

“Love isn’t supposed to be practical, Y/N.”

Y/N found herself speechless. She didn’t have an answer for him. She’d never been in love before, that was for sure. Hadn’t found that kind of love that people like Harry write songs about and she’d often found herself wondering when it was going to happen for her. There just hadn’t been any guys that were right for her yet. 

“Y/N! Harry!” She turned and her dad was in the doorway, pasta sauce splattered on his shirt. He’d always been a messy cook. “Dinner’s ready.”

Y/N took one last look at Harry before grabbing her wine and heading inside, Harry following at her heels. 

After dinner, Harry decided this was his last chance at Y/N. He couldn’t exactly use the same excuse twice and after understanding her rule, he was determined to be the exception. He helped Y/N clear the plates while her dad settled in at the TV in the other room, telling them it was his time to watch the nightly news and they could clean up since he had cooked. Harry had missed being in a home like this, the kind where he got told to clean up from dinner and there was calm and normal conversation at the table, Y/N talking about her day at work and Harry sharing about his activities from his mum’s visit. It brought him a kind of peace he didn’t know he needed. 

The plate clattered on the counter as he set it down, Y/N turning, her hands soapy with the water from the dishes. “Gonna break our dishes,” she said with a snort. “Be careful, please.”

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. He’d cleared the table, so he grabbed a dish rag from the peg and joined Y/N at the sink, taking the clean dishes from the rack and drying them, stacking them on the counter since he didn’t know where they belonged in the cabinets. 

They worked in silence, the only sound her dad’s TV from the other room. He could hear Rachel Maddow’s show on NBC, the same one he liked to watch, learning from her commentary on American politics that he was still trying to wrap his brain around. 

“Y/N,” he said when they’d finished the dishes. “I promise I heard everything you said earlier.” She looked at him with curiosity in her eyes, trying to figure out where he was going with this. Harry tried to pick his words delicately, wanting to make sure she knew he did hear her, he was just entranced by her and couldn’t give her up. “But what is the likelihood you would be willing to give it a shot? With me?”

She took the dish towel from his hands and dried her own, considering his words. The waiting was killing him, but he didn’t want to rush her. He knew what her worries were and he was asking her to put them aside. 

“We’ll take it slow,” he told her, stumbling over the words. “Promise. You set the pace, you decide about commitments. I just…” Can’t stop thinking about you.

But then Y/N surprised him by saying, “I know. I feel that way too.” His eyes widened, not believing the words from her mouth. “I’ll give it a shot,” she said slowly. “Better make the date good.”

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask again unless you’d like me to change my mind.”

“Can I get your number then?” She nodded and read it off, Harry typing the numbers into his phone next to her name. Then Harry shut up and just smiled at her, following her like a puppy dog into the other room where her dad sat watching TV. She curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket her dad had so it would cover part of her and his heart softened at how sweet she looked. He loved seeing her like this, at home, comfortable in her space. “I’m going to head out,” he said. “Thank you so much for dinner, Peter.”

Y/N’s dad turned from the TV and gave him a wide smile. “Of course, Harry. You’re welcome anytime—wouldn’t want you to get lonely out here!”

His eyes drifted to Y/N and he knew that with her around, there was never anyway he could be lonely.

TAGLIST

@smokeinherperfume @afire-hes @harryinsweatersandbandanas @marinalima3 @havethetimeofyourstyles @ursogoldenshan @inmygardensuit @marinalima3 @amaridon @harrys-watermelons @dontgiveupthedayjob @cronias13 @apples2019

Would you like to know when I update The Only Exception? Let me know here!

NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 4TH @ NOON CST

[sevlgi]

I need u

requested: yes

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: angst

contents: pyromaniac!reader, based on bts hyyh universe. [26/33]

warnings: fire, mental health issues, mentions of abuse, death, mild violence, suicide attempt

synopsis: Rosé would be nothing without your fire, but what happens when she’s the one who has to rescue you from it?

a/n:  DISCLAIMER BEFORE YOU READ: this is not meant to portray a healthy relationship in any way. this is based off of a music video, the HYYH series to be exact, and is not meant to reflect how I think rosé would act. PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNING

word count: 1.7k

Before she met you, Chaeyoung didn’t think she was missing anything.

Sure, she knew that it wasn’t exactly normal to be so indifferent about everything, to not feel an ounce of passion for a single thing in her life. 

As soon as you first blazed into her life, though, it all became so much clearer. There was so much fire behind your eyes, the intensity of your feelings fueling you in an incredible explosion that was too close to burning you up for comfort. Where she was calm and level-headed, you were impulsive, the fervor you felt for your dreams the direct opposite of her slow pace.

And suddenly, she felt things that she had never had before. Chaeyoung finally experienced the butterflies she read about, something that might even be called love.

Either way, she was fascinated by everything about you. Your fires and your storms, your passions and your anger, everything that formed the blazing light that illuminated her darkness.

She needed you-- Chaeyoung knew that she was nothing without you. Without your fire, she was just a trickling stream, cool and silent in a way that no one would miss.

But slowly, that intensity to you began to scare her. The sheer passion you held burned you up from the inside out, too much fuel and not enough time or room to contain it. The calluses on your hands from playing piano in the middle of the night became the imprint of a lighter’s ridge, the excitement you felt at mastering a new piece becoming fury at the world around you.

You didn’t seem to love anymore, only hate. And that meant you didn’t love her anymore, which was what scared Chaeyoung the most.

Because she needed you, and you were burning up like the last sparks of a bonfire in the last night of summer.

“Does it hurt?”

Shrugging to hide her wince when you touched the bruise on her cheek, Chaeyoung assured you, “It doesn’t. Promise.”

It did nothing to quell the anger furrowing your brow, but you sighed and turned back to the cloudy gray sky, legs swinging over the side of the trailer. Below the two of you, the sounds of your friends playing echoed, scaring away the crows perched opposite you. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?” the lavender-haired girl asked, her hand cold compared to your warm one. “It’s not your fault.”

“It might not be,” you agreed, reaching over to brush some hair out of Chaeyoung’s eyes. Somehow, you were unaware of the effect you had on her. “But I still hate it. There’s just so much wrong with the world around us.”

Chaeyoung huffed out a breath through her nose, crossing her legs. “Don’t say that, Y/N. Aren’t you always the one telling me to see the brightness of things?”

Frowning, you got the lighter out of your pocket again, your thumb rolling over the ridge mindlessly. “Yeah. But I was wrong whenever I told you that, Rosie. You can’t believe that. Just look at your face- strangers did that to you, just for bumping into them.”

“It’s not their fault,” she tried, watching as the hem of your jacket was nearly singed. “They were angry. You’re angry, too, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t hit someone if you were mad enough.”

You looked over to her disbelievingly. “I wouldn’t. God, Chaeyoung, who do you think I am? I wouldn’t hit someone, never mind you, not unless they hit me first.”

“Good.”

After some silence between the two of you, you began flicking at the lighter again, the clicks louder than they should’ve been almost a story above the ground. “We should leave someday.”

“Leave?” Chaeyoung cocked her head at you, tapping a stray rock she found on the blue-painted metal of the trailer’s roof. “What, all of us? To where, Y/N? Where would we go that would accept us?”

Sprawling out on the roof, despite all the dead leaves and dirt surrounding you, you watched the clouds go by and sighed. “I don’t know. All I know is that none of us can stay here, jagiyah. Seoul, maybe, or somewhere else in the world. Your English is good, we can survive.”

She let out a breathless laugh, scooting back so that you could lay your head on her thigh. Plucking the lighter out of your hand, she blew the fire out and tossed it aside. “Maybe. Would we go to America?”

“Where do you want to go?” You squinted up at her, the sky reflected in your eyes. “I’ll go anywhere you and the others want to.”

“What about Australia?” Chaeyoung giggled. “I’ve always liked their accents.”

“Australia, then,” you agreed, smiling up at her. It was moments like this that she would forever treasure, just talking about the possibilities of the future with you. No matter how hopeless it was, you had each other to brave through all of it, and it was enough to make her want to keep going.

Jennie appeared from below the trailer, her hands steady on the railing leading up. “What about Australia?” she grinned, Lisa hitting her from behind to make her go faster. “Yah, Lisa!”

“Y/N, stop it!”

Chaeyoung grasped futilely at you as you shattered a glass bottle on the concrete stairs leading up to your bedroom, screaming out as the spray of leftover alcohol hit you. With a shove, all the empty bottles on top of your dresser smashed to the floor, your unhealthy coping methods creating an even larger mess to have to clean up.

She rushed at you, arms wrapping around you in an attempt to stop you from doing anything else you’d regret. You only laughed and swayed, your girlfriend’s hands digging harder into your back. “Let go, Rosie.”

“No, not until you stop,” she panted, feeling her eyes sting as she squeezed. “Please-”

Once you found that your struggling was futile, your hands shot out, pushing at Chaeyoung’s stomach hard enough to slam her into the wall away from you. She gasped, even though it didn’t really hurt, sliding to the floor as you stumbled away. “Told you to let me go,” you snapped, stumbling over your own two feet as you backed away.

Desperation hit her, desperation to bring you out of your alcohol-induced fit, and she lunged forward, her hand bracing on your chest before her fist connected with your face.

There wasn’t much power behind the hit, but under the influence, you collapsed onto the stairs next to the remaining shards of glass, coughing out as you felt blood on the corner of your mouth. Chaeyoung hauled you up, her hands fisting in your shirt as she begged, “Come back, Y/N. Please, I need you.”

“You need me?” Once again, the sheer fury in your eyes was scaring her, seeming somehow cold in all its blazing glory. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to live without me. I’m gone, Chaeyoung, I’m leaving. I’m leaving this-- this shitty town, and you’re coming with me.”

The lavender-haired girl practically sobbed out, “I’m not! I’m still in school, Y/N, I can’t go without you. Don’t do this to me, please.”

Instead of a response, you twisted hard, flinging Chaeyoung onto the couch by the stairs and walking off. “Y/N! Jagiyah, don’t-”

The door slammed behind you, and she could only stare up at the ceiling to push down the boiling tears welling behind her eyes.

Where did it all go so wrong?

The lighter was warm from how long you had held it, an imprint of the switch seemingly permanent in the side of your thumb.

Your initials and your girlfriend’s were scratched in the cheap plastic; every time you bought a new one, you did the same thing. Recently, you’d started using the dull knives you could find in motels and other places.

After the day you threatened to leave, you were evicted. That made it easier than it ever had been to just up and leave, the only possessions you owned being the flannel Chaeyoung lent you and the clothes on your back, but for some reason, you stayed.

She had just graduated the night before, and you had asked her to finally go with you. Even Lisa was ready to leave, and all it took was Chaeyoung coming to your motel room.

Glancing over at the clock, you sighed, realizing that it was 4 hours past when she said she’d arrive. The plan was to pick her up, then go to Jisoo’s, where you could steal her brother’s car and leave, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards any longer.

Hauling yourself up, you seized the open tub of kerosene, splashing it all over the room. It soaked the sheets, the rugs, until your bare feet were wet with the liquid where you stood. Alcohol, anything that could be burned- you poured it all over the room and yourself, staring at the blank screen of your phone. I’m so sorry, Chaeyoung.

The lighter thudded to the floor and orange light lit up the room.

“Shit,” the girl gasped when she saw the smoke billowing out the window of what she knew to be your hotel room. Her bags were dropped to the floor as she pulled out her phone and charged for the motel, banging the door open faster than she needed to.

“Excuse me, young- hey!”

Chaeyoung ignored the receptionist yelling at her, turning the corner onto the stairs as she called the fire department. “H-hi, there’s a fire. Yes, in the motel on the corner of Main, please get here as fast as you can!”

She kicked your door open, gasping when she found you lying on the bed amidst the flames. Covering her face with the sleeve of her jacket, she rushed in, shaking you. “Y/N, get up. Y/N!”

The lighter, she realized, was on the floor. That couldn’t have been a mistake- you never let it out of your sight.

Either way, she looped her arms underneath yours, struggling to pull you out without touching any of the flames. “Come on, Y/N,” she groaned, hissing when she stepped right by the fire.

“I need you.”

[vminity21]

The Art of You | myg

Pairing: artist!yoongi x universitystudent!reader, friendshiptolovers!au

Word Count: 1,578

Genre: fluff/soft

Warning(s): None, Rated: pg

Summary: A painting Yoongi has been working on reveals his true feelings that he has for you in the most beautiful way imagined. Dedicated and was requested by @suhdays​ , who also created the beautiful banner for this blurb. Thank you.

A tan apron clings to Yoongi’s frame while he scrunches the sleeves of his sweatshirt halfway up his arms. Converse pat along the plastic flooring while he settles the painting onto the ground. It is nearly finished, and the inspiration is revealed in just the smallest intricacies- details that remind him of you.  Gentle transmits of music reverberate within the small space, and he readies his paint upon the palette you gifted him a year prior before he discovered the budding emotions, he has for you.

Aligning a picture of what he plans on adding to the main canvas, he carefully traces the lining with his fingers, concentrating solely on whatever he intends on creating to make the masterpiece complete. Dark strands flop past his eyes while he positions himself over the canvas, palette steady in his left hand while his free hand grips the handle of a petite paintbrush. Two bracelets decorate his painting wrist, but he is ever so careful than to let them touch any part of the dampened streaks.

Heavy footsteps trample into the room, slinging your bookbag over a chair in the corner, a brief sigh brushes your lips. Yoongi knew you would be due soon from your class at university, and you are too exhausted to fully pay attention to what Yoongi is finalizing. He has been working on a new project for weeks now, but he refuses to tell you who it is for. Sometimes, Yoongi likes to keep to himself, especially when it comes to his art, yet he has been quite successful with some of the artwork he has accomplished and sold within the past year.

His lips grace a small smirk, happiness spreading along his chest with being in your presence- something he has been looking forward to all day. “Yoongi, I’m home,” you bellow, stacking a few notebooks onto the tiny table in preparation to continue the homework you would so graciously like not to do.

“About time you showed up,” he teases, swiping a bigger paintbrush along a plain sheet of paper to observe if this is the color he would like to use. Noticing the palette, he had set down for the moment, you smile to yourself. He really loves his palette- the only one he owns that you happened to give him, yet he refuses to buy more, especially since the one you bought him is covered in faint stains from past achievements. You never understood it, but he takes it with him everywhere he goes, and the one time he thought he forgot it, he almost lost his mind. Thankfully, Namjoon, Yoongi’s roommate, found it behind a dresser where it must have fallen without Yoongi’s knowledge.

“I still don’t get why you are panicking, Yoons. I am sure there are some palettes in one of these stores here,” plus you did not have any issue with purchasing him another one, “Want to check them out?”

“Not really,” he murmured, timidly looking away from you while he anxiously awaited the doting text from Namjoon. What you are unaware of, is that palette you surprised him with is the truest good luck charm he has ever received. Because of you, every time he used that specific palette, his artwork has been recognized by thousands of individuals throughout the country. Because of you, he is determined to continue his passion with the gift you gave him held firmly in his left hand.

“Okay,” you sigh softly in confusion, “Well then would you like to grab some coffee until Joon replies? I’m sure it will turn up.”

Yoongi shakes his head briefly to situate his hair while the memory dissipates for the time being. “How long have you been in here? Have you even eaten anything?” You always worry about him because when he gets too focused into what he is doing, sometimes he may forget to hydrate, as well as eat, yet you can relate due to college being so overwhelming. You notice the white mask tucked under his chin, his earrings gleam beneath the light, and you cannot help but fondly gaze at how handsome your friend is. You met him a year ago, and although you have always had feelings for him, you feared that he didn’t feel the same, and when you stumbled upon his talent for the arts, you were determined to gift him with something related to what he loves to do.

“I was thinking we could grab dinner as soon…” his words trail as he dots the brush along certain areas of the canvas. You can’t help but curiously tilt your head to see if you can figure out what it is, he is creating, but from the angle and distance from where Yoongi is, you can’t quite see it yet. “… as I am…” He is so enraptured in his work that he forgets to finish his sentence and you playfully shake your head at him before turning to your studies.

Uncertain of how much time has ticked away into the evening, you do not understand how Yoon’s thighs cannot be burning from how long he poses in deep concentration. “Who needs exercise,” you joke, running your fingertips along your eyes to awake them if even possible. “You know,” you bring your voice up in volume for Yoongi to hear, “I’m not going to lie, I’m actually excited to see what you’ve conjured up,” you confess; there has not been a completion that you haven’t loved from Yoongi’s extraordinary talent.

“It’s definitely different from what I’ve done before,”

“Oh really?” Your attention is now returned to your notebook and with pencil in hand, you scribble random lines along the sides to prevent yourself from blushing. He has such an effect on you, and you wonder how he hasn’t realized it. “What inspired it? Give me a clue.”

“You mean, who?”

Pausing, with furrowed eyebrows, you ponder through your brain on who Yoongi could be referring to. “It’s a who this time?”

“Believe it or not,” he says, and you hadn’t taken into account the way he places his hands on his hips, longingly staring at you while you rack your thoughts with whatever guess you can muster.

“Okay but where’s my clue?”

“Hm,” he hums to himself trying to not make it as obvious as he would like to, especially if it risks scaring you away. “She loves to getaway. More so when it’s cold and the atmosphere contains the scenery she needs.”

A she? Surprised by the revelation, your heart shatters in different directions, yet you compile yourself enough to remain composure. “A getaway?” You choke, trying to lower your voice to not appear as shocked as you feel. “I’m assuming in the winter?”

“Mhm,” Yoongi responds, “Sometimes she wishes that she could see flowers there though, especially the ones that are her favorite. It’s simply hard when there is always so much snow.”

“Um, is it-?” Despite the tears wanting to burn down your cheeks, you guess a few names that come to mind, hardly being able to realize that Yoongi is talking about you. Exasperated after you have guessed so many wrong answers, Yoongi’s arms drop to his sides while he exhales slowly, gathering himself before sauntering to you. When a soft hand presses to your cheek, you lose all track of sanity; his lips touch yours so gently, it takes you a moment to realize what is happening. Oh! You gasp inwardly. Oh, you want to laugh at yourself for now you see that every fact he uncovered about his painting was him hinting about you.

Your fingers curl into his sweatshirt while you pull him closer, deepening the kiss while your heart flies sporadically along your ribcage. This whole entire time- he has been working on a painting inspired by you. And, this entirety of your friendship, he has thought of you lovingly as much as you have thought about him?

Breathless, he pulls away, but just enough to rest his forehead upon yours, his bangs tickle your face. “Are you ready to see the painting?”

Nodding, you are at a loss for words, the sensation of his kiss still lingering while he takes your hand. Following suit, he bends swiftly to lean the piece against the wall, accepting your hand in his once again as soon as it steadies. Gasping, your eyes widen at the most beautiful scenery you have ever witnessed. Snow capped mountains sketched meticulously with splashes of blues and greys mingle in precise detail to the sparse blades of grass poking from the blanket of white covering the ground. The sky alludes to the beginning of a snowfall, but what your vision gathers in the center of the painting is what touches your heart in ways Yoongi has always been able to prompt.

A bundle of magenta peonies are painted to be growing in resistant to the brutal winds of winter, and in tiny, neatly stroked letters exposes the words you never thought you would hear, or in this case, read.

“I love you.” Yoongi whispers, squeezing your hand as you take it all in.

“Yoongi, it’s- it’s the most beautiful gift.” You cry, him embracing you immediately, the scent of his sweatshirt reaching your nostrils as you cuddle into his frame. “I love you so much.”

And with that, forever awaits, Yoongi expressing his love in a way only he knows how- painted contentedly to the art of you.

[albertasunrise]

Chance - Chapter 7

Summary: Working as an ER doctor, you don’t get much of a chance to meet new men and you’d never imagined that you’d meet your soulmate at work.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut 18+

Pairings: Frankie Morales/ Reader

~

Frankie had never been so nervous in his life. The boys had decided to throw a barbecue to celebrate you and him being together a year and someone was coming that you had yet to meet. It was all part of an elaborate plan that Frankie had started working on a month or so back but now that it was happening he was terrified. Things had been so good lately. You had moved in with him and even received a promotion at work. Things were great and the two of you were unbelievably happy so he really didn't want that to end. The party was starting to heat up as you walked through the front door, Sophie and her girlfriend in tow and as you make your way outside you're greeted with your usual bear hug from Benny before Sophia hobbles into your arms.

‘Hello baby girl, I missed you today.’ You say softly, grinning as she gives you a sloppy kiss on the lips.

‘So this is the famous Doc.’ Comes a voice you’ve never heard and you turn to look at its owner.

There, in the flesh, was a man you’d only ever seen pictures of and heard stories about. He was darker than Frankie, sporting salt and pepper hair that suited him well and a smile that was genuine and warm.

‘And that must make you Pope.’ You reply, allowing him to pull you into a hug ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ You finish as you wink at the boys behind him ‘Guys you know Sophie, this is her girlfriend Diana. Diana this is Benny, Will, Frankie, Pope and lastly, this little princess is Sophia.’ You finish as you bounce her in your arms.

‘It’s lovely to meet you all.’ She says shyly, giving them all a wave.

‘Right well food its almost ready. Beer and Wine's in the cooler. Make yourselves at home.’ States Will as he claps his hands and heads back to the grill.

‘How was your day?’ Asks Frankie sweetly as he gives you a kiss, giggling at his daughters protest at him not giving her one too.

‘Yeah wasn’t too bad today.’ You answer ‘Better now I’m here.’

It didn’t take long for everyone to start laughing and joking as conversation flowed. Even Diana relaxed and got involved, getting on particularly well with Benny. As everyone enjoyed themselves it allowed your mind to wander. Ben noticed that you were lost in your thoughts, and he knew what those thoughts were about. You and he had become practically inseparable over the last year, gossiping about anything from work to the girls he picks up at his fights. You’d come to him with something yesterday that you didn’t know what to do about, something that after a few tears and a mild anxiety attack he had talked some sense into you. Everything would be okay. Food was eaten and then everyone settled around the fire pit in the garden, the sun painting the sky in an array of colours as it started to fall.

‘So did you crazy kids get each other presents?’ Asks Benny, wiggling his eyebrows at you both.

‘We said we wouldn’t.’ You reply with a shrug ‘Got you a card though.’ You finish as you look at Frankie.

‘I got you a card too.’ He replies, handing a large envelope to you.

You hand him his and go about opening yours, noting out the corner of your eye that he’s watching you.

‘You going to open yours?’

‘I will in a sec.’ He says excitedly ‘I want to see your face.’

You roll your eyes at him before pulling out the card, giggling at the image on the front. It was a rough sketch of Leiah and Han Solo holding hands, she’s telling him that she loves him and he is saying that famous like ‘I know.’ You open it and a folded sheet of paper falls out which you grab and hold to one side as you read what he wrote, smiling at the soppy words that he tried to hard to make neat. Placing the card down you open the paper and your face scrunches in confusion when you see that it’s a form. You glance at him and he nods at you so you look down at the form again, eyes widening when you realise what it is.

‘You want me to adopt Sophia?’ You ask, eyes locking on his.

‘You’ve been an amazing mum to her the last year, even id that's not what you were trying to be.’ He starts, smiling sweetly at you ‘She calls you Mumma so why not make that official.’

‘Fran-’ You choke as you speak, a shaking hand covering your mouth as you cry tears of complete joy.

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s completely up to you.’ He states, taking your hand in his ‘No pressure baby.’

‘Of course, I will.’ You manage to say, letting out a happy sob as you smile at him ‘You going to open yours now?’

‘Impatient.’ He says with a wink, poking out his tongue as he opens his envelope.

He chuckles at the image, you being on the same wavelength as him when you’d bought his card.

‘Without me, you’d be Solo... Really?’ He chuckles, rolling his eyes at the cheese as you shrug your shoulders.

‘Open it.’

When he does his eyes grow even wider than yours had. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to speak. To say something. You note that everyone else is looking at him with intense curiosity. Everyone but Ben.

‘What is it?’ Asks Pope, chuckling at his friend's expression.

Finally, Frankie looks up at you, his expression hard to read in the low light of the evening.

‘Really?’ He asks, his tone hopeful.

‘Yeah.’

‘Really what??’ Exclaims Will, his tone a little impatient.

‘I’m pregnant.’ You announce, Frankie, turning the card in his hand to reveal the sonogram stuck inside.

He’s on his feet in the blink of an eye, scooping you into his arms and kissing you deeply as he now sobs with joy. Everyone around the fire cheering as the two of you share a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes as you soak one another in.

‘You happy?’ You ask as he lowers back to your feet.

‘Ecstatic.’ He replies, kissing you again ‘Well I guess now is a really good time to do this then.’

‘Do what?’ You ask as you give him a bemused look.

You don’t see his hand reach into his pocket, all you see is him lowering himself down so that he is on one knee and the reality of what’s happening hits you.

‘You are the best thing to happen to me since Fia was born.’ He starts, holding your hand as he struggles to keep his voice from wobbling ‘We have been through hell together. You have had to endure so much, taking care of me and a baby that wasn’t yours when I came out of hospital. You have been so selfless. I knew pretty much from the first conversation we had that you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. So will you make me the luckiest man on the planet and marry me?’ He finishes as he reveals a beautiful ring that had been clutched in his hand the whole time.

You can’t speak, you can only nod as he stands up to put the ring on your finger and everyone cheers. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a bruising kiss, the two of you smiling against each other's lips as everyone starts to chant before you tell them to keep it down in case they wake-up Sophia. The party continues well into the early hours of the morning, everyone more or less crashing where they fall and you groan, knowing you’re going to have your hands full the next morning. After you and Frankie are confident that no one's going to choke on their own vomit you check on the baby and then head to bed, both laying on your sides so you can face each other and gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes.

‘Well, that was an eventful anniversary.’ You joke as you give Frankie a warm smile.

‘That it was.’ He chuckles in reply.

‘You sure you’re okay about the baby?’ You ask, your tone a little nervous ‘I mean we’ve only been together a year and-’

‘I am more than sure about us having a baby together.’ He interrupts, cupping your cheek with his large hand ‘How far along are you?’

‘A little over 6 weeks.’ You reply ‘I only found out the day before yesterday. I had a turn at work so they ran some tests and well, turns out you put a bun in my oven. They managed to book me in for a scan yesterday and after talking to Benny about it I thought the sonogram would be a nice way to tell you.’

‘Wait Benny already knew?’ He questions and you nod in reply ‘Should I be worried about how close you two are.’ He jokes, feigning a suspicious look.

‘Absolutely not.’ You reply as you pull him into a kiss, giggling as his hand travels up your oversized sleep shirt to cup your breast.

‘Still can’t believe you told him before me.’ He pouts and you roll your eyes at him.

‘I was kinda having a crisis when I told him.’ You chuckle ‘Was in a complete panic but he somehow knew you’d be excited.’

‘Well...’ He trails off, looking guiltily at you as he darts his tongue out to wet his lower lip ‘I’d kinda told him my plan to propose... and to ask you to adopt Sophia.’ He confessed and you raise your eyebrows as he continues his story ‘I also confessed that I wanted to try and have a baby with you pretty soon after the wedding. If you agreed and wanted to of course. I want it all with your Hermosa. Everything.’

‘Wow...’ You reply, letting out a huff in surprise ‘Well if you don’t fuck me after that speech I’m going to implode.’

He didn’t hesitate to comply, quickly settling between your legs as he kisses you hard and you moan in his mouth as his erection grinds against your bare sex. You rid him of his boxers as he drags two fingers through your folds, grinning at how ready you are for him. There was no need for foreplay, that could come later. Right now you needed him and he needed you and you moan in unison as he pushes inside of you. He starts with a pretty dizzying pace, each thrust perfectly angled and it doesn’t take you long to peak, back arching as your orgasm washes over you. Your moans are like music to his ears, spurring him on as he rests his forehead against yours so he can look deep into your eyes. You gaze back at him, mouth open in a silent scream as he edges you close again and you grab onto his strong shoulders to ground yourself as it hits you, this one dragging him along with you. You remain that way for a while, panting against each other’s lips as you try to calm yourselves, hearts racing beneath the surface of your skin as your minds start to clear.

‘One perk to being pregnant.’ You start, grinning at him as he tilts his head to one side ‘Much more sensitive.’ You finish with a wink, earning a growl from Frankie as he buries his head in the crook of your next.

~

‘Sophie and Diana needed to head out early.’ States Benny as he nurses his coffee ‘Asked me to say goodbye from them.’

‘How’s everyone feeling this morning?’ You ask, chuckling at the groans you receive in reply ‘Bacon sandwiches?’

‘Yes.’ Everyone says together.

Frankie emerges a few minutes later freshly showered, his eyes scanning his hungover friends and chuckling to himself as he spins you around and kisses you sweetly.

‘Morning Fiancé.’ He beams, kissing you again.

‘Good morning Papi.’ You reply, grinning at him as you take his hand and place it on your belly.

‘Oh will you two tone the cute shit down.’ Grumbles Benny as he massages his temples ‘Feeling sick as it is.’ He finishes, giving Frankie the finger when the man flips him off.

~

Chapter 8