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starshine583 · 4 years

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New Girl on the Block (3)

(Hey guys! finally got around to posting chapter three of this! There’s a second, mini series connected to this that’s called Journal Entries. You don’t have to read it to understand the plot, but I felt like it would be fun to write so enjoy it if you like!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 4

Chapter 3: There’s a First Time for Everything

Adrien tapped his pencil against his notebook paper and nestled his cheek into his open palm with a sigh. It’s been a little over a week since Marinette exchanged schools, and he’s yet to talk with her about it. He tried visiting her the day Ms. Bustier informed them of the transfer, but Marinette wasn’t home. Naturally, he tried again the next day and actually managed to catch her, but then she ran off. Ran off! Adrien still couldn’t believe it. Why would she run from him?

“Dude, you okay?” Nino asked, giving him a light nudge.

Adrien straightened slightly. “Ah, yeah, just.. Just thinking.”

Alya scoffed behind him. “Don’t tell me you’re still moping about Marinette.”

Needless to say, the class didn’t exactly share Adrien’s sentiment about Marinette’s leaving. With all of Lila’s stories circling around, they were overjoyed that the “bully” was gone. Alya was low-key furious, ranting about “injustices” and “letting Marinette run from the consequences of her actions”, but other than that, everyone was pleased with the outcome.

Everyone except Adrien.

Adrien knew better. The class may think that they’re better off without the bluenette, but he knew for certain that they were all going to drown without her. Marinette organized the budgets, supplied the goods for bake sales, signed off all of the paperwork for their trips- she even made dresses for the girls on special occasions. They needed her. That’s why he had to get her back. If only he could find time out of his packed schedule to visit her again..

“Alright, everyone, settle down.” Ms. Bustier spoke up. “The results for the new class president are in.”

Adrien sunk further into his seat. Ah, yes. The new class president, another reason Marinette should have stayed. With her gone, they had to make an impromptu election. Chloe, of course, ran again, but Lila decided to run as well. With the class’ obvious loyalty towards Lila, it’s a wonder Ms. Bustier didn’t announce the brunette as the president right there and save everyone the trouble.

Ms. Bustier pulled out a small card with the results and cleared her throat. “With a near-unanimous vote, the new class president will be Lila Rossi.”

The class cheered, and Lila gasped as if she hadn’t expected this to happen.

“Thank you all so much!” She beamed.

Alya slung her arm around Lila’s shoulders. “You deserve it, girl.”

Chloe scoffed from her seat and crossed her arms, but no one acknowledged the show of disdain. They were too busy congratulating their beloved Lila.

“Congratulations Lila. You can visit Marinette after school to get the paperwork from her.” Ms. Bustier said, setting her cards aside.

Adrien straightened. Someone had to go visit Marinette? “I’ll do it!”

The classroom paused at the outburst.

“Oh, Adrien you don’t have to do that for me.” Lila remarked with a grateful tone.

“Oh, no, it’s my pleasure.” Adrien was quick to reply.

A hint of annoyance flicked across Lila’s features, but it quickly vanished when Alya said, “Yeah, Lila, you shouldn’t have to suffer through that.”

A smile forced its way onto the Italian girl’s lips. “Thanks, but I think it’s only right that I meet with her in person. Class president to Class president and all.”

Alya frowned. “Well, at least let me go with you. I don’t want her trying to pull anything.”

“Oh, Alya,” Lila sighed, patting the red-head’s hand, “It’s just a small visit. I’m sure Marinette and I can be civil about this.”

Alya reluctantly agreed, but if anyone had actually been paying attention, they might have seen Lila’s smirk.

~~~~~~

The soft rhythm of Felix and Allegra’s instruments floated around the music room as they played. Marinette never imagined the violin and the flute sounding well together, but the way Felix and Allegra harmonized had her swaying back and forth with the melody. It was a lovely song, and she couldn’t help closing her eyes to fully relish the masterpiece.

Her eyes snapped open a second later, though, as her entire body jolted from the large calamity of piano keys that was suddenly pounded on by Claude. Felix startled as well, his violin flying off key, and Allegra nearly dropped her flute.

“Again, Claude?” Allegra sighed, placing her hands on her hips.

Claude leaned back on the piano stool with his palms and flashed them an innocent smile. “What? I was only helping.”

Marinette held back a smile, but Felix wasn’t amused.

“I told you to stop doing that.” He scolded with a scowl. “You’re going to get our music room privileges revoked!”

“Good. You guys practice too much, anyway.”

Allegra gave Claude a flat look. “We need to practice if we’re going to get better.”

“But you already sound great.”

“Because we practice.” Felix replied pointedly.

Marinette subtly nodded in agreement. She didn’t want to get directly involved in their arguments, as that never seemed to go well.

Claude huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Waste your time on endless practice. I’m gonna do something more productive with my time.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

Claude turned to lay across the piano bench while throwing Marinette a smile. “Like making croissants! We’re still coming to your house, right?”

Marinette returned his smile, secretly relieved that he didn’t ask her to do something outrageous like going to chase pigeons around the park while on roller blades. (Yes, that’s happened several times in the past week, and yes, each time she’s said no.)

“Yeah, but you guys are coming over tomorrow.” She told him.

He pumped a fist into the air. “Yes! I can’t wait!!”

“Neither can I.” Allegra admitted. “Your parents sound splendid.”

Marinette’s smile widened. “I’m sure you’ll all get along great.”

“Yes, I’m sure.. If we can practice enough to go straight to your house after classes tomorrow.” Felix remarked, shooting Claude another look.

Claude tisked, waving a hand at him. “Yeah, yeah. Get back to your music already.”

Allegra gave a short laugh, sarcastically stating, “Oh, thank you so much. I was wondering when you would give us permission to play.”

“I know, I’m such a generous person.” Claude joked back.

Allegra playfully rolled her eyes and held up her flute to resume playing. Felix followed along, and Marinette went back to swaying as their song continued.

The familiar ring of the customer bell brought a smile to Marinette’s lips as she opened the bakery door.

Her mother, Sabine, looked up from the cashier desk with a warm smile. “Marinette! How was music practice?”

“It was wonderful, Maman. Felix and Allegra play beautifully.” Marinette answered as she walked inside. She set her bag next to the counter and gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. “Is everything ready for them to come over tomorrow?”

Sabine nodded. “Tom’s got the ingredients and tables ready for when they get here. He’s so excited to meet them, and so am I.”

Marinette chuckled. “They’re excited to meet you guys too.”

Sabine’s smile widened at the comment, but then her expression darkened as she said, “Hopefully they’re not two-faced and backstabbing like your previous classmates.”

Marinette gasped. “Mom!”

“Well, it’s true!” Sabine replied defensively.

It was true, but that didn’t mean Marinette was any less surprised to hear her maman talk that way. Of course, Sabine did tend to speak her mind when Marinette’s feelings were involved.

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang again, signaling a new customer’s arrival. Marinette turned with her mother to offer them a greeting, but stopped short when she saw exactly who the new customer was.

Lila Rossi stood in the doorway, a smug smirk on her lips as she eyed Marinette up and down. “I see you’re doing well.”

Sabine was in front of Marinette in the blink of an eye. “You are not welcome in this bakery. Leave immediately before I call the cops.”

A look of feigned hurt crossed the Italian girl’s expression. “How rude! I only came here per Mme Bustier’s request. I have to get the formal papers from our previous class president.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes, stepping around Sabine with crossed arms. “I suppose you’re the new class president then?”

Lila’s smile returned, sharp and triumphant. “By a near-unanimous vote. Alya is still the deputy though, since she practically begged me to let her help.”

Marinette’s lips tightened into a thin line. That sounded about right. “How nice for you. You two really do deserve each other.”

When Lila first came around, Marinette had been torn and heartbroken about her friends abandoning her for a stranger. It didn’t help that Adrien kept assuring her that everything would be fine, that they didn’t mean what they said. He gave her false hope, and it made it all the harder to find the courage to leave.

Now, she’s realized how toxic her old environment had become, and though it still hurt her to think about it, Marinette knew she couldn’t let them affect her anymore.

Lila faltered at Marinette’s uncaring tone. “Uh.. right. Where are those papers again?”

“Up in my room.” Marinette moved towards the stairs, bringing Sabine back behind the counter as she did. “I’ll go get them now.”

“Good.” Lila said, sounding satisfied. “I’ll be waiting outside, but don’t take your time. I’m supposed to go meet Alya and the girls for a girl’s night out.”

Marinette rolled her eyes at the obvious jab, but continued up the stairs anyway. The sooner she got the papers, the sooner that lying leech could leave.

She swiftly ran up to her room and gathered the papers to stuff them into the large, blue binder she’d been given only two semesters ago. It sunk into her arms as she picked it up, and the sheer weight of the packed binder made her smile as she brought it back outside, especially when she saw Lila’s panicked expression.

“Um.. What is that?” The brunette asked, pointed at the binder.

“Oh, this?” Marinette replied innocently. “This is just the binder that holds all the formal papers you need. Being class president takes a lot of work you know.”

Lila nearly toppled over when Marinette dropped the binder into her arms.

“That’s allergies, budgets, complaints, schedules, and trips!” Marinette told her with a grin. “But don’t forget to give Mme Bustier and Principle Damocles the proper reports each semester.”

Lila shot her a scowl, but quickly recovered, slipping on a smile of her own. “No need to be petty, Marinette. It’s fine to admit you’re breaking inside. Losing all your friends can be a hard thing to go through.”

Marinette’s grin faded slightly, knowing that Lila was right. She’d lost everything. All of her childhood friends, her crush, her fun teachers, anything she used to hold dear.

But maybe that was a good thing.

“Have fun sorting through the binder.” She said, spinning on her heel and walking inside. She had better things to do than listen to someone who had to lie just to get people to like them.

The bakery door closed behind her, and Marinette saw Lila leave out of the corner of her eye, taking the painful memories with her.

~~~~~~

Friday afternoon. 4:45pm.

Felix stared at the bakery door, unsure how to proceed. The group had originally agreed to walk straight to Marinette’s house after school, but they changed the plan last minute to come back at five, an hour after school ended. It gave Marinette’s parents time to finish up the preparations, and the rest of the group time to drop off their school bags at their homes.

Felix, as usual, arrived at the Dupain-Cheng’s early, but now he was doubting his actions. On one hand, he would get to meet the Dupain-Cheng’s without the chaos that the trio tended to bring. It would be a nice way for him to get a quick impression of the family over-all.

On the other hand, he’s at Marinette’s house before the time she specifically told them to come, which could be considered rude in some cases. Should he go inside or wait in a nearby cafe?

After a few more minutes of debating, Felix stepped forward and knocked on the door. If they really needed him to wait until five, he would apologize and come back in ten minutes. The opportunity to meet the Dupain-Cheng’s on a one-on-one basis was too good to pass up.

It only took a moment for the door to open, and a short, asain woman greeted him with a sweet smile. “Hello! I’m assuming you’re one of Marinette’s friends from school?”

Felix nodded, noting her raven hair that matched Marinette’s perfectly. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Felix.”

He stiffened slightly when she reached forward to take his hand in both of hers. “It’s great to finally meet you! Marinette has told us so much about you all.”

A small smile passed his lips. For some reason, that knowledge gave him a satisfied feeling. Assuming that the talk was good, that is. “She’s talked a lot about you as well. I’m assuming you’re Mme Dupain-Cheng?”

The woman waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, please, call me Sabine.”

‘Sabine’ showed him inside, where baked goods lined the walls in glass cases. Claude was going to lose his mind when he got here. The overwhelming scent of vanilla and cinnamon alone was going to be enough to make the brunette’s mouth water.

“This is my husband, Tom.” Sabine introduced, gesturing to a tall, burly man at the cashier desk. “Tom, this is one of Marinette’s friends, Felix.”

Felix would be lying if he said he wasn’t intimidated by the man. His head almost grazed the ceiling as he approached them, making Sabine look like a dwarf in comparison. Felix felt like a dwarf in comparison.

Tom offered a wide, hearty grin, though that didn’t help Felix’s unease. “Ah, Felix! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!”

The man scooped Felix up into a bear hug, squeezing him tightly to his chest. Felix would have replied to his greeting had he been able to breathe.

“Oh, Papa!”

Felix glanced over Tom’s shoulder- he’d been raised that high -and saw Marinette standing in another doorway behind the cashier counter, a slight cringe in her expression.

“Papa, put poor Felix down before he passes out from lack of oxygen!” She insisted, walking forward to tug on her father’s arm.

“Oh that’s.. That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Felix wheezed as Tom set him down.

Marinette’s hands hovered around him for a moment, then she nervously clasped them together. “I-I’m so sorry, I should have warned you. I thought I was going to be down here when you guys arrived.”

Felix shook his head and bent over slightly to catch his breath. “No, no, you’re fine. They actually remind me of my own mother. She’s a rather adamant hugger herself.”

A relieved smile came to Marinette’s lips. “Really? I didn’t think anyone could be as ‘homely’ as my parents.”

Felix chuckled, but the customer bell jingled again before he could reply. Claude sauntered inside a second later, his arms spread as wide as his grin.

“We’re here~!” The brunette sang, looking around the shop. His gaze found Felix’s flat one almost immediately.

“Hey!” Claude gasped, pointing accusingly at Felix. “He beat us here!”

Allegra stepped out from behind Claude, wearing a curious expression. That quickly changed to knowing smirk, though, as she shot him a playfully scolding look. “Why, Felix! I’m surprised at you! You should know more than anyone how rude it is to arrive at someone’s house early.”

Felix grimaced at the reminder of his bad manners and quickly turned to apologize.

“Oh don’t be silly!” Sabine said before he could get a word out. “Any friends of Marinette are friends of ours. You guys are welcome here anytime.”

Claude lit up at the sentiment. “I’m gonna be here a lot then.”

Allan popped out from behind Claude and Allegra. “Thank you for hosting us, M. and Mme Dupain-Cheng.”

Felix held back a smirk. He’d wondered when Allan would show himself.

“Please, call us Tom and Sabine.” Tom replied in a casual, yet booming voice. It highly contradicted his wife and daughter, who tended to speak in soft tones. “Follow me. I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”

The group was led into a room in the back where three islands stood in the center, each equally parted from each other. A large counter lined the wall to the left as well, and two, large ovens sat on each end of said counter.

“Do you guys want to start from scratch or start with pre-made dough?” Tom asked.

“Oh! Scratch! I want to be able to make these at home!” Claude answered eagerly.

Tom smiled. “Alright! Scratch it is. Everyone take the needed ingredients on the counter.”

The group took a moment to pass around the items, then they separated to find a counter. Allan took the first counter with Tom, and Allegra and Claude stole the last counter, leaving the middle counter for Marinette and Felix.

“I’m glad you guys got to come.” Marinette commented as they aligned their ingredients on the shared countertop.

Felix nodded. “I think Claude’s going to get a sugar-crash before we leave.”

Marinette snorted. “With all of those baked goods in the other room? I’d be surprised if he makes it to supper.”

Felix spared her a glance. “Are we staying for supper?”

Marinette paused, having to think out her answer. She must not have noticed the implication when she said it. “Uh.. I mean.. I wouldn’t mind. Do you guys want to stay for supper?”

Felix shrugged, though the idea sounded perfect. It would give him more time to understand the Dupain-Cheng’s lifestyle. “I’m sure Allegra and Claude will be ecstatic over the news. I’d have to contact my mother about the change in schedule, though.”

“Oh, were you planning something with her tonight?” Marinette asked, worry lacing her tone. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to.” Felix hastily amended. “I simply need to tell my mother that I won’t be home for supper tonight. We always have a family dinner when everyone is available.”

“And you won’t miss it?”

“Well, it sounds like it’s a special occasion, but everyone’s available more often than you’d expect.”

Marinette tilted her head up and mouthed an ‘oh’. “I’ll tell Maman that you’re staying, then. She was sort of planning supper for all of you anyway.”

Felix smiled. Given the daily croissants that the group’s received since their first lunch with Marinette, that didn’t surprise him. Mme Sabine had proven to be an extremely kind and charitable person, much like her daughter.

Tom, once his own ingredients were in order, regained the room’s attention and began showing them how to make the croissants. Because he was in the front, it was easy to see how the ingredients were supposed to be thrown in and follow along. That said, Felix found himself extremely grateful to have Marinette as a partner. Her little tips on how to mix the dough helped him immensely, especially since she told him when his mixing was sufficient.

“Alright,” Tom sighed as he set his bowl to the side, “Now that the dough is done, we’re going to start the hard part. Everyone needs to get some flour so we can start rolling the dough and folding it. Marinette, if you would.”

Marinette sprang from her place next to Felix and crossed the room to a cabinet. She pulled it open and grabbed a large bag of flour that appeared to be at least a fourth full, then carried it to the long counter against the wall and set it down with a huff.

“Here’s the flour that you all are going to be using.” Tom explained. “That should be plenty, but if you need more-”

A light knock on the doorframe ahead of them caused Tom to trail off. Felix glanced at the door to see Mme Sabine standing there, holding a sheepish smile.

“Tom, dear. I know you’re busy, but could you help me with this customer real quick?” She asked politely. “They’re being.. difficult.”

Felix noted the sharpness of her smile, along with the iron grip she had on the doorframe. It appeared that the sweet, loving mother also had a temperance, though he didn’t blame her. Customers had a tendency to be massive pains for retail workers. (That included himself on a few shameful occasions.)

M. Tom’s nervous smile said it all as he joined his wife at the door. “Oh, of course. Uh.. children, just- just keep doing what you’re doing. Marinette will show you how to roll the dough if necessary.”

The parents left the room, causing the rest of the group to turn to Marinette for instruction.

Marinette, who had returned to Felix’s side by that point, shrank slightly at the sudden attention. “Oh, uhm.. Do any of you know how to fold dough?”

A short laugh came from Allegra in the back. “Mari, I’m quite certain that none of us have even touched uncooked food before.”

“That’s the price you pay for being rich.” Allan agreed, putting a hand to his chest and shaking his head with feigned grief.

Felix opted not to comment. His mother rather enjoyed cooking, much to their butler’s dismay. She often cooked their family meals, and every now and then, Felix found himself helping. “It’s a necessary skill.” she would tell him. “Your future wife will thank me and so will you.”

Why his mother assumed he would be able to tolerate anyone long enough to marry them was beyond him.

“Oh, how horrible for you.” Marinette retorted with a playful eye roll. “I guess I’ll show you how to fold dough then. For your sakes.”

“We are forever grateful.” Claude joked.

Marinette laughed and scooped up her bowl, bringing it to the front with Allan for all of them to see.

“Now, everyone needs to get some flour. We’ll start with Claude and Allegra getting some. That way, the flour will work its way to the front by the time we’re done.” She instructed.

Felix nodded. That sounded like a reasonable plan.

Claude walked over to grab the bag as told and hauled it back to his and Allegra’s table. “How much are we going to need?”

“Oh, not much.” Marinette answered. “You only need some on the table and some on the dou- Claude, wait!”

Claude tipped the bag of flour upwards, expecting it to slide smoothly onto the table. Instead, the flimsy ingredient smacked into the table in a large clump, causing white dust to explode into the air. Felix scrunched up his nose in annoyance. How were they supposed to mix that? How easily did it spread? He knew he should have worn something less formal. (Oh, who was he kidding? Felix didn’t have anything less formal.)

An apologetic whimper came from Marinette, as if any of this was her fault. Claude and Allegra quickly fell into a coughing fit as Claude dropped the flour bag onto the ground. Of course, dropping the bag only threw more dust into the air.

The two attempted to wave the dust away, but it only partly worked. When the dust did finally clear, though, Claude and Allegra were left with a small pile of flour on their table. The rest of the flour was either in the air or draped across their clothes and hair.

“Wow.” Felix stated dryly. “I’m impressed. You actually managed to wait until M. Tom left before making a complete mess of yourselves and the room.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it u-” Claude’s retort was cut off by another coughing fit, but Allegra continued it for him.

“I don’t see you rolling out your dough in a perfectly clean and pristine manner.”

“That’s because you used up the rest of the flour.” Felix shot back.

Marinette gasped. “Is it really all gone?”

Claude and Allegra, suddenly dawning a sheepish expression, looked down at the bag that was still on the floor. Claude reached down to pick it up, but, as if the situation weren’t bad enough already, he grabbed the wrong end and pulled it up upside down.

The last bits of flour trickled to the floor, spreading across the brunette’s legs.

“...Yeah. It’s all-” He let out another cough “-gone.”

Allan’s eyes widened, a mixture of admiration and mortification swirling onto his features. “How did you waste an entire bag of flour on one spill?”

“You’d be surprised.” Marinette muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“We can reimburse you.” Allegra was quick to offer. “How much did the flour cost? Do you take checks?”

A light chuckle fell from Marinette’s lips. “No, no, that’s not necessary. I’ve.. actually done worse.”

Claude’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You’ve done worse?”

Felix thought over the many falls that Marinette had had over the past week. Her clumsiness certainly made it possible to have more extreme accidents.

“What do we do now that the flour is gone?” He asked, trying to get the group back on track. The sooner they finished baking the croissants, the sooner he could examine the rest of Marinette’s house instead of sitting in the kitchen. The Dupain-Chengs appeared to be a lively, fun-loving family, but he’d only gotten a small taste of their life, only seen the tip of the iceberg. Felix wanted to absorb as many details as possible before leaving.

Marinette straightened. “Oh! There’s actually more flour in the back! I’ll go get it.”

Before Felix could offer any assistance- his curiosity piqued about where they might store more food -the ravenette had already left the room, disappearing through another doorway in the back.

A moment later, she returned, another large bag of flour in her hands. This time, however, the bag was full. Felix vaguely wondered how heavy the bags must weigh for her to be wobbling over with one so easily. Wasn’t flour supposed to be heavy?

“Here’s a fresh bag of flo-ou-ah!” Marinette’s words jumbled into jargon when her foot caught on her ankle. Her body lunged forward from the momentum, and Felix stepped up to catch her on reflex.

Bad idea.

Due to the weight of the flour bag yanking her downwards, Marinette crashed into Felix’s and dragged him to the floor with her. His back hit the floor with a painful *thud*, immediately sucking all of the air from his lungs.

Of course, the flour bag popped open upon impact, sending more white dust directly into his face. Between the weight of Marinette and the flour, along with his aching lungs and the suffocating dust, Felix was convinced that he was about to die right then and there on the bakery floor.

Felix Culpa: tragically taken from this world by a bag of flour and a clumsy classmate. What a way to go.

“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, Felix. Are you okay??” Marinette asked frantically, pushing herself off of him.

Felix coughed out a weak response with what little oxygen he had. Even without Marinette, the flour bag pressed into his chest like a block of concrete. How had she been carrying this without breaking a sweat earlier?

Marinette hauled the bag off of him, and Felix sucked in a deep breath despite the flour still cluttering the atmosphere. All he needed right now was some sweet, blessed air. Infected or no.

It wasn’t until he regained enough of his senses to push himself up into a sitting position that he heard Claude’s howling laughter.

“Oh, man!” The brunette cackled. “And you thought we were bad! Look at you, Fe! You’re a ghost!”

Felix glanced down at his clothes, which were indeed covered in white. He could even feel the weight of the flour in his hair. How long was this going to take to wash out? Was he going to have to buy new clothes before going home?

A snort brought his gaze upwards, where Marinette stood with the bag of flour. She had a hand on her mouth- holding the bag of flour with one hand -and a barely contained smile on her lips that she was obviously trying to hide.

That’s when Felix knew that he must be looking ridiculous.

“At least I wasn’t the one to cause the mess.” Felix grumbled in response to Claude. He reached up to start brushing some of the flour out of his hair, finding a bit of comfort in the fact that Marinette was white with flour as well. It might have been irksome if she had escaped her fall unscathed while he appeared to be a freshly made snowman.

“I am. So sorry.” Marinette apologized again, this time offering him her hand to help him up.

Felix took it, his bafflement towards her uncanny amount of strength only growing as she managed to pull him up with one arm and keep the bag of flour steady in her other arm.

“It’s..” not your fault. Was what he was about to say, except that would be a lie. It was entirely her fault.

“It’s fine.” He said instead. “It’s just clothes.”

“Wow~” Allegra sang, immediately latching onto Felix’s nerves. “‘It’s just clothes’? That’s a first.”

“Remember that time Felix threatened to sue us for enough money to buy a new wardrobe if we ‘got so much as one drop of food on his vest’?” Allan chimed in.

Embarrassment coiled around Felix’s stomach, though he wasn’t sure why. That designer outfit was expensive! And the trio was acting especially chaotic that day. Who knows what might have happened had he not put his foot down when they started joking about a food fight.

Felix whipped around to Allan to explain that exact reasoning, but something caught his attention, causing him to pause. Allan was still at the front of the room, the farthest position from the chaos that had just ensued. Aside from the stray dust still fluttering around the room, the man was completely untouched as far as flour was concerned.

“Marinette,” He said, catching the girl’s eye, “I do believe that Allan hasn’t gotten his flour yet.”

Marinette’s gaze flicked to Allan, then to the bag, and Felix prayed that he assessed her correctly. Because if Allan didn’t get flour on him this instant, Felix might be tempted to do something foolish. Like attempting to throw a bag of flour that was, without a doubt, too heavy for him to even lift on his own.

The barest hints of amusement lit up Marinette’s features. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

Felix smiled, feeling a devilish satisfaction. Yes!

Allan took a step back, suddenly looking very concerned.

“Woah, w-wait a second, guys.” He squeaked, holding up his hands as Marinette inched forward. “L-Let’s talk about this!”

“One of us. One of us.” Claude began chanting behind them. “One of us! One of us!”

Allegra joined in, and, in the spirit of things, Felix joined in as well, if only to push Marinette further towards his goal.

Allan bumped into his assigned counter while trying to put useless distance between himself and Marinette. “Please, no! It’s rare that I come out of these things unscathed!”

Marinette’s grin was downright predatory as she held up the bag of flour. “I can’t imagine why.”

Allan’s scream was the last thing Felix heard before Marinette swung the flour bag forward.

The entire room erupted into uncontrollable laughter as Allan coughed out at least half the bag. He was now stark white from head to toe, and Felix couldn’t be prouder. It served him right for poking the bear.

Allan hung his head in defeat, a bit of flour falling off of his head from the action. This only made the group laugh harder. Claude started to say something about the “set being complete”, but before he could finish-

“What is going on?!”

M. Tom reappeared in the doorway, his eyes wide and puzzled as he stared at the flour-covered room.

Felix froze. Right. They were supposed to be baking with Marinette’s parents.

Marinette set the flour bag down immediately. “I’m sorry, Papa, this is all my fault.”

“No, that’s not fair!” Claude protested. “Allegra and I spilled the flour bag first!”

“So she had to go get more!” Allegra continued the explanation.

“I’m the one who told her to throw the fresh flour at Allan.” Felix added. If anyone was to get in trouble, it should certainly be him. He was the only one who actually spilled the flour on purpose. Marinette didn’t deserve to take the blame for his petty actions.

M. Tom furrowed at the near-simultaneous remarks, but then let out a hearty laugh.

“I see you’ve all gotten into the baking spirit!” He declared. “Now who wants to learn how to actually fold dough?”

Felix blinked. He’d expected the man to be at least a little upset. Did this sort of thing happen often? Or was Marinette’s father simply that forgiving? M. Tom did refer to the mess as ‘the baking spirit’.. Whatever that means.

“Yeah we do!” Claude shouted enthusiastically, taking Felix from his thoughts.

“Great! Let’s start with putting the flour on the table.” Tom smiled, going back to his original spot next to Allan.

Felix followed the notion, going back to his original spot as well. He tried brushing more of the flour off of his vest, but, as expected, it didn’t help much. He was probably going to get more flour on him during the folding process anyway.

“Don’t worry.” Marinette whispered as she reclaimed her spot next to him. “I’ll let you guys wash up in the bathroom after this. If you want to, that is.”

Felix nodded. “I would be eternally grateful.”

Marinette giggled. “..So did you really threaten to sue them over your clothes?”

Felix paused his kneading long enough to sigh. Freaking Allan. That idiot deserved every speck of flour dust that he had on him.

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182

#Felinette #Rosemary AU #New Girl on the Block #Marinette #Felix Culpa #Quantic Kids

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guileheroine · 3 years

Text

by your hand is the only end i foresee

1.2k of catradora angst written for the pine4pine exchange 💔 / ao3

Aside from her old cadet uniform and a few ration bars she kept tucked away for midnight cravings—items she was very happy to leave behind—Adora’s personal possessions in the Fright Zone were few, enough to fit in a tied-up old pillowcase.

Precious few: her first official commendation (back when those things mattered), a bracelet she had woven from the leather of her old training shoes, and a few folded up pieces of paper, held together with a blackened elastic that would snap any moment. She wanted to leave these behind, too, but it was easier said than done. Much easier, considering Adora had gone out of her way to grab the little pile from the secret place under beneath her bunk, and cram it, running, into her jacket, before she and her new friends stole away from the Horde forever, again.

She knew she shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t even have been thinking about it. It could have cost them dearly, actually. Yet she couldn’t help it then, with their old quarters just a dash down the corridor—and she couldn’t help it now, as she unfolded the creased old notes and read. She pored over each word, like she was five years old again and barely learning how, just to make them last. Crayons from The Horde came in four colours: black, grey, red, and brown. Catra always made the most of them, scrawling like a machine, her hand skidding out of the borders of the paper sometimes. In an instant, Adora could almost smell them again, a memory she could never have imagined relishing. Could never have imagined feeling so complicated.

AdoRA

DO NOT try to steal my bars again EVER .

just ask. i got them for us!

Then there was a crude heart, before Catra signed her name the way she always did, with a claw-groove underscoring the letters. There were a handful like that, short—and sweet, in hindsight, whether they were meant that way or not. And now, more than a little bitter. Adora traced the groove on each one with her fingertip, her brow threatening to crinkle, hating how tender her own touch was, how quickly her stupid eyes welled.

Adora— remember we need a bigger bunk. It’s gonna come quicker if you ask. If you kick me in the face again you won’t sleep for a week.

Adora, Thanks for standing up for me after training today. Let’s be on the same team next week?

Adora. This is gonna be your face after I kick your ass tomorrow. (Accompanied by a pretty scary drawing of Adora frowning furiously and crying puddles, with Catra cackling in the background, flexing biceps she had never had in her life.)

Adora missed her crazy doodles. She regretted that there weren't more of them here.

The messages were actually fewer than she remembered, too; and as she flicked through them she knew that most of them were missing. She had probably just tossed them behind her shoulder without a second thought, because what had it mattered when they had each other right there, forever? She wondered if Catra had kept any of her notes and figured she had probably torn them to shreds the first chance she got.

Why couldn’t Adora do the same?

Maybe it was just that clinging to them felt like a way of holding on to their friendship, even though all signs told Adora that it was beyond hope of repair now. After all, the scribbles they shared had felt like something so private, so special to them. There weren't exactly gifts to give in the Fright Zone, so they sufficed as tokens of friendship in a way little else could, like evidence. They fell into the habit of writing the kind of things that got said aloud much less often—how they would look out for each other, how they worried sometimes about the future. Adora, and only Adora, knew that Catra often found it easier to express those feelings in writing, in a kind of private that could never be overheard or interrupted. So yeah, it was special. It was the last shred of love Adora had from a friendship that seemed to have slipped through her fingers before she knew it was gone, and she treated these notes carefully. Evidence.

Sniffling, she wondered if she could take a page out of Catra’s book. If writing something down might make her feel better. It hurt horribly to feel so far away from Catra, but if Adora focused hard enough on the page and imagined she was talking to her maybe that pain would recede. Adora fetched the journal Glimmer had presented her with when she moved in and found a fresh page, bending the spine over in that way that always seemed to make Bow wince.

Dear Catra,

Then she held the pen frozen to the page for so long that the ink seeped all the way through. She blew on it to make sure it wouldn't smudge easy, and wrote.

You are my enemy now and you always will be.

She read it over like a drill. It was important to get this into her head. And only then did she write out the rest of her feelings, the words—and tears—finally flowing freely.

...I will always miss you.

When she got to that part, it felt like an exhale, even if the admission was guilty. Because it was the other irreversible truth, the other side of the coin to the animosity she was still struggling to understand. She let the pen clatter momentarily before picking it up again, resuming speed as if she had never stopped. By the time she came to the end of the page she found that her head was clearing even if her tears weren’t, because she was being honest with Catra—

I’m sorry things ended up like this, I really am.

—And herself.

But even if we could go back in time, I wouldn’t do things any other way.

Love,

Adora

Adora didn’t read it over when she was done. She just stretched her wrist and folded the page over. Then she wrote a quick note beside it, because she didn’t quite trust Glimmer and Bow not to snoop. No, it wasn’t her intention to give this letter to Catra. What good would it do? Even if she sent it, Catra probably wouldn’t understand. She couldn't trust her to understand: that was still such a strange and new feeling. Adora felt the distance between them like a throb, like a chasm wider than space. She wondered if they would ever be connected again. Forever without her seemed like such a hard bargain, such a slog…

The same forever that she had once been able to promise Catra without blinking twice.

Adora rubbed her eyes and left her head resting in her hands when she was done. Maybe there were other forevers, other universes. In a desperate moment, she wondered if she could send Catra a sign that would survive the end of the world as they knew it, that could bridge the gap between them just by biding time and space for as long as necessary… It felt as impossible as the distance. She rubbed her temples as if to literally ease the pain. She could only hope that it would let up with time.

#catradora #spop #she-ra #catradora fanfic #**

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renjunfromthestars · 4 years

Text

more than

Pairing: Mark + reader, Bestfriend! Mark, Childhood friend!Mark

Genre: Fluff, angst, honestly a little bit of crack LOL

Song recs: Best friend + Untitled + Waiting Room (Rex Orange County), Sofia (Clario)

Warnings: Mild swearing and mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.0k (my longest fic yet, wow!)

Summary: You’ve known Mark for all your life, and it only takes one drunken night (plus a little intervention with Haehcan) to think that you wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better...

Notes: The fact that I actually had the patience to sit down and to write something above 3k words,,,,absolutely astounding, amazing, unique, never been seen before…. Mark is a little awk and always works so hard (poor bby), so imagining him as a super stressed pre-med major and oblivious best friend absolutely wrecks me thank you goodbye

----

When you first meet Mark, you’re eight years old, and it’s at church. He’s dressed in his Sunday best: a light blue button up, khakis, and shiny dress shoes. He looks stiff as your mother introduces you two, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the collar.

It’s not that you dislike him, but you think he might dislike you, with the way he avoids eye contact, eyes tracing the floor, your shoes—anywhere but your face.

You see panic flash through his eyes when his mom gently pushes him towards you, telling him to take you inside and reserve a spot in the pews while she catches up with your mom.

He shuffles awkwardly, and wordlessly, you follow him into the building.

The pews are almost empty, with the bulk of them being filled in the front by the old people that usually have nothing better to do on their Sunday mornings. Although your local church is on the smaller side, it feels unusually large with rows of empty pews, almost eerie. You shudder at shadows the walls make with the stained glass, and hurry to your usual spot towards the middle.

If Mark notices your apprehension, he doesn’t say anything. He’s oblivious, actually, not noticing your absence until he’s almost at the end of the rows. When you see him stop and search for you frantically, you stifle a laugh.

He eventually finds you, and after shuffling awkwardly between the pews, makes his way to you.

“This is kinda far, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“I mean,” he stammers. “I usually sit closer to the front. ”

You peer at him from the side. “You actually want to pay attention?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well yeah, isn’t that the point?”

“I guess,” you say, looking at the ceiling. With the sprawling arches and patterns, the designs are pretty, you think.

“You should at least try, it’s kinda interesting,” when you turn your head to look at him he turns away. “Only if you want to, of course.” he adds, fidgeting with his hands.

When you tell him that maybe you will, you see him crack a small smile.

It becomes a routine, almost every Sunday, with you and Mark sitting next to each other. Whether it’s closer to the front or the back, it’s a whole debate. You usually give in, because when you walk in, Mark is already waiting for you in the front.

….

“Do you still go to Church?”

You’re laying on a green bean bag in Mark’s dorm room, procrastinating on the midterm paper you were supposed to get started on, well, a week ago.

You think for a second, hand raised to rub your chin, just to tease him. “What’s church?”

“C'mon dude, are you serious?”

“Barely,” you say, standing up to move to sit on his bed. “You should really get a new bean bag, it’s kinda deflated.”

Mark ignoring you, reaches over from his desk to fluff up the bean bag. “It’s because you sit on it so much.”

“Are you calling me fat?” and before he can defend himself you finally answer him, “I stopped going in like, middle school. It would be hard even if I wanted to, to find a whole new congregation, and I’m just busy. Also, it’s so boring, I could cry.”

Mark perks up. “Not if you go with me.”

You groan dramatically, and Mark chuckles.

“Good to know that you haven’t changed since you were eight.”

It’s just your view on church, that hasn’t changed since you were eight. First thing things first, you were 19 now, going on twenty. You’re in University now, your second year. It’s been a blur assignments, partying, coffee and term papers- you don’t have time to think about anything else right now. Except maybe actually starting your paper but-

Mark interrupts you midthought, breaking the silence. “Are you still with that guy?”

“Huh? Who? Yuta?”

“Yeah,” Mark responds sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

You roll your eyes. “No, we haven’t been together for a while. It wasn’t that important so I forgot to tell you.”

You can tell he's surprised about how unusually calm you are for talking about your first serious breakup, but he doesn’t say anything, instead just scratching the back of his head awkwardly in typical Mark fashion. “He was an asshole anyway,” Mark murmurs.

“What did you say?” you ask, acting shocked. “Mark Lee? Talking shit?”

Mark, embarrassed, refuses to repeat it.

“I’m just saying, he wasn’t the right person for you.” he protests.

“As opposed to who? God himself?”

“I can think of a few,” he sighs, but you aren’t paying attention, instead laughing your ass off on his bed.

“You’re insufferable,” he says, standing up to open the door. “C’mon let’s go, I’m hungry. I know you’re not starting that paper anytime soon.”

…

It’s a routine, seeing Mark on Monday afternoons for lunch. Not Friday, because you were busy getting wasted, and consequently not Saturday, because you were too hungover. Not Sunday, because Mark had church, and you, well, were busy praying to God that you would be able to finish all the work you’d neglected over the weekend as a result.

“I still don’t understand why you choose the worst day of the week for this,” you say over your Kale caesar salad, pushing the leaves around aggressively. The University had a lot of healthy options, which you were grateful for. Grateful for you were not, were for the student loans you had to pay off every month, the exorbitant amount you partially owed to all the local and expensive organic produce the meal plan featured for the sake of being sustainable and health conscious.You could really give a rat’s ass about whether your salad was organic or not; if your weekends said anything about you, no amount of kale could help you (or your liver).

“It wasn’t really up to me,” Mark points out. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy being-”

“Ta ta ta,” you tsk, waving a finger around. “I, unlike you, actually have a social life.”

Mark frowns. “I have a social life.”

Mark definitely had a social life. He was popular, even. As popular as you can be, being a preoccupied Pre-med with perfect grades. Mark is likeable. It’s not like he doesn’t have the opportunity to go on weekends if wanted to, he just chooses not to, deciding to slave away at biological functions, orbitals, and lab results instead. Even now, as he takes his glasses off to clean them, you notice the imprint they leave on his face from how long they’ve been sitting on his face, and doesn’t take you long to find the dark circles that grace the skin under his eyes: he’s exhausted.

You frown too. “You should really get out more Mark. You seem stressed.”

Mark gives you a small smile after putting his glasses back on, and then resumes typing on his laptop. “I don’t know how going out would make me less stressed,” he says, distracted. “I would only be more stressed, knowing the work I have to do.”

“Yeah, but you're pretty organized.” You point your fork at him accusingly, kale falling to the side. “Don’t you usually finish things early too?”

“Yeah, I do.” he admits, and before you can press onwards you’re interrupted by a girl you recognize to be his lab partner.

Goggles in hand, you can see the marks they leave around her eye area, but she’s somehow still annoyingly beautiful, with her glossy straight hair and long eyelashes, but that’s not why you dislike her. She might be the most stuck up girl you’ve ever met.

“Did you do the calculations yet?” she says, turning to Mark. ignoring you. It’s only when you cough in your seat that she turns to you. “And hello, (y/n).” An afterthought.

“Hello Yebin,” You give her a wry smile. “How's the lab?”

“The usual.” she glances at Mark, who seems to be doing some finishing touches on said calculations. “How’s Chem 2?”

Boy, does she really grind your gears.

“It was fine, I actually placed out because I took it in high school.” Not to mention, it was a class for freshmen, and you were in fact, now a sophomore.

Before she can say anything back, Mark claps his hands in celebration. “Done! Sorry it took me so long, I just had to double check some things.”

“It’s no problem,” and with the way her voice drips with a sickly sweetness, you want to gag. It’s so painfully obvious. “Are you still down for tomorrow?”

Poor Mark, always oblivious, stops typing on his laptop and looks up in confusion. “Huh?”

You silently laugh at the expression Yebin makes when she realizes Mark has no idea what she’s talking about. “For our study session? The MCAT is just months away.”she reminds him.

Mark remembers. “Oh yeah, about that, I was thinking we could also invite-”

“Great!” she chirps, “See you tomorrow!” and with a flash of her white lab coat, she's gone.

Mark scratches the back of his head. “I guess she had somewhere to be.”

You roll your eyes for what it seems like the 100th time this week, anymore and they might be permanently stuck to the back of your head. “She definitely likes you.”

“Who? Yebin? No way.”

“Yes, Yebin, and yes way.” You fling a walnut from your salad over to his side, and he cringes.

“What is your problem?” he grumbles, and resumes typing on his laptop.

You drop the subject, because you know any talk on girls is completely lost on him. As you set aside your salad, you peer over at Mark, palm supporting your face. He’s focused, eyebrows slightly furrowed, with his lips mouthing over silently whatever science journal he was reading on his computer screen.

Mark has always been good looking, you think. You don’t know why you’ve never really noticed it before. His nose bridge gently slopes over his face, and his jawline is sharp, having lost his baby cheeks years ago. He works out often too, although he barely talks about it (maybe out of fear you’d tease him for being a gym bro). And with the way he’s so adorably awkward, It’s no surprise really, that every girl friend that you’ve met of his seems to be completely smitten.

Shaking your head, you snap out of it. It’s dangerous to think of Mark that way, you think. You’ve known him too long.

“My problem? I think you’re the one with the problem here. I’m surprised your hair isn't completely gray by now.”

Mark ignores you, probably mad at the fact you tried to start world food war three with him with a walnut.

“Hey.” you flick at his forehead to get his attention, and he flinches.

“There’s a party this weekend at Johnny’s fraternity, you should come.” Johnny, being both your long time mutual friend (who’s demeanor is way too nice to fit the stereotypical frat boy image, really) who has since stopped asking Mark out of respect for his “med school grind”.

“I’m already planning on it,” he responds, and you’re surprised.

“Since when do you actually accept party invitations?”

“Since yesterday, because I’m tired of Haechan bothering me about it.”

You silently cheer, of course, you expect nothing else from Haechan.

…

“I never knew it was so hard to get booze.”

“It’s not hard if you’re 21.”

Scoffing, you turn your head to face the boy across from you. As if he can feel the burn of your gaze on his forehead, Haechan stops typing on his Macbook and lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“No shit Sherlock, but last time I checked, we both weren’t 21.”

The sun had set a half an hour ago, and despite having spent the whole afternoon together, you and Haechan have had yet to come up with a way to secure the drinks you promised your friends for tonight’s pregame. With both of you being certified schemers representing your respective friends, you guess it wasn’t that big of surprise that the responsibility was left on both your shoulders. It beat scavenging alone, and spending time with Haechan wasn’t so bad either, when you two weren’t trying to kill each other.

It was already late, and Haechan had deemed Ubering to the nearest packer store that sold Soju (the sweet sweet liquid of choice) was too much work. You on the other hand, had dismissed that option for a completely different reason. The issue in question was the flimsy, borderline pathetic excuse for a fake ID Haechan planned to use at the packer store.

“Hey it works!” he protested. “You just act like you’re already legal and they don’t even card you. Easy.”

You roll your eyes as Haechan theatrically reenacts his last trip to the packer store.

“I asked him how he was doing, and he told me school sucks. I say to him, ‘Tell me about it, thank god this is my last year!” and as if to emphasize his next point, he flicks his wrist in the air, ID snuggled between his index and middle finger. “And I was on my way. No issue at all.”

“That’s because he didn’t even see your fake I.D stupid. He would’ve called you out on your bullshit in an instant.”

Out of all the different options available, you could not fathom why he chose his fake ID to show that from all the places in this world, he was from freaking Hong Kong. There were fifty states to choose from, other English speaking countries, and he chose to pose as an international student on a student visa. He could most definitely look the part, but after looking at the ID he proudly slaps on the common room lounge desk, you deadpan. The yellowish tint to the card was way too suspicious to be taken seriously.

“I wish we could just ask Mark,” you sigh, and Haechan looks at you like you’re stupid.

“He’s 20, ya dimwit.”

“I know, that’s why I said I wish. You have serious hearing problems.”

Haechan stops typing on his laptop to shoot you an especially heated glare, and you’re reminded again why he’s #2 on your fight list, right above Yebin. First place was taken by the girl you almost actually fought at that one University party a town over, wherever she is you hope she’s having a terrible day.

“If it were not for the rules of this land, you’d be dead right now Haechan.”

Haechan places his head in his palms, and flutters his eyelashes disgustingly.

“But you love me.”

“Yes, as much as Mark loves social events. Speaking of Mark, how on earth did you get him to leave his cave?”

“It didn’t take much,” and before you can call him out for lying, he shushes you.

“Okay, maybe a few days of nonstop begging.” Haechan says as his eyes dart across the laptop screen. You raise your eyebrow. “And I might have threatened to release pictures from the photoshoot his mom made him take when he was younger.”

“I expected nothing less from your evil, evil, mind.”

He scoffs. “Hardly. Just resourceful.”

Resourceful he is, because Haechan is the one who ends up finding a plug for the alcohol that night.

…

A can of four loko, a bottle of soju, and a few shots later, you should be hammered, wasted even. But after 14 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days into college, your tolerance is pretty high, so you’re really just plain drunk. Even so, you’re a little messy (no surprise). You’re not in a state to be trusted with any errands, so you don’t understand why Haechan asks you to pick up Mark along the way to Johnny’s fraternity.

“Why do I have to do it?” you whine, putting your hand over your forehead, and Haechan only laughs at your dramatic display of despair.

“Because Johnny messaged me that Mark isn’t there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him flake on me this time. ”

You point a finger at him, and he stifles a snort when you’re off by a couple inches. “Letting him flake on me, me, me as in you! It’s not my problem.”

But there’s no use in arguing with Haechan, and you know it. That’s why you find yourself stomping your way up the second floor of Mark’s dormitory like you’re in elementary school again, having just been scolded by your mom and being forced back into your room.

You knock at his door impatiently, and it feels like forever until you hear some shuffling, and see the door knob twist open. To be honest, it’s probably just a few seconds, but time is different when you’re intoxicated.

Before you even see him, it smells faintly of shampoo and detergent, so you’re not surprised when he opens the door and you see his hair is still half wet from the shower. He’s definitely party ready, and when you mean party ready, he’s wearing the same loose black tee and grey joggers he wears to sleep. His socks don’t match and you try not to laugh, because it would be a bad look for you, to show up intoxicated, and apparently crazy.

“Oh (y/n), what are you doing here? Oh shit is today Friday? I totally forgot, Haechan is going to kill me-'' He looks at you and then pauses, scrunching up his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” you say sarcastically, but it definitely falls short of Mark because he looks at you like he does not believe you. Good, because he shouldn’t.

He sighs, and ushers you in his room. It’s dark, with the only light emitting from the little steel lamp on his desk, which is covered with his notes, pencils, a textbook, and some highlighters. When you finally make your way to his bed (with difficulty) he sighs again, and you silently scold yourself for having that mini drinking contest with Haechan. If you thought you could handle your alcohol well, Haechan was an absolute monster.

You nearly screech when Mark flashes a mini flashlight in your face, and he tells you to calm down before someone thinks he’s committing murder. He holds your face still with his index finger resting on your cheek and his thumb lifting your chin. You try your best not to squint when he tells you to, instead focusing on his face. He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. If you weren’t already so flushed from drinking, you suspect you’d look beet red now.

“Well, your pupils still dilate normally, so I don’t think you have alcohol poisoning-”

The world is moving a little, so you plop backwards on his bed— albeit a little harder than expected because he rushes over to you and looks concerned.

“-but I don’t think that’s the problem here.” he finishes.

Your eyes are closed, mainly because his bed is really comfy. “I’m here to pick you up.” and as if to emphasize your point, you wildly start pointing in all directions, hoping it would land on him.

You open your eyes when you feel him grab your finger and turn it thirty degrees to the left, just stopping at his chest. Your sense of direction must be really bad, because it turns out you were pointing at nothing.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for awhile”

“Noooooo” you wail, and Mark lets go of your hand to sit back down on his desk, and unsurprisingly, begins reading his textbook again. How he is able to focus with you in the background, you don’t know, but it must have taken years of practice.

At this point, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You shove yourself off the bed and grab his arms from behind him. His roller chair scoots a few inches before he stops it.

“You’re not exactly making great case for yourself here”

“Stop making excuses!”

You aim straight towards the armpits, and you’re confused at the lack of reaction, so you reach over to squeeze his knee. Almost immediately, he crumples over, almost falling off the chair.

“Can you-” he says mid laugh, “please” he gasps, “Stop that!”

You respond by attacking his other knee, and it’s over. He falls off his chair and you go down with him. The difference is that he recovers quickly, and starts tickling you back in revenge.

You’re sensitive, so it feels like you’re dying. You try to use his arm as leverage to push yourself up, but next thing you know he’s toppeling over you. You close your eyes and wait for your head to kiss the cold hard floor but it never comes, because Mark's hand cradles your head, breaking the fall.

When you open your eyes, he’s closer than ever before, noses touching. Lips a mere centimetres away and in a weird embrace, you resist the urge to close the distance.

Mark has always been good looking, especially now, so close to you. You don’t know why you’ve never noticed it before.

When he pulls away he’s flustered, and for the first time, so are you.

It’s an awkward silence, with you still on the floor as he stands up, rubbing the dusk from his knees. He scratches the back of his head and offers you a hand

“Let’s head out,” he says.

“Yeah, let’s.” you echo.

…

Although Haechan berates you for being more than a little late to the party, he’s overjoyed that you somehow managed to show up with Mark. Not that he didn’t have faith in you anyways, he tells you. It’s just that Mark is married to his Biology textbook, and she runs a tight ship. By the time you reached the frat with Mark, you’ve sobered up enough to enjoy yourself normally,

It’s when you wake up in the morning, that you’re not okay. It’s not okay, because you dreamt of Mark, and that’s weird, because you and Mark were just friends, right? And you always will be.

It’s not a big deal because friends dream of friends. Dreams are a product of your own desires environment, you tell yourself, it’s perfectly normal because you spend so much time with him.

What is not normal, is when you see Mark the following Monday, and are worried about it. You’re nervous the whole time, and it gets worse when you slide the little watermelon filled tupperware container across the table in apology for last Friday. He likes his watermelon cut up into little cubes, you remembered (why do you remember?), and you avoid his eyes, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your face.

Mark, oblivious as usual, doesn’t really notice anything until 10 minutes in, as if your lack of rambling surprises him. Munching on the cubes, he asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I am.”

No you are not. You are utterly fucked.

…

“But you need to promise me you won’t judge or make fun of me for it”

“Just say it already, Jesus.”

“It’s just so embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, are you in love with me?”

“No!”

When placing your hands in your face, Haechan grants mercy on you, patting you on the back instead of teasing you further.

“I don’t know what else could be so important that you need to talk to me in person. Unless…. it’s about Mark?”

His hands stop soothingly rubbing your back and instead starts slapping it, waiting for you to laugh along with him. When he doesn’t get a response he gasps. Turning his head sideways to face you, he pries your fingers apart.

“No fucking way.”

“Right?” you moan.

“I was just joking, but I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you’ve known each other forever. You spend a lot of time together too. Someone was bound to catch feelings eventually.”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to sulk.

“You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re the loser in this situation.”

Right he is, because you’ve been avoiding Mark for the past few weeks like the plague. You’ve told him that you’ve been busy with your final term paper (you’re not, you’re an engineering major why would you have one?), and although he was a little confused, he was probably also a little thankful because the MCAT was only a month away.

As you tell him about your plight, Haechan listens thoughtfully, “mhming” and “ahh-ing” at all the right places.

“I don’t see how ignoring him helps you at all. I would say to just talk to him about it, but it’s Mark, he probably hasn’t thought about you that way at all.”

“Thanks,” you grumble. “So I’m basically one of the boys.”

“No really, mans might as well be the anemone from Nemo, I’ve never seen him interested in anyone.” Haechan sighs. “This is a tough one.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but I might have to get creative.”

“I’d like to see you try Hyuck.”

…

It’s 9pm Sunday night, and there’s a knock on your door. It’s strange you think, because it’s a Sunday, and it’s a little late to be doing anything.

When you open the door, there he is, Mark Lee in all his 5’9’ glory, with a little bag in hand, in it your favorite milk tea.

“It’s Sunday.” you say, intelligently.

Mark just chuckles. “Yes it is, and your point?”

You step aside so he can walk in, and you’re embarrassed at your current state. For once, you’ve finished your assignments early, so you’ve spent the past four hours in your pajamas watching K-dramas and snacking on honey chips. You must look like a bum.

Mark on the other hand, always looks good, even in some old dress slacks, and an old t-shirt with some holes in it. He smells faintly of antiseptic, so he must have just come from a volunteering shift at the hospital.

“It’s nice of you to drop by,” you poke the straw into the bubble tea. “And thank you for the bubble tea.”

“You’ve been busy recently so I figured you’d need it for the caffeine content, but it’s not like you sleep anyway.” he jokes. “How’s the term paper going?”

“The term paper? Oh right, the term paper. It’s alright,” you lie. “Just a couple of pages left. Beats having to take the MCAT though.”

Mark looks tired, with his hair slightly overgrown and his dark circles hallower than usual. You feel bad—he has a habit of overworking himself; you’re usually there to check on him but lately you haven’t, and he’s kind and thoughtfull enough to bring you something because he thinks you’re stressed.

“Yeah tell me about it,” Mark takes a seat next to you on your bed, head hitting the wall with a soft thump. “It’s going to be all over next week though, I can’t wait. I’ve missed you though.”

Busy silently cursing at yourself for the way your heart flutters at his admission, you forget to respond. Mark frowns, places his hand on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you, and it has the opposite effect—you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no.” you stammer. “Just stressed. ”

Mark makes things worse by leaning in closer, gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead. “You’re kinda hot.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, like I think you may be running a fever.”

He hops off the bed, and rummages around in his little black bag, and pulls out a thermometer. He places a little sleeve on the end, and motions for you to open your mouth. When it beeps, he takes it out of your mouth and looks at the result.

“Your temperature is fine, but you should rest. I’ll see you soon okay?” He pats your head. “Take it easy, I know you’ll do great.”

…

You might not have a term paper, but what you do have is a physics final.

The desk area is littered with eraser dust, crumpled paper, and half filled styrofoam cups of coffee that have since gotten stale. You swear to god that Physics was a subject meant to torture, not enrich the lives of college students. At this rate, you were seriously debating dropping out to become a stripper.

Haechan, not sensing your dismay, disrupts your plans to drop out by telling you something that puts a damper on the rest of your day, as if Physics wasn’t doing that already.

“Have you noticed that Mark’s been hanging out a lot with that one girl lately? What’s her name? So-bin, Yee-ben, Ben 10, ”

“Yebin,” you snap. “And don’t ever disrespect Ben 10 like that again. ”

Haechan lifts his hands up, “ I agree she’s a total bitch, but man is she hot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better, not worse?”

Haechan’s face softens and for once in his life, looks a little sorry. “All I’m saying is if you don’t do something soon, someone might do it for you. I overheard her saying something about her and Mark going to spring fling together.”

He’s not wrong, but Mark, at Spring fling? At a Darty? Willingly? His idea of a good time was studying.

“You’re kidding,” you scoff. “As if he’d be caught dead at something like that.”

“I don’t know (y/n). He doesn’t really have much else to do now that the MCAT is over.”

Right, the MCAT. He took it last week. You mentally slap yourself for not asking how it went.

“Speak of the devil.” Haechan says quietly, motioning behind you.

There she is through the glass, Yebin, pulling a seat next to Mark, not before sneaking up behind him and planting a fat kiss right on his cheek.

…

Maybe if this were a movie, you’d cry all weekend and he’d make it up to you; But this is real life, so you secretly cry for a week and sulk for the rest of the month, blaming your puffy eyes on seasonal allergies (In real life, Mark can’t make it up to you because he did nothing wrong. He’s also not even aware that you like him, but that’s besides the point).

Despite Haechan’s attempt to convince you that it could’ve been just a friendly kiss, a greeting kiss, a whatever kiss, you insist that you’re done with your little crush, that it had shriveled up and died. Although not so convinced, Haechan drops the subject all together and instead resorts to comforting you in his own way, which mainly just consists of making fun of you about other things.

Mark is a touchy subject, and you’re still avoiding him. Why? You don’t really know. You know it’s not fair to Mark, who is probably very hurt and confused at your lack of communication. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it, and is so infuriatingly mature with his emotions that you suspect that he even respects it, because he stops texting you after a while.

You feel bad about stonewalling him, leaving him in the dark, but really, what would you say to him?

“Sorry-I-haven’t-been-talking-to-you-it’s-just-that-I’m-in-love-with-you-and-I’m-butthurt-that-you-have-a-girlfriend-of-course-it’s-not-really-your-fault-but-”

You shudder at the thought, because it’s just plain embarrassing.

But really, you’re not the best at expressing your emotions—you’ve never been. Frankly, you’re tired of expressing your emotions because it never got you anywhere. Not with your mom, not with your dad, and definitely not with Yuta, who you dated for a year and half a year just to dump you like you were nothing.

It’s not worth it, to put your emotions on the line for anyone, not anymore. You locked your heart away a long time ago, and you were a fool to let it come out last time, and you like to think you learn from your mistakes.

At least, that’s what you think, until you return home one Sunday night from the library and see a little cup of your favorite milk tea at the door, with a straw neatly balanced on the top.

…

When spring fling rolls around, you still haven’t spoken to Mark, and if your friends catch on, they don't mention it. They know by now that you prefer to deal with things alone, to digest them for what they are and then promptly moving on—you know, like processing a death.

It doesn’t really matter, you think. You and Mark have always been friends, and will always be friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And when you get over yourself, things will be fine.

But really, how can it be fine when your whole world stops every time Mark looks at you?

You try not to dwell on it, even now weeks later. You’re busy getting ready to go out, blotting your lipstick on some tissue paper in your friend Yuna’s bathroom.

“(y/n), you look amazing.”

When you turn to look at yourself in the mirror she’s right; The mascara you put on your lashes really brings out the color of your eyes, and your skin (thanks to Yuna’s highlighter compact) is literally glowing. You feel really pretty.

You turn to smile at her. “Thanks to you.” you tell her, and she gets bashful, pushing you out of the seat and ushering you out the door. You make it down stairs no problem, but she calls you as soon as you walk out the door.

“Yes, I have blotting papers with me, and no, I am not dating Haechan I’ve told you thousands of times-”

“What about me?”

You turn around to find Haechan leaning against the dormitory wall, already waiting.

Embarrassed, you tell her you need to go and hang up the phone.

“How long have you been standing here? Hopefully not too long.” You apologize, but he assures you it’s all right.

“Are you sure your friends are fine with you leaving them early to go with me?”

“Yes Haechan, they’re just happy that I have someone to go with.” you sigh. “Almost too happy.”

He laughs, after looking at you, he pauses. “You look nice.”

“You do too, Hyuck.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he seems embarrassed at your compliment.

When you walk into the venue, you’re not surprised at how spacious it is. You’re used to your school going all out, from the kale salads and now, spring fling. They might as well call it spring semi-formal, because everyone is dressed their best.

You see Johnny at the end of the punch table, and he waves, motioning for you two to join him.

“And my favorite couple,” he greets you two, and you almost smack him upside down the head.

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” and he leans in for a hug. “How are you (y/n), I haven’t seen you in a second.”

“I’m good, just been super busy. You were so right, Professor Kim has been really keeping me on my toes in Physics 430,” you laugh. “Every time I walk into the classroom I can feel my life flash through my very eyes.”

He laughs, and you all laugh with him. Johnny tends to have that kind of effect on people.

“How’s Mark?” he asks, and you cringe. “It’s been a while.”

You laugh nervously “ I haven’t seen him in a while either.”

“Oh really. Don’t you see each other every week?”

“Well we used to,” you panic. “Just not anymore because, you know, I-”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” Haechan finishes.

Johnny gives you two a strange look but continues talking anyway.

“Well that’s life. Poor boy’s been studying for the MCAT like his rent is due tomorrow.”

“More like everyday.” Haechan snickers.

Johnny doesn’t hesitate to flame Haechan for his insolence, and begins teasing him for almost failing Calc II (Calc II was kind of hard you admit but that is an admission that will die with you), meanwhile, you’re whisked away by Yuna and her entourage. You glance at Johnny and Haechan, who bid you farewell with a nod of their heads.

It’s fun, you’re having a great time dancing, and eating mini hot dogs on a toothpick (you guess your university had to cut corners somewhere). When Roxanne plays, you and Yuna go wild, nearly knocking over a waiter over with a silver tray. You have so much fun, that you forget that Mark Lee exists until you make eye contact across the floor.

It's no surprise that he’s with Yebin, who looks annoyingly prettier than usual, with her makeup all done and satin dress. She’s pulling him in the opposite direction, but Mark seems to pay no mind, instead staying in place, looking at you. A moment passes, and you see him excusing himself. When he begins to head your direction. You panic.

Before you can even react, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. When you finally turn to see who it is, you’re nose to nose with none other than Haechan.

“What are you doing?”

“Just go along with it,” Haechan whispers through his teeth. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he grabs one of your arms, placing it around his neck.

“Go along with what? Have you lost your mind-”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips press against yours and your mind goes blank. He tastes like peppermint and aftershave, with his lips soft in the center and just a little chapped around the edges.

When you two finally part, Mark is nowhere to be found, and you don’t know how to feel.

“Haechan I-” you stammer. “I need to go.”

You hurry off, and he doesn’t follow you.

…

When you’re outside, it’s cold; the air is brisk and definitely doesn’t help steady your breathing, it only makes it harder. It’s a lot to process, Mark, Yebin, Haechan. It’s a lot, and you feel like you’re in emotional overdrive, with all the feelings you’ve been trying to keep in for the past few months coming back to bite you.

You sit down at the edge of the fountain outside the venue, and you nearly get soaked. It misses you by mere inches, with the ceramic fish looking at you almost mockingly. You don’t care, with all the thoughts running through your head right now, you think you might go insane.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there at the fountain when you feel something wrap around you, warm like it was just taken out of the dryer. It smells familiar, like cologne and faintly of antiseptic—it smells like Mark.

You don’t look at him when he sits down next to you, legs open, hands crossed. And he doesn’t look at you. It’s radio silent.

“So you and Haechan, huh.”

“So you and Yebin.” you echo.

Mark looks at you for the first time, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh that.” He shuffles awkwardly. “I don’t really like her like that.”

Your head raises in surprise, and you face each other for the first time in months.

“I thought you guys had a thing.”

Mark scratches the back of his head. “Well we do, but it’s just in her head” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. “She came onto me last week, so I finally set things straight.” Noticing your reaction, he just shakes his head.

“I don’t think it worked though,” he adds.

“I would think, you’ve always been too nice for your own good.”

“I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?” he murmurs. “I feel terrible.”

“You’re not a terrible person just because you don’t like someone back.”

“Maybe not, but I believe not wanting you and Haechan to be together does.”

It takes a moment for his words to register within you, and even after you process them, you’re not sure what to say.

“We don’t like each other like that.” you interrupt him.

Mark looks visibly confused. “Then you and Haechan aren’t??” his voice falters.

“No more than you and Yebin. I promise you it’s not what it seems like.” you tell him and it finally clicks. You’d have to thank the idiot later. Right after you slap him.

Mark doesn’t question it, not even when you start crying. You don’t question it either, unsure of why you’re crying.

“You’re so stupid,” you sniffle. “I’ve liked you for so fucking long.”

Mark pulls out his pocket square to gently wipe the tears from your face, and places his hand on top of yours.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You could have just said something.” his says softly

“I didn’t want to ruin anything. We’ve always just been friends.”

“I think we’ve always been just more than that.” he says, leaning in, hands cup your face gently.

“Just took some of us a little longer to realize.”

....

“That was very nice of you,” Johnny says.

“Yeah. Very nice.” Haechan echos.

“How long has it been, that you’ve liked her for? Three years?”

“Two going on three.”

Johnny lets out a low whistle, and looks down at the younger boy worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Haechan glances at you and Mark through the glass, outside the venue. With Mark whispering in your ear and you laughing, you seem so happy; happier than you’ve ever been with him.

“Yeah, I am. More than okay.”

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cherrychonk · 3 years

Text

The Transfer part 11

You were back reading the diary of the victim. You could see the progress of the ship and many other details. Reading took you longer, you would occasionally peek and look at what the Chief was doing. She would answer dozens of calls and do overviews of many reports. While you watched her quietly.

Her brows were furrowed down, eyeglasses hung perfectly balanced on her nose as she wrote something down.

“Do you have a problem with my face officer?” Lin asked without looking at you.

You felt your face blush at being caught. “Huh?!”

She didn't look up from her work. “If I wanted a stalker, I could've asked Korra to leave her mutt here.”

“My apologies Chief! I just- You look- I…!?” Your mind short circuited as you went back to your papers. You buried your head in the notebook to hide the embarrassment showing in your face.

The next few days you spent reading the journal and writing anything significant in your notepad. You had fallen into a routine of coming early into the office with breakfast and coffee for the both of you and eating in comfortable silence. She would do paperwork or help the rookies with their work. Sometimes she would help Saikhan with operations and other times she would have meetings with President Moon. Lunch was spent with Jia or Mako, sometimes both. Other times Korra would come along too if she was free at the moment.

Coming back every day after lunch break you would resume your work, some days Lin would arrive an hour before your shift was over or even after it. You liked to stay longer to see her return and to make sure she had eaten. If she had a lot of paperwork (almost always) you would stay with her and help her after ordering some dinner.

Coffee was the go to every night when there was too much paperwork. The beverage keeping both of you going like gasoline. Sometimes you would have to fight to keep your eyes open and after a shot of coffee your eyes would open wide like dinner plates. She never seemed faced about it though. Probably since she had been doing this for years. But you smiled, she wouldn't have to be doing things alone now that you were here, you would help her.

________

Tonight both of you had finished dinner and were working on a lot of documents. Classifying and ordering forms, placing them in boxes and organizing everything. When the clock hit midnight you went to the break room and retrieved two coffees, handing her one. You brought the sugar jar and placed it on the desk, offering some to her before sitting down. You gave your coffee two spoons of sugar before stirring it, raising the cup to your lips and taking a sip. You always enjoyed the late night cups, they always seemed to taste better. You weren't sure why, it was the same cup you drank in the morning. Something, however, made it taste especially good at this time.

You watched as Lin did the same, two spoons of sugar and a few sips. You continued with the work when you heard the metallic sound of the spoon clicking in the jar. You looked up to see the spoon completely still but positioned differently than before. You decided to ignore it and went back to work, instantly the sound was back and you snapped your head to the jar.

“You alright?” The Chief asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, oki doki.” You replied, narrowing your eyes at the jar before looking back at your work.

This time when you heard the sound you didn't move your head, you listened carefully and looked from the corner of your eye to see the Chief pouring an ungodly amount of sugar into her coffee. You slowly and carefully moved your head so now you were staring at her. She took a sip, looking up she saw you staring and her cheeks turned red.

“What?!” She snapped.

You chuckled. “You know, you can put as much as you like. No shame there.” You said pushing the jar closer to her.

“You're making fun of me now, officer?” She growled, still embarrassed.

You quickly waved your hands. “No! No! Seriously, take as much as you want. I just didn’t know you like your coffee so sweet.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “It’s not a big fucking deal…”

You chuckled as she glared at you. “Well, it’s a big deal for me. So, how do you like your coffee?”

She looked at you dumbfounded, her arms softened and she grabbed her coffee looking at it, the dark liquid staring back at her. “Ummm well… I like my coffee lighter, with cream and a few spoons of sugar. I’m not a fan of the bitter taste.” Lin said, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Okay, I’ll be right back” You said standing up leaving the confused earthbender on her desk.

After a few minutes you came back with a new coffee, making it as she described and settling back on her desk. “Here, I hope this one is more of your liking.” You smiled.

The blush was still on her cheeks though more subtle now. She grabbed the coffee, taking a sip and she tried hard not to smile.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.” Lin said softly.

“Nonsense!” You smiled. “I’m enjoying my coffee, you should enjoy yours too.”

With a smile you continued with your work as the earthbender looked at her new coffee. You would occasionally look up at her, sometimes meeting her gaze, you could've sworn that she blushed every time, because you sure did. Something inside you made you feel warm seeing her so soft around you and you couldn't help but smile.

Both of you finished the last of the paperwork, you stretched out and yawned. It was already three am and you had to wake up at six. You prayed that tomorrow would be slower.

“Spirits, what a long day we had.” You chuckled walking out of the office.

Lin hummed in agreement. “You want me to take you home?”

“It's okay, I can walk, go home.” You said walking down the station’s stairs and into the sidewalk.

She grabbed your arm roughly. “You are not walking home! Are you insane?! Come on, let's get you home.”

You laughed at her frustration but followed her into the patrol car, you sat comfortably as she turned the engine.

“Have you been walking alone all this time?!” She asked, irritated.

You yawned. “I didn't want to bother you and the exercise is good for me anyways.”

“I'm driving you home myself from now on, you're asking to be mugged by walking home alone for fucks sake.” She huffed, pissed by your antics.

Her ranting was stopped when she felt your head on her shoulder as you slept quietly by her side. She was stiff as a board on her way to your apartment, not wanting to wake you until she got there. Once she arrived she gently nudged you.

“Hey, we're here, wake up.” She said firmly.

“Ten more minutes…” You yawned, getting more comfortable on her shoulder.

“Y/N don't make me carry you.” She growled.

You didn't respond too far gone in sleep to care. She sighed, grabbing your bag and looking for your keys, with them in hands she grabbed you and carried you bridal style up your apartment stairs. Carefully unlocking the door she walked in, the place was neatly clean and it had a few more plants than last time, she noticed.

She carefully opened the bedroom door and laid you on the bed. She took your jacket off and rocked you a bit rough to wake you.

“Y/N if you're going to sleep in your uniform at least take your belt off. Also, you can come in at ten so you have a few more minutes of sleep.”

You didn't open your eyes though you have heard her. Instead your tired brain forced your hands to pull the belt off before you started to pull your pants down.

The earthbender quickly grabbed your blanket covering you in panic. “Well okay bye!” She said flustered as she hurried out of the room and out of the apartment, using her metalbending to lock the door.

She got into her patrol and started to drive away. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of you. She tried to think of anything else but failed miserably. Once in her building she parked her patrol and went up the front stairs where the doorman awaited her.

“Miss Beifong, more late paperwork I see.” The doorman spoke gently, opening the door and accompanying the earthbender to the elevator. He was an older gentleman, probably in his late seventies. Still he was strong and healthy. He was old fashioned and a person Lin considered a close friend.

“Yes, like always. Though I've been having help these past few nights. The transfer, Y/N has been helping me lately.” She asked.

“Ahhh I see, the hero cop.” He hummed.

Lin nodded softly. “Yeah, the crazy reckless one.”

“She must take after you.” He said in a chuckle.

Lin smirked. “You insult me Delun?”

“Oh of course not, she's a hero just like you. It brings me happiness to see you less stressed. She must be a huge help.”

Lin blushed, quickly scoffing to recover. “She's fine.”

The man raised an eyebrow and smiled. “She must be.”

Before Lin could ask what he meant they arrived at the elevator and he pressed the elevator button. “Good night Miss.”

“Night Delun.” She said softly.

Landing on her floor, she walked to the front door of her penthouse and settled her armor on the stand. She went straight to the bathroom where she undressed and turned on the shower. She allowed the water to fall on her face, trying to find anything to distract her thoughts. She cleaned herself with no urgency, finishing and dressing herself on a night gown.

Lin laid on her huge bed all alone while her mind was drowning with the thoughts of you. You were so thoughtful, maybe for you it was a simple act but for her? It was the most meaningful thing that had happened to her. She felt herself blush thinking of your smile and care, the fact you stayed to help her whenever she needed or that she even asked what she wanted and made it for her. The breakfasts and dinners to make sure she had eaten every day, made her heart warm up too.

Then Lin frowned, why would she keep thinking of you. Your kindness, the way you talked or acted. She reasoned she was just getting used to you being so open and different. Nothing more, she just appreciated your presence, not like she had a crush. Absolutely not, she was just thankful for your help, that's all.

Lin groaned, wrapping the blanket around her. “Snap out of it Lin.” She said softly before snoozing off.

________

Morning arrived, a little too fast for Lin’s liking. She arrived early at the station like every day. Feeling tired due to the late night work the other day. She watched the clock before sighing and walking around the station to mentally prepare for the day. She talked to Mako for a bit before checking the other officers and talking to Saikhan about a sting operation that would be happening in a few days.

After everything was said Lin walked back to her office, you weren't there yet. It was still seven fifty and the Chief told you to come in at ten so you could rest. You on the other hand had other plans as you all but burst through her office doors.

“Morning Chief!” You said with a wide smile. You were holding breakfast in one hand and a coffee holder on the other.

Lin was surprised to see you, most officers would kill to come in a bit later but here you were, bright and early with bags under your eyes just like hers. “Y/N, what are you doing here? I told you to stay till ten so you could rest.”

You settle everything on her desk, handing her a coffee cup. “Had to make sure you had breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day!” You said happily.

“What? Don't think I can take care of myself?” Lin raised an eyebrow.

“Did you have breakfast?” You deadpan.

She stayed silent and you smiled.

“Ahh yes, that's what I thought.” You sat on your desk eating away your sandwich.

Lin shook her head before sipping her coffee. This time she couldn't help the smile on her face as she tasted the sugar and cream.

“Lunch is on me.” She said, grabbing her sandwich.

You nodded and went back to your notes. Lin sighed contently, your presence bringing her unprecedented calmness.

#the legend of korra #lin beifong #y/n #fanfic

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madjacobin · 3 years

Text

Albert Rosenfield's Day Off

Albert Rosenfield/Dale Cooper

for @magnificentmoose, as part of the wonderfulxstrange event for the anniversary of the Twin Peaks revival! Albert and Coop go on a trip to the Rodin museum in Philly, mild angst and fluff. No spoilers.

The world is huge, and Cooper intends on showing Albert as much as he can of it. Or at least, Coop is wholly committed to dragging Albert around Philadelphia, giving him a crash course in the city’s arts and culture. For all of his interests in art and history, Albert noted as he chewed on a poppy seed bagel, he usually couldn’t afford to take time off to immerse himself in his new city. The bagel was untoasted, and awfully chewy - the kind that lingered furtively in the break room, untouched and uneaten - and Albert was regretting having skipped his breakfast. Perhaps tomorrow, on his day off, he’d be able to stop by the corner shop and grab some proper bagels.

Grimacing, he put down the bagel and resumed his work on writing the report of a victim of a recent slaying, one whose rope burns and repeatedly stabbed torso indicated a link between this victim and the marks on a few others. The three victims were all found within the same vicinity - on the banks of the Delaware - and the FBI was assisting Philadelphia and Camden police forces. Maybe, with his work, they’d be one step closer to catching what they all knew was clearly a serial killer.

His work dragged on, for a few more hours, and by then Albert was already settled in his working groove. Wholly dedicated to the task at hand, he at first didn’t realize who had walked in.

“Thorough as always, Albert,” A kind voice interrupted him, knocking him from his single-minded focus.

“Hey, Coop,” Albert said drearily. He slowly rose from his chair as Cooper took a swig from his own steaming cup of coffee. Albert’s own cup sat nearby, cold and abandoned. He groaned suddenly, his body creaking from sitting in his chair for the whole day. “Just about done with this report on the Number Three’s autopsy. Besides, what the hell are you doing here so late?”

“I figured I’d wait for you to finish,” Cooper chatted, “We’ve got plans, too. Have you considered what you want to hit up first tomorrow?”

Rubbing his eyes as he shuffled the papers, Albert pondered momentarily. He’d been drawn to the numerous art and culture institutions in Philadelphia, and had done some light readings on Auguste Rodin, who had a museum dedicated to his work in the city.

“I know a place that might be your speed, Albert - how about the Mütter?- they’ve got a great medical menagerie, skeletons and jars and all.”

“You know, Coop, I think I’ve had my fill of cadavers for a hot minute. Why don’t we go to, ah, the Rodin museum?” Albert responded, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Cooper’s own eyes lit up, and he immediately snapped his fingers, exclaiming, “Albert, you’re absolutely right - the one thing we need is a refreshing break from your case. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine, we’ll grab ourselves some piping hot coffee, and we’ll be off on our day!”

Barely registering Cooper’s words, Albert stretched his back and arms and looked up. Cooper had already left, he realized. Turning around, he noted that the sky was nearing total darkness. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he’d be free to spend the whole day with Cooper, and not have to worry about everything else, just one day. Just one day.

He was walking. Down a hallway, where the fluorescent lights reflected off the lifeless linoleum floors. Invisible voices just out of eyesight whispered and chattered, the lights emitted a low buzzing noise. The faint scent of cleaning fluid, and cigarette smoke. It must’ve been Quantico, Albert realized, remembering it was just like his days as a young agent, wandering the old halls. He was holding something. Looking down, Albert saw he was carrying a bouquet of daffodils. The soft yellow and cream colored petals fluttered in some intangible draft. He was looking for someone. Picking up his pace, he walked onwards, but realized his vision was starting to blur. A shadowy, black figure lingered at the end of the hallway, quivering slightly in the distorted, flickering light. His vision swam, and the figure’s darkness morphed with the yellow of the daffodils. The buzzing from the lights changed into incessant beeping, drilling into his ears, and his vision went dark.

The beeping continued. Albert suddenly flipped over and grabbed his alarm clock, which was sounding off for his wake up time of 7:30 in the morning. Of course. Throwing his legs over the bedside, Albert groggily got up and stumbled to the bathroom. After getting washed up, he headed back to his room and instinctively grabbed a white button down shirt, before gingerly putting it back on the hanger and grabbing a sage colored shirt instead. Opting for some relaxed blue trousers as well, Albert got dressed and prepared for his outing, carefully inspecting himself in the mirror.

Later that morning, after he was satisfied with his preparations, Albert walked briskly down the street. His neighborhood was bustling with pedestrians, honking automobiles, and the occasional pigeon flapping its wings. Usually the humdrum of the city irritated Albert, but he felt oddly serene: he walked with a purpose, and with an objective in his mind. He clamped the leatherbound journal in his hands, its pages unwritten. He picked it up at the back alley bookstore, a few blocks from his apartment, not from the kind of place where the books were mass produced. Cooper needed more than just his tape recorder to report his thoughts, after all. With all too impeccable timing, Cooper himself appeared around the block’s corner, carrying a brown paper bag and a tray of two coffees.

“Morning, Albert!” He called cheerfully while striding up to meet him.

Albert gave a half-smile, which looked more like a smirk to the unfamiliar. “Thanks for the breakfast, Coop. How much do I owe-”

“-You don’t owe me a thing,” Cooper gently cut him off.

“Alright, then,” Albert responded, shoving one hand in his pocket and taking his coffee with the other. “So this museum’s down six or seven blocks, according to my map. If we take this street,” he pointed behind Cooper’s head, to the southwest, “and cross over at North 22nd and continue, it’ll be to our left.”

“Excellent. Normally I’d meander around hopelessly without a map, but directionally, I’m in good hands today.”

Albert snorted and rolled his eyes, only for moments later to realize he wasn’t wearing his tinted FBI shades. Cooper, knowing Albert well enough to understand, chuckled, and in a short time they were well on their way.

The museum itself could be considered an artistic marvel, for all Albert cared. Flanked by blossoming cherry trees and verdant beeches, the elegant marble building occupied a peaceful space within the city of Philadelphia, a perfect place to clear one’s head.

“Greek Revival architecture,” Albert murmured quietly, with Cooper nodding in approval. Stepping up and over the white marble threshold that gated the museum, Cooper and Albert walked in tandem towards the main door. “See that black-looking door next to it, with the carvings? Guess what it’s called,” Albert questioned cheekily, eyeing Cooper.

Doing his best impression of someone who was thinking awfully hard, Coop shook his head after a few moments. “I’m stumped, Albert.”

“‘The Gates of Hell’, actually. It doesn’t look so damn agonizing, if you squint a little.”

Cooper chuckled genuinely, with Albert noting that the smile reached his deep hazel eyes. What he’d do to see that expression. He felt that warm and fuzzy feeling grow inside of him, but wanted to stamp it down. Damn it, I’m being stupid again, Albert thought as he pushed the doors to the museum open, following Cooper inside.

The tickets had already been paid for, Albert noted with pleasant surprise. Was Cooper really doing all of this for him? He muttered his thanks to Cooper, his face feeling warm. He didn’t have to do this, really.

Almost reading his mind, Cooper gently squeezed his arm and said, “I’m happy to do this for you, Albert. You need this day to unwind, trust me. Look, let’s go this way.” Taking him gently by the arm, Cooper directed Albert down the stately marble hallway.

Everything was either white, black, or a somber dove gray. The floors, ceiling, walls, everything, were almost all constructed of smooth marble or granite. It felt like his dream, but not as artificial, not as foreboding. Instead of shadow figures and ominous voices roaming the halls, graceful figures languidly stretched out, and some other statues jutted out into the empty space. Curious tourists flitted between the statues, whispering to each other.

“Do you know about this one, Albert? It’s called the Burghers of Calais,” Cooper tapped him and pointed to the group of statues, a circle of emaciated men looking worryingly somber.

“It’s undoubtedly a copy, the real one’s in Calais, France. You don’t know the story behind it?” Albert asked, gesturing towards the hunched, metallic men. “Back during the Hundred Years’ War in Europe, the English army captured Calais and offered them mercy, at a price. These men, local community leaders, decided they would bear the weight of the city’s freedom. They’re going to offer their lives in exchange, they’re going to die.”

Cooper was wordless, his eyes growing dark as he took in the men’s harrowed expressions. “I can’t fathom how they must have felt, knowing it was either them or… everyone else,” he furrowed his brow in contemplation.

“You know what it’s like, to be surrounded by familiar faces and still feel like the world’s loneliest man?” Albert’s own brown eyes met Cooper’s, and for one moment too long, they locked eyes.

“I’m all too familiar with that sensation, you know. But I know I’m far from the only one,” He answered, his voice slightly unsteady.

“That’s the idea,” Albert said, looking back at the statues. “They knew that, logically, but in that moment, emotion takes over. It’s hard to think realistically when you’re walking to your death, for all you know.”

Cooper nodded solemnly. Albert’s hand brushed over his pocket, which held the small leatherbound journal. When would he give it to Cooper? Now it doesn't seem right, but when?

“You know, these aren’t the only statues in the museum, Albert. We can see more,” he said softly, gesturing towards the numerous white figures in their periphery.

Albert obliged, and they continued across the floor, the heels of their shoes softly tapping on the marble. They drifted from statue to statue, with Albert providing historical context and Cooper asking thought provoking questions. Cooper’s eyes were on the sculptures. Albert’s eyes were on Cooper. They laughed (quietly), whispered, and talked about the works of art that lined the halls, and sometimes sat in silent observance. It was good like this, Albert thought, that neither one of them felt pressured to fill the empty air with words. His eyes drifted from Cooper and the cluster of dented looking statues, to the pale white display of two figures wrapped in a passionate embrace.

“Look,” Cooper said, pointing towards the statue in question, “‘the Kiss.”

The two figures - a man and a woman - sat wrapped in each others’ arms, their rippling marble curves and muscles straining to keep each other close. It was a kiss of tender intimacy, the first of many kisses, with subtle awkwardness and hesitation. Their features were nondescript, blank enough to be anyone.

“Marvellous, isn’t it? Rodin had the eye for emotion in a fleeting moment, from creeping dread to tentative romance. It’s like looking at a still from a movie,” Albert observed, directing Cooper’s eyes along the statue’s contours with a finger.

“Clearly. Look at how the marble’s cut and carved - it looks like skin, soft and supple - imagine the skill it took to achieve this, let alone for one single statue out of many.” He suddenly reached for his jacket pocket, but patted it in confusion. “Damn, where is it?”

“Where’s what?” Albert asked, puzzled.

“My tape recorder - I think I’ve left it at home, I was going to recollect about today, and the pieces that stood out to me,” Cooper frowned, looking terribly lost without his trusty device.

“Funny you mention that,” Albert said almost too confidently, reaching into his pocket. “It’s a good thing I picked this up a while back. Made me think of you, you know.” He passed Cooper the leatherbound journal, his heart slowly moving into his chest.

Cooper looked in awe at the humble diary, gently opening the pliant cover. “Is this… for me?”

“Who else would I give it to?” Albert smirked.

“Daffodils… pressed daffodils on the front page. I’ve loved pressed flowers, but mine never look as nice as these. It’s beautiful.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Albert said warmly, his own smile matching the one that spread across Cooper’s face. “Just make sure you get good use out of it, okay?”

“Of course, Albert.”

They stood in front of the white statue for a brief moment, with Cooper getting another good look at the gift. There were more statues to see, of course, and the day wasn’t even over. They had nearly the whole afternoon left, Albert realized. And for one moment, he didn’t feel like he was out of time.

#i hope it's good... it's my first time writing TP fanfic #dale cooper #albert rosenfield #wonderfulxstrange #twin peaks #albert rosenfield/dale cooper

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aalissy · 3 years

Text

Kittens

Day 21 is done and oh my goodness I can’t believe we’re this far into April :O. I hope you guys like this little chapter though!! I’m definitely going to miss writing these two when April’s over! Anywho, lemme know what you think of this chapter <3

AO3

“Oh my goodness, who is this little guy?!” Marinette practically squealed, feeling all of her previous nerves ebb away as she rushed into Adrien’s room. While before she had felt like she was going to pass out from having to go to his house for a school project, now she felt like she had won the lottery.

There was a small, black kitten perched delicately on Adrien’s couch, licking a paw before it blinked up at her curiously. Cooing quietly at it, she scratched underneath its chin, giggling as it swatted at her hand lightly.

Adrien laughed softly, leaning against the wall as he watched the two of them. “So, you’re not going to greet me, then?”

Marinette’s mouth fell open before she immediately straightened up from where she was crouching to pet the kitten. Her face turned a bright red as she worried her lower lip. “S-sorry Adrien, I-I might have gotten a bit distracted. Hello!”

The black cat swiped at her hand once again and her attention immediately left him to resume petting the tiny animal. Its bright green eyes looked up at her playfully as she stroked the soft fur. Enraptured by the kitten as she was, Marinette barely noticed Adrien push off from the wall to come join her. It was only when he crouched down next to her and their shoulders brushed lightly that she realized he was there.

Joining her in petting the cat, he murmured, “She must like you, you know. She’s not usually this trusting of strangers.”

Marinette ducked her head shyly, biting her lower lip as his compliment filled her with butterflies. Stuttering slightly, she said, “O-oh, really? What’s her name?”

“Ladynoire,” he said, giving a quiet, almost adoring sigh as the kitten began to purr.

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest as her head whipped around to face him. He named his cat after her. Trying to quell her racing heart, she gave him a soft giggle, an amused smirk teasing at her lips. “Ladynoire, really? Why not Chaton Noire. I think that’d fit her and she’d be named after the usual black-cat superhero.”

The kitten mewed happily, almost as though she were responding to Marinette’s words. Her smile grew wider as she scratched Ladynoire, cooing sweetly at her. The cat seemed to very much enjoy the attention she was receiving, purring loudly at the two of them.

“Aw, see? She does like the name.” Marinette laughed as she looked from the kitten to Adrien. Was her mind playing tricks on her or did he really have a light pink flush to his cheeks?

He simply chuckled, shaking his head with a pleased grin on his lips. “I think I’ll stick with Ladynoire, actually, but thanks for the suggestion.”

Marinette nodded lightly. She still filed the name away for future reference though, just in case she and Adrien ever decided to adopt kittens once they got married. Little Chaton Noire and Ladynoire would be the best of friends. Still focused on the small cat as she was, she didn’t notice Adrien stand up until his hand entered her vision. Blinking at it, she slowly lifted her head up to gaze into his amused, green eyes.

He jerked his head over to his desk. “Suppose we had better get started on the project now, though.”

Marinette turned a bright red before hesitantly placing her hand in his. She let him pull her up before following him over to his computers. The kitten gave a tiny, disappointed mewl and she gave the animal one last longing look over her shoulder. Sliding into the extra chair Adrien must have set up for her, she pulled out her notebook which held all of her recent notes.

Tapping her pencil on the journal, Marinette looked at him curiously. “So, why did your family decide to get a kitten?”

At that, Adrien turned his head to look at her almost desperately. Her eyes widened as it almost seemed as if he was pleading with her. Seriously, he placed a hand over hers before sucking in a deep breath of air. “Marinette, you can’t tell them.”

“What? Why not?” She blinked at him, looking back at the kitten that was watching them curiously.

“Well,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “They don’t actually know about her. Knowing my father, he’d probably take her away from me and I really don’t want to lose her.”

Her brow furrowed before she nodded her head passionately. Marinette’s fist clenched as she gave him a determined look. “Of course I won’t tell anyone, Adrien! You have my word! Besides, I think I’ve gotten attached to little Ladynoire, too.”

Said kitten jumped onto the desk, mewing at the two of them before nudging her head against Marinette’s palm. She giggled, scratching the kitten again as it purred happily.

Adrien laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I think she may be a little attached to you, too.”

“She’s such a pretty little kitty!” Marinette cooed happily before tapping its nose playfully. Ladynoire swatted her hand away after that and she watched in amusement as the cat jumped off of the desk.

Picking her pencil back up, she gave Adrien a sheepish smile before apologizing, “Sorry for getting so distracted. I love animals, especially kittens.” Her thoughts trailed over to her partner, who would probably be delighted to see little Ladynoire.

“No, you’re fine,” Adrien said, shaking his head, “Besides, I think we both got a little distracted by her.”

Marinette allowed herself to gaze one more time at the small animal who had gone back to lounge on Adrien’s couch before she poured her full attention back on the project. Together, they worked in tandem on their paper.

For the first time, she actually really enjoyed having a group project. Usually, she and Alya would start laughing and teasing each other when they were partners. With Adrien, though, it was different. Whenever she had a question, he was able to easily answer it and whenever he would struggle with a certain part, she always seemed to find the solution for it. Marinette was surprised by how quickly they finished because she had assumed that it was going to take forever. Because of how well they worked together, though, it didn’t take them that long at all.

After she had slowly put all of her notes and papers in her backpack, she turned back to Adrien with a grateful smile. “Thanks for letting me come over today, Adrien. I think we have a really great project right now. I’ll probably read it over again tonight just to double-check that there are no errors.”

He stood up with her, walking her over towards the door. “Thank you for coming today, Marinette. I had a great time working with you. Usually, whenever Nino and I are partners, we waste more time listening to music and talking than actually working.”

She giggled lightly, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip shyly. “I’m the same with Alya.”

Adrien opened his mouth to speak again but before he could, Ladynoire gave a small meow. Marinette’s gaze softened as she went over to the small kitten. Petting her one last time, she looked up at Adrien before murmuring, “Do you mind if I bake some treats for her and give them to you at school tomorrow?”

“Or you could always come back over and give them to her yourself?” A small smile played at his lips as he watched the two of them.

Marinette blinked a few times as her lips parted. Eventually, she flushed, speaking softly, “O-oh, are you sure I’d be allowed over again?”

“Yeah,” he nodded his head at her as she stood up and walked over to stand beside him again. “I can always just say we haven’t completed the project yet and need another day.”

Giggling shyly, she nibbled on her lower lip. She and Adrien actually had plans to see each other again?! Alya was going to be so proud of her. Giving him a bright beam, she nodded her head. “I’d love to come over again, Adrien.”

“Great!” he perked up. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“See you tomorrow,” Marinette gave him a small wave before blowing a small kiss over to the tiny cat, “And I promise to bring you some delicious treats too, little lady.”

Adrien’s eyes lit up at that before he spoke excitedly, “Do you think you could bring me a croissant or two, as well?”

With a fond roll of her eyes, Marinette nodded her head. “Sure, Adrien. I can bring you a couple treats too.”

After giving those last, parting words, she walked out of his room to begin her journey home. She couldn’t stop the wide beam that slowly stretched across her lips, still not able to believe that she basically got another hang-out session with Adrien tomorrow. Pumping her fist in the air once she was safely outside and away from prying eyes, Marinette cheered excitedly. She was going to make certain that the food she made for them was the best ever. Both Ladynoire and Adrien deserved it! Already planning what she was going to bake in her mind, Marinette started walking towards the bakery.

#adrinetteapril2021 #adrienetteapril2021 #adrinette #adrienette #adrinetteapril #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fic #fanfic #ml #mlb

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

!!!!! The devil wears Prada au. Andrews the boss. Neil is the new guy. Except Neil stays at the end

this will not be anything remotely like the actual devil wears prada, of which is one of my favourite movies, as it’s a character-study film rather than a plot-driven one, so things wouldn’t make sense with aftg.

i have a feeling, though, that you just want andrew treating neil like a dick and then promptly getting his ass handed back to him when neil has a makeover. now that’s something I can give to you.

Really, Andrew thought, looking at the slight-shouldered, meek child in front of him. It was insulting, really. He had inherited this publication from a father he’d never known and built it into what it now was, a multimillion-dollar influence, and this was the sort of assistant he was graced with?

He had dark curls, wild in the way that box-dyed hair always was. His eyes were brown but Andrew could see the ring of lenses, so at least he had the gall not to wear glasses: they would completely ruin his face shape. Admittedly, he did have rather high cheekbones and paler lashes that fanned out across his cheeks when he blinked, but that alone couldn’t save whoever this was from the rest of his appearance.

He’d rested a piece of paper on Andrew’s glass desk, standing back to lace his fingers behind his back.

“Yes?” Andrew implored, when the stranger wasn’t forthcoming.

His brow furrowed slightly. “I was recommended to apply here. I recently graduated from Palmetto State, top of my class. Whilst I would’ve preferred to go directly into journalism, it struck me as a good opportunity for some experience -”

“So you’ve never read an issue,” Andrew drawled. He still didn’t know the man’s name.

Thin brows furrowed themselves. “No...”

“And you’ve never been remotely invested in fashion, design or couture.”

“No, but -”

“And you clearly have no regard for style,” Andrew added, eyeing his faded jeans and scruffy button-down that was only barely tucked in.

The man huffed. How old was he? “Some would say that style is an individual -”

“That wasn’t a question. Goodbye,” he said. Those cheekbones truly were wasted on such a man.

But then he saw something intriguing. A flash of anger, or perhaps bottled frustration, illuminated his eyes. His lips twisted ever so slightly before he stalled himself back to a neutral expression.

It was then that Kevin hustled into the room with his portfolio, completely ignoring the small man’s presence. He dropped it down onto Andrew’s desk and flicked it open to the second page, where there was an asymmetric trouser cut and open-shirt concept in the works. Kevin was exact, articulate and always outdoing himself. That was the type of employer Andrew catered for. Not for frumpy street-rats who were too much of a squirrel to stand up for themselves.

Andrew thought the man had left. Instead, he’d marched back up to the desk, plucked his resume out from underneath Kevin’s portfolio and slapped it back down on top.

“My name,” he said, anger seeping into his tone. “Is Neil. I am smart and competent. Maybe this isn’t my world, but I am diligent. I know what I’m doing and I’m just as worthy a candidate as the rest of your ditzy model wannabees.” He straightened up, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his pockets. “Thank you for your time.”

With that, he was gone.

Interesting, Andrew allowed, completely ignoring Kevin as he launched into another tirade.

Neil kicked the door closed behind him, still pissed off. Andrew Minyard was an asshole, a tiny, dead-eyed asshole. It really was in Neil’s best interest to look elsewhere -

hiya!!!! said a text from an unknown number, his phone buzzing in his back pocket. this is andrew’s other assistant, nicky!!!! you’re going to show up at 8.30am sharp tomorrow, or else. oh and pls don't wear jeans again!! these r andrews words, not mine. i’m so glad to have another person on the team!! see u tomoz!! xoxoxoo

Neil read the text once, then twice.

Well. It seemed like Neil had caught Andrew’s attention.

uhm short and sweet i will write a p2 i think i just felt like it was a good split there

#devil wears prada au #at this point can we all agree that andrew is just attracted to neil's bad attitude #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #aftg #all for the game #journalist!neil #ceo!andrew #yes kevin is nigel and yes nicky is emily but i swear its going to work out #was tempted to make emily aaron but it didnt rlly fit

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Alright

1920s Archaeologist!Kylo Ren x Egyptologist!Reader

3.4k; NSFW

----------------

It’s quiet, in the library. You’d snuck in, jimmied the lock of the back door. There was something on your mind, something you needed to look at, that was hidden on one of the shelves. It’s quiet, save for your dinner party heels clicking on the tiled floor, the beads of your dress shimmering and rustling against one another.

The party had been grand -- or was swanky the term? Bright golden brass of jazz filled your ears, but something was off, it had been bothering you all day. You wanted another look at those translations, wanted to read and re-read them again. It couldn’t wait, you simply had to get access to them, had to stare over the hieroglyphs once more.

The clicking of your heels grow faster in the library, though you don’t walk at a quicker pace. Frowning to yourself, you hide around the corner of a bookshelf, worrying for a moment that you’ll be caught, that you’ll be reprimanded – thrown off the excavation team. You hold your breath, but in the low light of candles, you see the strong and wide back of a man you’d recognize anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” You ask Kylo, because of course it’s Kylo, of course it is.

He’s sitting at one of the research benches, typing away something with great passion. For a moment you regret interrupting his thought, but he doesn’t halt in his ministrations. In fact, he even reaches up and takes a drag from his cigarette, continues to type with one hand.

“Practicing my spelling.” Kylo replies in a deadpan manner that you’ve come to learn is him joking. Still half-hidden behind the bookshelf, Kylo doesn’t bother to turn around to look at you when he remarks, “I should ask the same of you, Doctor.”

“It’s just late, that’s all.” You ignore his would-be question. You and Kylo are equals on the team, you don’t need to explain yourself to him, you don’t report to anyone. But the truth is it is late, and you had hoped no one would be in the library, no witnesses to you breaking the rules.

“That it is.” Kylo replies, once again offering nothing of substance. Or maybe, everything of substance.

You can’t ever seem to tell with the man.

Kylo resumes his typing, and you stand there feeling foolish. You’d come with a plan, and you intended to see it through, at least for an hour or two. Now, where was that book? You began to browse the shelves, looking for the faded cover you had poured over not two days prior. You wonder what he’s typing so furiously, wonder what could be so important.

“You know, to be an early riser is one thing, to be a night owl is another. It cannot be good for someone to be both.” You say, and this does make Kylo stop.

“And here I thought you didn’t like me.” He gets up from the research table then, and you hold your breath.

He is heading straight for you, and damn it all, your heart begins to quicken with each step he takes. You don’t fear him, no not at all. Your feelings are hurt by him, and you feel foolish letting them interfere with anything at all. Does he know what he does to you? The way he makes you feel? He can’t possibly, or he would have done something by now.

So, you tip your chin up defiantly and hold his handsome gaze evenly and simply say, “I don’t. I just don’t want you to be more irritable than normal out in the field tomorrow.”

But Kylo, damn damn damn Kylo, he smiles, and crosses his arms over his chest. His sleeves are rolled up and you can see his impressive forearms, and you try your hardest not to eye the way the veins in his strong hands stand out, the way his muscles flex. You fail.

“I’m taking that as a sign that you like me.” Kylo says softly, teasingly, playfully.

“Well don’t.” You snap, and his eyes soften when you walk away.

Kylo blessedly walks in the opposite direction, back to the bench, back to where his typewriter has been left mid-sentence, mid-word. You think this is the end of his game, but he clears his throat, smokes some more.

“It’s over here, the translations.” He says, a cursed mind reader if you’ve ever met one. He holds up the book in his hand and you turn quickly, the beads of your evening gown jingling softly against one another. You set your jaw as he smiles, knowing you too well when he says, “If that’s what you’re after.”

“Thank you, pass them this way?” You ask, reaching out a hand.

“No, you’ll have to come and get it.” Kylo shakes his head, and you groan as your heels click all the way over to him.

He holds the books out of your reach, exploits his height so you have to come closer, and you do, you do you do you do; until you’re pressed up against him, one hand bracing on his chest, the other reaching for the book. It’s only then that he lets you have it.

You don’t move away.

“Do you always have to be,” You lick your lips, your lips which are so close to his, “So difficult?”

And damn him, he’s so handsome, so charming, so challenging. He’s a challenge, and one that you love to meet, one that you always hope to best. He’s so smart, and he knows it. You’re smart too. He’s handsome in the way that he winds his arm around your shoulder, brings the cigarette to his lips once more and inhales a great big lungful of it.

“If it excites you,” He says on the exhale, smoke catching in the low light of the candles, eyes sparkling with mirth, with something…something else, something you don’t dare put a name to, “Then yes.”

There’s a choice then, a choice to be made. You have the book, you could pull away from this man, this professor, this genius. You could pull away and go sit at the other end of the bench and pour over the translations like you’d planned. You could ignore him and his type writer and his cigarette and do what you came to do.

Or.

Or you could lean into the embrace, could close your eyes, could press your lips against his. You could kiss him, you’re already so close, you’ve wanted to for so long. He’s so much, and you want all of it. You could have it, if you make that choice. He smells incredible, like tobacco and ink and mystery of all thing. He was a mystery, an enigma. You breathe him in, and he lets you, he gives you time.

You don’t take long, before your desire for him wins out, and you close your eyes, hoping hoping hoping that he gets the hint, that he feels the same, that he wants you too.

Birds flutter in your veins when you feel the warmth of his mouth on yours, you could nearly burst into song. Your lips part in a gasp, and he takes the invitation to deepen the kiss, to bring it from something chaste to something more, something passionate. You let your arms loop around his proud shoulders, feeling the worn fabric of his vest, of his button-down, the soft waves of his hair. His hair oh heavens, is exactly as silky as you’d always dreamed.

He bites on your lower lip then, and you moan ever so gently. Ever so slightly. It sends Kylo into a frenzy almost, a haze of lust and want. He grasps you by the waist and lifts you up so that you sit atop the table, pushing aside papers and books and journals for your body to rest. He kisses you and kisses you again, his hands are so large as they cup your face!

You can’t take it, you won’t deny yourself this any longer. Your hands fumble with the buttons on his vest in the dark and he understands, he knows what you want, he unclasps the hook at the back of your dress and eases the zipper down down down.

“Here?” You whisper, shivering from something other than cold, as he slides the slinky fabric away from your body, takes the sight of you in.

“Yes, yes if you’d like, only if you’d like.” Kylo kisses your neck, your shoulders, as he peels away your gown and reveals your silk camiknicker underneath. His hands dance across your body, unsure of where he’s allowed to touch, unsure of what he’s allowed to have. He swallows hard but looks at you soft, “We can – my rooms are not far.”

You can’t bear the thought of stopping this now, not now, so you shake your head, stand up for a moment so that you can strip down properly. Sliding the undergarments off your body, you are left naked to him, save for your stockings. He doesn’t take them off, doesn’t wish to remove them and you don’t mind – you feel so sultry like this, standing there in the library in just the stockings.

“This is good.” You breathe, work on getting him down to nothing as well, perhaps leaving him in his sock garters and nothing more so that you two might match. You laugh then, cover your mouth with your hands from sheer excitement, “This is, fuck Kylo, I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“What, sex in a library?” He teases as he steps out of his trousers, as his layers fall to the floor. “Or sex with me?”

You eye him then, get a proper eyeful of him. He’s so well defined, David before you. But unlike David, well. His cock is far more impressive as it fills out in his hand. He’s shy about it, about his size, about this whole thing you realize, as in the candlelight you can see splotches of embarrassed flush across his chest, his ears.

“Both.” You nod, allowing him this, encouraging him to step forward, encouraging him to take you.

“Shall we kill two birds with one stone then?” He murmurs against your lips as he pushes you gently, ever so gently back against the table, encourages you to lie down.

“Yes, yes Kylo please.” You grasp for him, part your legs for him.

Before he steps between them though, he reaches down to the ground and grabs a hold of his vest, rolls it into a makeshift pillow and sweetly tucks it underneath your head. The gesture makes your chest clench, for it is more tender than anyone has ever done for you in a long long time.

His hands touch your first, before anything else. They slowly make their way down your body, naked and beautiful and all for him. Calloused palms, an archaeologists palms, caressing your flesh. He kneads at your tits for a moment or two, enchanted by the way his hands hold them so nicely. He bends himself over you, licks a long stripe up your sternum, thumbs rubbing at your nipples.

“Kylo.” You whine, impatient, and he smirks.

You can feel it against your ribs where he sucks a mark that’ll only be there for the two of you to see, a hidden something underneath your breast, just below your heart. But still he moves down down down, your stomach tensing, breath catching in your throat.

You’d expected a hard and fast fuck, not this, not something so caring, so sincere. He kisses down your stomach, noses at your thigh before kneeling on the bench and using the leverage there to wind his arms around your thighs, letting your knees squeeze at his head, as he takes the first taste of your wanting pussy.

“Oh!” You gasp, a hand flying down to take a fistful of his hair.

Your hips lift for him, want to be closer, want him to do more to take more to taste more. You’re so wet, you can feel it, can hear it as his tongue slides through your folds, as he swallows down whatever you give him. He moans into your pussy, tongue licking flat and broad before rolling it into you, trying to get closer.

Your heels dig into the muscles in his back, as you cling to him, as you arch your back for him, as you open yourself up for him. He goes straight for your clit, sucks on it hard, and you’re nearly jackknifing up from the shock of pleasure which ripples across your stomach. You feel like your nerves are filled with those pretty beads, feel like they’re shimmering up and down your spine.

Your cunt clenches around the emptiness, missing his tongue – when suddenly fingers enter you, stretch you nice and slow.

“Kylo I need – give me more,” You insist, and he pulls away. You tug on his hair because no, that’s the opposite of what you asked for, but he only smiles.

“My beautiful girl,” He says as he fingers you, as you moan around the squelch of your slick on his hand, “You’ll get what you want, I promise. You have to trust me, have to let me take care of you, prepare you.”

You huff and puff and moan and groan and whine and writhe on the table, papers sticking to your body, fluttering around you as the candles burn softly, as he touches you with reverence you’d only seen him hold in artifacts.

“But – ” You start, and he only shakes his head, seeks out something inside you with those fingers. There’s only two in you, no, now three, but you feel filled to the brim, like you can’t possibly take any more.

“I know, just a little longer, and then I’ll blow your back out, fuck you dumb.” He assures you, and oh that sounds so delicious, the prospect of emptying your head of all your thoughts aside from the feeling of pleasure.

His cock is hard and thick and curves up deliciously, is dangerously hard, leaking all over your thigh where it’s rubbing against you as Kylo prepares you, as he readies you for it. You know that it’ll be worth it, this wait. Hell, you’ve waited months for this moment, you could wait a few moments more.

Still you whine and pout and cry, and it breaks down his resolve, his hips starting to buck against you when he makes you shout out his name loud loud loud – he’s found it, found the spot inside you which makes light sing through your veins.

“Just a little longer, I promise.” He whispers, pushing and pulling his fingers back over the spot more and more, harder giving you only some of what you want but not nearly enough.

He has expert hands and they work you well, they work you open and stretch you. Your hands have a death grip in his shoulders, and you almost wish he were fingering you in his bed like he offered, so that you might have a pillow to bite into, or sheets to grasp.

And right when you’re about to come, right when you can feel it, right when the heat in the pit of your stomach starts to wash over you – he pulls away, replaces those fingers with that cock of his, pushes it into you right up to the hilt.

“Fuck!” You shout, “Oh fuck, Kylo! Yes!”

It is perfect, the way he thrusts hard, the way the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes up into the rafters of this ancient library, in this ancient city, as you commit an act of passion older than the test of time. Oh how he is passionate, oh how he kisses you even as he curses too, as he grunts out his lust, face contorted into searing hot pleasure that your pussy can only provide.

“You’re so tight,” He thrusts hard hard hard, knocking the table across the floor an inch, two inches, three, “So wet, hot, fuck you’re made for me, made for my cock.”

“Dammit Kylo I’m – fuck you, we could have been doing this this whole time,” You lament with no real malice as you throw your head back, as you push your chest up for him. He sucks on your nipple, fucks you hard, makes you sweat and moan, “We could have had this the whole time.”

“IknowIknowIknow,” He groans into your chest, the baritone exploding through your body, goosebumps raising as he moans loud. He smacks a palm onto the table, makes the typewriter jump, makes one of the keys clack randomly just from the force of it, “Oh jesus, shit (Y/N), I’m – ”

“Don’t you dare!” You protest as his body covers yours completely, as he stretches his back out handsomely, his height meaning your face is now pressed against his chest as he fucks you, hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. You lightly swat at the side of his stomach, toes curling around his hips, “Not yet, please not yet.”

Oh his cock shoves into your pussy beautifully. If you were made for him, then this cock was made for you, just for you.

You clench around it, hold it deep inside you, shifting your hips and trying to get him to find that spot again. He’s hunting for it, you can tell with the way he props himself up above you, can tell he’s looking for it too with the determination that’s set across his face.

When he finds it, you come right away. Your body jolts under his, your thighs quake, your throat clicks as you scream out his name. His hips slam into you and stop thrusting, just pushing deeper deeper deeper into you as he comes, as his orgasm hits him too. He pants and collapses on top of you, exhausted.

It really was late, you think deliriously, drooling all over yourself as you feel the pulse and throb of his cock spending itself inside of you. There’s enough space between your bodies for Kylo’s hand to smooth itself over your lower stomach, to rub there. It’s incredibly sweet, and if you had any brain cells left working, you just might cry about it.

You ride out the high of your orgasms, turn to kiss his face. You don’t want to go back to the aloof tension that existed before, you don’t want that. But now that this is over, now that you’ve both expelled some of the build up between you, what was to come next?

He pants above you, leans down and steals a sweet kiss from your lips.

“I missed you, at the party.” You find your voice to whisper, your hands smoothing up his back and combing through his hair. “You should have been there. People were asking about you.”

“They were asking you about me?” Kylo smiles, sex drunk and tired.

“Yes, they assumed you would have accompanied me.” You nodded, sighing, reminding yourself of why your feelings were hurt in the first place. He looks at you with a worried frown, kisses the side of your nose and moves some hair out of your eyes with a gentle hand. “I… Don’t laugh, but I sort of assumed you would have as well.”

“But you don’t like me.” Kylo says, making you burst into laughter because oh how could he be so brilliant and yet so dense?

“No,” You chuckle, and he grins, and you grin, and he kisses you once more, twice more, simply because he can, because you’ll let him, even as you laugh and shake your head and lie, “I don’t.”

“Come back to my rooms with me.” Kylo whispers, so quiet now in the library.

It’s late, and the translations are all but forgotten now, all gone. It’s late, and you don’t like Kylo, no. No it’s something far closer to love, isn’t it?

“Alright.” You say, and his eyes widen, as if he were afraid of your rejection, as if you’d reject him after this.

“Alright?” He asks, because he has to make sure, has to know you’re not toying with him.

But this isn’t a game, not anymore. The cat has caught the mouse – but which one was which? You’re not so sure anymore, not sure who was pursuing whom, who was winning. In the end, you’re both winners, aren’t you?

You breathe together, simply savoring the moment; the cigarette stubbed out and the candles thinly smoking, the typewriter abandoned and the papers scattered about the bench. You nod. You nod and you kiss him and there in a library near the Valley of The Kings, a new relationship has blossomed, a partnership in every sense of the word, when you whisper,

“Alright.”

------------------

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#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren smut #kylo ren fluff #historically accurate au #1920s au #my writing #kylo ren reader insert #egyptology au

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

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Saturday 8 September 1838

7 25

11 /2

fine morning – stood reading (undressed) 20 minutes – F62 ½° at 8 25 am sat reading Chaussenque [Chausenque] breakfast at 8 ¾ and reading the paper till 10 ¾ - then at Chaussenque [Chausenque] again till had A- and then sat by her in her room (she lying down I making notes from Chaussenque [Chausenque] respecting the lac d’Escoubous) till had Mr. Pagès for 5 minutes till 12 ½ - then left A- (lying down) for ½ hour and came to my room and resumed my notes from Chaussenque [Chausenque] – were to have gone to the lac d’Escoubous at noon today, but A- out of sorts – poorly – on returning to her at one, found her in tears – had Mr. Soisson Madame Gassies’ son-in-law, for 5 or 6 minutes till 1 ¼ - he called [p.d.a.] going away tomorrow or Sunday – gently and agreeable enough sort of person – Poor A- has given up

SH:7/ML/E/22/0015

the lac d’Escoubous for today – at my notes again from 1 ¼ to 1 40 – then with A- for a few minutes then at notes again till 2 10 – out at 2 20 – on the right bank of the Bastan towards the Tourmalet, but cold, and rain-threatening, and comfortless, and A- not inclined to go as far as the 1st little bridge and cross over and return by the other side, the high Tourmalet road became rather the better of the 2, and more travelled – Returned at 3 – back at Barèges (I walked all the way back) at 3 ½ - the rain held off – looked pleasant towards Luz – rode forwards and alighted at 3 40 aux Bains Barzun thus called after the proprietor and builder of them Mr. Barzun pharmacien at Barèges, and propriétaire of the ‘source minérale bitumineuse de Visos’ and of 2 or 3 good houses in Barèges – 10 or 12 baths – neat enough – the rooms intended for bedrooms above not finished – only 2 of the 6 floored and under drawn – opening on to neat arcaded gallery resting on neat (stone work) arcades below into which the little bath-rooms open – the mineral spring so close to the Bastan, great expense and difficulty in securing it – left the baths at 4- and we walked from there and along the road towards Luz, and back to within 5 minutes of our own door – i.e. remounted at 4 40 and at home at 4 ¾ - then at Journal of Wednesday 29 August – A- came to me – poorly – gave her a little brandy – sick etc. – dosed her with hot water – with her backwards and forwards till dinner at 7 10 in ½ hour – her stomach cleared she had felt immediately better and enjoyed her dinner – had ordered a fire to be made in her room while we were at dinner – 1st time of fire – and poor A- enjoyed it much – sat with her till 8 ¾ when she went to bed – had Josephine about 9 ¼ - then writing out 30 August etc fine day till a drop or 2 of rain after 12, and a little rain which made us turn back so soon – heavy rain about six p.m. for an hour – I talked to A- of leaving here on the 21st – A- not unwilling – would she be sorry to be off sooner? F60 ½° now at 10 ¾ pm fair this evening from after dinner

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greengay · 3 years

Text

okay making a to do list so every time i come back to post on tumblr i see it and i go back to what i’m supposed to be doing 😭 🌟 = need to do today, 🍑 = it would be nice but not necessary

🌟 clean room

make bed

put away clean clothes

differentiate clean vs dirty clothes on floor/chair/bed and put them in their respective spots

if clothes smell mildew-y (from not drying right) put them in re-wash bag and run to laundromat

dishes in sink (do dishes)

trash in trash bag (TRASH & RECYCLE GO OUT TONIGHT)

take care of plants (replant pothos & monstera)

organize/sort toiletries

organize/sort papers & notebooks

clear off desk

dust/sweep/wipe

🌟 take a shower

🌟 call american airlines abt reimbursing transport to and from hotel the booked me in in dallas

🍑 pay off credit cards

🌟 mail health insurance therapy invoices for reimbursement

🌟 pay overdo electric bill

🍑 get $100 verizon gift card

🌟 make itinerary for road trip that i’m going on TOMORROW

🌟 clean out car

vaccuum

take stuff out of trunk & backseat etc.

put bike in apartment??

MAYBE car wash….maybe

🌟 pack for trip

underwear

shorts?

reinforce my jeans by sewing them

shirts/tank tops/maybe a dress

journal & pens

camera(s?) & film

toiletries (meds, painkillers, skincare, maybe makeup but prob not)

glasses & sunglasses

sunscreen

dry shampoo

dbt book

🍑 update resume

🍑 work on zine press kit/pitch

🍑 email work venue

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

Text

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 19)

“Lucky girl.” Go-Hara rasps one day. “Lucky, lucky girl.” She tsks.

“How can you say that?” Azula asks. The very question is an absolute affront. One that sets her fire blazing to a degree she hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“Because you had a chance.” She pauses and corrects herself. “You have a chance and you’re throwing it away.”

Azula furrows her brows and shakes her head, “You had it right the first time, I had a chance. My chance is gone.” Twice over. It would seem that each time she has her fingers (very firmly) around something that will make her happy, someone comes to pry her fingers off of it. Or maybe she squeezes too tightly and shatters it herself.

The old woman tsks again. “You have a chance! You have a chance! You. Have. A. Chance!” Azula should be used to her turbulent moods by now, but this time the woman is acting rather infantile. She wonders if the disease has progressed, wonders if leprosy can even do such a thing to the mind.

“We should talk about something else.”

“You should stop playing in alleyways and make a life for yourself…”

“I already tried that.” Twice over.

Quick and deadly as a lightning strike, the woman’s mood shifts. She is very visibly enraged and Azula can’t understand why. She thinks that Go-Hara detects her confusion. “I don’t have a chance. I’d give anything to have one. But…” she holds up her knobby hands, “Every day in this decrepit town, I watch perfectly healthy folks waste what they have. Nobody wants to fight for anything anymore. They fail once or twice and they decide that there’s nothing to fight for.”

Azula opens her mouth. But Go-Hara rages on, her fury seems to build with every word and by the end of her raving her voice is raw and soft, “that’s because they don’t know what it’s like to truly be in a position where fighting isn’t an option.” She backpedals, “where it’s an option but it truly doesn’t matter how much fight you have in you, you’re punching at a breeze. And I just have to watch them give up, wishing that I had the chance to just throw my life away. I don’t even have a life to throw away.”

Her breathing is rugged.

There are a lot of things that Azula can say. Things that are better. Things that could calm the woman down or appease her. She picks the one thing that will do anything but. “Perhaps you’re the lucky one; you don’t have to fight to die like the rest of us.”

Go-Hara turns on her heel and storms away. She is startlingly fast, Azula chalks it up to pure hatred fueled adrenaline.

She doesn’t see the woman again for a very long time. It is so terribly lonely and the more she thinks about it, the more pleasant it seems to prove to Go-Hara, to herself, to everyone that she is ready to see herself out. Maybe that will drive home how little of a chance she knows she has. Or maybe there is no one to prove anything to. Likely Go-Hara has died like everyone else she gets close to. This time the note is a bitter one to end on.

She ventures into the forest that day and she comes back with a few sprigs of hemlock in her gloved hands. She finds that her usual spot is occupied. She counts the flowers in her hands, there is plenty of spare hemlock to offer the intruder.

“Where were you?”

“Picking flowers.” They fall to the alley floor.

Go-Hara eyes the hemlock at her feet, “bah! Some bouquet that is.”

“I thought that you died.”

She thinks that the woman is snarling. But it is often hard to tell with Go-Hara, especially these days. The woman’s worsening condition is beginning to limit her facial movement. “I am going to lose this fight.” She declares. “But I’m still fighting.” The resentment is back, possibly fuller than before. “You can win but you’ve stopped fighting.”

Azula swallows and waits for the woman to demand that she pick herself back up and resume the battle. Instead she gestures to the flowers. “Go on then. They’re right there, eat ‘em off’a the dirty ground.”

Azula folds her arms over her chest, torn between hatred and misery. Torn between wanting to do just that, if only to see how the woman would react, and wanting to kick the flowers away out of spite.

Instead she finds herself standing there. Now that it is happening, she wonders how it hasn’t happened sooner; she finds herself wondering about Hajime and Atsu in the Spirit World. She imagines herself standing there in a bubbling hot spring with bamboo that reaches gold-orange clouds. There is steam all around,enchanting as it crawls over black sand, and curls around formations of long hardened magma. That is how she has always imagined the Spirit World. And Hajime and Atsu stand in the pool, Seukhyun and Caihong too. But they aren’t delighted to see her. And when Hajime embraces her it is mournful. He blames himself. He says that she shouldn’t be here. Ojihara is furious. Absolutely livid. Just like Go-Hara…

When she comes back to herself she finds that the real Go-Hara isn’t angry at all. Not anymore.

“I just want you to have a chance.” The woman mumbles. “I met a lot of people and a lot of them don’t deserve to live.”

She has always appreciated the woman’s bluntness.

“Why do you think that I do?”

The woman shrugs. “Sometimes you just get a feeling about a person.”

Azula doesn’t take the hemlock that night or the next. She doesn’t take it at all. Go-Hara doesn’t bring up matters of motivation again.

.oOo.

“Are you happy?” Azula asks one morning. A morning where things aren’t particularly good nor particularly bad. These are the honest days. The days when she truly knows how she feels within.

“Happy?” The woman grins as wide as her affliction will allow. “I’m downright joyful! I’ve gotten to see more sunsets than most people. I got to ride hippo-cows and lasso ostrich horses.” Azula thinks that it is supposed to be the other way around, not that she knows much about ranches. “And I got to meet a princess before I died! They call me a dead woman walking, but I’ve lived more than the lot’a them!” Suddenly her laugh isn’t such a hideous sound. This is the Go-Hara whose company she enjoys.

“Sounds, fulfilling.” Azula nods.

“Aye, girl!” She nods. “You’re no lepper. You have a full life to live. I ain’t got much longer. Can you do a dying old woman a favor?”

“Depends on the favor.”

Go-Hara chuckles. “Can you live that full life for me? I can’t do it, can you?”

That morning she leaves a blanket in the alleyway, at the old woman’s feet. On an old scrap of paper she scawls a thank you. And with the rising sun as a backdrop, she heads for the vast grassland again.

That day she learns that sometimes the sick are less ill than the healthy.

.oOo.

She thinks about it more than she thought she would. It was just a little touch. A soft little brush. But she has learned that those smaller, simpler touches are often more profound than the bolder declarations. She absently touches her cheek where his hand had been. She can still feel phantom tingles.

It was only a playful gesture… Only a playful gesture and yet…

She hears a knock on her door and her heart quickens if only somewhat. Upon opening it, TyLee flounces into the room and flops onto the bed. Azula had forgotten that the woman liked to do that.

“I know that you don’t like baking, but Mai’s birthday is tomorrow…”

Azula had forgotten that too. Granted she has never really had time for birthdays.

“I was hoping that we could bake her something special. She doesn’t like the icing on the other cakes, it’s ‘too bright’. I think that it’s just fine though.”

“Sure, TyLee, I’ll help you bake.” Though she can’t promise that it will be any good. Hajime had tried time and time again to teach her to cook the things she harvested but the culinary arts are lost on her.

“Great!” TyLee bounces up once more. She takes Azula by the hand and drags her into the kitchen.

“Okay so I’ve already…”

“Made a huge mess.” Azula observes. At least she won’t have to feel guilty for wrecking the kitchen.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“I can’t cook, TyLee.”

She stares at Azula. Azula stares back. The princess is beginning to gather that she had been summoned under the impression that she could make something of this mess.

“You didn’t learn to cook in the Earth Kingdom?”

She shakes her head. “I know how to roast meat.” Even then she usually burns it quite badly. “Have you tried asking Zuzu?”

TyLee nods. “It wasn’t this bad before he got here. The head chef personally escorted him out.”

.oOo.

The first step had been to clean the kitchen. Azula is good at this. She probably should have gotten one of the servants to do it for her but she needs to know with certainty that her baking area is absolutely spotless. And with her hand having done the work, she knows that it is.

TyLee drops two eggs into the flour mix.

Azula shakes her head.

“It says, two eggs’.”

“Yes.” Azula agrees as she cracks it against the rim of the bowl. She cringes as the yolk bursts in her palm. “two cracked eggs.”

TyLee nods. She too rams the an egg against the bowl, dropping the smashed bits into the mix.

“Without the shells.”

“Whoops.” She purses her lips as she begins picking shell shards out. “Well how do we get the yolk out without getting shell bits?”

“You open it correctly.”

“How?”

Azula wipes her hands clean and shrugs. She plucks another egg and tries again. Just when she thinks that the yolk will slide easily free, it explodes again, spattering her face with yolk. She crinkles her nose and wipes the mess from her forehead.

“You have to be gentle.” TyLee suggests. She picks up another egg and taps it on the rim of the bowl. This time she only has to pick a few pieces of shell from the mix.

“TyLee, can I ask you something?” She asks upon finally putting the cake in the oven. She will let the servants determine when to take it out.

“Sure, Azula!”

She swallows, before back peddling in her mind, “firstly, did you read my journal with Zuko?”

She cringes, “was I not supposed to?”

“I was hoping that you did.”

TyLee relaxes, “why?”

“Do you think that…” She pauses. “Do you think that Hajime would be angry if I found someone else.” It is a silly question, Hajime can’t get mad at her, he is dead.

“Oh, Azula!” TyLee takes her by the wrists, she thinks of a beach party so long ago, hadn’t TyLee been trying to give her love advice then too? “I think that he would be happy that you aren’t hurt or alone anymore.” Still holding Azula’s hand she presses it over the princess’ heart.

“Okay.”

“Who is it?” TyLee beams.

She isn’t sure how TyLee doesn’t know already. She hasn’t exactly been around that many people. And then she does seem to connect the dots. She gives a happy little gasp and covers her mouth, “it’s Sokka, isn’t it?”

She nods. Still she finds herself hesitant.

.oOo.

She takes the time to wash her floury, yolky hair and changes into fresh silks. She is offered lotions and perfumes and she helps herself to at least a little of it. She thinks that she is finally starting to settle more fully and comfortably back into her old lifestyle. At least a touch anyhow.

“The cake tastes good, what’s it for?”

Azula’s face flashes red, “Sokka, you didn’t!”

He throws his hands up, “I didn’t, I didn’t! Promise.” He drops his hands. “But it smells good.”

Azula exhales. Truly she should knock the man on his ass. “It’s for Mai, can’t you tell.”

He taps his chin. “Gloomy colors. ‘Birthday’ spelled with little mochi chunks and no ‘happy’. Yeah I can tell it’s for Mai.”

“I thought that we should just give her the mochi.”

“I didn’t realize that you can cook.”

Azula gives a dismissive gesture. “Wait until you taste it to make assumptions.”

He laughs. “I guess that you can’t be good at everything.” He takes a seat next to her on the bed, his hand brushes over hers briefly before he finds an unoccupied spot to put it. But she finds it again and without a word she takes it. He stares for a moment, at her hand in his.

“What’s this?” He holds up their hands.

She clears her throat, “it is my hand, Sokka. And yours. I would imagine that you have known what a hand is for a while now.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know what hands are! I just want to know why you’re holding mine.”

“Because it is here.” And she wonders if that is all there is to it. He is simply there and available. But she doesn’t think that this is the case. She is holding his hand because it is his hand. The hand that hovered over hers when she’d first woken up dazed and distraught, it is the hand that took hers at the theater, the hand that guided her as she learned to sew, the hand that held hers when she was falling apart.

He chuckles again. “I don’t exactly know what that means, Azula.”

But she does, she knows exactly what it means and she finds that she is just as hesitant to say it as she had been with Hajime. Perhaps more so. She hasn’t been around Sokka nearly as long as she had been around Hajime--not affectionately anyhow. She doesn’t know how to say it, not in a poetic and elegant way. And maybe that is just it, maybe it isn’t something that is meant to be spoken at all.

Anyways, she had promised Go-Hara that she would live. That she wouldn’t waste her youth and her pretty face. She had promised to truly live. She doesn’t give herself time to overthink it. She cups Sokka’s face in her hands and pulls his face closer for a kiss. Her first one in a very, very long time.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 4 years

Text

Flesh & Blood | Part Three

Series Summary: A mysterious stranger with ties to your past shows up in your small village

Chapter Summary: now you know the truth about the mysterious stranger, but there's still more to learn

Pairing: Count Dracula x reader

Word Count: 2493

Warnings: mentions of blood, death

A/N: as always spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :) if you want to be added to the taglist let me know (please note I cant reply to comments using this blog)

Masterlist | Part Two

- - - - -

“I will never understand why he spared me, but I feel this is not the last I will see of the count”

You finish reading Sister Y/N’s story and close the journal, moving it back across the table to Zoe without saying a word. You couldn’t speak even if you wanted to, this was a lot to take in.

You both sit in silence for a moment, Zoe allowing you to process what you had read. After a few minutes you finally speak.

“Do you know where he is now?” You ask quietly.

“not exactly no” she admits “the last we saw him he was on the beach last night. We had him, well we thought we had him but he killed a young lady and escaped. We haven’t seen him since.”

“What does he look like?” You twiddle your thumbs nervously, afraid that her answer will confirm your suspicions.

“Tall, pale skin, black hair. Nothing to suggest he’s anything other than a normal man, but his eyes. There’s something about his eyes, they’re just so…”

“Dark” you finish her sentence and look at her “he was here, this morning he was here in the cafe. He knew my name. I convinced myself he just read it off my name tag but I don't think he did. The way he said it, it was as if he knew me.”

“Have you seen him since?” Her face is serious.

“No…” you shake your head but then remember “wait yes, yes while I was eating my lunch he was there. Outside, he was watching me from under the tree. I saw him for just a moment but then he was gone. I thought I had imagined it”

“Right okay, we need to get you away from here. I thought we’d have longer before he found you-” Zoe says as she starts typing fast on her laptop.

“Why did he find me? What does he want from me?”

“I don't know. But he’s a murderous vampire so chances are he wants your blood.”

“Oh my God I feel sick” you rest your head in your hands, trying to take deep breaths as you feel your heart pounding in your chest. Zoe’s phone rings and she answers.

“Hello? Yes. Where? Okay I’ll be right there” she hangs up the phone and quickly packs her stuff away, standing up. “They’ve found him.”

“Where is he?” You shoot your head up to look at her.

“In a house not far from here, I’m going there now. A car will be here soon to pick you up and bring you in”

“In where?” You ask as she heads to the door.

“The research facility where I work. You’ll be safe there.”

“No I cant go, what about my job? What about Maggie?” You ask frantically and Zoe walks over to you and takes your hand.

“It’s you he wants. Maggie, and everyone else in this village will be safer if you are not here.”

You look into her eyes, searching for answers but she turns and leaves you standing in the middle of the empty cafe. You bring your hands up to your head, running your fingers through your hair as you try to make sense of all this.

Five minutes later you see a car pull up outside and a man steps out, walking into the cafe.

“Ms Y/L/N?”

You nod your head.

“I work with Dr Van Helsing, she sent me to collect you.” He walks back outside and opens the back door waiting for you. You walk out the cafe and you're about to climb into the car when Maggie comes running down the street.

“Y/N? What’s going on? Where are you going?” She shouts as she gets closer.

“It’s okay Maggie, I’ll explain everything as soon as I can. I promise.” You walk over to her and give her a hug “if you see the man from this morning, I need you to run. Okay? Promise me.” you whisper in her ear before pulling away. She looks at you confused but nods her head. You get in the car and watch her from the window as you drive away, leaving her stood outside the cafe alone.

“Excuse me, where are we going?” You ask tentatively and the driver looks at you through the rear view mirror.

“The Jonathan Harker Foundation”

— — — —

About an hour later the car pulls up outside a magnificent old stone building surrounded by what looks like the remains of a castle. The driver opens the door and you get out the car, following him through the main entrance of the building.

The interior of the building doesn’t match the outside, its too modern. The corridors are busy with people in lab coats, some look anxious while others look excited. You’re led through them till you arrive at a set of doors where a smartly dressed woman is waiting for you.

“Y/N. I’m Dr Bloxham” she holds her had out to shake yours and you notice her other hand is bandaged up “we’re just about to start, come through”

She pushes the door open and holds it for you. You walk through into a big room set out like a lecture hall, no more than 20 people sat dotted around all dressed in the same medical looking outfits. She gestures for you to take a seat and you do, choosing to sit near the back. She walks to the front of the room and gives a brief introduction before a video starts playing on the screen. Two divers are seen looking at a box amongst what looks like a ship wreck under the sea. The box is opened to reveal a man lying dead. The camera gets closer to his face and your heart skips when you realise that the man in the box is the same man who came to the cafe this morning. As the video continues playing Dr Bloxham resumes talking.

“As you can see, even after 123 years the body was perfectly preserved…” she pauses as the diver on screen lifts the man’s lips to show his teeth “or so we thought.”

Suddenly the man’s eyes move and he bites down on the diver’s fingers. Gasps and groans of shock murmur through the room as blood is seen spreading in the sea. You clasp your hand up to your mouth suppressing the urge to scream. You don't want to watch but you cant take your eyes off the horror on the screen.

“The body was not preserved. Dracula was in fact alive, though dormant. Apparently in some kind of restorative coma, in which he would have remained if I hadn’t have been stupid enough to feed him. So in case you're wondering, yeah…” she holds up her bandaged hand “vampires bite.”

Your heart is pounding and your head is spinning. You feel sick.

You stand up and quietly leave the room through the same doors you entered. You start walking quickly through the corridors, trying to find a way out but as you turn a corner you bump into Zoe.

“Ah Y/N. Just the girl I was looking for.” She notices the look of panic on your pale face “Are you alright, what’s wrong?”

“I, I just. I cant, I cant…” you try to talk through your frantic breaths “I need to go”

She takes your shoulders in her hands and turns you so she’s looking in your face.

“Listen to me. Y/N. You are safe. We have him, he’s locked up. He cant hurt you” she continues looking at you as you slowly start to breathe normally. “Come with me” she leads you off in a different direction and you end up outside a large metal door with a big circle handle in the middle, like the ones you would find on a submarine. Above the door are three clocks. One shows the current time and the other two are labelled as sunrise and sunset.

Zoe opens a small window in the door and takes a quick look inside before gesturing for you to have a look. You peer through the window and there he is, the man you now know to be a centuries old vampire. Count Dracula.

He is stood in the middle of a large glass box, looking rather confused at the toilet that is in there with him. Around the room multiple armed guards are placed, all closely watching his every move.

“You see? He is contained, there is nothing to worry about.” Zoe reassures and you let out a small sigh of relief. Suddenly Dracula tuns and looks straight at you, lifting his hand to wave as he smiles charmingly. You take step away from the window and look at Zoe.

“Does this mean I can go home now? If he’s here then I can go right?”

“Well, we would like you to stay. We think you could really help us. But we can’t force you to do anything you don't want to do”

You look down for a moment thinking then slowly raise your head to look back at her.

“I want to go home”

Zoe looks slightly disappointed but nods in understanding.

“Okay, I’ll get the driver to take you back. But if you do want to come back at any time, here’s my number” she hands you a small piece of paper with her number on and you put it in your pocket.

— — — —

The car pulls up outside your home and you thank the driver before getting out and heading straight to your door. As you take your keys from your pocket and unlock the front door you take a look back at the village. It’s evening now so from the top of the hill all you can see is a sea of lights in the darkness. You head inside and crash down onto the sofa. You're exhausted. Then you remember Maggie and you go to grab your phone but remember you left it in your bag which is still behind the counter in the bakery. You groan and stand up, pulling your coat and shoes back on and leaving the house.

After the day you’ve had a walk in the fresh evening air actually feels really good. You reach the bakery and pull your key out which thankfully you kept attached to your house keys which you always kept in your coat pocket. You find your bag exactly where you left it and pull out your phone. 51 missed calls and a whole lot more messages, mostly from Maggie. She must be worried sick. You close up the bakery again and begin your walk back home, typing a text message as you walk.

‘Hi Maggie, I’m so sorry about this afternoon and I’m even more sorry that I made you worry. I’m okay. I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow once I’ve had a good sleep. Love you xxx’

As you're about to send the message your phone starts ringing, the caller ID is a number you don't recognise so you decline the call. Almost immediately it rings again, so you decline again. Your phone rings for a third time and you decide to answer just to get them to leave you alone but before you say anything you hear Zoe’s voice on the other end.

“Y/N! Where are you right now? Are you in your house?”

“No I’m walking home now, I had to head back to work to get my phone-“

“Get home right now and don't answer the door, do not invite anyone in. Do you understand?” She interrupts, sounding worried.

“Yes… but why? What’s happening?” You ask and you can hear shouting in the background, Zoe doesn’t respond. “Zoe? Whats going on?”

“He’s out. Count Dracula we let him go.”

Your heart drops to your stomach and you begin walking faster.

“His lawyer showed up and threatened us, we had no choice”

“his lawyer?” You question but she ignores you.

“Just get home now. I’m on my way to you” she hangs up the phone and you stick it back in your pocket, again picking up your speed while also trying to remain as calm as possible. But you cant help but feel on edge, the hairs on the back of your next standing up as every little noise and shadow makes you jump.

You swear you can hear footsteps behind you but every time you turn around nothing is there. You walk even faster. You hear a noise behind you and glance over your shoulder as you begin running. Then bang. You run into someone and hear a glass smash.

“you should watch where you're going” the bloke slurs. You try to just push past him and carry on running but he holds you in place “where do you think you're going, you owe me a drink” and leans in close. You can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Look I’m sorry about the drink but I really need to go” you break free but he grabs your wrist, pulling you into the dark alley next to the pub “Get off me!” You protest and he pushes you hard against the brick wall, his booze drenched body pinning you in place as the back of your head starts to throb from the impact.

“You owe me for that drink”

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow I promise-”

“I can think of a way you can pay me back right now” he presses his disgusting mouth against yours and you try your hardest to push him away but he’s at least twice your size. His hands wonder and he starts lifting your top up.

You lift your knee up to make direct contact with his balls and he stumbles back in pain, clutching himself as he doubles over. You take this opportunity to make a run for it but he grabs your arm just before you’re free.

“You're gonna regret that, bitch!” He spits, pulling you back to him.

“Actually…” a familiar voice interrupt “you're the one who’s going to regret your actions”

In a flash of movement Dracula is stood behind the drunk holding him still as he releases his grip on your arm “then again, you're not to be alive long enough to regret anything” he swishes his hand across the man’s neck and blood behind to pour out. You jump backwards in shock. Dracula releases him and he slumps to the floor, his eyes fixed on you as he bleeds out. Dracula starts to walk towards you and you try to run but you trip and fall to the floor, banging your head once again. You roll onto your side, clutching your head with your hand and groaning in pain. In your blurry vision you see Dracula slowly approach you before crouching down so he’s close to you.

“Don't worry Y/N, I’ll take care of you”

Part Four

Taglist: @agent-smulder @kandomeresbitch @a-dorky-book-keeper

#dracula #bbc Dracula #Dracula bbc #dracula netlifx #Claes Bang dracula #dracula imagine #dracula fanfic #Dracula x reader #Claes Bang x reader #Claes Bang imagine #Claes Bang fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

summertime sadness .4.

tgif

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (oral)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only. I know they aren’t super dark, but like questionable so I’m keeping those tags just to be safe.

Summary: You settle into your new job but can’t get too comfortable.

Note: Okey, dokey. Here’s the fun part (for me at least). Still tryna figure out how exactly this one will pan out by part 6 but we’re all having a ride together, eh. Thanks everyone for their support and I love you all! 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

It had only been a few weeks since your last visit to the university but it felt longer as you walked onto campus. Just as planned, you were due to meet Bucky in his office. He texted you as you rode the subway. He was eager to start his ‘marking’. You smirked and wondered how long he’d last at that.

You entered the English Building, the elevator back in service and empty. Not many instructors were in their offices on a Saturday and most students were hungover or readying for another party. You knocked on Bucky’s door before you entered. He had a stack of essays on his desk as he sat behind them listlessly.

“Finally,” He said.

“I slept in.” You replied. “For the first time in a week.”

“Then you’ll have lots of energy,” He reached below his desk, the sound of his zipper discernible beneath it. “I’ve got about forty papers here.”

“Forty? And how many do you think you’ll get to?”

“Knowing that mouth, maybe one.” He snickered. “Come on, baby, I’m rock hard over here.”

He rolled his chair back as you neared and set your purse down behind his desk. He slapped your ass and you got to your knees. You grinned up at him as you ducked under his desk and gripped his thighs as he pushed closer. You pulled down his briefs and his cock sprung out. He groaned and grabbed his pen.

“Fuck,” He swore under his breath. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, baby.”

“You’ve got marking to do,” You reprimanded and stroked him. “Now get to work.”

You stretched your lips over his tip and he groaned. He slid closer and you could hear the clumsy scratching of his pen on paper. As he reached the back of your throat, his leg twitched. You pushed past your gag reflex and he nearly choked. You pulled back and felt the shiver in him.

“Mmm,” He hummed and flipped a page. “Just like that.”

The sloppy sounds of your mouth added to the flutter above, the scribbles of ink. You bobbed your head steadily, every now and then forcing him to your limit and holding him there. And then you stopped as a knock came at the door. You both froze.

“Shit,” He pushed himself against the desk entirely and trapped you underneath it. The front shielded you from view on the other side. “Keep going.”

“Buck---”

“Slowly, quietly.” He grabbed his dick and slapped it against your lips. “Now.” He cleared his throat and shoved your head down as he glided into your mouth again. “Come in.” He called and the door opened.

Your eyes widened as he pulled his hand away. You carefully dragged your tongue along his length.

“Hey,” He greeted in a smooth tone. “Tanya.”

“Sorry to disturb,” His visitor replied. “I was just grabbing some stuff from my office and I just remembered I still had this.”

A thump sounded on the top of the desk as you slobbered down his cock.

“Thanks,” He said and squeezed his legs around you. “I almost forgot myself if I’m being honest.”

“I owe you one,” She said. You recognized her voice. She taught the other section of journalism, though you had her for a social movements class in your first year. “Maybe a drink. I could hang around til you finish with those.”

“Ah, you know, I wish I could,” He lamented. “But I promised a buddy I’d swing around to watch the game.”

You kept from gagging and held your breath, afraid to give yourself away.

“You don’t seem like the sports type,” She countered.

“Not really but a few beers and I am,” He dismissed her easily.

“You sure you’re not avoiding me?” Her toe tapped impatiently just on the other side of the desk.

“Avoiding you?” He chuckled. A slight quaver in his voice as you swirled your tongue around his tip. “Why would I be doing that?”

“Well… Ever since our little… you know…” She hesitated to say it aloud.

“I thought we agreed that it was just a little fun.” He said and you stopped suddenly. He nudged you with his toe and you wrapped your lips around him once more. “A drunken bit of fun.”

“Hmmm…” She sounded disappointed. “You free tomorrow?”

“Sorry, maybe next weekend,” He said. “But I really gotta finish here.”

“Okay, okay,” She accepted with a trill. “We’ll sort out a time then.”

“Sure,” He confirmed unconvincingly. “Next weekend. See ya.”

“Bye,” Her voice was cheerier as her heels clicked back across the floor and the door opened and closed once more.

You tried to pull away but he caught your head and held you down as he emptied himself down your throat. You choked and smacked at his thigh as he cupped his sac with his other hand. He left your mouth salty and sore as he slipped out and rolled back with a sigh.

You spit his cum into your hand and crawled out from under the desk. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, I had to-- fuck, I almost came with her right there.” He grabbed a tissue and handed it to you.

“You could’ve warned me,” You wiped your hand off with a grimace. “What was that anyway? Did you fuck her?”

“Why? You jealous?” He cleaned himself up and zipped up his pants.

“No,” You rolled your eyes. “But I did just suck you off within two feet of her as she obviously wanted to do the same.”

He laughed and pushed his shoulders back. “It was months ago. Before… us. There was a conference, there was wine, and I regret it.” He sighed. “And she looks back on it fondly but… lots of teeth and she was stiff as a fucking board.”

“Wow,” You said dryly and wiped your mouth. “You know, I’m barely surprised.”

“This… thing between you and I, it’s not--”

“It’s just a bit of fun. Trust me, I get it. I haven’t got time for anything but.” You tossed the kleenex in the small bin beside his desk. “Right? That’s what it is?”

“So much fun,” He assured you. “You wanna hang around till I’m finished?”

“Thought you already were,” You jibed. His brow furrowed and you grinned. “Sure,” You pulled up a chair. “I got nothing better to do.”

“Well, don’t sound so excited,” He said. “Besides, I might need some more help sooner than later.”

💋

You scribbled along the margin of your agenda and dropped the pen. The keys clacked beneath your fingers as you typed up a manic sentence. Your screen glowed back at you as the seconds ticked by with each letter. So enthralled by your task that the speck in your peripheral gave you a start.

You leaned back and turned your chair to face the man watching you. Loki’s lithe fingers swept up your golden pen and he admired the engraved letters beneath the fluorescent light. You watched him nervously as you pushed yourself away from your keyboard.

“Mr. Laufeyson.” You greeted him meekly. “I am just finishing the blurb you wanted.”

“Hard at work, as always,” He mused as he carefully set the pen back on your desk. “A beautiful pen…”

“A gift,” You smiled awkwardly.

“Well, I hate to interrupt you so I will let you finished,” His fingers brushed along your desk and he leaned on it as he casually cross his right leg in front of the other. “But when you have, I would like a moment in my office before you leave for the day.”

“Of course,” You affirmed. “It shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.”

“As you will,” He stood straight and smoothed his jacket and buttoned it. “Then you are free to enjoy your weekend.”

“Okay,” You nodded and he turned away.

You watched him go, his strides long but lingering as he retreated to his office. The usual crowd had thinned out and Stacey was readying for her own departure. You spun back to your computer and resumed your work. Your second week down and not a stumble yet. You dared to be proud of yourself. Even, to be happy.

Another weekend ahead of you and you weren’t entirely excited. You liked being in the office; liked working with the other journalists, writers, and editors. Enjoyed your chance to shadow one of the most powerful men in New York publishing. And he had achieved it all at such a young age. You could only hope to achieve as much in the next fifteen years.

It was more than a bullet point for your resume, it was your own paradise.

So you finished up your blurb and attached it to an email. You logged out and packed up your agenda and pen beside your laptop. You pushed your chair in as you hooked your bag over your shoulder and trod tentatively to Loki’s office. You knocked on the open door and he looked away from his screen.

“Ah, there you are,” He beckoned you in with a wave. “Close the door behind you, please.”

You glanced back into the main office and did as he said. You stepped inside and sat across from him, your bag set down against the leg of the chair. His green eyes focused on you and he tilted his head as he absently traced his fingers over his phone. You fidgeted as you struggled not to shy away.

“I just wanted to check in,” He said. “And I was recently reviewing your references.”

“My references?” You wondered.

“Mmm,” He hummed. “Your professors speak highly of you. One of the reasons I even considered a second year, let alone one who had so suddenly changed majors, was a certain word on your behalf.”

“Okay?” You were confused and gripped the arms of the chair as you blinked at him dumbly.

“James Barnes has earned his tenure at the university and on occasion, he has written pieces for my own magazine. A respectable writer, admirable in his work both in teaching and otherwise. And when he proposed this workshop, the tours, I thought it was a charming idea. He proved me right so I had no doubt when he spoke to me of you.”

You gulped but said nothing. Your stomach churned and you brought your hands together and wrung them.

“You see,” He lifted his phone and blindly unlocked it. “You have lived up to his reference and your work is commendable…” He smirked as he flicked a finger across the screen. “But I still questions the veracity of his endorsement as I find his integrity has come into doubt.”

He set his phone down and slid it across the desk. He nodded for you to pick it up. You slid forward on your chair and took it. Your lips parted in horror as you stared at the screen. It was you and Bucky in the bookshop, your lips locked and his arms wrapped around you. You looked up, mortified, as the phone shook in your grasp.

“I…” The breath went out of you and you put the phone back on the desk before it could fall. “How did you--”

“It’s a quaint little shop.” He purred. “I venture in every now and then.”

You chewed your lip as your cheeks burned.

“You do realize that this could be… damaging. To you more than him.” He stood slowly and came around the desk to stand before you. “He has tenure, he is established. You, my dear, you’re barely getting started.”

You gaped up at him. The pet name unsettled you and you wiped your sweaty hands on your thighs.

“And aside from the ethical dilemma, I do wonder what a girl your age sees in a man his age. Especially when your work speak so boldly on its own.”

You shook your head, speechless.

“Surely there are boys your own age who would be delighted to offer you… companionship.”

“I never… I would never use him like that.” You insisted. “It’s all… my work. My own work.”

“Oh, I know it, dear,” He said as his lips curled. “But to risk that work on him? On an affair better fit to a dime store erotica?”

“Are you-- Are you going to report him? Me?” You asked. “Am I fired?”

“Well,” He leaned on the desk, his long fingers gripped it’s edge as he leered down at you. “That depends on you, my dear.”

“Me?” You squeaked.

“Oh yes, this is a very powerful secret, don’t you think?” He slithered. “And in our business, well, it would sell.”

“What do you want?” You asked.

He pushed himself away from the desk and reached to tickle your cheek. His fingers crawled along your chin and he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip.

“I haven’t yet made up my mind,” He bent so that his face was only inches from yours. “But when I do, my dear, you will appease me, won’t you?”

You shuddered but didn’t pull away. You were too frightened. A lock of his dark hair fell forward as his pale skin shone sinister in the lamp light. His green eyes bore into yours and you wanted desperately too look away.

“Y-yes,” You stammered weakly. “I--I will.”

“Very good,” He drew away slowly. “Now, darling, go enjoy your weekend.” He scooped up his phone and tucked it in his pocket. “And give the professor my regards.”

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