#very charmed by them having those sugar cookies on the table | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chocosvt · 4 years ago

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⚬ pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 4342 ⚬ warnings: brief drug mention ⚬ genres: mainly just fluff! college/uni!au

✧✎ synopsis: your longtime campus crush just received an interesting dare: to ask you out on a date. while the circumstances are questionable, you aren’t going to decline. maybe this is your ticket to romance.

✧✎ a/n: if this title or plot sounds familiar, then that’s bc i finally accomplished a goal of mine: to rewrite i dare you. this was a fic i originally wrote in 2016!! i did change some aspects, so not everything is identical. PLS ENJOY ;w;

The bells to the café door jingled.

Normally, you wouldn’t be so attentive about the customers filtering in and out, but at that moment, your gaze shot over the lid of your laptop like a harpoon. It was roughly the right time, the right day. According to your judgement, this was when they usually came for their morning coffees. Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol: a very popular trio amongst the likings of your campus.

Jeonghan was a nursing student. Clean-cut, charming to a degree of annoyance, and always ordered a boring black coffee. The second boy, Joshua, was cute enough to stop you in your tracks and force a double-take. However, he liked mathematics, numbers, weird formulas which looked more torture than learning. He preferred lattes with foam. And then there was Seungcheol. You wouldn’t call him your true love, because you didn’t know him all that well, and as far as he was concerned you were the lunatic who accidentally set pages of Joshua’s chemistry homework on fire. But that was a story for another day (you haven’t been near that Yankee candle since).

Nonetheless, you were crushing on him. Badly. To the point where you arrived at the café early, pretending to type a document on your laptop, just so you could flit your eyes every so often at his table while he slurped his chocolate mocha. You even had their scheduling memorized. It was a bit weird, and you would be the first to admit such a thing, but nothing was going to thwart you from daydreaming about those eyes of his. Or that dazzling smile. His short bursts of laughter which were usually tweezed out at Jeonghan pulling some stupid prank on Joshua. Everything about you adored him.

The trio gathered at their usual table, sat obliquely to your nook by the window. You had opened an older document that was already finished, pretended to tap against the keys while they ate a small breakfast before class. Something was different. They were giggling more than usual. And you couldn’t help but blatantly stare with concern when Joshua tore open a salt packet and poured it straight on his tongue. Jeonghan was grinning so widely that you were positive his face must be aching, and Seungcheol cackled into his fist while Joshua immediately grabbed for his latte.

A game. They were playing some sort of game.

Once Joshua had recovered, you noted that he began surveying the café, running his narrowed gaze to each table.

The second he found you huddled in the corner, attempting to shrink behind your laptop and pretend your presence was nothing but invisible, Joshua leaned into Seungcheol’s side to make a very smiley whisper. Pretend I’m working, pretend I’m working on something so damn important I can’t look up for even a second, you reiterated to yourself quietly, ignoring the panic ballooning inside you. A minute later, someone had just pulled out the chair across from you. They sat down with a slight groan, clasping their hands together.

Of course, it was Seungcheol.

“Hey.” He said, watching as you tentatively lowered the lid of your laptop, probably wondering why the hell you looked so stunned.

“What are you, um, doing?” You asked.

Seungcheol could not be sitting across from you just because he wanted to. It was impossible. And as much as that stung to admit, you knew the truth was simply that. He was definitely put up to this.

“We know each other pretty well, correct?” The boy completely ignored your question. “I know that you set Josh’s chem notes on fire. We take toxicology together. Need I say more?”

“Wow,” you replied, twiddling your fingers anxiously under the table, “that’s a whole two things. I can’t even count that high.”

“We can’t all be mathematicians,” Seungcheol moved the conversation along while he angled a white jar of sugar, “and I guess I should tell you, I’m in a predicament, which involves you.”

Your hands squeezed together so firmly that they nearly moulded into permanent fists. Seungcheol was staring at you now rather than flickering his gaze between the objects on the table, with those eyes as dark as sapphire. You were burning up, sweltering, felt like you needed to burst from your clothes and bathe in ice.

“A predicament?”

Seungcheol folded his muscular arms on the table and nodded. “Yeah, I got a dare from Josh. To ask you out. The thing is, I’m not supposed to tell you. But you seem like a nice girl.”

You swallowed very tautly and pushed down the lid of your laptop a little more. Over Seungcheol’s shoulder, you spotted both Joshua and Jeonghan observing, chuckling amongst themselves.

“Another thing,” Seungcheol added, raking a hand through his black locks, “I don’t want to lose to tweedle-dumb and tweedle-idiot over there – you can decide who’s who – so you should accept.”

Straightening your posture against the chair, you decided to spell out the situation, more for your sake than Seungcheol’s. “Let me get this straight. You got dared to ask me out. You have nothing better to do tomorrow night, so you accepted it. And I don’t have a choice.”

“Your wording is a bit disparaging. But essentially, yeah.” He leaned back with a gorgeous smile, turning up his palm. “So, down?”

At that moment, you could not believe the universe had just ladled this ridiculous possibility into your lap. A date with your biggest crush on campus. A date that so many people would be wrangling your neck to steal from you – even if it was based on an innocuous little game which Seungcheol refused to submit because he was too competitive at heart. It might not have been your most prideful choice in life, but you accepted. Any chance to spend the night with him would not be wasted as long as the offer stood.

However, you had one condition.

“I’ll do it,” you grinned, watching the boy’s expression perk like a child who just got handed a cookie, “on the account of another dare. Which you’ll find out on our fake date.”

“Fine.” Seungcheol shrugged, sliding his phone across the table so that you could enter your number. He stood up afterward, on the verge of returning to his friends when he suddenly paused.

“See you tomorrow night, sweetheart.”

There was such a rush of butterflies in your stomach, you were surprised one hadn’t flown out your mouth.

You didn’t know why you cared so much about a date that was most likely intended to humiliate you. Was Joshua still not over those chemistry sheets? Even after you spent a good two hours in the library attempting to rewrite them with your nicest, smoothest gel pel? Thoughts of what to wear, your style of makeup, and which perfume you should choose amongst the few on your dresser were awfully overwhelming. In fact, you were almost late to the park, the area Seungcheol had picked as a rendezvous point.

He rose from the bench in front of the duck pond once you arrived, checking the time on his wrist while making a tsking sound.

“Four and a half minutes late,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head, “you’re not making a good first impression, my lady.”

Obviously, you weren’t going to admit how you were stressing about a technically-fake date. In the end, you threw on a simple outfit and applied some lipstick on your way out the door, shoving the tube into a small purse hung over your shoulder. It’s not like he was treating you to a five-star restaurant by romantic candlelight. But if he ever did, you had the perfect outfit planned.

“Well, I’m here now. And with your dare.” You grinned.

Seungcheol stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s hear it.”

“I dare you to buy me a week of coffee.”

At first, Seungcheol didn’t utter a thing. But then he erupted into a fit of laughter until his cheeks turned rosy like peaches.

“That’s not how this works,” he half-sighed, half-chuckled while removing a tear from his eye, “I’m rejecting it.”

“You can’t reject it! You definitely owe me. I didn’t let you lose to tweedle-dumb or tweedle-idiot. Plus, it’s low to ask someone out on a dare. I didn’t even have to show up.” Ensuring your tone was confident, you folded your arms over your chest, raised your brow at the boy, and observed him as he tapped his foot in contemplation.

“Can I have time to consider?” Seungcheol asked.

While it was tough to capitulate so easily and let him have his way, you didn’t want to spend the entirety of your night standing next to a slimy pond, debating the regulations. So you bit the bullet. Besides, Seungcheol announced that there was a party he needed to stop by, that there was a particular someone to which he owned money. It was a short walk to this brick house that reverberated with music, cars stalled up and down the street while a flood of strobing colours illuminated in the windows. Seungcheol knocked on the door quite loudly, and then he reached for your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. You shot him a puzzled glance just as the door swung open, the stench of marijuana mingling with the cool, night air.

“Well, well, well,” a fox-eyed boy murmured after taking a long puff from his blunt, “Choi Seungcheol. It’s about damn time.”

“I was in the neighbourhood. Heard you and Soonyoung were lighting this place up. What a good turnout, huh?”

“Mmhm,” the other boy hummed unenthusiastically, leaning his wide shoulder against the doorframe, “you got the money or no?”

Seungcheol laughed. “C’mon, Wonwoo. We don’t even get to go inside? Hang out for a bit? Have a drink? You’re a shitty host.”

Wonwoo slid a finger under his chin, rubbing in contemplation. It was starting to get colder out, for you could hear the tree leaves rustling together as a wind whisked through the dark. You squished yourself a bit closer into Seungcheol’s side, and to your surprise, he let go of your hand and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Finally, Wonwoo concurred, sticking the rolled paper back between his lips while stepping aside with an inviting gesture.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” the boy muttered, “but I’ll be coming to find you in about ten minutes. And I wanna see cash.”

“What’s his problem?” You whispered by Seungcheol’s ear as he guided you around an illy lit corner, into the kitchen.

His warm breath feathered your ear as he said, “I lost a couple bets to him and was slow getting the money back.” Seungcheol then grabbed two solo cups organized in a stack on the counter, filling each with a red, fruit-mixed alcohol which sat in two glass bowls.

“Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

You accepted the cup and took a sip. “Oh, in case you needed to beat him up? I don’t know,” you lilted, “he looks pretty sturdy.”

“Are you kidding?” Seungcheol gawked.

He slapped his drink down on the counter and threw his jacket over the back of a chair. With a perplexed, is this man crazy expression, you watched him roll up his sleeve and flex his bicep.

“Go ahead,” the boy grinned, “you’ll see.”

You made sure to roll your eyes and sigh incredibly loud in order to really establish your indifference. Meanwhile, your inner-self was fizzling like a carbonated soda. Grabbing onto Seungcheol’s muscle, you pressed down, forcing back a surprised chuckle at the fact his arm was hard as a rock. In that moment your meter of attraction toward the boy was ticking so absurdly you thought it could break.

“Okay, I’ll give it to you, Seungcheol. You’re strong.”

He tugged his sleeve back down and slid into the jacket again, a very brash smirk beaming on his face. You couldn’t decipher if he’d actually been attempting to impress you or if that was just a display of his cockiness. And yet, you didn’t really care which category it fell into, because you were still blissfully afloat thinking about Seungcheol’s arms. You lifted your drink and took another sip, swishing the sweet but tangy flavour between your cheeks. At that moment, a man you didn’t recognize attempted to scoot behind you – except there was definitely enough room for him to get by without planting his hands on your hips and squeezing them.

“Hey! What the hell?” You squeaked, quickly turning around on your heel to see the crookedly amused look he stared at you with.

“What?” He somehow had the audacity to respond.

But you weren’t going to accept his disgraceful maneuvers, and neither was Seungcheol. He abandoned his cup on the counter and pushed up his sleeves.

“Did you just put your hands on her?” Came his demand. It didn’t sound like the normal, relaxed Seungcheol who liked his jokes, but someone with an unnerving amount of authority and fearlessness.

“I-I was trying to get by.” The man stammered, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of confrontation. He was already stepping backward as Seungcheol approached him.

“Don’t touch other people like that,” Seungcheol admonished him in a deep, staid voice, then pointed toward the threshold of the kitchen, “just get out, man. Seriously. Don’t even go near her.” And like a saddened puppy who received a scolding from its owners to lay down in the pen, the man slinked away without another word.

You were unsure of what to say to Seungcheol for diminishing the situation. Folding your arms tightly, you nodded at him.

“Thanks.”

Wonwoo came wandering into the kitchen. His eyes brightened the moment he saw Seungcheol, and he rubbed his fingers together to wordlessly convey that he wanted his money now.

“It’s alright,” Seungcheol gave you a soft smile while he revealed a large wad of cash from his pocket, “he was a weirdo.”

“Yeah.” You laughed as Seungcheol handed the sum to his friend, who fleshed out the paper notes to count the correct amount.

It took you a moment to realize that Seungcheol’s arm had wrapped back around your shoulders, this time a bit more securely. When you leaned into him, it wasn’t because you felt a draft or a chill, but because he was comfortable. He felt and smelled like safety.

Later that night, you returned to the park, throwing stones into the duck pond while the moon was hidden behind a thin curtain of clouds. Seungcheol claimed that he could throw his stones farther than yours, which prompted your short-lived competition. It had ended so abruptly because you ran out of stones to throw. At one point you tried tossing sticks, but they didn’t travel as far, and they definitely didn’t break the surface of the water with a satisfying plop.

“Hey,” Seungcheol said, nudging your elbow excitedly, “I dare you to get in the pond.”

“No way!” You cackled. “It’s freezing. And that pond is nasty.”

“Just dip your toe in or something.”

“You dip your toe in!”

“I don’t wanna take off my socks.”

You huffed, a plume of your breath escaping into the crisp air.

“Well, we’re at a crossroads then, aren’t we?”

Rather than continue bickering about the dare, you were starting to feel these annoying hunger pangs. You didn’t eat dinner because of how nervous you were toward this fake date (which was rapidly morphing into a very real date) with Seungcheol. The most you ate today had been some toast and pieces of apple your roommate cut the night before. Directly on cue, your stomach gurgled, and your face swelled hot with embarrassment. Seungcheol grinned.

“Hungry?”

“Starving, more like.” You corrected him.

He pulled out the white fabric liners of his pockets, revealing they were completely empty. “All my cash went to Wonwoo.”

You flashed a playful smile while repeating his statement from earlier. “Oh, wow. Not being able to cover the meal on a first date? You’re not making a good impression, sweetheart.”

In an instant, Seungcheol had snatched your hand, interlocking your fingers together warmly. He began tugging you out of the park and onto a familiar street, where there was a twenty-four-hour diner that the students absolutely loved. Admittedly, you had been there a few times. Once as a giggly drunk who just wanted a waffle plate at three in the morning, and also as a struggling student who was desperate for a cup of coffee in order to power through a procrastinated essay. Now, it seemed you were returning for a date.

“I’ll pay you back, promise.” Seungcheol said as the server placed a nacho platter onto the table. “It’s my new priority.”

The diner was quiet and mostly empty apart from a group of three seated at another table. You didn’t realize just how hungry you were until that first taste of melted cheese, salsa, and seared chicken hit your mouth. Seungcheol didn’t like black olives, so he kept picking them off. You were eating too ravenously to inspect your food.

“You’re taking the olives off?” You smirked. “Baby.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “I am not a baby.” He looked up at you as he shoved another delicious chip in his mouth. “And I know it gives you some sick, twisted pleasure to say that. You should be ashamed.”

Nearly choking on the water you just sipped, you dropped the cup back on the table to cough a few times.

“You know what’s sick? The fact I’m paying.”

The boy reached for his glass of coca cola. “Yeah, but technically this isn’t a real date. So, doesn’t count.”

“Really?” Raising a questioned eyebrow, you watched Seungcheol take a long gulp from his drink. “Are you willing to say that with your entire chest? That this isn’t a real date?”

And in that moment, Seungcheol genuinely seemed to have met a stupor. In fact, there was a red tint dusting the crest of each his cheeks. He leaned back in the booth, folded his arms over his chest, and pursed his lips. You waited patiently for his response, lifting a nacho to your mouth while threads of cheese dangled in the air.

A smile broke through his stiff, musing expression.

“Okay,” he nodded his head, “maybe this is a real date,” (your heart impossibly fluttered), “you could be right about that.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” You answered.

In truth, you couldn’t have been more delighted to hear Seungcheol agree, because if he hadn’t, you would have dined and dashed, fled straight out the restaurant in a haze of shame and embarrassment. In the span of just a few hours, your attraction toward this boy had impressively expanded like a sponge soaking up water. Before, you weren’t positive that he could be your true love. It was mostly a running joke between you and… well, yourself. However, this one night was proving that perhaps your joke could have some actual weight to it. And as Seungcheol continued to make you laugh, choke on your food, stare at him in complete adoration like he was a crowned jewel, you completely lost track of time.

It wasn’t until you burst into another frenzy of laughter at his story and spilt water all down your shirt that you finally checked your phone. Almost one in the morning. The server whisked your cutlery and plates away with a tired expression. You tipped generously, feeling rather guilty for creating such a racket at this hour.

“Do you want my jacket?�� Seungcheol asked as you prepared to leave. There was a huge water stain soaking through your shirt.

“A-Are you sure?” You asked him, pulling a few strands of hair from your face. He nodded, already wrestling the jacket off.

“Go change, sweetheart,” Seungcheol told you so casually that you couldn’t hide this blatant look of surprise, “I’ll wait outside.”

Entering a washroom stall, you peeled the damp shirt over your head and folded it to pack nicely within your purse. You then slipped into Seungcheol’s jacket, which had this wonderful, warm fleece patched to the inside. It was soft against your bare skin, and it smelled like a fragrant hint of his cologne. After spending an extra moment freshening up at the sink, you wandered back into the cool night, where Seungcheol was leaning against a street pole. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks at the late hour, or if he’d actually given you a very smug, very relishing once-over.

Considering you had class early the next day, you asked Seungcheol if he’d be willing to walk you home. He obliged, and you paced together in comfortable silence until reaching the bridge. It arched over a swirling, gushing river which ran through the city, the current black as kohl and reflecting the lights of the nearby architecture. In the daytime this bridge wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was a beautiful vantage point during the night; a place to watch the city sparkle and flash like the cosmos.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispered, grabbing your hand, “I have another dare for you, since you chickened out on the pond.”

You looked at the mischief compiling in his gaze. “What?”

“Climb up there.”

Seungcheol pointed toward a thick, metal beam that slanted upward, like a ramp. It flattened out at the top, and sometimes when you walked by during the day, there would be a few students sitting down after class, eating sandwiches or cracking open sodas. A placement of bars was set behind, only wide enough to stick your leg through. You glanced back at Seungcheol and nodded.

“Okay, fine.”

And so you began to climb up the slanted beam, feeling the breeze nip at your cheeks, your hair, like the smallest of kisses. At the flattened section, you turned around and looked down at Seungcheol, feeling like the empress of a powerful kingdom. His face ignited in the moonlight. He was smiling very wide as you stuck out your tongue.

“Easy. I dare you to climb up here.”

Seungcheol shook his head. “I, uh, can’t.”

“Why not?” You laughed, folding your arms. “Scared?”

“No, I just—I twisted my ankle, so I can’t.”

“When was that?”

“You weren’t looking.”

Rolling your eyes, you decided to tease him. Taking the zipper dangling from his jacket, you began to pull it down slowly, revealing a hidden amount of skin which turned the boy’s face an adorable pink.

“If you come up here, I’ll take the jacket all the way off.” You sang in a promiscuous tone, lifting up the strap of your bra and snapping it. Seungcheol grinned, cupping a hand over his gaze.

“No way. I’m not falling into a trap like that.”

“Fine,” you huffed, lowering to your butt and carefully scooting your way down the metallic beam, “you missed out.”

Seungcheol merely held his tongue; however, he did take the zipper on his jacket and pull it back up, right to your chin, hiding the expanse of flesh from the bright moonlight. You weren’t sure what courageous energy had just taken over your body. In fact, you’d probably regret such a thing by the time your alarm clock erupted tomorrow morning, pulling you from the pit of your sleep.

“I don’t want you getting cold.” He said. “And I can’t believe you nearly gave me a strip tease from the support beam of a bridge. That’s a first.”

“I’m just making sure you don’t forget this date.” You chuckled, half in nonsense, half in truth.

As he promised, Seungcheol walked you back to the house and made sure the door unlocked using the spare key under the letter box. Thankfully, your roommate left the lights of the front porch on, the bulbs now swathed in grey moths. It was a strange night. A night that wouldn’t have happened if not for the antics of Seungcheol and his two equally competitive friends. Maybe there was a positive side to burning Joshua’s chemistry notes, though you weren’t sure he’d be thrilled to hear you admit that. A game of I Dare You, turned into a fake date, turned into a real date, turned into a sweet affection.

You yawned, feeling the faint glisten of tears stretch in your eyes. “I had fun. And I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in toxicology.”

“With my jacket.” He reminded you.

“Yes, of course. With your jacket.”

And while you expected Seungcheol to simply bid his goodnight and perhaps take a late bus home, firing question after question of why he decided to accept such a stupid dare as he stared out the window, you were surprised when he reached for your hand.

“By the way,” he said, “I accept.”

You crinkled your nose. “Accept what?”

“The dare. I’ll buy you coffee every morning this week.”

“Oh!” There was a small flare crackling to life in your eyes as you recalled the original dare of the night. “That’s right. I forgot.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Seungcheol agreed. He then squeezed your hand. “On the account of one very simple condition.”

“I don’t think you can do that. Doesn’t seem rule-abiding.”

The boy discarded your comment. Instead, his grasp became tighter around your hand. He pulled you swiftly into his chest and stared straight into your helpless, panicking eyes as though he were going to confess something profound and utterly dire.

He smirked. “I want you to kiss me each time.”

Seungcheol lifted his brow in anticipation of your response, which was an undoubted agreement. Probably the fastest, easiest agreement you had ever made in your life. He moved in close to your ear, whispering something about how you should meet at the café tomorrow morning and walk to the lecture hall together, though you were ultimately buzzing and experiencing such a bold heartbeat that you missed most of the details. When he pulled away, you smiled.

“That sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Stepping off the porch, he turned back with a wave.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

✧✎ a/n: the reason i wanted to rewrite this fic was bc i still rly enjoy the concept. however, i cannot STAND my old style of writing, thus i decided to just rewrite the fic and appease the nagging in my head lol. this is how i would have written this fic today if i hadn’t already done so four years ago. i’m also questioning the possibility of rewriting love café for jeonghan (pls don’t go reading it if u haven’t already)�� but that would take much longer ,,,, JUST AN IDEA THOUGH. i hope you enjoyed!!

#seventeen scenarios #seungcheol scenarios #svt fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #choi seungcheol #s.coups scenario #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #scoups fluff #svt x reader #seungcheol x reader

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pregnant-piggy · 3 years ago

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Summer Games - one

Blaise Zabini x reader

masterlist

warnings: mentions of food, no pronouns used

A/N: because apparently I can’t write short fics anymore, i turned his idea into a short series! different from the last series, this one is fluffy and light-hearted. I hope you like it!

written for @omgrachwrites writing challenge with the prompts: ‘I can’t have this argument with you again.’ ‘But—’ ‘No, I’m done.’ and ‘Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.’

word count: 5.4k

Rain was pouring down from the skies outside, and had been all week. Dark grey heavens had been the ceiling to the world for seven days already and it didn’t seem like it would get any better anytime soon. For May the weather was dull and grim—the complete opposite of the year before when the sun had been out already in March.

Not that many seventh year students were outside anyway. With the exams approaching fast, most time beside classes was spent in the library or in the dark common rooms. To get the students outside after all, the school had decided that despite the rain all outside classes would continue.

Hence you were slipping and sliding over the soggy grass on your way back from Herbology to the castle for lunch, trying to keep up with Pansy who seemed to have less trouble than you. That, however, was not what was bothering you.

‘Come on, Pansy. You know it would be fun! It’s our final year, it’ll be nice!’

Pansy sighed as she caught your arm and pulled you back to your feet after you’d nearly slipped. Nevertheless there was a small smile on her face and you felt like doing a dance, had you not been standing so weakly on your feet.

‘Fine,’ she gave in and you cheered. ‘But good luck trying to convince the guys, if you mention “Summer Games” once more they’ll ignore you for the rest of the day.’

The Summer Games were the annual week-long festival in your grandparents’ hometown. You had been begging your friends to come along with you for years now, but they always found reasons to not come—the most used one being ‘it’s stupid’. Every year when the end of the school year was approaching your friends would feel it coming and never intentionally brought up the subject of the summer vacation. However this year you wouldn’t just leave it there. You really wanted your friends to come and you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

‘I’ll just use my charming personality,’ you smirked as you followed Pansy to the big table in the Great Hall. ‘They can’t resist that.’

‘Well, Blaise for sure can’t.’

‘Shut up,’ you mumbled as you sat down next to Pansy and she shot you a sly grin.

You chatted with Pansy for a while as you waited for Draco and Blaise to return from their potions class. Meanwhile you tried to come up with ways to convince them, but when they finally arrived you hadn’t many more thoughts than before.

‘Merlin, I’m starving,’ Blaise grumbled as he slumped down on the bench and immediately reached for the food in front of him.

Draco took the seat next to him and shook his head disapprovingly. ‘You don’t know how much I’ve heard that in the past hour. He’s terrible.’

‘Not as annoying as y/n was trying to get me to come with them to their grandparents in the summer,’ Pansy sighed, spooning sugar into her tea.

‘Oh not this again,’ Draco whined and you shot him a mad look.

‘I’ll have you know that Pansy agreed with me actually,’ you said, triumphantly smiling at your friend. ‘So now all you have to do is stop being so stubborn and agree to come.’

‘Never,’ Draco swore, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Draco, please! It will be fun! It’s our final school year; don’t you think we should do something together?’

‘I can’t have this argument with you again!’ Draco cried out exasperated, throwing his arms up in the air.

‘But—’

‘No, I’m done,’ Draco said and he raised his hand to stop you from talking.

You whimpered sadly and desperately turned to your other friend, who had been solely focused on his lunch and hadn’t joined in the argument. You put up puppy eyes and pouted your lips as you looked at Blaise. ‘Blaise?’

He looked up and you could have sworn something flickered in his eyes when he looked at you. Slowly he lowered his fork and turned from you to Draco and back to you. You were still pouting and Blaise chuckled at your face, making your cheeks burn.

‘Please, Blaise? You wouldn’t turn me down, would you?’ you asked sweetly and tilted your head to the side a little. Next to you, Pansy scoffed softly and you kicked her shin, causing her to hiss in pain.

Blaise stayed silent for a while as he contemplated what to say, but eventually he shot you a small smile and shrugged. ‘I guess it wouldn’t be too bad…’

/\/\/\

The sun was shining fiercely down on the roof of the bus shelter and the beams were even hotter through the glass. Trees were nowhere to be seen on the side of the road so shadow was a scarce thing.

Draco stood next to you and even though he had arrived ten minutes earlier, you still weren’t done laughing. In all the years that you had known Draco not once had you seen him in shorts, so when he had crossed the street to the bus shelter at first you hadn’t even recognised him. Then when you had noticed Draco’s face you had started to laugh so hard that your backpack had slipped from your shoulder and you had nearly fallen to your knees.

Draco was wearing black shorts and underneath stuck two very pale legs that you thought had never seen daylight before. But that wasn’t what was so bad about it; after all pale legs were just a natural thing. The bad thing about it was that above it Draco was wearing an orange, flower-patterned shirt that clashed terribly with his skin colour and on top of it all a bucket hat, something that surprised you Draco even had it, let alone wear it.

It was such a difference from the always neat Draco you knew that you hadn’t even heard his explanation over your laughter. And now he was scowling at you as you picked up your bag from the ground.

‘It’s hot, y/n,’ Draco tried. ‘You seriously don’t expect me to wear black pants in the summer, do you?’

‘Is this what you wear at home too? Does your dad dress this way as well?’ you snickered and sat down on the little bench in the bus shelter.

‘Oh, shut it,’ Draco said and he turned away from you.

Next to arrive was Blaise. You waved at him as he walked into the street and a big smile formed on his face when he recognised your figure. You blushed and quickly averted your eyes, but Draco had already seen it and he was laughing at you.

‘Did the other seniors enjoy the cruise as much as you?’ you shot back and Draco turned red, grumbling something as he turned away.

Blaise walked up to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulder—something he usually never did. Blood rushed to your head and you could only smile giddily while trying to not let your heart explode.

‘Am I the first one to arri—’ Blaise started but his eyes widened when he saw Draco in his orange shirt. ‘Wow, where’d you get that shirt? You look like an orange threw up on you.’

You chortled and slapped your hand over your mouth, while Draco looked angrily at his friend. Blaise’s chest moved up and down as he laughed and you felt his low chuckle in your bones. Before you could do anything embarrassing you disentangled from Blaise’s arm and looked into the street, seeing if Pansy was there to save you.

However it took another five minutes before Pansy arrived and in those five minutes you listened to Blaise coming up with more jokes about Draco’s shirt. You laughed when Blaise started to attack the bucket hat and when Pansy finally joined the group you were wiping the tears from your eyes. Blaise was looking at you with an exultant smile and you blushed, shaking your head lightly at the terrible jokes.

‘Oh Merlin, why are you wearing that, Draco?’ Pansy cried out as soon as she stood at the bus shelter. ‘Is that why we never get pictures of you in the summer?’

‘It’s a perfectly fine shirt!’ Draco scoffed. ‘Why aren’t we attacking Blaise on his green shirt?’

‘Because he looks good in it,’ you said without thinking, receiving two surprised stares from Pansy and Draco and a thankful smile from Blaise. ‘You don’t, Draco, like really not.’

‘Alright, alright,’ Draco said, throwing his hands up in defence. ‘I won’t wear this shirt anymore. Is that what you want?’

‘I’d rather you throw that shirt away, but alright,’ Pansy said and she took her bag as the bus arrived. ‘That will do for now.’

The four of you got on the bus with all your bags and you shot the driver an apologetic smile as Draco entered the bus swearing behind Pansy, trying to get back at her. You followed after him and pushed him in his back, forcing him further into the bus.

Pansy took place in a seat at the end of the bus and Draco quickly sat down next to her and started to talk to her, but you didn’t miss Pansy’s mischievous smile as you sat down and had to make place for Blaise. He sat down next to you with a sigh and placed his backpack on the ground at his feet.

You weren’t not used to sit next to Blaise or be in close proximity, but every time it happened you felt your heartbeat pick up and your cheeks get hotter. Sometimes you wished to go back to a time when that didn’t happen, though if you were honest you also liked the way Blaise made you feel. It was a dangerous game, but you enjoyed playing it.

‘How long to your grandparents?’ Blaise asked as he stared at the board above the exit of the bus that showed the route and the stops of the bus.

‘It’s one of the last stops,’ you said, leaning back in your seat. ‘If there isn’t too much traffic I think we’ll be there in two and a half, maybe three hours.’

‘Hmm,’ Blaise hummed and he took his backpack from the floor, unzipping it. ‘Good thing I brought these then.’ And he pulled out a box with your favourite cookies, shaking them in front of you.

‘Oh, Blaise you are amazing!’ you exclaimed and wrapped your arms around him. ‘Did you get these for me?’

Blaise chuckled as you let him go and opened the box. ‘Well, actually they’re for Draco, but then he decided to wear that ugly shirt.’

‘You know, just because I am not sitting next to you, doesn’t mean I don’t hear what you say,’ Draco said and you looked past Blaise to the angry blond.

‘I know,’ Blaise said drily and he gave you a cookie.

You spent the bus ride talking with Blaise and playing travel scrabble. Pansy had finally let go on Draco’s shirt and after a while he lost his grumpiness and joined Blaise to destroy you in the scrabble game. You shared sweets and stories; Draco told how he had applied for a job at the store that sold potions ingredients in Hogsmeade, Pansy had an elaborate story on how she had gotten into a fight with her sister because she had refused to help her with her homework and after your friends had begged, you told how you had seen Neville Longbottom throw up before he had had to give a speech at the graduation at the end of the school year.

‘Poor kid,’ Pansy said and she shook her head. ‘I hope he overcomes his insecurities. It is no life he lives.’

After almost two and a half hours, the bus drove off the main road into the green countryside of the town your grandparents lived in. The sun was setting lower in the sky and it shone through the window on your left, illuminating Blaise’s face with a golden light. He was leaning his head back and had his eyes closed. The sunlight lay as a feather light blanket over the features of his face.

You couldn’t look away. Entranced by the beauty of the boy next to you, you fell into a haze. Your surroundings disappeared into a blur of colours and soft sounds and all you could focus on was Blaise’s sun-kissed face. It costed all the strength in your body to not reach out and brush your fingers over his cheeks.

‘y/n?’

You shot up from your daze and shook your head. If you couldn’t keep yourself together this would be a difficult trip.

‘Aren’t we near our stop?’ Draco asked and you looked past Blaise at him.

Outside the plain meadows with cows and sheep had changed for the cobblestone roads. The bus was approaching a little village that was coming nearer with the minute. The first lonely farmhouses stood next to the road, with front yards full of blooming flowers and colourful curtains behind the windows.

The bus stopped before entering the village, where the streets were so narrow it wouldn’t fit. There was a little square where the vehicle made a turn to leave in the way it came later. With a shock the bus came to a halt and Blaise’s eyes fluttered open.

‘We’re here, sleepy head,’ you said and nudged him with your elbow.

Blaise shot you a sleepy smile and he got up from his seat. He took your and his bag from above the seats and as he had his hands above his head, his shirt lifted and you could see his stomach and a small part of the waistband of his boxers. Taking a deep breath, you averted your eyes and busied yourself with the fabric on the bus seats.

All packed with your bags you stepped from the bus onto the square at the beginning of the village your grandparents lived. A warm sense of familiarity washed over you at seeing the houses. You only came here once a year in the summer, but all the memories you had of the village were ones you were fond of. The old houses and little streets always made you feel welcome, no matter how long you had been away.

‘Let’s go,’ you said and took your bag on your shoulders. ‘They’re waiting for us.’

/\/\/\

Sunlight peaked through the crack between the curtains, lighting up the bedroom. Blaise groaned and he turned around in his bed, blocking out the light by pulling his pillow over his face. The darkness pleasantly fell over his face and he would have fallen asleep again had it not been for Malfoy.

In the bed next to him, Draco was whirling and kicking against his bedsheets. Blaise had shared a room with Draco for seven years so he was used to the sounds of the boy in the morning, but that was when they were at school. Blaise wasn’t so fond of getting woken this early by Draco in the summer.

‘Shut up, idiot,’ Blaise grumbled from under his pillow and Malfoy’s movements silenced.

‘I can’t help it,’ Draco shot back, his grumpy tone laced with sleep. ‘These sheets are so uncomfortable!’

He started to move again and Blaise let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Spoiled little brat you are,’ he muttered. ‘These sheets are fine.’

‘Ugh, I guess they are “fine” but I’m just used to silk,’ Draco went on, still not lying still. ‘You don’t think they have those here, do you?’

Blaise lifted his head from under his pillow and shot Draco an angry look. ‘No they don’t and don’t you dare ask for it. y/n’s grandparents are so nice to let us stay here and you won’t be an ungrateful guest. Didn’t your mommy teach you manners?’

‘Fine,’ Draco said and he rolled his eyes.

After that Draco stopped moving around so much and content Blaise dropped his head back on his mattress. He pulled his pillow back over his head again, but before he could even let it go, the door opened and you burst inside. Draco squealed and pulled the sheets up to his neck as if he had something to hide.

‘Draco, please,’ you snickered. ‘I’ve seen much more from you.’

It was as if the sun itself had entered the room now you were here and Blaise turned on his back, putting the pillow under his head. You were still laughing at Draco who was grumbling and trying to pull his pyjama shirt straight. With a sleepy smile on his face Blaise watched as you rolled your eyes at Draco and then turned to Blaise.

‘Come on, guys! Breakfast is waiting!’ you exclaimed and smiled at Blaise before you left the room.

When you were out of sight, Blaise’s smile faltered and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Slowly and grunting he sat up in bed, stretching his arms over his head. The wooden floor squeaked under his feet as he got up and went to search for his clothes.

‘If I had known all those years that it just takes y/n to get you up in the morning…’ Draco started but a yawn interrupted his comment.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Blaise muttered as he pulled his shirt over his head. Fully dressed he made his bed neatly and felt Draco’s eyes on him as he did. ‘What?’

‘Are you wearing green again because y/n said that you looked good in it yesterday?’ Draco asked, tilting his head to the side as he watched Blaise intently.

Blaise pulled the sheets over the bed and looked up at Draco. He was still sitting in bed, wearing his satin pyjamas and his hair was a mess. Chuckling Blaise walked to the door and before he disappeared he said: ‘It doesn’t matter what I wear, next to you I always look good.’

Your grandparents’ house wasn’t as big as the farmhouses the bus had passed, but it was still big enough for the company. Draco and Blaise slept in one bedroom and you and Pansy slept in the one next to it. Your grandparents had a room on the floor above so you weren’t of any trouble to them at night.

Your grandparents were very friendly people. Yesterday they had welcomed their grandchild lovingly and after you had introduced everyone they had welcomed Blaise, Pansy and Draco with just as much love. Dinner had been ready already and Blaise hadn’t known what was better; the food at Hogwarts or your grandparents’ food. During dinner Blaise had talked with your grandmother and he had learned that your craziness for the Summer Games wasn’t just you; it was the whole village.

‘Good morning!’ you cheered from the kitchen counter when Blaise entered the kitchen.

He smiled at you and sat down next to Pansy, who was wearing a sly grin as she looked at Blaise and then at you. He grimaced and shook his head. Apparently his little crush on you hadn’t gone completely unnoticed.

‘Coffee?’ you asked as you got to the table with a pitcher of coffee.

‘Yes, please,’ Blaise said and he pushed the mug near his plate to you.

You filled it and then placed the pitcher on the table. While you sat down, Blaise took a sip of his coffee and welcomed the warm liquid in his body. Slowly he felt himself waking more and more and he could actually appreciate waking up this early for once.

‘Where are your grandparents?’ Blaise asked over his coffee.

‘My grandfather is in the garden and grandma is part of the organisation of the festival so she’s at the fields already.’

A silence fell over the breakfast table and the three of you drank your coffee and tea quietly, letting the sleep fade from your system. After five minutes the floors squeaked and Draco entered the kitchen with a grumpy look on his face.

‘Oh dear Merlin, we’ve awoken the monster,’ Pansy mumbled as Draco sat down at the table. She filled Draco’s cup with coffee and pressed it in his hands. ‘Drink this, it’ll keep the demons at bay.’

Breakfast went on silently and only when you were putting away the dishes after, Draco had got over his grumpiness. Blaise was helping you cleaning out the table and stood with his back towards to table when Draco spoke his first words of the morning.

‘Why so early?’

Blaise placed the plates next to the sink and turned around to you. You shrugged and collected the empty coffee cups while you answered. ‘The festival doesn’t start until twelve, so I thought I’d show you the village. Was it too early?’

‘No, of course not,’ Blaise answered quickly before Draco could open his mouth and this one shot him an angry look. Blaise chuckled and took the cups from your hands, placing them next to the plates.

You shot him a grateful look and then turned around to Pansy and Draco who were still sitting at the table. ‘Go on then,’ you said. ‘Let’s get going!’

/\/\/\

Out in the fields around the village the festival of the Summer Games had been built. The meadows that belonged to the farmers and were used for their cows turned into quite the happening in the summer. For a week the whole village would slow down their work and put most of their attention in the Summer Games.

It was nearing noon when Blaise and his friends got to the fields. All around were little booths with products of the people in the village, such as jars of honey, paintings of the hills and handmade wooden ornaments. The stalls were decorated with colourful garlands around the edges and handwritten signs. During your tour through the village Blaise had wondered why it had been so quiet, but now it was clear that everyone had been at the fields already—all the booths were occupied by at least one person behind them, arranging the final things before the festival would start.

At the back of the meadow a small stage had been placed. It was just enough for a little band to perform on and indeed there stood two men and a woman next to the stage, talking to who seemed to be the stage-manager. In front of the stage space for a dancefloor had been created and behind that stood a couple picnic tables.

‘Welcome to the festival!’ you exclaimed and turned around to your three friends. ‘Signing up starts in a few minutes I think, so we have some time to look around.’

Blaise looked aside to Draco and was surprised to find his friend actually interested by everything around him. This all wasn’t very Draco, but he seemed to enjoy it.

‘What do we need to sign up for?’ Pansy asked, as she linked her arm with yours.

‘The Games are played in teams,’ you explained, walking towards one of the stands with Blaise and Draco trailing behind you. ‘You play the games in the next days as part of a team and earn points for winning. The team that has the most points at the end of the week wins.’

You led your friends to one of the nearby booths that sold cherries and all things made of that. On the other side of the table stood a man in his early fifties, wearing a straw hat over his red, sunburned face. A wide smile spread on his face when he saw you.

‘y/n! How great to see you!’ the man greeted you and you smiled at him. ‘How are you?’

‘It’s good to see you too, Hank,’ you said. ‘I’m great! We arrived yesterday evening and we’re staying for the whole week.’

Hank looked past you at Blaise, Draco and Pansy and through his smile Blaise could see a golden tooth.

‘You finally convinced them to come?’ Hank asked you and he leaned back.

Pansy raised her eyebrow at Blaise and Draco and turned to you. ‘You talk about us here?’

‘Of course,’ you said and turned to your friends. ‘Everyone here knows I’ve been trying to get you here for years now.’

‘Well, that doesn’t make us look good,’ Draco mumbled and he held his hand over his eyes as he looked out on the field, like he was searching for people that were commenting on him.

Hank either didn’t hear or ignored Draco’s comment and he brushed away a wasp from his cherry pastries. ‘So you’re done now at that… Scottish boarding school of yours?’

You laughed softly and as you answered, Blaise’s stomach started to growl loud enough for everyone, including Hank, to hear it. They turned to him and he shot an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, can’t really help it.’

‘Don’t worry, boy,’ Hank said and reached for the plate with cherry pastries. ‘Take one on the house.’

Blaise wanted to decline out of courtesy but his stomach didn’t allow for him to be kind. He took a pastry of the plate and his friends followed after him. It was silent as you all took a bite, but after the first bite the silence was swapped for satisfied moans. The pastry was light and sweet, but a little sour from the cherries and Blaise swore it was one of the best things he had ever eaten.

‘This is amazing!’ Pansy moaned loudly and a passer-by shot her a weird look. She winked at them suggestively and they walked on quickly.

Blaise laughed at Pansy, but he couldn’t deny that he didn’t feel the same. The cherry pastries were a bit of heaven. He closed his eyes as he took another bite and when he opened them, he was met with your gaze. Immediately the blood rushed to his cheeks and he looked away.

‘Glad to know they are liked,’ Hank said. ‘My husband will be happy to hear that.’

From the stage something incomprehensible was said and you looked up. ‘Say hi to him from me!’ you said, while you made your way to the stage, waving at Hank behind you. ‘I’ll catch up with you later!’

Blaise followed you to the picnic tables near the stage and sat down next to you. His arm was pressed against yours as someone else sat next to him and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. He wasn’t a stranger from being close to you, but that didn’t mean that it did nothing to him. Every time he was touching you or sitting close to you his heart would leap and a strange sense of comfort washed over him.

Slowly the tables started to fill with people until there were no empty spaces left. It surprised Blaise to see how many people there were when the village hadn’t seemed that big at all. And it surprised him even more to see how many of those people knew you. Some came up to make a little chat and others just waved at you from their spot. You answered everyone with a big smile and Blaise grew happier the longer he looked at your smile.

Eventually you turned to your friends and explained what was going on. ‘It will start soon. The head of the organisation will shortly say something and then we have till six this evening to sign up for the teams.’

On the stage a tall, dark woman stepped behind the microphone and the chatter from the people at the picnic table fell silent. The woman tapped on the mike to make sure it worked and then said: ‘Hello and welcome to the fifty-sixth Summer Games!’

Blaise turned his head to you. ‘Fifty-sixth?’

‘Yeah, it’s been going for quite a while,’ you nodded and then a smile formed on your lips as you looked at Blaise.

‘What?’ he asked, afraid he had done something.

‘This year too has been organised by some of the greatest of our village,’ the woman on the stage went on, but the names were lost on Blaise as he watched you in anticipation.

‘It’s nothing,’ you chuckled softly. ‘You just—you got something on your cheek…’

Blaise’s hand immediately shot up to his cheek but he felt nothing. You were still looking at him and a cute giggle fell from your lips while Blaise attempted to clean his cheek.

‘Here, let me,’ you said and pushed Blaise’s hand away. You brought your hand closer to his cheek and cupped his jaw. Your fingers were light on his skin and once again that familiar feeling of comfort fell over Blaise.

Sooner than Blaise liked you pulled your hand back. On your finger was a dark red smudge from the cherry jam on the pastry. Blaise smiled sheepishly and shook his head a little embarrassed.

‘Thanks,’ he mumbled, feeling like his cheeks were on fire.

‘No problem,’ you said and you licked the jam off your finger without giving it a second thought before you turned back to the woman on stage.

‘Choose your team wisely,’ she said. ‘Tonight at seven we will announce the teams and tomorrow the first games will begin. For now I wish you a happy time at our festival!’

/\/\/\

There were four teams competing in the Summer Games. Each team had their own team captain, usually someone who had been playing in the Games for an extended period of time and knew how the games worked. For as long as you had been playing the Games you had been part of the Red Titans, a team led by Wyatt Holm, the town’s baker. Your team’s strongest opponents were the Sly Foxes. For the past ten years the point-difference between the Titans and the Foxes was minimal and it was always a neck-and-neck race. The rivalry between Wyatt and Alysia Gemeti, the Foxes’ team captain since three years, ran high during the week of the festival.

The other two teams were the Raging Angels and the Oiled Machines. You didn’t know where the names had come from, but they had been like that since the beginning and no one wanted to change them.

They had announced the teams an hour ago and you were walking back with your friends to your grandparents’ house. You and Pansy had signed up for the Red Titans, like you did every year, and you had figured the boys had too.

Only you had been wrong.

‘The Foxes?! Seriously?’ you cried incredulously. ‘You signed up for the Foxes? Why?’

Draco looked at you and shrugged like he didn’t really care. Blaise avoided your eyes as he was staring at his feet. You stared at your friends with faked anger. Although you had wanted all of you to be in the same team so you could play together, you guessed it wouldn’t be too bad to play against them. Plus, that would make winning even better.

‘It was Blaise’s idea really,’ Draco then said to which Blaise scowled.

‘No it wasn’t! You’re the one that blindly followed that girl!’

Curiosity got the better of you and you forgot to be angry for a moment. ‘What girl?’

Draco’s cheeks immediately changed colour and he looked away from you. He stammered something incomprehensible and started to walk a bit faster. You grabbed his arm and pulled him back, but Draco wouldn’t open his mouth again.

Pleadingly you looked at Blaise.

‘I didn’t catch her name but I guess she’s a little older than us. Light brown skin, dark hair and I wanna say dark eyes, but I’m not sure about that,’ Blaise said.

‘Alysia,’ you mumbled as you matched Blaise’s description with the picture of the Foxes’ team captain in your mind.

‘She was clearly interested in Blaise,’ Draco pointed out, his cheeks still red but seemingly more confident now.

‘Really?’ Pansy asked, shooting you a glare.

‘She wasn’t interested in me!’ Blaise shook his head. ‘She asked if we’d signed up for a team already. Then Draco started to stammer and turned red as a beet. He would’ve given her all his money if she’d asked.’

‘I would not!’ Draco cried out. ‘Now can we please change the subject?’

You chuckled at Draco’s exasperated face and looked past him at Blaise. He was watching you with a small smile and you felt butterflies erupting in your stomach. Quickly you turned away and stared at the pavement tiles under your feet.

‘So now we’re competing against each other?’ Pansy asked and you nodded. ‘That’s gonna be fun. We’re gonna demolish you guys.’

- - - - - - -

taglist

general HP: @harry-pottery-barn @potters-heart @kingalrdy @missswriter @figlia--della--luna@sexysirius @awritingtree @bi-andready-tocry @lilulo-12fanfiction @ananad1 @treestarrrrrrrr @your-hispanichufflepuff @thefandomplace @theeicedamericano @girllety @moonstarrnghtsky @swearingsolemnly @weasleydream @secretsthathauntus @amixedwitch @izzyyy-1 @gryffindorgirl @kitkatkl @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @nyotamalfoy

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#summer games #rach's1kcelebration #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini #blaise zabini imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #dm #pp #bz #blaise zabini x y/n #blaise x reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

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72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John!

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic).

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @sevenseasofcats @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @herewegoagainniall @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @allauraleigh @bluutac @johndeaconshands

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

#queen fic #john deacon fic #fic series #72 hours in montreal

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averyhappychainsawhalloween · 4 years ago

Text

Reverence | Part 2

Thomas Hewitt X Reader

The morning came like a soft embrace. Sunlight filtered in through handstitched cotton curtains and outside birds chirped. There was still an ache in your head but you felt a lot better after a good night’s rest. Swinging your feet out of bed you stretched your stiff muscles and started downstairs. It was an old house and each step creaked under your weight. It reminded you of your grandma’s house and how you’d scramble into the kitchen to stamp out sugar cookies with her.

You peeked your head into the kitchen to see the older woman working at the sink.

“Good morning,” you said. The woman jumped, nearly dropping a dish. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.”

“Don’t worry about it, I thought you’d be sleeping in,” she said, setting the plate aside. “And please call me Luda Mae.”

“Do you need any help, Luda Mae?” you asked, trying out the name on your tongue. It felt comfortable in your mouth, like you’d always known it.

“Aren’t you a doll,” Luda Mae said giving you a kind smile. “Can you help me bring the plates into the dinning room for breakfast?”

You nodded and picked up a tray of a sausage patties. They were warm and smelled good, if a bit ruggedly shaped. You set the tray down on the wooden table and take a look at the spread. There was coffee, sausage, bacon, and a small dish of eggs. Very little fresh fruits or vegetables but you figured it was hard to come by those out in the country unless you grew them yourself.

“Are breakfasts always formal?” you asked, looking around the dinning room and the highbacked chairs.

“It is when we have a guest,” Luda Mae said giving you a wink.

You helped Luda Mae get everything ready and soon the house began to gather for the meal. Hoyt took a seat, still in his sheriff’s outfit. An older man in a wheelchair was introduced as Monty. He gave you a hard look but seemed harmless. Hoyt said a blessing and then everyone began grabbing for food. You waited, looking to the doorway.

“Tommy’s already had breakfast,” Luda Mae said, reaching over to pat your arm.

“Oh.” Your eyes fell to your lap. You didn’t want to look too disappointed so you went for one of the sausage patties on the table. Your eyes connected with Hoyt’s at the head of the table. He was examining you closely and it made your skin crawl.

“Thomas has work he needs to do. He don’t need you distracting him,” Hoyt said before taking a large bite from a piece of bacon.

“What does he do?” You took a bite out of the sausage. It tasted different than the frozen patties your family shoved in the microwave. It was probably fresh from a butcher or maybe their own pigs. Most food tasted different fresh, this didn’t necessarily taste better just... different.

You looked up from the sausage to a silent table. The three family members share a look.

“He’s a butcher,” Hoyt said after a long pause before stabbing his fork into his plate.

“Oh, I thought he might make pies.” You didn’t mean to blurt it out but the words escaped anyway. Your face went red and Hoyt threw his head back to laugh. Monty and Luda Mae shared a small chuckle.

“Honey, you’re just too sweet,” Luda Mae laughed, taking your hand and squeezing it. A smile crept across your lips and you let it take control, showing off your teeth.

“A pretty little thing too,” Hoyt said, leaning over his plate. You didn’t let your smile waver but Hoyt’s words left a bad taste in your mouth. You were used to older men talking to you like this, but it didn’t mean you enjoyed it. However, you were at their table and surviving on their hospitality and your mother would hunt you down if you were rude.

“Does Tommy work nearby?” You turned your attention to Luda Mae. There didn’t seem to be much outside beyond fields you could see from your window but the country often had long stretches of nothing. Perhaps he had his own shop nearby.

“Since the slaughterhouse closed he’s been working at home,” Luda Mae said, her voice soft as if she was choosing her words carefully. You raised an eyebrow. You had heard of lots of businesses running out of homes- daycares, tamales, and bakers but a butcher? That didn’t seem like something you’d want to stain your floors with.

“Oh wow. I’ll have to ask Tommy more about it,” you said taking another bite of your breakfast.

“Oh dear, Tommy isn’t much of a talker,” Luda Mae said. “He’s a shy boy so don’t take offense.”

You thought back on your interactions and realized Tommy had not spoken a single word. How strange for you to have not noticed. He had such a presence that it felt like he was speaking even by being silent.

“Besides you don’t need to be down in the basement. You’re still recovering. How about you go outside and get some sun. A good walk will help your head, dear,” Luda Mae said rising from the table. You nodded and started out of the front door but paused on the porch.

You had woken up in the basement. It had been damp and musty and horrifying. They locked you down there with chains. You don’t remember seeing any animals, or anything resembling a butcher’s block.

A tightness formed in your chest and you looked back to Luda Mae who was clearing the breakfast dishes. She gave you a wink and waved for you to leave.

Suddenly the old house and southern charm of the family didn’t feel quite so inviting.

Outside you stretched out in the grass and watched the sun grow overhead. You had taken a small walk of the property, with an eye out for any animals they could be slaughtering, but didn’t find any. There didn’t even seem to be pins or any area arranged for cows or pigs that were empty. There were, however, a lot of cars. Not just old ones but newer ones tossed aside as if they were junk. You took look inside a few of them and saw ornaments on the dashboard, big gulp cups in the cupholders, and even wallets on the seats. They weren’t junkers, they looked abandoned.

You slid into the passenger seat of a Volkswagen beetle, it’s orange paint dull and tires flat from sitting in the field. A leather wallet was on the driver’s seat and you plucked it up and opened it. There was cash inside, and a driver’s license peeking out of it. You pulled out the card, looking at the face smiling up at you. It was a young guy, young enough that he may have missed the draft. People don’t just leave things like wallets and their cars like this.

You felt a shiver run up your spine. Where were your things from the van? Your backpack, the book from the flea market. You were wondering why this young man had left his wallet when you had no idea where yours was. You tossed the wallet aside and stepped out of the car. Maybe Hoyt knew where the wreck was. Someone in the house had to know- you didn’t walk to their house you just were in it.

Fear started to crawl up your throat. This wasn’t making sense.

You started back towards the house when you froze.

At the end of the row of cars and trucks huddled under a few spare trees was a van painted dark gray. You slowly walked towards it afraid it might vanish if you looked away or even blinked. You kept an eye on it until you planted a palm against its side. It was real it was here. The windows were shattered leaving holes to peer inside. It was dark inside, glass and blood covered the seats and floor. The side door was bent from the wreck and it took some work to pry it open. You shimmied inside, climbing over the seats to the place you had claimed for the trip in the back. You fell into the seat, mindful of the glass pieces that seemed to coat everything. You closed your eyes trying to remember exactly had happened but there was nothing to remember. Your head hit the van and everything was dark. You looked up at the frame beside you, a dark red mark spread across the metal from where your skull had connected.

Remembering wouldn’t help anything, but looking around might.

You looked under the seat but couldn’t seem to find your backpack. You moved through the van, closer to the front seat and stopped. The driver’s seat was coated in blood. As if a bucket had been poured on the upholstery and someone let is soak into it. It smelled rancid, like something rotting. You took a gulp of air before leaning around the seat to inspect it. There was a a hole in the headrest of the seat, the filling spilled out dried in clumps of blood. You leaned in closure, looking at the shriveled bits that seemed to cling to to the fabric.

A car horn blared through the afternoon and you nearly gave yourself another concussion jumping at the noise. You scrambled out of the van looking towards the house for where it may have come from. A small car had pulled up and a young man stepped out of the driver’s side.

Your heart beat hard in your chest as you moved to the stranger. They could take you to the next town and you could call your mom or a cab or something. Wherever you got would be fine as long as it wasn’t here where the butcher nonexistent cattle and collected the belongings of ghosts. You were nearly running, the tall grass tickling your legs, as you moved to the front of the house.

Except the screen door slammed open before you got there. Hoyt came down the stairs and started talking to the man. You stopped, catching your breath and clutching the side of the house. Hoyt and the young man talked, their voices too low for you to understand.

And suddenly Hoyt took out his pistol and shot the man right in the head.

Your hand slapped across your mouth trapping the scream that tore at your throat. The battered headrest coated in blood and brains came to mind.

Dead. This stranger was dead. Your friends were dead.

If you didn’t leave you’d be dead too.

Tears pricked your eyes as your fingers dug into the skin of your cheeks too scared to release your lips.

A woman screams and you think it’s you but it’s not. It’s a passenger in the young man’s car. She jumps out, yelling at Hoyt before running back towards the road. Hoyt takes aim and shoots her in the back. The blood spurts from her shoulder, arching into the air before splattering into the dirt.

Your knees gave out. You collapsed against the side of the house sliding down into the dirt. Your teeth bite into the meat of your hand to keep from screaming.

You feel impossibly stupid. How could you have not seen this? Because they were nice to you? Cause a man held your hand and got you water? Because an old woman smiled and gave you breakfast?

“Tommy!” Hoyt yelled, standing over his new kill. Her feet wiggled and he drove his boot into her neck. She twitched and then fell still. “Thomas get out here now!”

“Stop yelling!” Luda Mae’s voice came from the porch where you couldn’t see her. “I don’t want you scaring that girl.”

“Why not? She could use a good scare!” Hoyt said, hooking a thumb into his belt. His boot was still on that woman’s neck despite her body growing cold.

“Thomas is sweet on her and I won’t have you scaring her off,” Luda Mae said, her voice low but clear enough you could still hear it. You’re straining to hear and suddenly heavy bootsteps echo across the porch. Tommy steps off the porch into view, two heavy metal hooks in his hand.

“That’s a good boy. Mama wants these cleared before your little friend seems ‘em,” Hoyt said. Tommy moves to the body Hoyt is standing on, shoving the metal hook into the flesh of the woman’s chest. He drags the body before doing the same with the young man. Up close you see the metal pierce through the corpses’ skin and tear through its shirt. Tommy lifts the body up as easy as if it weight nothing at all and carries them into the house.

“I don’t know why you’re humorin’ him,” Hoyt said spitting into the dirt and walking up to the porch. “He doesn’t know what to do with a woman. It’s a waste of meat and another mouth.”

“She’s kind to him and I’m willing to wait to see how it goes,” Luda Mae said. “And if it goes south, there’s always the basement.”

The screen door slams shut and you’re left alone outside with the stranger’s car still idling and a million thoughts running through your head.

This was not southern hospitality, it was a deathtrap.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #leatherface #slashers x reader

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everyonesfavoritelesbowrites · 4 years ago

Text

Prompt: 1. Love Letter

Fanfic - SFW

Pansy x Hermione - Harry Potter

Background Luna x Ginny + Draco x Harry

TW: N\A

A03

A\N: Happy Valentine's day everyone! ❤️ This isn't exactly baised on the universe of my upcoming Pansmione fanfiction but some aspects are sprinkled in. I hope you enjoy :)

(I didn't go through and edit it, so sorry for anything)

"Happy Valentine's day, Pansy."

Pansy jolts suddenly, turning to her side to see Luna has popped up by her, smiling brightly. The young platinum blonde woman is covered in glitter, lip stick marks across her cheeks, and holds a large pile of red and pink papers. She radiates more color than the entire hallway they stand in, or even the entirety of Hogwarts.

Pansy raises a brow. "Thanks Luna, happy Valentine's day. You got something..." She vaguely gestures at Luna, "all over you."

Luna chuckles softly. "Ginny loves Valentine's day."

Pansy lets out an airy laugh. "I can see that."

Luna fumbles through the stack of papers in her hands, pulling out a bright pink card, in the shape of a heart, and hands it to Pansy.

Pansy blinks at it, stopping in her tracks. "What is it?"

"It's a Valentine's card. I made it just for you." Luna pushes it forward a bit more. "It isn't cursed or anything."

The corner of Pansy's lips tilt upward. "I didn't think it was." She gentle takes the heart shaped paper. It's covered in glitter and stickers, little drawings and it seems to have a charm making it smell of sugar cookies and chocolate.

Pansy looks back up. "Thank you, Luna. I... I don't have anything for you, I'm sorry."

Luna only smiles. "Don't be. I don't aspect anything in return."

Pansy watches her leave, probably off to find the others she made Valentine's for. Pansy looks back down at the card in her hands and she can't help the small smile on her face.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Happy Valentine's Day, Pans." Ginny smiles as Pansy takes a seat next to her at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall.

"Happy Valentine's day, Ginny." The words feel strange coming out of her mouth, but she means every word. "Luna's really into this Valentine's day stuff, huh?"

Ginny laughs with a soft blush, she also has glitter all over herself. Pansy reaches over and pulls of a sticker of a Niffler off of Ginny's shoulder, holding it up towards the woman. Pansy chuckles at Ginny's flush.

Ginny sticks the sticker on the back of her hand. "Did you get shy Valentine's? Any secret love letters?" Ginny wiggles her brow and Pansy rolls her eyes with a scoff.

"As if."

"Aw. Not even from those gross fourth years?"

Pansy glances over to the group of fourth years who had seemed to get a rather huge crush on her within the last few weeks. Pansy laughs. "No, they know they don't stand a chance." A Fourth year thinking they could get an eighth year? Haliorius.

Ginny raises a brow, leaning over. "And who does stand a chance, Parkinson?"

Pansy narrows her eyes at the mischievous look Ginny holds. "Absolutely no one, Weaslette."

"Not even Hermione?"

Pansy jumps again, Luna stands right behind her with a knowing smiling. Pansy blushes and narrows her eyes.

Ginny wiggles her eyebrows. "You should send her a letter."

Pansy rolls her eyes, grabbing her fork and turning to her food. "Absolutely not."

Luna slides in next to Ginny, resting her chin her her shoulder as they both look at Pansy.

"What?" Ginny smirks. "Too scared to send your crush an love letter?"

Pansy shoots her another glare. "I'm not scared."

"Then do it." Ginny pokes at Pansy's arm.

Luna frowns as she can sense her friend growing uncomfortable and overwhelmed. "Gin, don't push her."

Ginny frowns, taking in Pansy's stance. Her eyes fixated on her plate and she toys with her fork, breath a bit uneven.

She goes to apologise but Owls fly into the Great Hall, each if them dropping letters or gifts at people.

Pansy's owl, Oliver, drops off a small letter before landing on Pansy's shoulder. Pansy blinks at the white envelope before her, heart racing. Oliver hoots softly, and Pansy gives him a loving pet before he flies off.

"Ooh. Looks like someone's got you a letter." Ginny leans over, looking at the envelope with curiosity.

"Open it, Pansy." Luna says softly, a smile on her face that tells Pansy that she knows exactly who gave her this.

Pansy shakes her head. "It's probably just another prank card or one of the fourth years got the courage to send me something."

"Perhaps." Ginny says, smirking. "But what if it isn't?"

Pansy stares at Ginny, uncertain. It very much could be from someone other than a Fourth year or a prankster, but it very much couldn't be from Hermione... Could it?

Sighing, she turns back to the letter, opening it swiftly and pulls out the parchment inside.

'Dear Pansy,

Happy Valentine's day.

I am not sure how to say this or how to go on about this, but I think it's been long enough. I realized that I have always had a crush on you, although I didn't quite know it then. Despite you being an absolute arse throughout the past seven years, I still found you beautiful. And this year, after discovering how sweet you can accutally be - seeing your true self - the crush I had for you flourished into acutal love. It feels so sudden, but then again, everything in my life has always been sudden. I understand you may not return my feelings, and that's alright. I just couldn't go forward without admiting this, and luckily enough Valentine's day is the perfect opportunity.

I am truly falling in love with you, Pansy. And I hope you may be to.

With Love,

Hermione Granger'

Pansy blinked, utterly surprised but not at all disappointed.

"Who's it from?" Pansy turns to see Draco had taken the seat beside her, leaning against the table while looking at her curiously.

Pansy instead turns around, looking for that curly maine at the Gryffindor Table, instead she sees Harry Potter pointing towards the Great Hall doors. She follows and sees what looks like brown curly hair sneaking away.

Without another thought, Pansy stands and follows Hermione with quick steps, not hearing Draco's voice of confusion and Ginny shutting him up.

She catches up to her a hallway away. "Hermione!"

The Gryffindor stops in her tracks, then turns around slowly. "Pansy. I- I'm sorry if that letter was too much. I didn't want to cross any lines or ruin this friendship we- why are you smiling like that?"

Pansy is, indeed, smiling. Probably brighter than she has ever before. "You think too much, 'mione."

Pansy steps forward, letter still in her hand as she takes Hermione's face into her hands. Hermione blushes deeply, eyes wide. "I have to admit... I always had a crush on you, I always knew it, and I definitely am falling into love with you." Hermione smiles brightly making Pansy blush, "and I would like to kiss you right now, if you want me to, that is-."

Hermione closes the distance, lips meeting with a firm but gentle press. It's simple and chaste, but still holds so much emotion, more than words ever could.

Pulling away, Hermione laughs and Pansy joins. For once in her life, Valentine's day hasn't been boring.

02\14\21

#i dont know how to write love letters #or letters in general #my work #Pansmione #fanfic #Pansmione Fanfic #fanfiction #Valentine's day #writing #my writing #my fanfic #linny #background linny #drarry #background drarry #mine #prompts not mine

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lisinfleur · 4 years ago

Text

All The Small Things

The request:

When you told Hvitserk you had a child of yours, it wasn't such a surprise. He knew you were married to a bastard before starting a relationship with him. Your husband was pretty known and Hvitserk knew him very well - especially because he and his brothers ensured that idiot wouldn't reach you anymore in the last raid before he started courting you. “A sad loss,” you remember the messenger told you. Not a single drop of that feeling in any of you…

What Hvitserk never thought was that your little princess was also one of that asshole's targets. You tried your best to protect her, but unfortunately, your best wasn’t enough.

It was easy to see she was traumatized by the way she hid on your skirt when you brought Hvitserk home to meet her. Her little eyes enlarged on him as if he was a ghost from her past; and she hid completely in the folds of your skirt, allowing him to see only a small part of her face as she was sneaking out to look at him from time to time.

The poor little thing...

Like you, she was still recovering from her father's abuse, gaining weight and size for a child of her age, still acting like a scared puppy.

Hvitserk didn't force her to approach. Instead, he remained looking at her whenever she tried to sneak out of your skirt, smiling as if she was playing hide and seek with him and even sneaking a cookie out of the table that he left over a chair's seat closer to you so she could grab it. His lips curved in a tender smile when her little hands pulled the cookie into your skirt and he could see she was enjoying the gift as if he had given her a treasure.

The first day, you would say, was a disaster: she didn't even speak to him. But Hvitserk was confident and kept you tranquil.

"Give her time, love," he said. "Everything is still too new for her."

You couldn't imagine he was so right.

Slowly, his insistence in being gentle, smiling and giving your child the freedom to choose when she would want to come closer started giving results. When you weren't expecting, you left your position at the table to bring him more mead, and instead of following your skirt, she remained at the table, sliding her little butt up on your chair and looking at him from under the table since her height was still too small for that place.

"Oh, hello," he said, stopping you from coming back.

You stood at the kitchen door, looking from inside, giving your daughter space so she could do what she wanted.

"Hi," she mumbled.

And you smiled. It was the first time she was speaking to anyone else but you.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, looking at her with the same smile on his face, as if it was the most common thing to have her at the table like that, interacting so openly.

She nodded exaggeratedly, causing you to cover your mouth trying to avoid your giggle to be heard as Hvitserk pointed the herbal bread over the table.

"Do you want this one?"

She shook her head, frowning.

"Oh, so you don't like the herbs, uh? What about this one?" he pointed to the little buns stuffed with some cream you had done for him.

"Mommy said these are for the prince," she mumbled.

But her little eyes were full of stars looking at the buns. Hvitserk picked up one of them and slid into the plate in front of her.

"Well, I'm the prince... So, these were for me. I think I can share them, right?"

"Really?" she asked, full of hope.

"Go ahead, have a taste. They're delicious!" Hvitserk emphasized in a childish way that just encouraged your daughter to pick the little bun up and give it a generous bite, covering her mouth in sugar and cream.

Hvitserk smiled.

"You're nice," she said, holding her little bitten bread.

"Thank you," Hvitserk thanked, showing a beautiful smile at her as if her praise was the most wonderful thing of his day.

"I hope mommy marries you," your little girl spat right before running away with her creamy bun, causing you to blush from your hair to your toes when Hvitserk's eyes turned towards you once again.

"You've heard her, love," he said. "I think we'll have to get married now," he joked, smiling.

You blushed like never before, but truth was that it wouldn't be a bad thing. After all those years with an asshole, Hvitserk was the best thing you could ask the gods for and it was really a blessing to have him into your life.

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#history vikings #imagine vikings #hvitserk #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitty #hvitserk’s heathen feast #sister wives #shot

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jobean12-blog · 4 years ago

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Top Shelf: Chapter 18- Inscribed with Love (and a sprinkle of Sugar)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Bookshop/Bartender/Baking AU)

Word Count: 1,946

Summary: The bookshop is doing great and your exhausted from it all, but ready to take the next step.

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Hope you’re all doing wonderfully! So I think there will only be two more chapters left. I can’t believe it and I cannot thank you enough for your continued love and support. You’re the reason I keep this up. The restaurant they go to in this chapter is called Tia Pol (so yum) and you can check it out here. Thank you all for reading! Much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: Soft fluffy, happy fluff, exciting news and events, lots of yay :)

Top Shelf Masterlist

Bucky gives you one last glance before he walks toward the door, smiling at the crowd while he unlocks it. A loud cheer erupts from outside and you squeal at your position behind the counter. Everyone files in, the happy exclamations over the new space ringing out over the noise of footsteps. Nat and Peggy make a beeline for you, jumping up and down and talking a mile a minute. They’ve seen the space throughout the renovations, but you didn’t let anyone see the final product until now.

You see Grandma Betty pull Bucky down for a hug. They embrace for a long time and when she releases him, he wipes at his eyes while she blots her own with a tissue. At the same time, they turn and look your way, smiling brightly as you wave. Bucky brings her to you and then walks back to the door to greet some newcomers.

She reaches over the counter and takes your hands, “this is more than I ever could have hoped for. “It’s so beautiful. I’m so proud of you both and so very happy. James would be in love.” The tears that threatened to fall only moments ago are now running hot down your cheeks. You hastily wipe them away and lean over to hug her. “Thank you. Nothing makes me happier than to know you’re happy.”

Gently patting your back, she releases you, holding her hand over your cheek. “Ok, now that we’ve had a good cry, let’s eat!” With a twinkle in your eye you take a plate and put a piece of everything you have on it. “Let me know what you think about all of it. I need to know what’s good enough to keep!” She shuffles off with a full plate and happy smile and you look up to see a grinning Steve and Sam.

“Hey guys! What can I getcha?!” Sam’s eyebrow shoots up and he checks out the display. Steve slaps his shoulder and says, “one of everything of course!” Sam pipes up quick, “make that two!” You fill their plates and yell at them to share with Nat and Peggy as they walk away. The rest of the day goes by in a flash, a steady stream of customers coming in the whole time.

Tony stops in at the end of the day and from the look on his face you can tell he’s happy. “Well, look at you kids! The desserts are almost gone, most tables are full and you both look exhausted. Successful first day I take it?” You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder and deflate, “you can say that again. I saved you some goodies!”

Handing him the plate you follow him to one of the few empty seats and take a small break. It isn’t long before Bucky has to make some more coffee and you have a couple asking for some pumpkin bread to go. Tony finishes his dessert and praises your baking before heading out, promising to come back with Pepper later in the week.

When Bucky finally turns the open sign over to closed it’s after 8pm and you’re dead on your feet. “I can’t wait to shower! I smell like a pumpkin doused in sweaty cinnamon.” Bucky’s face contorts into a perplexed look before he bursts out laughing, running over to smell you. “Yep. Totally sweaty cinnamon pumpkin. Deeeeelicious!”

Taking off your apron and throwing it at his face you head to the back to grab your stuff. “I’m going home to shower! You’re mean.” Bucky quickly grabs you around the waist and pulls you in close. “Can I come?” Trying and failing to resist his charm you shake your head no. He pouts, kissing you before saying, “please? I’ll wash your hair!” Your face lights up and you shoo him off to get his backpack.

The whole walk home you’re riding the last bits of energy from the day, just barely making it up the steps and into your apartment. You shed your clothes by the door and rush into the bathroom, turning the water on hot and stepping under the soothing stream. Bucky slides in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest. He starts massaging the shampoo into your hair and you slump against him, moaning under the pressure of his fingertips. “Aren’t you glad you let me come home with you.”

Humming through the magic of his hands you turn in his arms, carefully cracking an eye open to avoid the shampoo. “You knew I was gonna let you come; I hate the nights we spend apart.” He pushes the hair from your face and continues gently rubbing his fingers over your scalp. “Me too, baby. In fact, why do we spend any nights apart?”

You lean your head back and let the water wash away the soap, handing him the conditioner. “I don’t know actually. Other than the fact that neither of our apartments are that big and we don’t have all our stuff at each place.” He smooths the conditioner through your hair and twists it around his fingers, using it to tug you close. “Why don’t we put all our stuff in one bigger place?”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” With one step he has your back against the cool tiles, his wet body flush to yours, “yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.” You trace your finger over his lips, kissing off the droplets of water, “I’d love to be your roommate.” He gives you the biggest smile you’ve seen all day and rests his forehead to yours. “I love you.” You pour those same words back in a kiss, suddenly feeling like getting dirty before you finish getting clean.

The rest of the week goes by just as fast as Monday and by the time Friday rolls around, Bucky falls face first onto the couch and groans into the pillow, “thank god Sam gave me the night off.” You land on top of him with barely an oof and reach around for the remote. “It’s under my legs I think,” Bucky’s muffled voices says from the pillow. “Pffft forget it. Maybe we should keep looking for apartments.”

Bucky’s hand shoots up and he gives you a thumbs up, “ok babe, let’s do it.” Neither of you move to get up. “You have to get up y/n.” You curl up and take the blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both just as Bucky shifts onto his side and lets you fall into the space between him and the couch cushions. Snuggling up in his arms you rest your head on his chest and promptly fall asleep.

Early Winter (couple of months later) …

“Oh man, what is that amazing smell!” Bucky’s words float through the sugar and spice scented air before he even has the door closed to your new apartment. “What are you making baby doll?” He slides up behind you and pulls you against his chest, kissing your neck and cheek in greeting. “Hi baby. I’m working on that new gingerbread cookie recipe. They are great for making fun Holiday shapes and easy to decorate! Wanna try?”

He opens his mouth as an answer, and you pop a gingerbread man head in. “Wow. This guy tastes delicious!” You giggle and clap your hands together happily, getting back to rolling out more dough. “How was everything at the shop today?” you ask, while working to get the right thickness for the dough. “Great. Everyone who came in said they’re really looking forward to the new desserts you have planned. I still can’t believe how well it’s all going. Who knew coffee and cake is all we needed to make people want to buy books?”

Handing him the rest of the gingerbread man’s body you say, “I know. Sometimes I can’t believe it either. We’ve been so busy I still haven’t finished unpacking the last of the boxes!” Turning his way with the roller in hand you give him a look sweeter than the cookie. “Do you think you could take a weekend off from the bar soon and maybe we could finish the unpacking and hanging pictures and even go on a date?”

Bucky eyes the rolling pin in your hand and you realize you’re standing there looking like you might knock him over the head with it if he’s says no. You both burst out laughing and he takes it from your hands. “Yes. I can definitely do that. Just don’t threaten me with a rolling pin anymore!” With a kiss to his lips you quietly say, “if you think that was threatening, you haven’t seen anything yet!”

You finally get your weekend off a couple of weeks later and it’s just what you both needed. The boxes get emptied and the pictures get hung and Saturday night finds you dressed up and out at one of your favorite Spanish restaurants Tia Pol. “Try this Buck, it’s amazing.” Holding the fork up he takes a bite, closing his eyes and humming at the delicious taste. “Oh man, you’re right, so good!”

“I have a bridesmaid dress fitting next week, I’m so happy Peggy let us pick our own dresses!” A sly smile grows over Bucky’s face. “I can’t wait to see you in it, what does it look like?” You wave a dismissive hand, “oh you’ll just have to wait! And don’t you guys have to do your tux fitting soon?” Bucky nods through a mouthful, “yup, couple of weeks.”

“I can’t believe it’s only two months away! This will definitely be a memorable Valentine’s Day!” Bucky takes a drink of wine, eyeing you over the glass. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He takes your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles, smiling softly. “I’m looking forward to it. I’m just happy I get to spend it with you.” He lifts your hand and kisses it, making you giggle. “Me too. It’s going to be amazing.”

Valentine’s Day/Steve and Peggy’s Wedding…

“Peggy, I…you look perfect, just perfect!” You try to get the words out without letting the tears fall but it’s no use, carefully blotting your eyes in the hopes of not ruining your make up. Peggy points a stern finger your way. “If you make me cry again, I’ll stab you!” Nat giggles and fixes Peggy’s veil, holding back her own tears. “It’s time ladies,” the bridal attendant says softly, helping the three of you line up. Nat walks out first, and you watch as the smile spreads across her face the moment her foot hits the runner.

You wait for the attendant to motion for you to go and begin taking the small steps out of the room. You haven’t seen Bucky all day and you can’t wait. You take that first step into the aisle and search the front, his gaze instantly finding yours as you make you way to him. Your eyes never leave his and your cheeks hurt from smiling. You’re so overwhelmed with happiness, for your friends, for you and Bucky and you just want to cry again.

His eyes tell you everything as you continue to stare at each other from across the altar. He mouths, “I love you,” and you do the same back, letting out a deep breath to quell the tears. The bridal march starts and you reluctantly look away, your eyes now focused on Steve who looks so completely in love that you feel the first tear run down you cheek, this moment one you will never forget.

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @buckys-henley @bucky-on-my-mind @buckys-broody-muffin @buckys-minty-breath @breezy1415 @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hawksmagnolia @hailmary-yramliah @itsunclebucky @itsunclebucky @imgaril-lindru @ikaris-whore @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @lorilane33 @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @loricameback @mushyjellybeans @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @nerdypinupcrystal @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @scarletsoldierrr @the-wayward-robot @tuiccim @yansi1923 @flyawaybay @throwmyheartawayagain @amandatar-06 @nd1998sc @captainchrisstan @vherriepie @godofplumsandthunder @when-the-hell-is-bucky @fire-flv @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @irishflutiegirl @rinthehufflepuff @moonybarnes @nordlysinthewoods @lauratang @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines @buchanansebba @emilylyoness @addikted-2-dopamine @lady-pswrld @lookiamtrying @pinkdiamond1016 @lokilvrr @mishaandthebrits @hopefuldreamers-world @rebekahdawkins

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rvmmm21 · 4 years ago

Text

[ V V S her diamonds ] – ch 04.

[5:45 p.m.] Washed-out rays of sunshine flood the arcade cafe, and Seungwan can’t contain her flourishing smile at the thought of Bae Joohyun visiting her at work.

. . . . .

Sometimes I wish I could go and live in the clouds of your fantasies.

Being a part-time barista is a safe-haven for all of hers.

The junior buzzes around behind the counter, systematically preparing orders of cakes and coffees on the tiny overhead order slips. A satisfied hum sounds as she finishes prettying the dessert display and slides the glass window closed.

Cake display, check.

Watermelon lychee-mint crush, coming up.

She dries her hands after spooning the frozen watermelon chunks into the blender, and the crinkle of her leather apron sounds brand new for some reason. Perhaps it’s because she feels brand new. Either way, her customers seem to pick up on her good mood too, and it blows her usually gruelling shift by like a light summer breeze. The hustle of work-pressed university students scrambling for their sugar rushes and extra shots of caffeine dulls in her ears, the memory of the past three weeks sitting at the very forefront of her thoughts.

The past three weeks of back and forth texting, weekly study dates and a volantly climbing heart rate– wait no, a steadily building friendship.

About halfway through the afternoon, the regular tempo of her shift suddenly interrupts with a swish of silky hair and an award winning smile.

“Wow, a barista. Cute and talented, I see. Where do I sign up?”

Seungwan adjusts the straps on her apron, blinking. “Taeyeon sunbaenim?”

“Kidding, kidding,” the girl laughs, holding her hand out as if that would somehow quell the bout of unease that had begun to well in the pit of Seungwan’s stomach.

Remaining professional, she answers with a nervous laugh of her own. “What can I get for you today, sunbaenim?”

Taeyeon hums, tapping a delicate finger to her chin while she stares down at the fancy little menu. A vague smirk graces pink lips as her fingertip traces the bold laminated print. “Hm, what do your pancakes come with?”

Seungwan leans over the cash register to glaze over the small description underneath and then snaps back up, knowing the ingredients by heart already. “Oh! They’re plain buttermilk, but you can choose your topping! Uh… strawberries and ice cream is– it’s a customer favourite, if you’d like.”

A hum of deliberation. “I see. And do I get special service?”

“S-Sorry?” The suggestion in her tone chokes the girl, unsure of what that means.

Taeyeon gracefully giggles and leans over the counter to playfully tap Seungwan on the shoulder. “Yah, you’re too funny. I meant an extra scoop of ice cream. Since we know each other, obviously. Why, what were you thinking?”

“Ah! Of course I can do that for you,” she chuckles awkwardly, keying in the order. Seungwan’s fingers flinch around the Amex Black Card when it doesn’t slip out of Taeyeon’s as easily. Chestnut eyes peek up at her, and from the casual smirk on her face, the older girl seems to know what she’s doing.

“Oh yeah,” her expression contorts as though she’s trying to recall why she’s now holding up a small queue of foot-tapping, huffing customers. “How’s your project going?”

She answers hastily, eyeing the holdup. “It’s great! Joohyun unnie is really helping me with this class.”

Taeyeon raises a brow. “Unnie?”

“Y-Yeah, Joohyun unnie’s great, can– can I take your card, please?” she reiterates.

“Ah,” the other girl finally nods in realisation, “you two are close friends now. That’s great! I’m glad to hear it’s going well.” The grip on the credit card slackens. “Thank you, Seungwan.”

Seungwan purses her lips, stiffly rocking on her heels as they both wait for the card reader to go ‘beep’. Once Taeyeon walks away, her tension dispels with a heavy sigh and she signals for the next customer.

Softy’s Autumn Morning comes on the set playlist shuffle. Pleasant lo-fi beats ripple through the cafe and Seungwan gently bops along as she works, carefully eyeing the bubbling pancake mix to make sure it doesn’t burn.

Time seems to slow to a glacial pace. That is, until the little bronze bell chimes and a certain someone walks in. Seungwan recognises that vintage Balenciaga Defile Sport hoodie in a heartbeat. Her legs kick into gear and she rushes over to meet her. Joohyun approaches the counter with her signature gaze of boredom, but hides a laugh behind her sweater paw when she sees the barista almost trip over her own sneakers.

Five minutes later, said barista is hunched over a small cup of latte, hands steadily crafting two pointy milk ears with the help of a toothpick.

As she pops a little bonus on the saucer in replacement of their standard Lotus Biscoff biscuit, Seungwan wonders where Sooyoung and Jennie are, melting a little at how Joohyun looks so small and harmless without the final duo to complete her killer posse. God, when they're all three together, it gets really hard to not believe she'sthe precious daughter of South Korea's most elusive mafia boss. The rumours have to come from somewhere, right? She takes a deep breath to steel her nerves before serving the mafia daughter sitting by the window.

“Enjoy your coffee, unnie!” she chirps, setting the steaming drink down. Service with a complimentary home baked cookie is her way of saying ‘I think you’re super cool’.

Totally embarrassed at her dumb little gift, the girl slinks back to her station with sizzling ears before her senior can even thank her.

How cute.

Joohyun’s lips curl into a secret smile at the milk foam cat happily greeting her from her latte.

. . . . .

[7:45 p.m.] Seulgi whines when she goes to get a Cola from the fridge and finds the door wide open with Yerim chugging milk straight from the carton. Her roommate calmly caps the lid, dutifully ignoring her.

. . . . .

Polystyrene containers of spicy tteokbokki, salmon sashimi, crispy pork mandu as well as skewers of various glazed meats glisten deliciously under warm living room lights. It’s the perfect go-to cheat day feast.

“Unnie, you’re like those tragic lovers in my dramas,” the youngest blurts, chewing on her Yakult straw. “Literally every one of them. Too dumb to confess and then drowns in their tears at night. You gonna break the cycle or what?”

Shock seizes Seungwan’s expression before she shakes her head at the way this heartless dongsaeng just takes her feelings and tosses them around like a salad. Still, she thinks, there’s no harm in being honest.

“What’s there to confess? We’re just friends."

Seulgi and Yerim exchange a silent look at the neat pile of tteokbokki on Seungwan’s plate. They remembered only a month ago, their friend seemed to have eyes for nothing else. The dish was so tasty she could marry it, apparently. But its charms seem to have worn off; now overshadowed by Joohyun’s endearingly obnoxious laughter and just about everything about her.

"Plus, you know, I doubt Joohyun unnie sees me that way either."

An epiphany strikes Yerim and she slaps her hand on the table, jabbing a restless finger at her shocked dorm mates. “Zenitsu, Zenitsu! Unnie, you’re Zenitsu, I’ve freaking figured it out.”

Confusion colours Seungwan’s face. “Zenits… who?”

“Zenitsu from Demon Slayer.”

“What?”

“That mopey kid.”

“Yerim-ah…”

“Demon Slayer. Yerimie’s bingeing it right now. Anime on Netflix or something,” Seulgi explains through a mouthful of dumpling, “she won’t shut up about it. God help us there’s a movie out already.”

Curiosity soon has the confused girl peering at her screen, determined to find out what she’s being called. Thank god for YouTube.

The youngest feels the heat as she watches her unnie’s expression become more and more deadpan with every passing video.

“Yerim. What, exactly, do you see of me in this?” Seungwan threateningly questions, holding up a paused clip of a cartoon boy grovelling at the feet of a pretty girl. She wonders if it’s wrong to want Joohyun to actually have mafia connections now… and if she’d be willing to share them with her for… purposes.

She shrugs defensively. “What? Don’t you think he’s cute?”

"Don't worry Wan, I don't see it either," Seulgi jumps in.

‘Cute’ isn’t quite the term. The blonde nonchalantly brings the chopsticks to her mouth and bites down… onto thin air. Much to the amusement of the two across her. “Hey how’s it going with Sooyoung?” she turns her attention to the girl sitting cross-legged opposite.

Seulgi tuts in reply, dangling a salmon slice in front of her unimpressed roomie. “Stop trying to change the subject, Wan. It’s sooo obvious.” After a pregnant pause, she grins like a kid on Christmas morning, spilling her own adventures with her third of the black velvet trio in one breath. “But thank you for asking because we’re going to the cinema this weekend.”

Yerim chopsticks another tteokbokki onto her plate. “Ooh, what movie?”

“Oh, uh…” Seulgi shrugs, “dunno… I think Sooyoung knows more about what’s good, so I’ll–”

“You’re gonna let her decide, is what I’m hearing,” the maknae scoffs with an eye roll.

Seungwan smiles.

“Simps… simps! Help, someone save me, you guys are everywhere!” Yerim pretends to drown on land and her friends resist the urge to jump her on the spot.

. . . . .

[11:09 a.m.] The raven-haired senior catches her unsuspecting junior on her way through campus gardens the next morning and pries her for answers.

. . . . .

“Why a cat?”

Seungwan’s eyes form joyous crescent moons. “Unnie!”

Suddenly, she has to keep her focus from dwindling into how good they’d both look sitting under the shade of that big old oak tree.

Somewhere through the cottoned clouds of her daydreams, they’re on one of their many picnics. Doughnuts, corn-dogs, toasted sandwiches and bottled juice litter the peach gingham mat they’re sitting on, and Joohyun offers her a corner of her Gilgeori toast. Of course, she cheekily tries her luck, leaving her with just the corner instead. She yelps when Joohyun gives her a shoulder thwack well deserved.

Clumsy knees knock together as they laugh themselves silly, the powdered sugar on their lips melting into a sweet river every time she connects them with a kiss.

Seungwan bites her lip, wringing her mind of those thoughts, trying to play down the elation at hearing her senior’s curiosity. “A cat? I-I don’t know, I just think they’re funny and– kinda cute.” Her voice goes squeaky with excitement. “You liked it? Unnie! You should order more coffees with milk in them. I’ll draw you a bunny next time!”

Joohyun nods, willing to buy the cafe’s entire stock if it meant she got to see Seungwan beam like a praised puppy, all too eager to learn its next trick.

And she might’ve just marched down there right now to do as she’d said… if they weren’t ten minutes late for their class. Suddenly they’re both panickedly clutching at each other, torn between sprinting like they’re being chased by hyenas, turning up fashionably late, or hopping around and freaking out about the fact that they’re already eleven minutes late, now.

Joohyun’s wrist is grabbed just as she’s about to suggest the fashionably late option. Then she’s hurtling forward, struggling to keep her books from falling whilst poorly protesting the early-morning PE session. But Seungwan is too busy shouting nonsense into the skies about how this is the final chance the lightning gods get to strike her down and charge her up.

Which would’ve been convincing had her voice not cracked on every other word.

As the pair clumsily sprint down the path of pastel flower bushes, the older girl can’t remember the last time she’s laughed this freely. She can barely get the words out but she feels like she’d explode if she didn’t.

“Seungwan-ah! You’re giving me a six pack!”

And when Seungwan turns back to laugh with her, something in Joohyun’s static heart ignites.

. . . . .

In the diamond, star-dappled sky, Cherub wakes from his silken cloud. Lily-white wings unfurl at the latest calling.

#red velvet #wenrene #wendy #irene #university au #seulgi #joy #yeri #joygi #a budding relationship #i mean friendship

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cupcakemolotov · 4 years ago

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Far From the Shallow Now

Synopsis: Caroline needs to get her head on straight after the ball and is still awake when Klaus drops by.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence × Pre-Relationship × Technically Tyler and Caroline Are Still Together × No cheating × Still Mostly Tyler Friendly × A Moment After the Ball × a what if × Domestic Fluff × Sort Of ×

A tiny pieces would be part of the random snippet series. Just a bit of a what if Caroline had been up when Klaus dropped off the drawing. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

The kitchen smelled like her childhood. Warm brown sugar and melting chocolate, the memory of afternoons spent baking with her dad were precious moments that still ached. Pre-vampire Caroline has really hated cooking, and she’d found her opinion hadn’t changed much over the past few months. But baking? With its necessary precision and attention to detail, even the most finicky of recipes soothed her. It had been her dad that had first put a wooden spoon in her hand, who had sighed at her scrunched nose and red face and smoothed her bangs.

“Come on, Care Bear. Let’s try a new recipe today. I’ll let you pick.”

But those memories had been filled with afternoon sunshine and the blare of a radio, and they had been a long time ago. Long before the silence between her parents had grown cold and Bill’s business trips had taken longer and longer. Her childhood was bittersweet and it clogged her throat to think of all the things she’d lost.

But that was for another night.

Tonight, all she had was the silence of her home and the shadows of the neighborhood around her. With her mom working the graveyard shift, she had the house to herself. It had been a relief to come home to shadows and silence after the noise and color of the ball. A chance to process and detox, push away the memory of Klaus’ hands on her skin, the boyish, curling smile on his face and the anger as she’d walked away from him. Breath shuddering in her throat, she stirred the cookie dough a little more thoroughly.

A little pre-baking cleaning had helped calm her juggling nerves and here she was, getting worked up again. The fridge was stuffed with sympathy casseroles, and she’d thrown out dozens of wilting flower arrangements. The cards were neatly stacked and organized in piles alphabetically and according to whom she still needed to reply to.

Her mom probably wouldn’t even notice.

Tomorrow’s project would involve freezing what was left of the food that her mom would eat, she’d already packed the leftovers into Tupperware so she could return the pans to her neighbors. But her dad had taught her to never return a dish empty, so at least her midnight baking would have a purpose. Absently licking at a smear of cookie dough, Caroline watched the clock on the oven click over past 3 AM, and mentally counted her blood bags. She’d need an extra tomorrow, to offset her lack of sleep, but her mind couldn’t stop spinning.

Is it so hard to believe I fancy you?

She’d showered as soon as she’d gotten home, needing to remove Klaus’ lingering scent from her skin. She scrubbed herself pink with her favorite soap, and stood in the shower far longer than needed. The dress was already folded and packed in the box it had arrived in, her bra and underwear at the bottom of her dirty clothes hamper. Now she was sitting in her kitchen in old cheer sweats, and surrounded by two dozen cookies while she worked on the next batch.

And nothing had managed to stop the wheels spinning in her head.

Running a hand down her face, Caroline tried again to decide how she felt about the fiasco that had been her night. The dancing, the hunger and lust in his gaze, those falsely boyish smiles and the rage that had burned when she’d flung his diamonds back at his face.

Klaus had meant every word he’d said and none of it. That was the game he played. Perfection and coercion, falsely sweet words that clung like poisoned honey. It’d been easier to push aside her curiosity, that niggling fascination for how his brain worked before he’d turned his gaze towards her.

Klaus was a monster. But he was a smart one, always steps and steps ahead of his enemies. She didn’t want him, she needed to not want him, and she was pretty sure he didn’t want her either, and it stiffened her shoulders to think he saw her as the distraction Damon insisted she play or his very own potential Trojan horse.

She would never betray her friends.

But Caroline didn’t want to die.

Eyes closing at the thought, she took a careful breath. The games Damon played were dangerous. Esther, Bonnie, all his siblings were spinning on a course that could only lead to collateral damage, and she was sick of it.

Tyler too sometimes only saw her as useful. Her dad had died helping him and still the last time they’d talked he’d wanted her to play more games. As if she wasn’t drowning in grief and what if’s, as if her world hadn’t been twisted as violently as his, as if she wasn’t trapped in a spiderweb she had no idea how to escape. Her fingers tightened on the wooden spoon, and she exhaled slowly.

She and Tyler hadn’t chosen what had been done to them but they could choose how they responded and she was starting to feel less and less comfortable about the bitterness he carried. The hard edge of rage. Whatever had happened when he left and found Hayley had sharpened parts of Tyler she hadn’t known were there and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. If what he saw made him as uncomfortable as it made her.

Lips flattening at the thought, she reached for the bag of chocolate chips and froze at the sounds of her front door opening. Eyes snapping up, body going taut at the potential threat, her stomach knotted at the sight of Klaus stepping into her home.

For a long moment, they just studied each other.

In the hours since she’d left the ball, he’d ditched his jacket and bow tie, his white waistcoat nowhere to be found. His hair was no longer so perfectly arranged, he’d rolled his shirt sleeves to bare his forearms, and if that wasn’t enough to spike her blood pressure, he still wore his suspenders. Hidden behind the counter-top, her nails dug reflexively into her palm. He’d been stupidly good looking earlier at the ball with his sly smiles and dimpled promises, but this? Rumpled, lips bitten red, his gaze dragging along her body with a slow perusal that set her nerves of fire was something else entirely.

Klaus smiled slow, cheeks creasing, all of the anger from before tucked beneath charm and guile. “I’m surprised you’re still awake, love.”

“Your family is exhausting,” she agreed tartly, straightening her spine. “But of the two of us, I’m the only or who is expected to be here at all. Kind of rude, just bargaining in, don’t you think?”

He gave an elegant little shrug and strolled closer. Her jaw flexed, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box and setting it on an empty space on the counter. “I do have an invitation. And perhaps it is also just as rude, don’t you think, to return gifts?”

Shoving the wooden spoon back into the cookie dough before she was tempted to smack him with it, Caroline settled a hand on her hip and faked her bravado. “It’s way ruder to offer gifts with so many strings in the first place.”

An amused glance from beneath his lashes before he peered at her cooling racks of cookies. “Most women enjoy apology jewelry.”

“I must have missed the apology.”

One dimple peaked high on his smile and he snagged a cookie. “I didn’t realize you baked.”

She narrowed her eyes as he took a bite, his clear dodge. This entire conversation felt surreal, a little bit domestic, and a lot concerning. Wasn’t she just thinking about how dangerous he was? This, this charm, only highlighted that danger. He slipped so easily from mood to mood, as mercurial as the wind and she needed to remember that.

Promises or no.

“It’s not like we really exchange small talk. And that’s the only cookie you get. I have a dozen dishes to fill and I need this done before mom gets home.” She tipped her chin towards the dining room table where the clean dishes and tinfoil were waiting for her. She was willing to bet he'd already noted the dishes, but so what. “So why don't you get to your point and leave?”

Klaus made a thoughtful noise as he finished the cooking, dusting his hands of crumbs. “Need help?”

“From you? Absolutely not.” The words slipped out before she could catch him and find something politer to say. This was her grief, her method of coping. He didn't get an opinion and he didn't get to pretend they were friends. Not when he wold kill all of them if he thought it necessary. This? This mess and this grief and this small thing to help her mom was hers.

The smile died on his face but she didn’t flinch. She didn't know what he read on his face, but his head tipped in a silent acknowledgement. Instead of baiting her more, his hand returned to his pocket, and this time he produced a rolled up piece of parchment.

Caroline looked at it warily. “What is that?”

“Part of the apology,” he murmured as he set it delicately on top of the box holding the diamonds. “The bracelet is yours love, no strings. Do with it what you will. As for the rest.” He paused, blue eyes narrowed as he studied her, a hint of gold burning the edges of his iris. “The games my mother plays are not kind to her pawns. Be sure you don’t find yourself in over your head, Caroline.”

She lifted her chin to hide her tremble. “Threats?”

“Call it a warning.” Klaus said. “Likely the only one you’ll get.” Just as quickly, that sense of danger melted under another smile and he snagged a second cookie before turning and sauntering away at her protest.She slid her tongue between her teeth at the sight of just how well his pants were tailored and the way the suspenders highlighted the length of his back. The image was going to be burned behind her eyes for days.

As if he could sense her gaze dragging down his spine, he cast one more boyish smile at her as he opened her door. “The cookies were delicious, love. I do so look forward to learning what other secrets you're keeping.”

She watched him go, barely breathing, a mix of alarm and arousal mixing with adrenaline. So many layers. The hidden threat in his words, the reminder that he could walk into her home whenever he wished. The return of the bracelet, that little bit of claim he’d laid on her life.

An apology.

Swallowing, she wiped her shaking hands on her sweats and reached for the parchment. It unrolled to show the familiar lines of her face and the perfect image of a horse.

Thank you for your honesty.

Swallowing, she set the drawing down and didn’t know what to think.

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfic #I am on a roll #woot #only a billion more files to go #oh well #one at a time and all that

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f0rever15elf · 4 years ago

Text

Cozy

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader Rating: G Word Count: 1,749 Warnings: I say bitch like...twice? A little bit of angst about life being hard. Super Soft!Jack, no beta

Summary: Late night, come home. Work sucks, I know. He left you roses by the stairs. Surprises let you know he cares.

A/N: Yes, I never left my emo phase, thank you for noticing. No, I don’t regret blatantly ripping off Blink-182 for the summary. It fits. I wrote this piece for my dear friend @whiskeyslasso <3 I hope this makes your morning a little bit sweeter, dear.

Masterlist | Ao3

Some days, life is hard. Some days, the weight of existence can be so heavy it’s unbearable. Some days, all you want to do is lay down and bawl your eyes out, disappearing into the shadows. And those days...those are the days that Jack Daniels would bring down the heavens for you, if only you should ask.

Work had been, to put it simply, an absolute bitch. Nothing had gone as it should have, and somehow it was all your fault. Or so your boss had said, anyways. Not that you paid her too much heed, but the constant berating eventually takes its toll. By the end of the day, you want nothing more than to just go home and sit under your shower until the water ran cold, letting it take all your stress and issues down the drain. But the minute you walked in the front door, your intentions to wallow in the shower were thwarted.

The lights in the already cozy house were low, lower than you remembered them being able to get. It took you a minute to realize that it was candles causing the warm and comforting glow. All candles. Little tea lights up to those big, expensive, three woodwick candles that you fawned over every time you went to the store. The house smelt amazing, like fresh baked cookies and spiced chai, your absolute favorite on cold winter days, and you could hear the crackle of the fireplace in the living room. The house is warm and comforting, quickly chasing away the cold from your bones.

“Jack?” you call from the hallway, taking off your shoes as you make your way inside. You find him in the kitchen, a Texas sized smile on his face with his ‘kiss the cook’ apron tied around him and covered in flour.

“There you are, Sugar. I’ve been getting ready for you to come home.” He takes off the flour covered apron, making his way around to you to pull you into his arms, holding you securely to his chest. The strong heartbeat under your ear chips away a little at the misery that seems to be clouding your entire being at the moment, but you’re still too tired to wrap your arms back around him. You take a deep breath, breathing in the smell of that rich cologne he always wore around you, like worn leather and spiced maple. You had fallen in love with it when he brought you with him to try new scents and now it was the only thing he would wear around you. He’d never tell you, but one of his favorite things is when your hugs linger just a little longer than normal so you can enjoy how he smells in it.

“Today was..so bad, Jack,” you whisper into his chest as his fingers thread through your hair in the most soothing of manners as he holds you a little tighter.

“I could tell from your text, Darlin’. It’s why I’ve taken the liberty of preparin’ the most comforting of evenin’s for you.” He pulls back just a bit, lifting your chin to smile down at you before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “Fresh cookies and your favorite chai. Went and got a few of those Woodwicks you’ve been raving about too, and there’s plenty of cozy blankets on the sofa. Figured we’d snuggle on in for the evenin’ and watch your favorite movies. How does that sound?” His thumb rubs lightly along your chin as he still holds your face up to him and for the first time that day, you feel yourself smiling. It’s small, but it’s there, and Jack returns it with one so bright, you can’t help the warmth that runs through you, slowly bringing your hands up to rest on his waist.

“Thank you, love. So much.” Your voice is soft, afraid that if you talk too loudly it might break. He continues to smile, leaning in to kiss you gently once more. You could melt into the feeling of his lips on yours. Kissing him just felt so...good, so right.

“Now, I just pulled your PJs from the dryer so they should still be nice ‘n’ warm. Go get cleaned up and cozy, and I’ll meet you in the living room, alright?” You nod and he lets go of your face, cupping your cheek gently as you nod. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before you turn to head upstairs, giving your butt a gentle pat as you so so, causing your cheeks to flush with heat. Your heart melts further when you make it up to the bedroom and see it all laid out. The plushest blankets Jack owned were turned down on the bed, and he had strung those faerie lights you had been begging him to get for weeks now all across the room. There was a vase of more roses than you could count on your side of the bed, and a neatly wrapped candy bar with a gorgeous little bow rested on your pillow. He’d pulled out your softest PJ pants, the ones covered in the cute little animals in scarves, and had grabbed one of his larger shirts to pair with it. He knew how much you loved wearing his clothes. You were at the point where you could honestly start crying, it was all so perfect after such a shit day it bordered on overwhelming. God, Jack Daniels was perfect, and you felt like the luckiest woman in existence.

Stripping out of your work clothes, you quickly change into the still-warm PJs before washing your face, trying to imagine the hot water washing away everything about today. You take a moment to look in the mirror and sigh. She looks so tired. Tossing the towel down, you make your way back downstairs to see Jack setting the mugs and tray of cookies on the coffee table. He glances up to you and smiles that charming smile of his before taking a seat on the couch, holding his arms out for you.

“C’mere, Beautiful,” he drawls and you all but run to him, climbing on to the couch and collapsing into his strong embrace. His arms hold you to him, safe and secure, and you relax into the feeling of home. Nothing could touch you here, not with Jack holding you like this. His hand runs up and down your back soothingly, rubbing away the stresses of the day as he clicks on the TV. “Which movie first, Darlin’?” He speaks softly, gently, and you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. It paired deliciously with the low crackle of the fire, a perfect match.

“That one,” you reply just as softly, pointing to your absolute favorite feel-good movie and he chuckles, selecting it before setting the remote down and grabbing you a cookie. You take it happily, letting the warmth from the pastry travel up your fingers. You can feel Jack’s eyes on you as you take a bite, letting out a quiet mewl of pleasure a the warm, buttery, chocolaty taste.

“Made ‘em from scratch, just like my mama use to make ‘em for me.” He places a sweet kiss to the top of your head as you eat, all the while making happy sounds. When you finish, you grin up at him, a twinkle returning to your eyes.

“That was the best cookie I have ever had, Jack. Your mama would be so proud.” His cheeks tinge pink at the praise and he chuckles again, the vibrations in his chest pleasant against you.

“Well now, looks like you got a bit of chocolate on your lip there. Here, let me get that for you.” He tilts your head up, leaning in to kiss you, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip to collect the little bit of chocolate that was there before pulling away. “You know, I’d reckon it tastes even better on your lips than it does in the cookies.” He winks at you before settling back into the couch, and you giggle like a high school girl, hiding your face against his broad chest.

The whole evening, Jack never leaves your side, keeping you cuddled up to him as much as he can. As the exhaustion of the day meets up with the comfort and peace the love of your life brings you, you begin to find it hard to keep your eyes open and focused on the TV. Jack’s steady breathing and heart beat paired with the down right obscene amount of blankets the two of you had nested yourselves in was the perfect place to slowly doze off, the misery of the day completely forgotten. You’re awoken for just a moment at the feeling of being carried, looking up in confusion as you try to reorient yourself.

“Easy there, Darlin’,” Jack whispers to you, careful to not break the stillness of the night with words too loud. “We’re goin’ to bed now is all.” He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head once again as you make it to the top of the stairs. You know Jack is strong, this wasn’t the first time he’s carried you, but it still made your heart flutter the way it did the very first time he picked you up. Carefully, he lays you in bed, helping you get comfy before pulling the blankets up around you, kissing your lips then your forehead like you are the most precious thing in this world. And to him, you absolutely are. A strong, gentle, gun-calloused hand brushes the hair from you face and cups for cheek for a moment and your eyes stubbornly refusing to open in your state of sleepiness. You hear him faintly, like in a dream, as he changes as well, sliding into bed with you, pulling you to his chest. He would keep you safe tonight, keep the bad dreams away. You melt into his hold, your body finally completely relaxing against him as he molds his body to yours.

The last thing you remember before slipping into a peaceful slumber is his voice murmuring to you, “My strong little sunflower, I love you so much. I’m so proud of you.” You let out a content sigh as you finally drift to sleep in the arms of the man who held your heart completely. Things simply couldn’t be more perfect.

~~~~~

Taglist: Permanent: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @tangledlove27, @paintballkid711, @lose-eels, @adamdrivercouldchokeme

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x you #kingsman and the golden circle #pedro pascal

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