#would they have done anything differently had they known? undoubtedly. but it's too late for that now.

[kittlyns]

I've been getting lost in my own head so much lately

#been thinking a lot about endings #how sudden they are. how rarely you get a warning for them #a client tells me about the last trip they took with their wife before she passed. the ending isn't the point. just a byproduct of time. #but I lose focus on what they're saying. I fixate on the idea of the Last thing. they didn't know it would be the last trip. it just was. #would they have done anything differently had they known? undoubtedly. but it's too late for that now. #another client tells me her nephew died. he was younger than me. his baby will be born this autumn. a relationship ended before it began. #he was so excited to read to her. but he's gone and nothing can change that. #so many things can happen in an instant. you experience endings every day whether you realize it or not. #not every ending is a death tho. #relationships splinter and fracture until eventually they're over. everything has an expiration date. #how do you even begin to cope with it all #I know it's poison to begin a relationship of any sort with the mindset that your time together is limited #but it is. #idk. I'm just really really tired. none of this grief truly belongs to me. but I feel it nonetheless.

[reciprocityfic]

#5 for amylaurie

5. that emotional moment that you can't find a plot for.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

From the beginning, it had been marked with tragedy. He adored his mother, from what he can remember. But his memories, unfortunately, are few and far between. He tried to keep her smile, her laugh, the feel of her hugs and her hand wrapped around his tiny one locked away in his brain and his heart, but over the years, they inevitably began to fade. Before he knew it, he couldn’t quite get the tenor of her voice right, couldn’t remember the sweet words she used to whisper in his ear. She was like a beautifully painted picture, rather than a human being.

If there was someone who adored his mother more than he had, it was his father.

His father took her death the hardest. He tried to find a salve for his broken heart in all the wrong places, began gambling too often and drinking too much, frequently leaving his son alone late into the night to go out and drown his pain in whatever way he could. When his father was home, he could hardly stand to be around him. Everything about Laurie reminded him of her - his eyes, his hair, his nose, his smile. He reached his breaking point eventually, and then he sent Laurie away.

School had never been particularly hard for him. He was smart, he supposed, and he didn’t mind the company of his tutor. Boarding school was different, though. He never quite found a way to fit in. He was too quiet, not quite as rich, and Italian, which mattered in a way he didn’t understand. He always found himself at the center of negative gossip, the butt of too many jokes. He hated it, so he stopped trying to assimilate and let himself fade away into the peripheries of his peers.

When his father died, it was almost a relief; at least the man wouldn’t suffer any longer. But again, it threw him into a world of uncertainty and unfamiliar territory. It sent him to America, into the hands of a grandfather he had never met. As he grew older, he’d come to subtly resent his extended family for disowning him and his parents, and wondered if this grandfather would resent him back.

He didn’t. But his grandfather also wasn’t warm, a product of living so many years alone, Laurie supposes. He knows Mr. Laurence has experienced his share of heartbreak as well; there’s a beautiful piano that sits untouched, that the servants tell him belonged to the old man’s late granddaughter. The few times he tried to play it he’d catch his grandfather looking at him in a way that wasn’t particularly pleasant, so he stopped.

John Brooke - his new tutor - was pleasant enough, earnest and determined to please his grandfather by giving him the privilege of an excellent education. They often butted heads when Mr. Brooke tried to teach him; he couldn’t find him in himself to care much about learning anymore. Couldn’t find it in himself to care about much of anything.

Then, he met Jo March.

His grandfather had noticed his melancholy and sent him to a party to try to lift his spirits. He doubted it would work - how exciting could a party in Concord, Massachusetts possibly be, after all - and quickly found an empty side room to disappear in for a while until he’d spent enough time there that he could plausibly tell his grandfather he’d made an effort to be sociable.

It was there that Jo literally stumbled into him, and changed his life forever.

He’d never in his life met a girl like Jo March, one that was so boisterous and bright and unapologetically herself. In his world, every girl was trained from an early age to be prim and proper and polite, so that someday she might make a good wife and a fine young woman. Jo was anything but, and when he met the rest of the March family, he learned that they all were, in their own way - whether it be Meg and her unabashed love for dramatics and pretty things, or Beth sitting at her piano, playing until her fingers ached.

Or Amy, marching around in a pair of fairy wings and declaring that one day, she would be the best painter in the entire world.

His childhood memories of the Marches were all Jo, her fire and harsh edges and iron will, but Amy was always there at the edges, making herself known. She always seemed to be at odds with her older sister, but he thought that was because the two of them were the most alike in a way, like two opposite ends of the same string. He would always take Jo’s side when she recounted their latest feud, of course, but he couldn’t help his amusement at some of Amy’s antics. He remembers, when Jo told him that Amy had burned her novel, how his sympathy for Jo had existed right alongside of his wild amusement that little Amy March had the gall to even come up with such a thing, let alone follow it through.

But even though Amy was there, along with Meg and Beth, Jo was undoubtedly the main attraction, the sun at the center of his universe. His world was filled with her, with her smiles and laughs and hair and voice, with her words and her thoughts and ideas, and soon his heart was, too. He didn’t know much about love, but he knew he loved her. He knew he wanted her to be a part of his life always.

So, he’d asked her to marry him. It was the only thing to do, wasn’t it?

When she turned him down, he almost hadn’t been surprised. A part of him almost expected it; he hadn’t been particularly excited to ask her, after all. Rather, he’d dreaded it, dreaded the moment that the delicate balance they had built would have to tip one way or the other. He’d always known there was a chance she’d reject him.

That didn’t mean it hurt any less, though. He thinks it hurt even more when she left; he’d always known Jo to dive into every challenge head-first, but then she ran away to New York. She ran away from him. So he followed her lead, as he had learned to do so well over those years with her.

Heading back to Europe was much more bitter than it was sweet, and even the grandeur of cities like London, Paris, and Rome couldn’t stop the vibrancy from slowly bleeding out of his life. What had become a kaleidoscope of colors was now just grays and blacks and whites.

So he drank, and smoked, and gambled, and fucked his way through life, and in a macabre way, never felt closer to his father. Except he wasn’t heartbroken, not anymore - he realized more and more that he never expected her to say yes, not really. That she was right, as she usually was - it would have never worked.

He just felt lost. Unmoored, with nothing to anchor him. And he started to believe that maybe he was simply supposed to live his life this way, alone and adrift and apathetic.

Then, Amy March came barreling back into his life.

She was different, of course - namely, she was no longer little. She had traded her fairy wings and braids for beautiful gowns and carefully coiffed updos, and all her lofty childhood wishes had been replaced with a stoic, resigned realism. It would have worried him, that the world had taken her and hardened her, but he knew that the woman that threw her arms around him and happily shouted his name on that Parisian street, the world around her momentarily forgotten, was the Amy he had always known and cared for, however proper she might be now.

And she was proper, but he found it didn’t bother him like he thought it would. Instead, he admired her for it, that she had managed to grow up so gracefully. She was lovely, he decided. Lovely and refined and determined, so much so that it got him in trouble with her, sometimes. She was constantly after him to be better, to stop his drinking and laziness and make something of his life.

She wanted him to respect himself. He’d never really done that; all his life, he’d known himself to be a bother or problem, a thorn in someone’s side. He didn’t really know how to respect himself, but for her, he wanted to try.

The problem was, it was getting harder and harder to leave her side. She painted in his life with strokes that were insistent, but soft, and he found that her world was just as colorful as her sister’s. It was her own, of course; if Jo had been a red flame, then Amy was a golden glow, like sunshine. But he found that he didn’t mind the differences, that he maybe even preferred Amy’s version. It made him warmer than anything he’d known before.

He doesn’t know exactly when he fell for Amy. It happened slowly, gently, and before he could stop it, she’d taken up all the emptiness in his heart, filled it with light and life and love. Not that he would’ve wanted to stop it; he found he was quite content belonging to her. Even when she rejected him that first time, he didn’t try to remove her. He didn’t resent her, as he had temporarily resented Jo. He knew it was futile, that he was irreparably hers, and he decided that if he couldn’t be with her, he would at least make himself someone she could be proud of. He wanted to be someone she could respect, if he couldn’t be someone she loved.

But then, God had smiled upon him - for perhaps the first time - and she’d changed her mind. She loved him, she wanted him, she loved him. And when he kissed her that first time, she ignited something in him that no woman ever had before. He loved her, he wanted her, her and her only, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

His heart sang for her with its every beat. Every breath she took gave him purpose, every smile gave him joy, every kiss and moan and tug on his hair made his blood run hot through his veins. He was so full inside, wanted for nothing. He felt like all his life he’d been trying to shove himself into places where he didn’t fit, whether it be at school or with his father. With Jo. But there was a spot beside Amy, one in which he fit perfectly, like it was created with him in mind. And as long as Amy was beside him, he could do anything, be anything, survive anything.

One of the things that he loves most about her is her beauty. He can’t help it; he is only human. A weak one when it comes to Amy. When she hugged him that first time in France, he’d noticed how the autumn sun had caught the strands of her blonde hair, her cheeks flushed from the way she ran to him. He first let himself realize it in her studio, when she went off to meet Fred Vaughn. There was something about the way her cream-colored blouse laid against her pale skin, the way the blue accents brought out her eyes. How her pinned-up hair showed off her neck. He could do nothing but smile shyly at her, any coherent words suddenly caught in his throat. And every time he saw her, he noticed something else that added to her beauty, whether it be the delicate way she sipped her tea, her lips a pretty pink against the white china, or the way she blushed when he complimented her. Eventually, in a room full of women, she was the only one he could see, as captured as he was by her.

Almost three years later, nothing has changed.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to find her side of the bed empty. He’s almost positive he knows where she is, and almost rolls over and closes his eyes. But he can’t get her out of his head, so he gets up and throws on his robe. The moon shines bright enough that he doesn’t need a candle, and he leaves their bedroom, creeping to the next door down the hall. It’s ajar just slightly, and he slips inside.

And there she is, just where he thought she would be. Standing at the window, staring out into the night. She’s barefoot, dressed in a white nightgown, long hair cascading down her back. The moonlight illuminates her hair and skin. She’s breathtaking. More beautiful than any painting he’d ever seen.

Cradled in her arms is their newborn baby girl.

He doesn’t want to startle her, so he knocks gently against the door. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him, but quickly goes back to gazing at the newest addition to their family.

He walks over to the two of them, placing a kiss on the top of her head before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and embracing her. There are a multitude of reasons why she might be in here - the baby could’ve been crying, it could’ve been time for a change or a feeding, or Amy simply could’ve missed her, could’ve wanted to hold her and watch her breathe. He suspects it’s the last one, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to disturb the peaceful scene in front of him.

He reaches a finger down to their baby, taps at her hand, until she opens her fist and wraps all of her tiny fingers around that one of his. Amy turns her face and nuzzles his shoulder, relaxing against him.

He’d never had a particularly happy life.

But standing here now, both his wife and his daughter in his arms, he knows nothing but.

send me a number and a pairing (preferably laurie x amy) and i'll write you a mini fic!

#amy x laurie #laurie x amy #little women #little women 2019 #amy march #theodore laurence #idk if this even fits the prompt????? #idk i've wanted to write this for a long time and finally took the opportunity #hope you like it anon! #anons are beautiful #thank you for the ask!

[dancingamongstdust]

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 2)

Pinky/Alien Queen

The first time you met Mina was when you were much younger.

She had been in the friends group that you always admired and it had taken you a while to work up the courage to speak to her. Everything about her screamed her confidence and you looked up to her in almost every way possible. She was beautiful, her quirk was powerful, and there wasn’t a person alive who could dislike her.

But she had hardly noticed that you were there. At least, you had believed that you would slip under her radar. She wouldn’t know that she was your inspiration for your school choice and that was fine by you.

And yet…

Your name was called only a few minutes after you stepped through the main gates. A blur of pink nearly bowled you over and Mina practically picked you up with the strength of her hug.

“I didn’t know that you were coming here!” she squealed. “This is so cool! I was super worried that I was going to not know anybody here. Did you get into the hero course also?”

You laughed awkwardly, stepping away despite not really wanting to stop the hug. It was odd to stand before her and realised that not only did she know who you were but she was excited to see you.

You hadn’t just been a background character in her massive friend group.

“I didn’t try for the hero course,” you explained. “I’m here for the marketing course.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Wait, really? Your quirk would really suit being a hero though.”

“I know but it’s just not for me.”

Mina grabbed your arm then, walking closely by your side as you entered the large school. “That’s okay! I’m going to need a good marketing team one day when I’m out saving the world. Who better than somebody who’s known me since middle school?”

“You’re like the sweetest person in the world,” you pointed out. “Anybody with a brain cell will adore you when you’re a hero. Your marketing probably won’t have to do anything at all.”

She smiled proudly at your assessment. “Imagine if I make it to the top 10 without even working for an agency. I think I’d be like the first, right?”

You didn’t actually know the answer but, luckily, it seemed to be a rhetorical question anyway.

“I haven’t met anybody from my course yet and I’m super nervous,” she continued. “I saw a few kids during the exam that I am certain got in so I can’t wait to meet them. Hopefully they’re all super nice. Also, I can’t wait to see what they’ve done with my hero outfit! You should see what I sent in because I think you would love it.”

“I’m guessing it works for dancing as well as hero work?” you asked.

She nodded excitedly. “Do you expect anything else? I actually don’t think I’ve ever asked but do you like dancing?”

“I mean –“

You didn’t get much time to answer before she spotted somebody and excitedly grabbed your arm. “That guy was in my exam!” she said. “I just knew he was going to make it! You should see how awesome his quirk is. I’m going to go say hi.”

She raced off into the crowd, heading for somebody that you hadn’t quite seen. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face at the thought of continuing to be in the same school as her. Perhaps now, without the distractions of others, the two of you could become actual friends.

You held your head high, excited to meet others in your course and learn some things to speak to her about in the coming days.

Red Riot

There was no place in the world quite like your home. Returning after far too long, you were extraordinarily excited to revisit all your favourite places and meet up with people.

Except that most of your friends had moved away from home in order to live on school grounds. And your favourite street food vendor had disappeared. Even the park had removed the swings that you had so many good memories associated with.

And thus, what had started as a great day had quickly gone downhill.

You found yourself just walking around, snacking on something small and hoping to just relax a little before having to unpack. Much of the place felt dull and uninteresting – not even the stuff that had remained being enough to cheer you up. It was honestly a little miserable and you had been hoping for some excitement.

Your request to the universe was thankfully answered when you finally spotted a familiar face standing outside the massive gates ahead of you.

Slowly, you made your way over and grabbed Midoriya’s shoulders playfully. The friend that you once knew would have jumped but laughed at it once he saw you.

He didn’t do that.

You yelped in pain as he spun around and grabbed your wrist tightly. He had never been strong before but now his grip felt like it could break bone.

The moment he recognised you, he released his hold and you backed away feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

“That was a bit excessive,” you commented dryly when he said your name.

“I am so sorry,” he said, quickly holding up his hands. “I thought that you – I mean, you gave me an awful fright.”

“No problem,” you said though your wrist still smarted. “I was going to do it to Bakugo originally.”

As though he magically heard you mention his name, the blond lifted his head from where you had spotted him beyond the gates. His ever-present snarl was still on his face and it only deepened when he spotted you. “I thought you had gone off and died somewhere!” he snapped, loud enough that many students turned to look curiously.

“You wish I had!” you responded. “I didn’t think they would let you into such a fancy school. I’m impressed.”

“And I’m disappointed that they let you back into the city!”

“He’s as sweet as always,” you said, turning back to Midoriya who looked at least slightly happy to see you. “I’m glad that you got into your dream school. You were always working so hard to make it happen. How did you do it?”

“I got a late quirk,” he chuckled.

A shadow fell over you and you turned to give Bakugo a glare. “You’re standing in my sunlight. Could you move?”

He was about to respond, undoubtedly with a cutting remark when a red-haired guy smoothly stepped around him. “You must be from their middle school, right?” he guessed, holding out his hand. “I’m Kirishima.”

You were beyond confused at having your impending fight interrupted. Bakugo didn’t seem to feel the same way, instead looking resigned. This happened often then.

You introduced yourself though, keeping your surprise well hidden. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m sorry you have to be in the hero course with these two. I doubt they’ve gotten better with their constant fighting.”

“You’d actually be surprised. Their rivalry is just so manly and inspiring,” he enthused, looking for all intents as though he genuinely believed it. “But they’ve actually been getting along better recently.”

“Really? Tell me some details?”

Before anybody could protest, Kirishima began expressing how the two had slowly been growing to respect one another. Most of his praise fell onto Bakugo (who was giving you a look that promised you would die very soon) and you made sure to inject playful comments every now and then.

At the very least, your day was getting better by the minute.

Shoto

Sometimes people would call you a disappointment. They were rarely people of importance – at least in your life, and it was something you’d learned to ignore them in a healthy childishness sort of way.

Despite what all those people thought, you weren’t a disappointment.

And it certainly was unfortunate.

Your parents weren’t pro-heroes but they held great sway in other ways. Ways that earned them a seat at many tables and an introduction at others. And that was how you made connections and earned your own reputation. Though accourding to many, the latter wasn’t something that you should be proud of.

You walked with your head held high and accepted any words that they offered to you with a simple smile and the occasional rude gesture.

It had served you well enough until you found yourself at some stuffy gala with nobody to talk to. On the surface, you had expected everything to continue in the same way that it always had.

But your parents stuck closer to you than ever. Normally they would disappear to socialize but tonight was different.

You found out why when they marched you almost directly to one of the world’s most intimidating people.

The Number Two hero himself.

Perhaps it was because of your normal personality but he made you uncomfortable. Everything about him ate at you and made you want to fight. But you merely introduced yourself and wondered what it was that he wanted.

“Your quirk is admirable,” he said. “If rumours are to be believed.”

“They’re rarely reliable,” you said.

He glanced at your parents, seeming to have a silent conversation with them before nodding. “Wait here,” he said.

Your parents disappeared to go talk to people but both gave you equally strong warnings – though their own came mostly through looks than actual words. Leaving wasn’t an option, no matter how long it took. And it really felt like absolute ages before Endeavor reappeared, his youngest son trailing behind him.

“Shoto and you are close in age,” he said. “Speak to one another.”

That… wasn’t what you had been expecting.

Shoto Todoroki didn’t want to be there but his dislike for the event seemed to go even further than your own. Though he didn’t frown, his deadpan spoke volumes and an uneasy atmosphere settled over you both. Once Endeavor marched off, you were very much expecting him to leave but he remained, staring at you.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hi.”

You chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “I haven’t really been told to make friends since I was much younger…”

“This isn’t about us being friends,” Todoroki said. “This is about creating a good reputation with your parents through our connection. They already get along well but this would undoubtedly benefit them both.”

“Oh,” was really all you could say.

“Business as usual,” he responded.

“So, you’re not up for being friends?” you asked, half-joking because you were unsure what else to say or do in this type of situation.

“I don’t care much either way.”

You could go off and cause trouble. It was tempting to be caught sneaking food into your bag again or climbing to the roof and taking selfies. But those were the things that you always did at these events. Never did you interact with anybody and you were, admittedly, curious about the burn that covered the younger Todoroki’s face.

“Well, we should talk then,” you declared. “After all, we are a ‘similar age’.”

He rolled his eyes at your attempt at an impersonation of his father’s voice. At the very least, he didn’t seem to consider talking to you to be that much of a chore.

(I’ve begun writing a much longer Todoroki x Reader story with a similar situation. You can find it on by clicking here).

Shinso

People loved gossip. That was a sad but inherently true fact. Some preferred to keep away from the stuff and knew nothing about their own reputation but you liked knowing what they said about you. Thankfully, the majority of the time, it was good.

But that was unfortunately not true for everybody.

You heard them whispering about him as you entered class the one day. He always kept to himself but after the sports festival, Shinso had garnered many positive things said about him. You had never spoken to him yourself but you had thought that he was proud of how he could impress people.

Originally, you brushed it off as more speculation but the gossip sounded meaner than ever so you chose to listen in.

“No, I’m telling you, it’s scary as shit,” one guy was saying. “I began thinking all these really dark thoughts about like what I could do to people and stuff. It must have come from his quirk, right?”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, it was wild. I know you guys all think that he’s some big shot but we should be careful trusting somebody with a quirk like his.”

You cleared your throat, quickly drawing attention to yourself. It would be plausible if you didn’t know the main person describing his experience. He was always complaining about not getting enough credit or attention – never seemed to be without something rude to say about every quirk but his own.

And he had been getting steadily more jealous of the general course’s most famous student.

“There is no way that Shinso’s quirk could do that,” you said firmly. “Don’t you remember how it was described at all? It doesn’t take over your thoughts, just your body.”

The guy scoffed. “No offense class rep but I don’t think you know what you’re talking about. I got hypnotized yesterday, not you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, willing to take the bait but unable to yet. Shinso normally got to class shortly before it began. So you waited until he arrived and then stepped in front of him with a friendly smile.

“Hey Shinso! I’m sorry to do this but I’ve been getting some conflicting answers about your mind control,” you said, projecting your voice just loud enough. “Could you show me?”

“Show you what?”

He sounded as though he had just woken up. You would have given him some time but you were on a bit short on it with class starting soon.

“How it feels to be under your hypnosis thing,” you said. “Apparently it’s kind of awesome and I was wondering if you could do it to me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Is this a dumb bet?”

“Nope. I just want to feel it.”

He sighed heavily as though you were asking for the toughest thing in the world which, admittedly, you may just be doing.  “Do you like ramen?”

“Yes.”

You felt as though you’d been plunged into an ice bath. All of your limbs grew cold distant, like they had been yanked from your grasp. Initially, you panicked but you focused on relaxing. Shinso was in control, that was all that was happening. You trusted Shinso wouldn’t make you do anything.

“Go and sit at your desk,” he said.

His words sent a jolt through your body and it began to moving, dragging itself to follow his orders. Once you were sitting, the warmth came back to you and you could feel your own limbs once again.

“That was so awesome!” you said happily. “Thank you! It’s pretty startling initially but once you remember what’s happening, it begins to make sense.”

He nodded and sat down at his own spot.

You made direct eye contact with the group who had been gossiping earlier and you gave them a dazzling smile. The main one gave you a dirty look but you ignored it, relishing instead in the proof that you now had.

Suneater

Everybody knew who the Big 3 within U.A. were. They were impossible to ignore but quickly made friends with everybody, at least, two of them did.

Having been in their class for your entire U.A. experience, you had watched their quirks develop and fought alongside them in many exercises. They tended to stick to themselves for team ups or wound up working alongside one another. You had respected that but now you were beginning to get curious.

So, the one day you walked up to Nejire and told her, “I want to speak to Tamaki.”

She frowned at you in confusion. You were friends and often hung out together which meant, “You’ve spoken to Tamaki before.”

“No, I’ve spoken to groups that happen to have him in them. That’s not speaking to him, that’s speaking around him. Whenever I try to address him directly, Mirio or you end up answering for him.”

“That’s just Tamaki,” she said, taking a bite of her lunch bar.

It was just after a pretty intense training session and everybody was feeling quite tired. Most of you snacked before returning to class, citing that you had had complications in removing costumes or something similar.

“But I’ve been in his class for three years now and I’ve never actually spoken to the guy,” you urged. “Can you blame me for being curious?”

“I guess not but he’s not going to have anything interesting to say. He’s pretty quiet about literally everything.”

“Still…”

“You can try.”

Later at lunch, you joined the group at Nejire’s request. She plopped you down directly next to Tamaki and grabbed Mirio’s attention from the moment the conversation started. They spoke about something arbitrary which left you to speak to Tamaki… who was making a point to stare at his food.

“Tamaki, how’s your training been going?” you asked.

He glanced towards Mirio who paused his conversation with Nejire to tell you all about this new move that Tamaki was working on. You smiled and nodded but you weren’t too happy with this.

Nejire sensed it and this time told Mirio that she needed to show him something. Tamaki made to go with them but she quickly said, “Nope, only Mirio,” and practically dragged him away.

Second attempt.

“You work with Fatgum, right?” you asked. “He’s one of my favourite heroes. Is he just as friendly in real life?”

Tamaki gave a small nod but said nothing else.

“Why’d you choose to work with him?”

There was a moment of silence and then Tamaki muttered out something about food-related quirks. It was so soft that he honestly may as well have not answered for all the information you got. You wondered if it was just you but you knew it wasn’t.

“During my patrols the other night, we found this gang with a guy who could create like spikes from his feet. They made him a surprisingly fast runner but we caught him eventually. I became a parkour expert during the chase.”

Tamaki didn’t respond at all.

So you sighed in way that you knew he wouldn’t notice and just resigned yourself to silence. It was better than speaking to yourself at least.

Minutes went by and you considered sending Nejire a message to tell her to just come back when Tamaki spoke.

It was still soft but it was actually directed toward you. “What happened to the rest of the gang if you were chasing one guy?”

You looked up with an excitement that you really hoped wasn’t too visible. “Well, thankfully I wasn’t alone and the other work study students got them. But of course, I ended up having to chase the fast guy.”

“They always try and get me to deal with the big groups,” he said. “Fatgum thinks my quirk is good for crowd control.”

“You know, I could really see that. Have you ever been like really out of your depth?”

“All the time. Once…”

And that was how you started your friendship with Amajiki Tamaki.

Tailman

Japan’s public transport system was one of the best in the world, that was something you believed with an utmost sincerity. But like anything, it always runs the risk of getting stuck behind a hero-incident.

You were on your way home from a day that felt like it had dragged by at the pace of a snail. Most of what you wanted to get done hadn’t happened so, though it wasn’t particularly bad, it was boring and bland. All you had been looking forward to was getting home and finally just sleeping for as long as you could.

The train jostled slightly as it left the station and you felt safe enough to let go of the grab handle for a short while. You knew the train route better than anybody else, having to ride it multiple times in a day.

You scrolled on your phone and just counted the minutes to each turn and hiccup in the train’s path. Everything was going accourding to plan.

And then, from somewhere outside the train, you heard a massive explosion.

A battle was happening in the city and you could see the glints of light from where you were standing. You reached up for your grab handle. Unfortunately, you moved too slow.

The train came to a jerking halt and you found yourself tumbling backward as it tried to continue forward. You accidentally slammed into the guy behind you, stepping on his foot and just about headbutting him.

The guy steadied you and helped you stand once the train had come to a full stop.

“I am so sorry,” you said, turning to face him.

“It’s no problem.”

He looked familiar enough that you stared a little – trying to identify where you knew him from. His blond hair and dark eyes didn’t stand out too much but then you spotted the tufted tail over his shoulder.

“You’re part of U.A.’s hero course, aren’t you?” you asked, a little too excited but unable to help yourself.

He seemed momentarily confused but a blush spread across his face, nevertheless. “Yeah, I am. How did you know?”

“I recognise you from the sports festival,” you admitted. “Sorry, I’m sure you get that a lot. And also, sorry for standing on your foot. Your quirk is really cool by the way and I’m talking a bit much now so I’m sorry.”

“You’ve apologised way too much now,” he laughed. “It’s okay and thanks. My tail often gets overlooked because of the flashier quirks.”

You frowned. “Really? But it’s so cool.”

He smiled and shrugged, as though resigned to a simple fact. “It’s just a tail.” He looked through the window. “Looks like the fight’s going to take a while.”

You couldn’t see much and most people were already clamoring to get to the best spot to watch. “That’s fine,” you said. “As long as Mountain Lady doesn’t break the tracks again… that’s happened to me before I had to walk for almost two hours to get home.”

He chuckled. “I’ve had something similar but my tram got overturned. Honestly, I hope to become a hero that never causes such extreme property damage.”

“I’m sure the city will thank you if nobody else does,” you joked. “And I will too… though, if I’m being honest, I don’t actually know your name.”

“Ojiro,” he said. “My current hero name is Tailman but it’s more of a work in progress.”

You giggled. “I like it. It’ll work great on merchandise, you know?”

“Thank you. What’s your name?”

You told him happily. Though the battle left you waiting on the train for almost a full hour, you didn’t mind at all because you spent the entire time talking about anything and everything. Right before you left, you had offered Ojiro your number and he had gladly taken it.

Tentacole

Some people said that you were far too skittish to be in a hero school. Well, most people said it. Honestly, it was quite offending but also very correct in almost every way.

Loud noises made you jump. Insects or insect-like quirks made you very uncomfortable. There was even somebody in the school who made lights flicker on and off, never failing to make you leave a room the moment that they entered. You tried to stick with your friends at all times but it wasn’t possible for them to always be there.

It was later in the afternoon when you walked through the halls to notice a dark sky overhead.

You shivered while staring up at it, knowing that a storm would definitely be rolling in soon. If you could, you would have headed home immediately and attempted to hide from the noise that was sure to come.

But you didn’t have that option available.

You made your way to your next class, avoiding people and keeping an unwavering eye on the weather. Perhaps you should have just pretended it didn’t exist because you saw the moment that lightning flashed. Thunder followed and you jumped.

Your bag nearly fell on the floor as you dashed to hide behind the least scary person nearby.

Who just so happened to be one of the hero course students?

You hadn’t meant to cower behind him but he was tall and gave off an insane feeling of protection. It had been instinct. But you quickly realised that you probably shouldn’t hide behind a complete stranger.

You forced yourself to step away from him and bowed your head in apology. “I’m sorry for my actions,” you said. “I just got scared by the thunder.”

He was incredibly tall and had a complete multiplex of limbs. A mask hid the majority of his face but when he spoke, you could still hear him clearly. “It’s alright. You don’t have to worry about the weather, you know? U.A. is well protected from any lightning or storm winds.”

“It’s more just the sound,” you said nervously, glancing toward the sky. “I’m a little skittish about it.”

“You’re skittish about literally everything,” somebody said as they walked past.

It was one of your classmates who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. You chuckled nervously and fought back the temptation to follow her to class in order to feel safe. Everybody knew that you were a nervous person and many found it funny instead of worrying as they once had.

You blushed and stepped away from him, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Sorry again. I really do get scared of everything.”

“It can’t be everything if you were willing to hide behind me,” he pointed out. “I’m pretty terrifying in my appearance.”

You scoffed at that, catching your rudeness seconds after it appeared. Hurriedly, you explained, “I don’t think you’re scary at all. Like your quirk is awesome and all but it’s not like you could kill me by not paying attention.”

“And you know many quirks like that?”

“I’m sure you do also.”

He nodded slowly just as another crack of thunder rolled across the sky. You jumped a little but managed to not run away. “Do you want me to walk you to your classroom? It might make you feel a little safer.”

You blinked at him. “Are you sure? Won’t it make you late also?”

“It shouldn’t.”

The two of you walked side-by-side through the halls, his height practically shielding you from the storm outside. You were eternally grateful, especially when the rain picked up as you were nearing your class. When you arrived, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you for the escort…”

“Shoji.”

Tsukuyomi

Being stuck in the dorms took some getting used to.

You found that you couldn’t sleep most nights, tossing and turning while trying to get comfortable. The need for them was clear but you couldn’t help hating the reason behind it all. Your home was comfortable and here you often found random mushrooms growing across the kitchen counters.

It was late one night and you had found yourself staring at the ceiling for about an hour before deciding to do something about it. You climbed out of bed and threw on your favourite jacket with little thought. There had to be something to be done.

You walked down to the main room and found that everybody had retired to their rooms. The kitchen was barren and the front door was… unlocked?

It certainly wasn’t meant to be but you didn’t question it.

Instead, you slipped out of the dorms and closed the door tightly behind you. The fresh night air invigorated your senses and you turned onto the main path. There was no destination in mind for you. All you wanted to do was walk.

When you initially spotted another person, you started getting nervous. What if the door had been a trick? Would villains try to lure students from their dorms?

But you soon recognised the bird-like features of a student from 1A. Tokoyami.

“Hey,” you greeted, waving so that he didn’t get a fright like you had.

He frowned and you both came to a stop, walking paths having led you face to face with one another. “I wasn’t expecting to find another person out here,” he said. “I thought these midnight walks were pretty uncommon.”

“So did I,” you joked. “Do you mind if I join you? Some company is always better than walking alone.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

You fell into step beside him and the two of you strolled through the main areas of U.A.’s grounds. Neither one of you wanted to leave which worked out well. Fireflies drifted past your nose and crickets sang their cheery tune.

“Do you struggle to sleep?” Tokoyami asked.

“A little. The dorms are quite an adjustment from what I’m used to. What about you? What are you doing out here so late?”

Tokoyami looked up at the sky. “I’ve always liked the night,” he said. “The darkness is welcoming and filled with far less expectations than the day. It’s unfortunate that my quirk keeps me away from it as much as it does. Otherwise, I often think that I may just become nocturnal.”

“I get that. When I was a kid, I’d sometimes drag my blankets out to the garden and just sleep under the stars.”

“I never thought that the two of us may have something in common,” Tokoyami mused. “Though, if I’m being honest, I didn’t think too much of you. I know your class and your quirk but little else.”

You giggled. “I was just thinking about it. It’s surprising how little our classes interact even though we’re all working toward one goal.”

“It’s a pity, honestly.”

You glanced around at the darkness and a thought occurred to you. “Would you be fine with bringing out Dark Shadow here? Or are the streetlights not strong enough?”

“They’d be fine but I often like to have my thoughts away from him,” Tokoyami said. “With training, I’ve grown used to having him around constantly but sometimes, the quiet is nice.” He glanced at you. “I appreciate your company quite a bit though.”

“Oh, thanks.” It was a good thing that the dark could hide your blush so well.

Uravity

The roof of U.A. had become your safe spot for many reasons – not least of which was your ability to get there with an ease that befuddled many other students. Even you didn’t know if it was more because of your quirk or if you were just talented at climbing.

What you did know was that once you were up there, the rest of the world fell away and all you had to worry about was the clouds and an occasional bird.

One day, while you were relaxing close to the edge, a pen drifted past you. It was pink and adorable – floating through the air as though the laws of gravity meant naught to it.

You reached out and took it from where it was floating. It continued trying to leave your hands but, after a little while, the effect seemed to wear off. You twirled it between your fingers, wondering if it belonged to somebody in specific.

Then a second pen appeared and you took that one too.

It became a slight game. You allowed them to get high enough before capturing them and soon, you had a small pile of stationary in your pockets. They were surely coming from somebody and you planned to return them as soon as you got down.

Then, a small notepad appeared. On the first page, a little ‘Hi’ was written in cursive with a heart doodled beside it.

You flipped over to a new page and wrote your own greeting aside a quick flower. Then, you allowed the notepad to drift back over the edge. It rose for a short while but then gravity came back and it plummeted toward the ground. You watched it go and hoped that it didn’t land in dirt or anything.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to because it soon came up with a new message. ‘I’m Uraraka. What’s your name?’

You wrote down a response and the notepad dropped again. Soon, it returned, telling you that your name was very pretty. That made you laugh and blush a little.

In return, you asked why she was sending notes to you and she said that she had been trying to get her quirk more accurate. Apparently, she could take away gravity from objects and she’s working on holding it for longer.

You asked if she wanted her stationary back and she said no, it was okay. You could give it back later.

Being a bit flirtatious, you had asked if she wanted to get a milkshake when you gave it back and, to your immense surprise, she said that sounded like fun. The conversation continued through the notepad with much laughter until you realised something sad. You had run out of paper to write on.

Uraraka realised this also and she put a sad face on the final page.

So you leaned over the top of the roof and glanced around to see if anybody was looking up. Sure enough, you quickly spotted a brunette who was almost directly beneath you and wearing a soft pink outfit.

You waved and received one in return.

Flipping to the front of your notebook, you scribbled down your number and put several arrows to make sure she saw it. To your surprise, she actually caught the notepad when you dropped it instead of letting it hit the ground.

She gave you a thumbs up when she noticed that you were watching. Soon, your phone buzzed as a message from an unknown number came through.

‘Hi!’

You took a picture of your view and sent it through, mentioning that she was smaller than you thought. She laughed and asked if you had good signal up there. The best, you were sure. Then your phone began ringing and you answered a video call with the cutest girl you had ever seen.

“I didn’t know you could get to the roof,” she laughed.

“With the right dedication, you can do anything.”

#bnha x reader #bnha scenarios #mina x reader #kirishima x reader #shoji x reader #ojiro x reader #tokoyami x reader #uraraka x reader #tamaki x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #shinso x reader

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact. 

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication. 

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive. 

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.” 

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both." 

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours. 

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it. 

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night. 

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you. 

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood. 

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you. 

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey. 

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.” 

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble. 

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek. 

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face. 

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.” 

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much. 

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends." 

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks. 

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises. 

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #my writing #formula 1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 rpf #formula 1 rpf

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 3 - ao3 -

The closing ceremony of the discussion conference was dignified and serene, as appropriate for an event hosted by the Lan sect, and after it was done everyone milled around to chat a little more before starting to break off into groups to leave.

The leaders of the Great Sects naturally gathered together.

They were an unusual mix. Wen Ruohan was the eldest by an entire generation, technically hailing from the generation of Lan Qiren’s grandfather even if his extraordinary cultivation made him seem as young as Lan Qiren’s brother; after him there was Lan Qiren’s father and the Jiang sect leader, Jiang Menglin, who themselves were a generation above their younger counterparts from the Nie and Jin clans – Jin Guangshan especially, having only inherited his position in the past year.

Lan Qiren’s brother stood beside them, speaking with them with his head held high. Their father planned to slowly transition sect leadership to him over the next half-decade so that he himself might be allowed to retire from the mundane world to focus on cultivation, as Lan An ultimately did. In accordance with that plan, he had allowed him to take the lead on hosting certain small events at the discussion conference, like the night-hunting.

Lan Qiren was there, too.

He was lurking as far to the back of the platform as he could get, trying simultaneously to perfectly reflect his sect’s expectations for proper behavior while also doing his utmost to remain beneath anyone’s notice – Lao Nie had caught his gaze at one point and winked, a friendly older man’s indulgence of a junior, but that was in large part unavoidable given the man’s gregarious personality – and enjoying the rare moment in which he could see his father at something other than a distance.

He usually only saw his father when he was brought before him to report on his achievements, typically once a month. When he was younger, he had been accompanied by one of his teachers, who would report on him while Lan Qiren anxiously examined his father’s face for signs of approval; now that he was older, he went by himself, dipping into a deep salute as he recited anything of interest, and sometimes if he really exerted himself his father would reward him with a word of praise.

Lan Qiren was only allowed to stand with the rest of them on the basis of a technicality – his father hadn’t officially transferred power to his eldest son and wouldn’t for a while yet, so he had brought along both of them on the transparent excuse that they could provide company for Jin Guangshan and Lao Nie as members of the same generation. It was very much a technicality in Lan Qiren’s case, given his much younger age; he fell on the very tail end of their generation on account of the circumstances of his belated birth.

Lan Qiren’s birth was very late to allow him to be considered a peer to those a decade or more older than him, in fact, but that was the way of things.

He was a child of duty, rather than pleasure.

His parents had been very much in love, as was the Lan sect’s way, and together they had had two sons and a daughter within six years, each one of them deeply beloved. But perhaps their joy had been too complete, because the heavens had not permitted it to last: they lost their younger son and daughter both – one to an unexpected illness, the other to an accident. Their eldest, Lan Qiren’s brother, was still there, but it would have been irresponsible to have only a single heir to a Great Sect. Accordingly, under great pressure from the sect elders, they had sought to have another child, only to fail time and time again, enduring countless miscarriages and stillbirths alike.

There had even been some debate as to whether such a situation permitted the sect leader to take on a concubine, regardless of custom or even his own wishes. Desperate to prevent such a result, Lan Qiren’s mother had inadvisedly taken certain drugs to encourage conception and at last Lan Qiren had been successfully born in a slow and bloody labor that had sapped his mother’s already poor health. She had died a few years later, suffering a recurrence of the infection left behind from his birth. Lan Qiren had been too young to really remember her, but he knew that his brother had blamed him for her loss ever since.

He sometimes wondered if his father did, too.

Of course, unlike his brother, his father had never said as much. As the Lan sect leader, he was graceful and refined, educated and reserved, a venerable and venerated cultivator; it was widely agreed that he would never have planned to retire so early if it hadn’t been for losing his true love all those years ago. Perhaps he might even have been another Wen Ruohan, seemingly ageless, striving for immortality – at any rate, he would never be so petty as to mistreat a person due to the circumstances beyond their control. It was something he had heard that his father had said from one of the other Lan sect juniors, and at any rate it was in the rules, and Lan Qiren believed in the rules.

Besides, it wasn’t a surprise that Lan Qiren would be an afterthought in comparison to his brother, the already famous Qingheng-jun, who his father treasured like a pearl cupped in his palm. His brother was the much-anticipated first child of his father’s happy youth, the reminder of good days gone by, a child who had survived the misfortunes that had taken his siblings, and Lan Qiren’s brother repaid his father’s adoration with strength, intelligence, and endless potential. He was a cultivation maniac, yet good at managing the other juniors; he was cold and aloof, elegant, yet capable of being personable and even charming when needed. He was one of the shining stars of his generation, already a powerful cultivator and a respected gentleman even though he’d only just passed twenty-one. Even the name which he was commonly called, Qingheng-jun, was a rarity, a personal title unusual in this peaceful day and age.

Lan Qiren, in contrast, was slow and clumsy, with only average cultivation skills and positively dire social skills. While his teachers praised his strong academic skills and musical talent, the Lan sect followed first and foremost the orthodox path of swordsmanship; once his weakness in that area had been discovered, many of his sect elders lost interest in him as anything other than the inferior back-up plan that he was.

Undoubtedly that was why, when Wen Ruohan turned to Lan Qiren’s father and said, “Your son is a credit to you,” everyone assumed he was talking about Qingheng-jun.

“Sect Leader Wen does him too much honor,” their father said, clearly pleased despite his deprecating words. After all, Wen Ruohan, Sect Leader Wen, was well known to be extraordinarily sparing with his praise for any who didn’t share his bloodline or surname. “My unworthy son is still young and foolish. His eyes are always fixed upon cultivation, never straying – he doesn’t even spare time for girls, despite his advancing years!”

The other sect leaders were smiling, and Lao Nie already opening his mouth to say something teasing, when Wen Ruohan said, “I meant your other son.”

Lan Qiren wasn’t prepared at all for all the sect leaders to turn to look at him.

He shrunk back.

“Qiren?” his father said, almost as if he were checking to confirm that that was the right name, a trace of doubt in his voice even as Lan Qiren’s brother’s face went white with humiliation. “I didn’t realize you’d had a chance to hear him play.”

“Regrettably I have not yet had that pleasure,” Wen Ruohan said, a slightly strange expression on his face. “We merely exchanged some charming conversation, that’s all. Is that his most notable skill?”

“His accomplishments as a musical cultivator are sufficient to rank him among the adults of his already talented sect,” Lao Nie volunteered when there was a brief pause, and Lan Qiren’s father was quick to smile and nod along. “You missed out, Sect Leader Wen.”

“Perhaps another time,” Wen Ruohan said, his return smile still strange and almost subtly displeased, though Lan Qiren would hardly trust himself to know for sure.

At that point, Jiang Menglin spoke up, changing the subject, and most everyone joined in, all of them evidently relieved – not least of all Lan Qiren himself, who had started wondering if there was some way he could become invisible or else fall into a deep chasm that might conveniently open up beneath his feet.

Nothing more was said on the subject until the ceremony was done and the last of their guests departed, when Lan Qiren’s brother tracked him down and hissed, “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Lan Qiren cried out. “We only talked!”

“You mean you talked at him the way you always do – ”

Their father cleared his throat, having come up behind them, and they both turned at once and dropped into deep salutes.

“Do not think about it too much,” he said, voice distant as the cold wind on a winter night. “Sect Leader Wen sometimes likes to make trouble for the sake of making trouble, especially if he thinks he has found a weakness. You will need to be on your guard against that when you are sect leader.”

He was talking to Lan Qiren’s brother, of course. Lan Qiren could count, and had, the number of times his father addressed him directly in a given year, but it was only reasonable – he wasn’t the heir, doomed to take on the burden of leadership, and so there was much less his father needed to say to him.

“Yes, Father,” his brother said. “I’ll remember.”

“Do not trouble your younger brother over nonsense.”

Lan Qiren felt his brother’s angry gaze like a flame against his skin, even if it wasn’t anywhere as weighty as Wen Ruohan’s. He did not understand what he had done wrong, whether to Wen Ruohan to decide to make trouble using his name or to his brother now that had made him angry, but that wasn’t so much different from the usual.

“Very well, Father,” his brother said. “I won’t.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #qingheng-jun #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

[gxccistyless]

the untitled song

The one where he royally fucks up. Y/n is friends with Harry and has been for a long time, but he hurts her in the worst way possible. TRIGGER WARNINGS: mention of attempted suicide.

When Harry first wrote the song he had never intended for it to see the light of day and he had most certainly never intended to hurt you. Sometimes he finds himself writing songs as a form of therapy and sometimes as a gentle reminder of memories he never wants to let go of, this song was a creation born for both of those reasons. You had been his lifelong friend and had seen each other through all different seasons of life, he had been your friend first and then somewhere along the line he had begun to feel something more toward you, but he had a complicated life and he didn’t want to throw you into the circus of it all, he liked that when he went home he was just Harry to you and not Harry Styles the celebrity. Truthfully somewhere along the way, your feelings toward him had also began to be something more but you were unaware of the way he had felt about you and so you never acted on it

A week after his stepfathers funeral and almost a year to the day since your own mothers’ death you found yourselves in his backyard slightly intoxicated. Harry had a rough time figuring out his emotions and would often turn to writing, it gave him a way to put everything into words. You on the other hand did everything in your power to hide yours. Six drinks in however, you had both been able to open up, Harry sharing his struggles, his fears and his worries and for the first time ever you were sharing yours too.

You had known him before he was anyone to be known, and although his life had become quite the circus, the two of you still remained close.  When you heard the news about his stepfather, he asked if you would come and you were quick to oblige dropping everything to head to be with him for the week. It was your last night there after what had been a long week and Harry had decided they should have a few drinks and just relax and let off some steam. He told you about how in awe of you  he was, how you’d handled your mums death so gracefully and had remained so well put together afterwards, he hoped he’d be able to do the same and be as strong as you had been. Harry’s words eat at you, he grows concerned that his comments had upset you when your head falls toward the ground, you can feel the tears welling in your eyes.

He’s a bit taken back, he was only trying to compliment you, show you how much you inspire him. You wipes the tears that have now begun pooling on your cheeks and then sharw with him something you hadn’t dared talk about to anyone since it happened  I tried to kill myself, Harry. It all went down shortly after your mothers death when everyone who was significant in your life had dispersed out of their small town after the funeral and back to their jobs. Your brother had found you and managed revive you. Between a short stay in the ICU, ten days in a ward and then a stay in the psych ward you had been in the hospital for weeks afterward. Harry shakes his head at your revelation, this couldn’t be true, he would have known. It’s true Harry, I didn’t expect you to know though. You had barely enough time to be here for the funeral I didn’t even see you that day that’s his quick you came and went, and then you were on tour... it’s okay that you didn’t know, I didn’t want anyone to see me like that. Harry didn’t know what to say or how to feel, he just brings you a little closer to him and grips you a little tighter, thankful that you’re still here. Harry was sure that if anything had happened to you that Anne would have told him. At this point you are really intoxicated and Harry is starting to feel the effects of the alcohol heading closer to the point of recklessness. The two of you call it a night.  

You left town the next day to head back to London, you had recently taken a job in the city and were able to afford rent there which finally got you out of this small town and kept you busy, the two of you returned to normal life and never talked about it any further. But still the conversation played on his mind, how you has been in your darkest moment and he hadn’t been there. How he had barely had enough time to be there for his closest friend when her mother had just passed, how he had failed to check up on you in the weeks that followed, how you could have actually died. 

When he finally got back to writing, his conversation with you was one of the first things he wrote about. It was one of the first pieces that he wrote beginning to end, he never intended for it to get further than him and a guitar and a recording on his phone, something he might play to you someday, but then one night whilst he was high he accidentally showed it to his engineer who immediately fell in love with it. His engineer convinced him to just see the song through, told him it wouldn’t have to be in the final cut for the album but that it deserved to be finished properly, so Harry obliged and he finished the song in its entirety.

The album was close to being finished, his label telling him they just needed one or two more songs that were slower in tempo and had more emotion you know like  a tear jerker were Jeff’s exact words. Harry you should show him that untitled one we had been working on at the beginning Harry silently curses his engineer in his mind, he’s reluctant to play the song to Jeff but he does it anyway. Jeff loves the song says that it should be the second single, the public will eat it right up. Once again Harry reluctantly agrees.

He knows that one way or the other you are going to hear this song and you are going to know that it is about you, and specifically about that night when you had shared your darkest secret with him. Harry wanted to be the one to play the song for you, he thought it would be best coming from him in a controlled environment and he most certainly didn’t want you to hear it for the first time at his launch party or on the radio. The week that he intended to drive home to show you, your father suddenly passed, it didn’t seem like a good time and he didn’t want to cause you any more grief than you were already going through. He tried again two weeks later but you had been in such good spirits, he didn’t want to ruin your time together by making you upset. 

The original plan was that he would drive back to his mum’s the day after his listening party and play it for you before it would be released to the public. The listening party was only going to be intimate and was due to be held two days before the release of the album, and since you had to work and wouldn’t be there he didn’t see anything wrong with the plan. Except this is Harry and almost nothing goes to plan. Gemma and Anne who are unaware of the song arranged for you to have a ticket, to surprise Harry on one of his biggest nights. He doesn’t see you till he comes out into the room and it’s already too late they’re already about to press play on the album, he thought he felt nervously sick before but now seeing you here in the room he feels even worse.

Everything was going smoothly and everyone seemed to be enjoying the songs as they continued to go through each of them, Harry introducing them and talking a bit about them before hand, when he gets to track 5 his throat dries up and he feels as if he can’t talk. He doesn’t give this song an introduction just pressing play. The song is halfway through the first verse when you begin to realise this song that you are listening to in a room full of people who don’t know you (minus Anne and Gemma and Harry of course) is about you, is about that night by the fire where things got a little too deep and dark and emotional. You stare at him waiting for him to make eye contact with you, but he never does, he’s too scared to lift his head and have your eyes meet. He knows he will look up to undoubtedly find you crying and that he has let you down and right now he can’t think about it too much, he needs to push through the last eight tracks. You excuse yourself quietly, telling Gemma you aren’t feeling well before the chorus even hits and slip out the back exit.

Harry knows that he has royally fucked up. He tries calling you when he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, it goes straight to voicemail a few times and then after that your number doesn’t even dial at all. He has disappointed you, he’s disappointed himself. When he gets back out and spots his mother and sister the anger and disappointment is all over their faces too. The car ride back to his house is silent, Anne taking in deep breaths so that she won’t scream in front of the lovely driver Harry’s management had hired to get them home. When they finally make it through the door and they are by themselves she absolutely lets him have a piece of her mind. You should have asked her permission before putting out something like that. Harry tries to reason with Anne, explaining he had no choice when he knows deep down that he did, explaining that he tried to show you the song but he couldn’t catch you at the right time. It’s Gemma’s turn to chime in now  There was no right time Harry, should have never been on the album in the first place. Gemma was right, but it was done now the only thing he could do would be to try and salvage things with you as best he could. But you wouldn’t take his calls, didn’t respond to his texts and truthfully he had no idea where to start looking for you.  The following morning when Anne had calmed down some, she had found Harry sleeping on the sofa still in the clothes from last night gripping his phone on his chest, she knows he must have fallen asleep there as he desperately tried all night to get in touch with you. When he woke up he told her everything from beginning to end, he knew that song shouldn’t have been on the album and she knew that there was nothing he could do now to change the fact that it was. 

Whilst you weren’t replying to Harry’s texts or answering his calls you had no intentions of doing the same to Anne. The first time Anne rings you, it goes to voicemail. Anne leaves you a lovely message, tells you she’d love to see you before she leaves London to head back home. Only when you know that it is her calling, you send her a quick text back to explain that you are okay and that you have escaped for the week back home to Holmes Chapel, but would love to see her regardless.  It had been too long since you had last seen Anne. You think it may have been at the funeral, or in the days after, but your weekends have been busy and you hardly make it home. Even when you do make it home, recently your weekends had been filled with looking after your sick father and your brother who even at 24 years old was unable to do anything for himself. Regardless of how long it had been since you last saw Anne, she held a special place in your heart. Her and your own mother had been close and Anne had been there for you in the months after losing her, she came every day that she was allowed to see you in the hospital, to make sure you knew you were loved. She promised to never tell Harry, you made her promise. You didn’t want to worry him and you didn’t want to distract or burden him, you somehow still worried for everyone else even though you were the one struggling. It’s almost noon when she arrived at your house in Holmes Chapel on Sunday. At this point Harry’s album had been out for 24 hours and had shot straight to the top of the charts. Even though you were angry at him, you were still proud.  Anne brings you in tight for a hug as soon as you open the door. You are relieved that she has come by herself, not having decided yet if you ever want to talk to or see Harry ever again. Once tea is drunk and scones have been had Anne flips out her phone. Y/n love, have you had a chance to listen to Harry’s album... in full? She knows it’s a tough ask, especially because of the song. I haven’t, no. I hear it’s doing wonderful though... he must be so happy. You secretly hope that this conversation is nearing its end, not wanting to talk about Harry anymore. He’s not doing the greatest love  Anne pauses for a moment. She knows she shouldn’t get involved, but she has loved you like a second daughter since you and Harry were young and has always secretly hoped the two of you would end up together. I know he shouldn’t have put the song on the album, but my wonderful numbskulled son really didn’t know you were going to be there at the party and apparently he had been trying for weeks to share it with you but between your dad and then you having really good days he didn’t want to mess it up... I know it might be hard for you, but if I’m being honest, it’s one of my favourite songs. Will you try to listen to it? Because she is like a second mother to you and because you don’t want to let her down or cause her any pain, you agree. She hugs you extra tight when she leaves and makes you promise to visit when you’re back in town again next. 

You fulfil your promise to Anne listening to the song two nights later after making your way back to London and having five too many wines. It was hard for you to listen to, but when you finish it the first time you instantly want to listen again and suddenly it’s on repeat and you instantly regret leaving before the chorus. In between sobs you manage to dial Harry’s number, the phone barely ringing before he answers. Y/n? Ello? You there? He hears your muffled sobs on the other end, where are you? Are you back in London? Please tell me where you are? You tell him your address and twenty minutes later there are some light taps on your apartment door. When he comes in you’re still sobbing and the song is still playing. He puts out his arms and wraps them around you and you sob, the two of you standing there whilst the song plays three times over. It’s a beautiful song you manage to somehow get words out between sobs and laboured breathing I mean it’s okay, it wasn’t supposed to make the album, but it’s there and there’s nothing I can do and I’m going to be sorry for the rest of our lives. Somehow the two of you make it to the couch. You share with him your anger and frustrations and thoughts about everything, how he’s broken your trust, how you’re scared to tell him anything anymore, how you’re angry that his team made YOU sign and NDA but he’s free to write songs about your disclosures and how that isn’t fair. He agrees that it isn’t fair, and he apologises again and again over and over until you can’t take it anymore. 

It takes you some time to trust Harry again after this. He has his lawyers draw up an NDA for him to sign, with a promise that you can sue him if he ever discloses anything private about you ever again. 

#Harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #hs2 #tpwk #hsrry styles tpwk #harry styles fine line #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagines

[gryffindors-weasley]

Hues of Pink

Bill Weasley x Reader

Summary: On rainy day at home, Bill paints your nails.

Requested by @am-i-space : “Hey I recently had this thought and I would love to actually read this I think it would be adorable: Bill sitting behind you and and painting your nails, and like little neck kisses and stupid giggles from both of you and him resting his head on yours when he´s concentrating.”

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of scars, fluff, kissing

A/N: Thank you for such a sweet and fluffy request, I hope you enjoy it!!

(gif found on pinterest, credits to the maker)

The rain was steady outside, no intentions of passing any time soon as it pelted relentlessly against the chilled windowpanes. Fortunately, there were no pressing plans waiting for either of you, and the inclement weather had only further decided that it would be a lax day around your home. You weren’t complaining though, work had been rather taxing on the both of you as of late and this gave way to some much needed time to spend together. You would never complain about that, because days like this seemed to be few and far between.

“What are you doing, love?” Bill asks, appearing in the doorway with a yawn. He leant against the doorframe as he watched you curiously over his mug and you smile brightly from your spot at the coffee table.

“Painting my nails,” you state simply, setting down your nail file amongst the assortment of other tools.

You hadn’t had spare minute to do such a hobby in a while and with your newfound down time, you thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to treat yourself. That, and it had always been a way to alleviate your stress when your mind was feeling rather busy. Though you will admit it does not work wonders in the department of aroma therapy. That much is very certain.

He hums and nods, stepping into the room fully to be with you. He was still dressed in his pajamas much like you were, and his hair had yet to meet a comb that day as it dusted over his shoulders in tangled red locks. You always playfully suggested a trim if he’d insisted on letting his hairbrush collect dust on your nightstand, but your attempts were always declined with an immediate frown. Not to mention the ginger strands you always found in your brush.

Moments later he had joined you on the living room floor, basking in the warmth of his drink that was steaming just under his nose freckled nose.

“Good morning,” you murmur, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned his head in that moment to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, tasting of his usual lemon tea and an abundant amount of sugar. “Or should I say good afternoon?”

He scrunches his nose in a quiet protest, pulling away from you with a fond shake of his head and a soft smile. “Must you always tease me?”

You pretend to ponder the question briefly, tapping your finger on your cheek as he raises a brow at you. “I believe the answer is undoubtedly a yes, my love.”

He scoffs into his mug.

“Well, I believe I should stop calling you sunshine in favor of something more accurate then, like trouble.”

“Actually, Bill, I quite like that one,” You say with a laugh, more so when he narrows his tired eyes at you with a disapproving frown. Though no matter how much you may have teased him in good fun, you’d always be the embodiment of sunshine, lighting up his life in every way imaginable.

You tenderly ran your thumb over the pink scars that run across his cheek, his frown fading and the crease between his brows smoothing once more at your touch. “I’m only kidding,” you assure, but he knows that smile anywhere. “But you know I can’t resist!”

He huffs and hides his smile behind his mug as he takes a sip, setting the tattered old ceramic down on a mismatched coaster before focusing his attention back on you. It was something he always found himself to be doing, to him it was rather hard not to. And the way your tongue had poked out just past very kissable lips was only further proving his point; anything thing you did, no matter how simple or grand, always proved his point. He feels maybe he shouldn’t have joined in with his brothers in teasing Ron for the way he’s always gazing at Hermione, because he’s quite sure he has his little brother beat at this point.

He supposes one never truly understands the full scope of love and it’s effects until one is lucky enough have it. Well, he always knew love when it came to his family, he’s never experienced a moment in his life where he found himself without it. But this, this was far different from that. You came into his life and turned it upside down for the better, quite literally too when you had knocked his textbooks to floor outside of potions in your clumsy haze all those years ago. He’s sure he’s never seen someone be quite so flustered over him in all his life. Charlie was quick to take note and embarrass him in front of you once he knew his brother had caught feelings, and he quickly became flustered over you. Regardless, he was and still is profoundly in love with you, that’ll never change.

You loved him for who he is, not what he may or may not have. The scars stretching across his fair skin were of no importance either, for he’d always been beautiful to you. He was Bill Weasley, wonderfully awkward and exceptionally intelligent with a heart of gold. That’s what you loved.

His fingers tapped against his cheek as his chin rests in his palm, watching as you paint on the blush colored nail varnish with a practiced ease. You have a habit of making everything look easy, he’s noticed. For lack of better, less ironic wording, he always felt you seemed to possess a different kind of magic. One that makes the world go round, his world, one that makes everything all the more enamoring. Any spell or enchantment couldn’t hold a candle to you in his eyes.

“Can I do it?” He suddenly inquires, tucking his hair behind his ear even though it rebelliously fell right back into place. He’s decided he’s got to do something other than stare at you all day, though he is perfectly content to do so.

When you turn your head, he’s looking at you curiously, and a smile is quick to tug at your lips. He mirrors your expression with a lopsided grin, a pale scarlet dusting his cheeks.

You nod and he scoots in behind you, peering over your shoulder at the spread of polishes laid out on the small table. Before he started, you switch on another lamp with a flick of your finger so he could see a bit better. He snagged the bottle of baby pink polish you’d been working from, uncapping it and gingerly taking your hand in his own. When you opened your mouth to point him in the right direction he hushed you with a quiet hum and you laugh softly, leaning back against his chest as you let him take creative control.

He settled his chin on your shoulder, his head rested against yours as he got to work with unwavering determination. No matter the task, Bill Weasley will always find a way to make it seem as though it was of the utmost importance. Whether it be washing the dishes or being called off to work, that stoic look of concentration never failed to make an appearance. Yes, his hands had been a bit shaky and perhaps it was from the extra scoop of sugar he puts in his tea, perhaps it wasn’t, but so far he hadn’t done half bad.

With your free hand, you snag his mug of tea and take a sip, smiling to yourself at how obscenely sweet it was. If one thing was obvious, it was that he had the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you’d ever known. He made a discontented protest when you moved once more and nearly messed up his progress, though it was one that was easily satisfied with a kiss.

For a while after that things were quiet, save for the consistent patter of the raindrops trickling down outside and his steady breathing in your ear. A cinnamon flavored candle had been gracing the room with its delightful fragrance, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t remind him of home. It made everything all the more cozy. The day was nothing short of peaceful and everything you’d dreamed it would be; not even Bill’s lighthearted grumbling over your constant fidgeting could take away from the moment. He was the cause after all, he couldn’t expect you to stay still with the chaste and absentminded kisses he’d been pressing upon your neck. It was only fair.

“I used to paint my mother’s nails, you know,” he murmurs then, still focused on the task at hand. You hum softly in response to urge him to continue on. “Whenever she’d gotten a cold or even just felt under the weather, I’d paint her nails to lift her spirits. It was this ruby red color she always adored. Granted I was fifteen and it looked absolutely horrendous and— love don’t move!”

You giggle out a soft apology and turn your head to kiss his cheek, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry.”

He pursed his lips with a hint of a smile and sighed softly, diligently continuing on with his work. “Now Ronnie gets to do it.”

The thought alone made you smile because the one and only time you’d let Ron Weasley do your nails, and even Fred for that matter, you’d ended up with more polish on your skin than your nails. It had even wound up on them, you recall. They had insisted you were moving far too much and that may have been a little true, but you’ll never let them live down their terrible nail painting abilities.

Bill’s hair had been tickling your skin and you fought the shiver it elicited, but you couldn’t seem to help it in that moment. The tiny brush clutched in his hand had smudged the soft pink pigment onto your skin, and he huffed out a laugh against your neck. He stuck the brush back in its rightful bottle with acceptance that he couldn’t get any more work done before his lips found your neck once more, your laughter relentless when he kissed the sensitive skin. He knew this fact very well, and used it to his full advantage as retaliation. His arm encircled your waist momentarily as he squeezed you close in a half hug, his own laughter mingling with yours in the little living room.

You manage free yourself from his embrace, cautious not to further smudge your freshly painted manicure. He was quick to get on his feet, though, grabbing your wrist and twirling you to face him as he tugged you close.

“Careful! You just might ruin all your hard work, love,” you scold with a beaming smile, but he seems to be far more concerned with you presently.

Your laughter fades considerably in that moment as he envelopes you in his arms once more, and with careful movements you wrap your own around his neck. You’d never quite gotten used to the way he looks at you and you probably never will; it was as if the very world revolved around you. It made the familiar crimson burn and blossom across your cheeks, his smile widening a fraction as you avert your gaze.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, you know,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek while you try and focus on absolutely anything but the way your blush is creeping down your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he chuckles, but he was very much aware of the meaning behind your words.

You cast a pointed stare in his direction, daring to look at him fully. A stubborn chunk of ginger hair had fallen from where it was tucked behind his ear, brushing over his cheek. A sigh leaves your lips and he finds himself resting his forehead on yours, nudging you softly with his nose. You were starting to feel like a moment more perfect than this couldn’t exist. The pungent scent of nail polish was something you could very much do without, but it was only a minor inconvenience. For you were in the arms of the love of your life and not a single thing could surpass that.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his eyes falling closed as a much softer smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Very much.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, not one of mocking, but one of utter joy that had been too overflowing within you not to do so. His chuckle puffs against your lips, his arms tightening their hold. “I love you, Bill Weasley,” you breathe earnestly in the closeness, nearly stealing a kiss before you let yourself finish your declaration. “Very much.”

Both your cheeks were stained in varying hues of pink as your lips melded in the most loving of kisses, and there was no greater feeling.

—

Tags: @theweasleysredhair @loony-loopy-lupinn @lupinsclassroom @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq

#bill weasley #bill weasley fanfiction #bill weasley fluff #bill weasley x you #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley one shot #bill weasley imagine

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen (final chapter, pt. 2, the end.)

part one here

A/N: Thank you guys for all of your wonderful comments and the love sent my way for this fanfic. I've had a great time writing it despite its rocky moments. I really hope this ending does it justice; I've never gotten to write a proper conclusion to anything like this before. It's the first time I've ever completed a multi-chapter work such as this, so I'm happy. 🍾🥂 Here's to finishing what you start, and enjoy. :)

Just shy of a half-hour later, he was finished telling the story. She had sat the both of them down on the couch, one on each end, and he explained in great detail everything leading up to current-day. Tales of the ooze, Mutagen, as he'd told her; the rat named Splinter, a man formerly known as Hamato Yoshi, who had fathered and trained them; and lastly, their mission. Be of service, protect the city; have a good heart. And Donnie most certainly had a good heart. He was not the outlandish figure she'd first saw and recognized him as. He was the guy she had come to know as Bo, Donatello, who was the same person she'd talked to this whole time. At some points of the retelling, he got excited to share some of their adventures. This came after their humble beginnings of struggling in the sewers. Donnie was happy to share after so long of dodging saying anything about his life. 

She nodded along to this talking. "...and that's how we're here," he said finally, putting his hands on his legs. "Since we're here, any questions?" 

She replied with a no, looking over at the TV that had remained on the entire time. Donnie stayed seated as she got up and got the remote, also glancing at the clock on the wall, which read 10:45 PM. She switched the TV off. Looks like it's time to go, he thought. He rose from the couch and fixed the pillow he'd displaced. 

"Donnie, this has been...strange," and for a split second, his face fell, "but not bad! Though, it is getting late." 

 "Oh, no—yeah, no, I understand," he sputtered bashfully, activating the staff which collapsed back into its smaller form. He tucked it away somewhere on him. 

For a moment, he simply stood there as if wanting to say something, but the words never found him. "So it's goodbye?" he asked quietly. The way he said it made it seem like he thought it was forever. But it was on until they figured out how to pick up where they left off after that night. Undoubtedly, things would be different going forward. He didn't know if that would be good or bad. 

"Only until next time," she told him, a small smile present. He visibly relaxed. "You're still my friend, Donatello."

He smiled. "I knew that. Totally."

Showing himself out, he stepped onto the balcony, looking back one last time before he bounded away. He held up his hand and gave a small wave. 

But she hadn't said bye yet, so he stuck around for a moment longer, though it was met with an awkward silence. He was beginning to go over the railing when she ran over to the door, stopping him. "Wait," she said, and he crawled back over the railing with a confused but curious expression. "I actually do have a question. Just one, before you go." 

"Sure," he said, inviting her to go on. She had to look up to see his face being so close. 

Tenderly, she asked, "Why'd you not tell me, after all that time? Would you have ever chosen to do this if it hadn't been for an accident?" 

Donnie couldn't give her an answer on that.

He sighed, slightly shaking his head. "I couldn't, [y/n]. We've been through this." 

"I only wanted you to trust me, Donnie," she responded. And that was, really, how she'd felt. Throughout their entire friendship, it had felt one-sided in that regard. Trusting but not trusted, but she hadn't any idea of what was truly going on, at the time. 

Donnie pondered her question: If there hadn't been some kind of divine intervention, would he have ever had the chance to have something more with her than words on a screen? 

He swallowed as she took a small step closer. 

"I just wanted you to care about me." His volume was barely above a whisper. He clenched his jaw briefly, as if he was concerned over his own words. His golden-brown eyes wandered from your eyes on downward. 

"I did—I do care about you, what makes you say that?" she questioned, puzzled. 

He vaguely gestured at his body, "Wouldn't this be a little hard grasp over text? Isn't it hard to accept even now?"

Though she didn't answer, he had a feeling that he was correct about one of those things—she did have to wrap her head around everything. Tentatively, both watched as her fingers brushed against his own. His hand moved along with hers, seeing and feeling the delicateness. Until they laced together as well as they could, her heart steady while his was beginning to race. His hand even trembled ever so slightly. He would have wanted to stay like that forever, had it not been for the fact that he was uncertain where they now stood. Where he stood in your eyes. What did this mean? 

Putting her other hand on his shoulder, she tried to conjure a smile. But it flickered out as she murmured, leaning into him, "Does this answer your question?" She had to stand on the tips of her toes, while his hand tightened in hers involuntarily, almost too shocked to bend down for what was coming. The one thing he hadn't accounted for in their meeting, not once—and it was happening. 

He seemed like he was going to stammer something, but her lips closed the gap and planted softly on his. 

There is no way.

There is no way this is happening—but I'm seeing it with my own eyes! 

Donnie lost all control the moment her lips pressed against his. His hand squeezed hers, shaking as his heart pounded in his chest. I'm shaking. Why am I shaking? 

His eyes which had been wide were now fluttering closed. For the better half of the kiss, every other thought beside the ones of her was ejected. He couldn't have pulled away, even if he'd wanted. He was hers completely. That was irrevocable.

It was only until she decided it was time to step back did they part, him looking at her entrancing face once more, and her swallowing heavily. That kiss had been something she'd dreamed of before. Never Knowing it would be held on the smooth, moist lips of a humanoid turtle, rather than those or a human man. In fact, she had to convince herself that she wasn't dreaming. Her hand slid down his shoulder and onto his chestplate. It was rough, almost possessing a grain under her fingertips. Her thumb rubbed the back of his hand. He thought he felt a tingle from the trail her fingers left. 

Donnie was on Cloud Nine for a solid minute before coming back to his senses. "That...I…" he struggled to find the words. For a brain that worked so fast, he felt utterly slow, then. 

She cracked a smile, face contorted into one of hope and a hint of embarrassment. "Is it too late to say that I've waited to do that for a while now?" she laughed. 

"N-no," he said, still trying to organize his thoughts. "No, it isn't."

"Okay, good," she replied with a relieved exhale. 

Her hand went from his chest to his arm, feeling the taut muscle as it traveled down. His hand enveloped hers while the other lifted, going to touch her cheek. "Does this mean…?" he trailed off. 

"It means I really, really like you, Donnie. I have since we played that game." 

He gently brushed her cheek with his thumb, "I really like you, too," he mimicked, voice soft. 

Maybe even that was an understatement. 

"I think I…" 

A noise nearby alerted him, and on instinct, he set her behind himself on defense. Don't be an attack now, of all times, he thought, listening closely. He told her to be quiet and to not say anything, using his forearm to gently push her back into the apartment. He pulled out his staff. 

"Sup dude and dudette!" an all too familiar voice beamed, the orange-banded turtle appearing hanging upside down from the balcony above. [Y/N] shrieked, and Donnie nearly bashed his brother in the head, sucking in a sharp breath as he accidentally backpedaled into her. Mikey waved and flashed a grin. "Don't worry, we didn't see anything...except for you two kissing, that was really unexpected!" He flipped down onto the balcony, and Donnie grumbled something, going in for a zap to his brother's plastron. Mikey dodged it, this time. Donnie tried again; unsuccessful. "Oop—saw that one coming," Mikey laughed, jovial. 

Donnie groaned, half-embarrassed and half-annoyed, "Mikey, what are you doing here?" 

Waltzing into her apartment, Mikey crossed his arms with a wink sent the human's way. "Michelangelo, wingman to the big special D right here," he introduced himself brightly, "but you can call me Mikey." 

Donnie slapped his hand to his flushed face, hoping that he was the only one who noticed Mikey's less-than-classy wording. 

"So you're all named after Renaissance painters?" asked [y/n], lifting a brow. 

Exhaling, Donnie stepped between them, "[Y/N], this is Mikey, my brother. The one that—" 

"Got you together!"

"—that got us into this predicament," he'd almost said, but he realized as Mikey said that, he owed their meeting all to him. It had all started with that talk they had had late that day, after patrol, and ended on her balcony, Donnie getting to experience a kiss for the first time. With someone he'd never imagined he would have ever been able to touch, let alone share something like that with. Yes, as much of a hassle everything up until that point had been, it was all thanks to Mikey. 

Donnie grinned, turning to his brother and draping his arm over the back of his shoulders. "Yeah, you did," he agreed. Mikey smiled as he looked down at him with fondness. He wrapped an arm around Donnie's shell in return. 

"You know it, brah. Oh, and I take cash or pi—" 

"Don't push it, younger bro." Donnie rolled his eyes. 

Waiiiiit a minute. 

Mumbling for [y/n] to hold that thought, Donnie, suspicious, crept over toward the balcony. "We"?

Mikey tried to make chatter with her while he did so, mentioning how he liked what she'd done with the place. 

He checked if the coast was clear first before leaning onto the railing on his shell, squinting his eyes. And he was not surprised at all to see Raph and Leo looking down at him from over the edge of the roof. Leo had his recognizable expression of: "You'd better wrap it up." Donnie drooped his shoulders and ducked back inside. Couldn't last forever, he thought. Despite whatever was waiting for him on the roof or at home, he could still smile on the day he'd had. He would be thinking about that kiss for weeks. 

"I guess it's bye for real this time," he told [y/n], sad to go what felt like so soon, but really was content. The night could not have gone better. "I have to, you know, go get flamed by my oldest brother. Probably."

"We'll be in touch, Donnie," she replied. "Um...text me when you get home? Just so I know you got there alright." 

Smiling, Donnie nodded. 

Mikey budded in, "Hey, don't forget about me here." 

Chuckling, Donnie headed for the door, taking Mikey but the upper arm along with him. They stopped one last time to waved to her before making their exit. 

Leo and Raph met the pair at the top. Raph was the first to speak, asking skeptically, "And yer sure this girl is alright?"

"Positive," Donnie answered with confidence. 

After a moment of trying to come up with some kind of remark, Raph let out a huff. "You got the nerve, I'll tell you that." He held out his fist ready for a bump, and when Donnie didn't immediately reciprocate, grumbled "Well? Don't leave me hangin', Don." Realizing what he wanted, Donnie went right in for the fist bump. 

Pulling away, Donnie asked, "So you're not mad?" He gave some space between himself and the incoming Leo. 

Raph scoffed lightly and shrugged. "I may not trust her, but I trust you," he responded, gruff as usual. "Just don't expect me to be all friendly and whatnot—I ain't doin' it." 

"You don't have to do anything, Raph." 

And then Donnie was face-to-face with Leo, who's intensely blue eyes were trained on him for a few seconds too long. Donnie wondered what he was thinking until he sighed, and then spoke. 

"I'm sorry." 

Behind Leo, Mikey was in awe.

"That's a new one," Raph chuffed. He left the circle to watch from the edge of the building. Mikey stuck around, but only far enough to be in ear shot. If something coming from Leo started off with a sincere "I'm sorry", he wouldn't miss it.

"Yes, you heard. I'm sorry," Leo admitted, bringing his eyes up from the ground. "I shouldn't have pressured you, Donnie. I know that you can handle yourself. I was just trying to protect you and our family," he explained, pausing to glance over at the other two brothers, "but…yeah. I'm sorry for pushing you, Don. I was kind of a jerk back there."

Deciding he didn't have any words good enough to say what he wanted to, Donnie simply pulled Leo in for half-hug, rocking him with him. Leo wore his lopsided smile as he gave Donnie's shell a slap. 

"That...was…" 

They stepped away from each other, staring at Mikey quizzically. 

"...beautiful, bros," he finished in a whisper. 

They stayed for a minute just watching the city go by, the clock ticking by later into the night. Donnie finally thought to ask Leo how Splinter was, because he definitely knew what was going down. He was a smart old man—and beside, Donnie had made no effort to pretend that wasn't what he was doing when he'd initially left. If Splinter knew, Splinter knew. He was still mildly afraid of Leo's response. 

"You want the truth?" Leo questioned, his expression briefly changing to one of a cringe. 

"I mean, I'd like to know what I'm in for," Donnie replied in an obvious manner. 

"He was angry, at first. Didn't know you left until he was done with his talk with Mikey. Also surprised that you actually went through with it. But, after that...he seemed like he understood, in a way, I guess. I didn't ask questions. You'll have to confront him about it yourself, because he just sent me and Raph out to get you." 

Donnie kept his eyes on the sidewalk below them, and the occasional person walking it. "And Mikey?" he asked, quizzical. 

"He insisted," Leo groaned. 

"You know I can't pass up an opportunity to see D get his first kiss!" 

"Oh, shut up, you had no idea that was gonna happen. You just wanted to go because me 'n Leo were goin'," Raph argued, flicking his head. "Weren't you supposed to stay in by Splinter's orders?" 

Mikey crossed his arms and turned away, "I don't have to take this abuse." He was, indeed, meant to stay behind. But the boy couldn't help himself. 

Once the banter died down, they were left contemplating whether they wanted to stay out a little longer, or if it was time to turn in. It had already been a long night, but in honesty, Donnie wasn't ready to go quite yet. He still felt as though he had so much to say to [y/n], but he supposed that time had already passed. At least until next time, if or when that was. Raph took a break from his lookout and sat next to Donnie with a grunt. He wasn't good with mush or sensitive things, but he felt compelled to ask "What're you gonna do now?" 

Donnie hummed in question.

"Well, she knows. And by the looks of things—erm—the look of one particular thing, you two are still goin' steady."

Ugh, they saw it. Donnie moaned, a cold flush coming over his face. I can't have anything private in this family.

Raph pushed him on his shoulder. "Ya shouldn't mack on someone by the doorway if ya don't wanna be seen," he jested.

"I don't know what's next, Raph," Donnie confessed. "We didn't exactly...make anything official after that."

Once they were back on the move towards home, they all dropped into the nearest manhole, but Donnie remained where he was, saying he would catch up to them. He was the fastest of the four, after all.

"I hope you're still awake," he mumbled to himself as he reached for his phone. They were close to home, anyway. And it was quiet. He typed:

"I'm almost home, [y/n]. All safe."

A couple of minutes later, she responded.

"Okay, that's good

Your brother is quite the character, by the way"

"He is who he is, lol"

"He seems nice though."

Walking down along the sewers, he took his time. What was a little longer after the night he'd had?

"Donnie, what were you going to say when Michelangelo interrupted us?"

He stopped in his tracks and thought, having nearly forgotten that he was going to actually say it. He didn't just like her—for the first time, he was sure he loved her.

"That I think I love you, [y/n]."

He regretted not saying it when he was with her, but he just couldn't wait.

There was a worrisome pause on her end in which he imagined she was staring at her screen thinking about how strong that came off, that it was uncalled for, that he was going too fast—

"I said I liked you

But that was not quite the truth

I love you, Donnie."

Golden-brown eyes sparkling, he let out a laugh, unable to contain his happiness, and the rest of the brothers smiled to themselves hearing the whoop of joy and excitement echo in the tunnel.

His adventure in love and friendship had started within a screen, but he was bound to it no longer. This was the opening of a new chapter in his life.

Tag list: @kokokatsworld @criminaly-supernatural @dianounais @spaceman-main @sheepdarkhours @raphaelsrightarm

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt x reader #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #donatello x reader #donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leo #tmnt mikey #tmnt raph #tmnt splinter #tmnt fanfiction #teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfiction #fanfiction

[mendespideys]

in need of saving | e.y.

pairing: eren yeager x reader 

warnings: mentions of fighting, swearing, blood, etc. it’s angsty

summary: eren’s emotions get the best of him and you’re his last hope. based on the line “you’ve been talking with your fists” from when you love someone by james tw.

a/n: this is my first ever drabble/fic/one-shot (whatever you wanna call it) of aot. my husband made me watch it, i became obsessed and now i am here putting my obsession into my writing lol. hope you guys like it. enjoy! 

also, to the people following me for marvel/sm content - i’m sorry lol

gif credit 

it was no secret that eren jaeger was slowly but surely losing it. maybe not losing it, but definitely losing his cool. and a lot more frequently than what everyone had deemed normal for him.

because it was also no secret that eren was known for losing it time and time again. everyone in the 104th cadet corps had seen the green-eyed boy pick a fight more than once - especially with jean. the two of them seemed to bubble with anger just at the sight of one another and no one really knew the real reason why. 

whether it was jean using what was definitely eren’s least favorite nickname he had ever gotten (suicidal maniac) or eren making a comment about the redhead being a coward - the two of them could barely get along on a good day. 

but, lately, everyone seemed to be getting on eren’s bad side. horse-face was no longer the only insult coming from him and it certainly was not the most cruel one that had slipped past his lips either. eren’s anger - or whatever it was - was no longer only focused jean. he seemed to be taking his feelings out on everyone. everyone except you. 

even the captain and the commander had been getting their fair share of snarky comments and attitudes from the titan shifter. while they were undoubtedly unable to hold their ground, eren was definitely crossing lines he shouldn’t have. 

and, so, you were forced into your current situation. 

“tch,” captain levi pushed himself off the table he had been leaning on. “the brat is out of control. while i have no problem beating the living shit out of him, i doubt more fighting is what he needs.”

hange nodded. “it seems he’s either too tired to heal himself or he chooses not to. his injuries are taking longer and longer to disappear. we have to do something before it’s too late.” 

before it’s too late. 

you shuddered. the thought of something happening to eren sent a shiver down your spine. worrying about him was like second nature to you and the only one who appeared to understand you was mikasa. 

“with all due respect, commander,” armin spoke up, his bright blue eyes studying the room before continuing. “we have all tried. he doesn’t want to listen to any of us. it’s pointless.”

a sigh fell from his lips, as a subconscious hand rubbed his bandaged shoulder. poor armin. even the innocent, genius best friend had been unlucky enough to experience eren’s wrath. 

“everyone but y/n.”

your eyes darted toward the mention of your name and you met captain levi’s steady gaze. you cowered under his intense stare, feeling other eyes on you as well. you cleared your throat, feeling a weird sense of pressure in the pit of your stomach. 

“i’ve tried, too,” you swallowed thickly, refusing to remember all the times you had tried to talk him. “i- he doesn’t want to listen.” 

“you haven’t really tried,” levi remarked. “the brat’s picking fights left and right. every little thing seems to set him off and you are the only one who can get him to stop. y/n, we all see the way he looks at you. eren might be humanity’s last hope, but right now, you’re his.” 

your heart was thumping in your chest. you had noticed the difference in eren’s actions toward you as well. the touches that lingered a little bit longer than normal, the longing stares he thought you never noticed, the way his anger practically melted away when his name left your lips... 

but to hear someone else confirm it aloud felt weird. foreign. because you had pushed those observations to the back of your mind, desperate not to over-analyze any of them. the two of you were just friends. 

a knock on the door startled you out of your messy web of thoughts. the door opened before either one of the superiors could give permission to do so, revealing a timid yet determined sasha. she addressed the whole room, but her brown eyes were on you. 

“um, sir, sorry to interrupt, but eren and jean are back at it again and i’m afraid neither one of them is stopping, sir.” 

no one seemed to notice the half-eaten potato clutched in her hand - or if they did, they chose not to mention it - as she saluted the captain and commander. you were already practically out of your seat before she could finish and the look from sasha that went unnoticed by everyone else certainly did not go unnoticed by you. 

you followed hot on her heels, your gaze fixated on her bobbing ponytail as she scurried through the hallways but your mind totally elsewhere. there was an uneasy feeling bubbling deep inside you and no matter what you told yourself, you couldn’t shake it. 

while eren did lack the ability to take control of his emotions and strategically plan out his next moves, his brute strength and impeccable hand-to-hand combat techniques made up for it. therefore, you were more worried about jean than eren, to say the least. 

so, to say you were surprised when you entered the field and laid eyes on the two was an understatement. the sight you had imagined and prepared yourself for was nowhere to be seen. instead, the one eren was injuring was himself. by the look of it, there definitely had been a fight between him and jean, but the latter was merely watching connie’s attempts at stopping the brunette. 

you came to a halt immediately, unsure of how to process the scene playing out in front of you. a trembling hand mutes a sob, which is now nothing more than a pained whimper as your eyes traveled up and down eren’s body, mentally assessing his injuries. 

his nose was definitely bleeding. this wasn’t an unusual sight as it tended to happened a lot during his early experiment stages with hange. but you weren’t prepared for the bruising that was already forming and there was no doubt in your mind that his nose was broken. 

his forehead was stained red as well, strands of his growing hair sticking to the sides of his face. it was impossible for you to appraise the extent of the damage as you were unable to determine the origin of the crimson liquid. 

everything seemed to happen in slow motion and too fast all at once. at the sight of the your group, connie’s attempts were replaced by captain levi’s with mikasa not far behind. hange made a beeline for jean, who was muttering frustrated nothings while rubbing his jaw. 

so eren had gotten a few hits in. 

a gentle nudge brought you back, once again, from the dark chaos within your mind. you met armin’s blue orbs, attempting to ignore the pure worry swimming within them. his eyebrows arched as a silent plea and you followed his gaze to where eren was wildly trashing against the captain. 

in any other situation, you would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. the captain’s height was a frequent talking point among your group and there was no denying how small he looked compared to eren’s towering frame. in any other situation, you also would not have bothered hiding how impressed you were with the captain’s ability to overpower the younger boy. 

“y/n-” levi warned, voice strained, as the bloodied boy continued to attempt resisting him. 

with a nod (to convince yourself or as a response to levi, you were unsure), your unsteady legs carried you toward the two of them. eren’s eyes were wild with determination, his nostrils flaring with anger. but you quickly realized when walking closer that there were a dozen other emotions pooling within his emerald orbs. 

“eren,” his name fell from your mouth with ease. skillfully, you maneuvered your hand around his flailing limbs, placing your palm on his swollen cheek. “eren, it’s okay. hey - stop, it’s okay, i’m here.” 

it was as if a boulder had fallen off his shoulders. his actions halted immediately and his entire body relaxed at the sound of your voice. you wouldn’t have believed the effect you had on him if you hadn’t just witnessed it. levi reluctantly let go of eren, still on stand-by in case the boy would try anything.

“y/n,” your name fell from his lips just as easily, his voice nothing more than a whisper. 

and just like that, he crumbled underneath your touch. you fell to the ground with him, ignoring the pain as your knees came in contact with the hardened dirt beneath you. bringing your other hand up as well, you trapped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. 

he didn’t try to look anywhere else. he couldn’t. the pained look he was giving you was almost too much and you resisted the urge to look away. his bottom lip was trembling, the slit in it leaking blood with every movement. you found yourself having to withstand the yearning to kiss the pain away. 

“eren, what’s going on with you?” you tried to maintain a steady voice but there was no doubt that everybody could pick up on the worry behind every word. “this is- you can’t keep doing this. you have done nothing but talk with your fists and you need to stop. you can’t go picking fights with everybody over the smallest things.”

eren didn’t respond. the mixture of dirt and blood - both dried and fresh - and the threat of nightfall made it hard to see, but the violent jerks of his body made it obvious: he was crying. your own tears fell as well as sob after sob raked through his body. 

“i can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” you swallowed down your own cries, your mind focused on nothing but helping the heartbroken boy in your arms. “eren, i need you to talk to me. please?”

“w-why? you shouldn’t- i’m a monster. a stupid good-for-nothing bastard. you- why do you want to help me?”

anger coursed through your veins. you wanted to beat the living shit out of whoever had made him feel this way about himself. they had absolutely no right. eren’s cries echoed in the twilight. you didn’t check if your comrades were still an audience. frankly, you didn’t care. 

“you want to know why? because you’re human. because you have the abilities you have. because i truly believe you’re one of humanity’s last hopes. because you deserve to have someone believe in you the way you believe in saving all of us,” you inhaled deeply, overcome with emotion. “because i love you.” 

eren’s sobs stopped just like that; as if they had an off button that you just pushed. the momentary silence - which felt way longer than you would ever admit - was broken by a sound somewhere between a shaky sigh and a surprised gasp coming from eren. 

you couldn’t bring yourself to regret your confession. you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse and definitely not any embarrassment. maybe it was due to eren also showing vulnerability or maybe it was because you had practiced said confession more than once. 

you didn’t care. he knew. he knew now and that was all that mattered. 

his eyes searched your face. you weren’t sure for what, but you assumed for a sign of wether or not you were speaking the truth. your features held nothing but earnest as you returned his analyzing stare and it seemed to satisfy his silent investigation. 

“i feel- it’s too much. too much pressure. i don’t know what i’m doing anymore. i’m not- there has to be someone else. i-i can’t do it... so many people. they’re all dead because of me. i’m not strong enough to-” 

the last drops of self-control you had were eliminated by his proclamation. while it might have been difficult to comprehend for some, you had understood every word and with each broken sentence, your heart ached more and more. 

eren’s disjointed admissions were halted by your lips on his. you didn’t know where your newfound confidence had come from but you were grateful for its presence. his lips molded against yours almost instantly - so effortlessly. 

you ignored the taste of iron just as eren ignored the stinging from the cut on his lip. while the kiss was nowhere near being sexual, it was definitely more than just a peck. your lips moved together in pain and understand and love and relief. 

unwillingly, you pulled away. suddenly aware that you more than likely still had an audience, the fresh evening air felt good against your flushed cheeks. the two of you remained silent, attempting to revert your breathing patterns back to normal. 

eren rested his forehead against yours. you were sure sasha could practically hear the way your heart was stammering in your chest. and if not, eren definitely could. with each thump, your chest tightened and you were sure that if human bodies had not been designed with rib cages, your heart would have been long gone. 

your thumb caressed his cheek, his fresh tears smearing with the dried crimson in the process. a gust of wind took ahold of the few pieces of hair framing your face. eren gingerly grabbed the loose strands, tucking them behind your ear. he had done so countless times before, but something just felt different this time around. 

“i love you, too,” he whispered, the previous insecurities long gone from his voice. he had never spoken truer words. 

you smiled. “let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? and i think you might owe someone an apology.” 

eren’s limbs ached and although he didn’t want to admit to that, his body betrayed him. he had just barely stood back up when his trembling legs buckled. he prepared to meet the cold ground and the pain that would ensue, but a pair of hands caught him before it happened. 

you were just as surprised as eren appeared to be as levi attempted to steady him. it seemed the captain hadn’t ventured far. hyper aware that he probably had heard every word shared between you and eren, you didn’t dare meet his eyes. 

you sprung into action immediately, moving to eren’s other side. he winced as you navigated his arm around your shoulders, causing you to sputter out apologies while doing so. captain levi’s amusement didn’t go unnoticed by you or eren, but neither of you decided to comment on it. 

with you and captain levi both being significantly shorter than eren, supporting his weight was easier said than done. after some trial and error, though, the three of you were able to move almost seamlessly. 

eren’s strength was wavering by the second, you could tell, but he had enough left to come to a halt when you neared his most recent victim. you met jean’s eyes, hoping he could sense how apologetic you were. he confirmed with a nod then turned his attention to the boy who seemed to be getting heavier and heavier in your arms. 

“i’m sorry, jean, i-i honestly don’t even know... i’m sorry.”

“what? no ‘horse-face’?” the redhead chuckled, almost sadly. you realized that they had already cleaned him up. “don’t worry about it, eren. you did more damage to yourself than me anyway.” 

jean placed a hand on eren’s arm that was thrown over your shoulder. the interaction was brief but seemed to mean a lot to the both of them. then, they nodded and jean walked back toward the remainder of the group. sasha and connie were both saying words to him that you couldn't hear. 

you could feel the distressed stares that armin and mikasa were both sending in your direction. you gave them a nod, promising that their childhood friend was okay. he would be, at least. you had already made it your mission to ensure it. 

as you and captain levi hauled eren toward his dorm, the severity of the situation began feeling heavy on your shoulders. eren had definitely broken more than a few rules and you were sure captain levi would make sure he was punished for his insubordination. 

you weren’t entirely sure you would be off the hook either. sure, you hadn’t broken rules or gone against direct orders, but you hadn’t exactly abided either. captain levi could easily find a reason for why you should receive punishment as well and no one would even question it. 

captain levi’s steel eyes followed your every move as you opened the door to eren’s room, you could feel it. it didn’t feel like his typical burning glare but you couldn’t quite place your finger on the emotion behind the action either. 

as if sensing your thoughts that were now moving a hundred miles a minute, a groan came from eren. you watched them both quietly as captain levi managed to plop eren down on the chair you had placed next to the bath. another groan escaped the green-eyed boy and you could tell he was exhausted and in pain.

“captain, i’m-”

“tch. save it, brat. we have all been there and if they haven’t, they will. i’m surprised it took you this long. you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, kid,” levi interrupted, turning his attention toward you. “y/n, i trust you’ll take good care of humanity’s last hope. i’ll see the both of you at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“i- yes, sir.” 

captain levi left without another word, leaving you and eren alone for the first time all day. you suddenly felt hesitant, unsure of what to do next. eren’s grunts of frustration filled the silent room as he began - well, tried to anyway - removing his tunic. 

you swatted his hands away gently, removing the article of clothing with ease. you had seen eren’s bare body before but you were still just as awestruck. this time, though, his skin was littered with scrapes, cuts and bruises of almost every color imaginable. you swallowed the urge to yell at him. 

the silence continued as you washed his body ever-so-gently. once you had been able to get him into the tub, that is. more than once, you had to momentarily stop your actions to check if eren had either fallen asleep or passed out. 

every time, his eyelids would flutter open instinctively, as if missing the warmth of your touch the second it disappeared. his green eyes would widen until they landed on you and he would relax, his lids falling shut once again. 

the silence wasn’t uncomfortable; it was filled with unspoken words of gratitude and affection. the two of you enjoyed it to the fullest - maybe even a little too much. reluctantly, you stopped running your fingers through his brown locks that never seemed to stop growing. 

eren didn’t protest when you told him it was time to get out despite how much he wanted to. he also didn’t protest and tried his best to help when you began putting a change of clothes on him. he didn’t protest when you whispered it was time for bed, either. 

he did protest when you attempted to take your leave, however. 

“stay,” it was a soft plea that pulled on your heartstrings. “please?”

and, so, you climbed into bed with him without hesitation. he nuzzled into the crook of your neck so quickly that it seemed like second-nature to him and was asleep within minutes, his soft snores the only sound within range. 

well, you had definitely broken rules now. but you decided that eren sleeping next to you was more than worth whatever form of discipline captain levi could ever devise. you would handle whatever it was with pride if it meant you could stay like this forever. 

/ / / / / 

ok, um, this didn’t exactly go where i had envisioned it to but i’m not really mad? idk. i had to put some levi x eren in there bc i live for their mentor/mentee relationship. if you made it this far, please send me some asks and let me know what you thought 🥺

#aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren jaeger x reader #reader x aot #aot x reader #levi ackerman #armin arlert #mikasa ackerman #sasha braus #sasha blouse #connie springer #jean kirstein #hange zoë #reader x eren jaeger #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x y/n #eren yeager x y/n #snk x reader

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (5)

(The next update is here! Feel free to check out the mini series connected to this fic called Journal Entries. I will warn anyone who checks it out that I’m probably not going to continue the entries, though.)

Ch.1 / Ch.4 / Ch.6

Chapter 5: Late Night Visits

Felix idly watched the elevator light flicker from circle to circle as he reached the top floor. He tugged lightly at the green color of the shirt that Marinette had given him, preparing for his mother’s overbearing questions. She’d been trying to get him to wear something other than his suits for at least a year. When she saw him in this attire, she was going to have a fit.

Felix blew out a sigh. Normally, he would have changed back to his other clothes by now- Mme Sabine did an excellent job of cleaning them and tucking them into his bag, neatly folded -but Marinette told everyone that they could keep their outfits. After an offer like that, it seemed rude to change. 

The elevator emitted a soft *ding* to inform him that he’d arrived on his selected floor, and Felix drew in a deep breath, watching the golden-colored doors slide open. Here it comes.

The family penthouse was shrouded in darkness, save for the flames that flickered in the fireplace of the open living. It cast a soft, orange glow on the furniture and floors, and in the midst of the distorted dimness, Felix could make out his mother lounging leisurely on one of the light blue couches. It wasn’t unlike her to keep the house lights off while he or Father was away. She claimed that it helped think and relax. 

When the elevator doors rattled closed, his mother sat up from the couch and turned to him, her eyes bright and curious. A part of him hoped that she couldn’t spot his new outfit in the darkness, but that hope was quickly dashed as she hopped up with a gasp.

“Oh my goodness!” She exclaimed, sounding like a child on Christmas morning. Felix barely had time to set his bag down before she got to him, pawing up and down to study the fabric. He briefly wondered how a woman who wore six inch heels could move with such speed and agility.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness! Is it my birthday? Are you really my son? What happened to your old clothes? I thought you were going to visit Marinette’s house!” She flicked the lights on to get a better look, and Felix squinted as his eyes adjusted.

“Yes, I’m really your son,” He replied firstly, taking a step away from her incessant touches, “And I did go to Marinette’s house. That’s why I needed new clothes.”

Bridgette frowned, both at his step away from her and his comment. “What happened to your old clothes? Did Claude spill something on them again?”

“You could say that Claude was the Catalyst, yes.” He grumbled, the memory of Claude’s mocking laughter flicking through his mind. 

“Well, where are your other clothes then? Should I call M. Bernarde over to clean them?” 

Felix shook his head and gestured to his bag on the floor. “No need. Mme Sabine has already taken care of it.”

“Mme Sabine?” Bridgette parroted curiously. She knelt down and flipped over the brown, leather flap to pull out the clothes.

“Ah. Marinette’s mother.” Felix explained. “She insisted that I refer to her as ‘Mme Sabine’.” 

A smile graced Bridgette’s lips as she stood, tucking Felix’s clothes in her arms. “That’s very sweet of her.”

Felix nodded and knelt down to grab his bag as well. “M. Tom and Mme Sabine both have an uncanny resemblance towards you when it comes to their behavior.”

“Oh?” Bridgette’s eyes narrowed with amusement. “So what I’m hearing is: Marinette’s parents are wonderful people.”

Felix chuckled, flashing her an indulgent smile. “Of course, Mother.”

Bridgette grinned and ruffled a hand through his hair. “I definitely raised you right. Do you want some tea? I can make some while you go change. I know that’s not your usual preference of clothing.”

Felix hummed at the offer, reaching up to touch his collar again. “Tea sounds nice, but I think I’ll keep the outfit.”

It was already ten o’clock at night. If he were to change into anything, it would be a pair of pajamas, and he wasn’t in the mood for that yet. There were still things that he needed to jot down in his notebook before settling down for the evening.

Bridgette’s eyes bulged out of her head. “You mean you actually like the outfit?”

Felix shrugged. “The clothes are comfortable. It might not be my usual attire, but it’s also not unbearable. Besides, going up to change now would only be a waste of energy.”

Bridgette placed a hand on her hip and breathed out an incredulous laugh. “If I had known that going to Marinette’s house was all it would take for you to break your ‘suits’ streak, I would have you sent you there ages ago.”

Felix playfully rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be happy that I dress well? Father’s quite pleased with it.”

Bridgette clicked her tongue, setting his clothes on the dining room table next to them to cross her arms. “Yes, that’s because your father is just as uptight as you are. You both need to loosen up a little.”

Felix chuckled. “Where is Father? I thought he was supposed to be home tonight.”

“He’s up in his study.” Bridgette answered, tilting her head towards the stairs. “There’s an important meeting at the bank tomorrow, and he wanted to prepare.”

Felix nodded. That was understandable. “What kind of tea are you going to make?”

Bridgette perked up at the reminder and spun on her heel to head towards the kitchen, her cream-colored dress flowing around her legs with the action. “I was thinking of Iron Goddess, but is there something different you might want?”

Felix shook his head as he followed behind her. “Iron Goddess sounds marvelous. I haven’t had that in a while.”

Bridgette moved to the stove and turned it on. Then she pulled out her flower-decorated kettle and set it on the burner. Felix stood next to her, quietly watching her pour the needed amount of water into the kettle. 

“So tell me how Claude managed to ruin your clothes for the twentieth time.” She said after a moment while handing Felix the dried, tea leaves.

Felix took the tea leaves and fished out a measuring spoon to scoop the accurate amount. “Twenty-second, actually, and I’m not entirely sure what happened.”

One moment, they were trying to put flour on the dough. The next moment, the flour was on them. Not the dough. He remembered everyone coughing up flour, and the white clouding his vision as the substance floated around the room. He remembered Claude laughing and Allan sighing in defeat when he finally got hit. Allegra had pinched the bridge of her nose at one point, undoubtedly asking herself what she would do with all of them.

Then he remembered Marinette’s face, flushed from embarrassment, as she scrambled to take the flour bag off of him, and her giddy smile, moments later, as she threw the bag onto Allan. 

“M. Tom was teaching us how to make croissants.” Felix said, starting at the first thing he could clearly recall. “When he left to deal with an unruly customer, Marinette attempted to take over the lesson. Unfortunately, she didn’t anticipate Claude’s tumultuous mannerisms.”

A laugh escaped Bridgette. “Can anyone truly prepare for Claude?”

Felix shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen.”

He tipped his measuring spoon into the infuser, letting the leaves fall into it. Then he reached across the stove and dropped the infuser into the kettle.

“Claude inevitably spilled a fourth of their flour bag onto himself and Allegra, and when Marinette went to fetch more for the rest of us, she tripped. I tried to catch her, but the flour bag was too heavy to handle. So we both ended up falling and getting covered as well.”

Bridgette snorted. “How chivalrous of you. It’s nice to know you’re fond enough of Marinette to try to help her when she needs it.”

“I didn’t do anything special.” Felix said, a twinge of irritation stirring in the back of his mind. She acted as though he let people fall in front of him on a regular basis. 

..of course, he did watch Claude land face first into the cement one day without so much as twitching. But in his defense, the brunette had been pushing Felix to the limit that day. He thought it only fair to let the boy suffer a little. 

“Anyone decent would have done the same thing.” Felix added, referring back to Marinette’s trip.

Bridgette nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true.. So you’re saying you’re not fond of her, then?”

“No, I-” Felix cut himself short, realizing what he was about to say. 

It’s not that he disliked Marinette. She was a kind-hearted person and, as of right now, hasn’t done anything to displease him. But for some reason, the word ‘fond’ sounded.. too strong. Too incriminating. 

His mother’s bubbly laughter broke him from his thoughts.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m only teasing. I know you enjoy Marinette’s company.” She said, lightly tapping her fingers under his chin. The assurance didn’t appease Felix in the slightest. In fact, it only birthed a new form of discomfort. Why did the thought of enjoying Marinette’s company make him squirm? Wasn’t it normal to enjoy someone’s company once you were around them for a while? 

“So how did you get the new outfit?” Bridgette inquired next. “Did you have to stop baking and go on a last minute shopping spree?”

“No, Marinette had plenty of outfits.” Felix answered, gladly accepting the subject change. “It was quite impressive. She’d told us that she was a fashion major, but I didn’t realize that she was actually making clothes at this moment and time.”

“Wait, what?!” Bridgette blanched, her eyes blowing wide as she straightened. “You’re telling me that she made those clothes? The ones you’re wearing right now.”

Felix barely managed a nod before Bridgette swooped down to inspect his clothes all over again.

“You’re kidding!” She gasped, feeling over the seams and fabrics. “You didn’t tell me that she was a fashion designer! And a talented one, no less!”

“Didn’t I?” Felix replied, subtly leaning away from his mother.

Bridgette shook her head. “No, you didn’t! You’ve told me that she’s a new student who got in on a scholarship, that she lives in a bakery, that she’s clumsy, and that she’s somehow anxious and level-headed at the same time, but I’ve never heard about her aspirations towards being a fashion designer.”

“Huh..” Felix mumbled. The fact must have slipped his mind earlier. “Well, that’s how she attained the scholarship. She’s majoring in fashion. Claude, Allegra, and Allan all got outfits from her as well.”

“That’s incredible..” Bridgette muttered. “She must really be something.”

Felix nodded, being inclined to agree. No one got an early scholarship to Rosemary Highschool without having an immense amount of drive and talent. The clothes he wore now proved that.

A sharp whistle cut into their conversation, and Bridgette swiftly moved back to the stove to turn it off. She then grabbed two mugs from the counter- one deep green and one deep blue -and poured some of the scalding liquid from the kettle into both cups.

“So what happened after everyone changed?” She asked, getting back to the original topic.

“Nothing much.” Felix admitted. He took the dark green mug that Bridgette offered him with a ‘thanks’ before adding, “Marinette took our clothes to Mme Sabine for her to wash them, and the rest of the visit was spent playing video games or talking.”

“Did you play games as well?” 

An involuntary snort left Felix’s lips, and he shook his head. “Certainly not. I looked around Marinette’s room instead.”

“Oh?” His mother scooted closer to him with a sly smile, the same way she always did when she expected to hear something ‘juicy’. “Did you find anything interesting?”

The treasure chest of birthday gifts resurfaced in Felix’s mind, along with the card that he’d found.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” He lied. It wasn’t his place to disclose such things, especially when he hadn’t been told directly about them. Felix wanted to learn more about Marinette, not share her private life with the world. “She seems to have quite an obsession with the color pink, though.”

Bridgette laughed. “Really? How bad?”

“Well, it’s not as bad as your infatuation with sky blue,” Felix said light heartedly, “but it still covered almost everything in her room. I was shocked that her hand-made outfits weren’t all pink as well.”

Bridgette hummed. “You do need to have some variety in the fashion world. Otherwise your clothes will become bland and predictable.”

She took a small sip of her tea and sank against the counter, reveling in the warmth it provided. 

“So how do you think Marinette’s fairing in the group so far?” she asked after a moment.

Felix took a sip of his own tea as he mulled over his answer. “She certainly knows how to hold her own. Allegra and Claude have already pledged their loyalty to her, claiming that she’s family even though we’ve only known her a week.”

“You think they’re rushing things?”

“I think they’re impulsive and rash as always.” Felix shrugged. “Marinette can be a great asset to our group, but that’s hardly a reason to devote themselves to her.”

Intrigue flashed in Bridgette’s deep blue eyes. “So you think she can make the group better?”

“Currently, yes.” Felix responded. “The way she interacts with each of us brings a strange sense of balance to the group. She adds this splash of color that we’ve apparently been lacking.”

It’s something he’s noticed often in the past week. Marinette will listen intently to Claude’s stories and ideas, therefore sedating his chaotic atmosphere. She’ll compliment Allegra’s styles and discuss compelling topics with the blonde, easily satisfying the girl’s need to dig up controversy and drag it to light for the sake of a good argument. She’ll even share looks and teasing comments with Allan, praising him for his photography skills and giving him the constant validation that causes the boy to smile just a little bit more. Her routine of asking Felix’s opinion and actually taking it into consideration admittedly soothes his ever-rising temper as well.

In a way, she kept them grounded, and that was something that their group desperately needed if you asked him.

“Wow~” Bridgette sang, taking a long sip of her tea. “That’s a lot of praise coming from you, Felix.”

Something turned inside Felix’s chest at the comment, and his grip on his mug tightened. Why did he feel as though he had been caught for something? Nothing he said had been untrue. 

“I’m merely stating observations.”

“Of course.” Bridgette muttered into her cup, an air of amusement in her voice. “Observations.”

Felix narrowed his eyes at his mother. Her sly smile told him that she wasn’t quite agreeing with him in the way that she said. Almost like she was insinuating something or knew something that he didn’t. Bridgette was known for drawing irrational conclusions, though, so he didn’t dare ask what that something was. Felix simply took another sip of his tea and continued telling her the smaller details of his visit. 

~~~~~~

Evening in Paris, a time where the streets are empty and the lights are full. The city of love always had a way of illuminating the night sky with its abundance of lanterns and street lamps. Couples could often be found strolling along, enjoying the romantic atmosphere, but tonight, company was scarce. Only the occasional car divulged the fact that the drowsy town was not quite asleep. 

Chat Noir didn’t blame the civilians for staying inside. The frigid month of January was tolerable in the morning, but at night, the frosted winds had no mercy. He tugged up his scarf to compensate for the chill that nipped at his cheeks and nose, and although it did little to help, he continued skipping across the rooftops. Nathalie would be checking on him in roughly an hour to make sure he was asleep. That gave him roughly thirty to forty-five minutes to get to Marinette’s house, convince her to transfer back to Dupont, and get home. 

Well, he didn’t expect to convince her fully- Marinette can be extremely stubborn -but he could lay the groundwork. For example, if Chat Noir could figure out why she left, maybe Adrien would be able to fix it. 

The balcony came into view a few minutes later, and Chat Noir picked up the pace. Using his alter ego to snuff out information wasn’t something that he put to practice often, but all attempts to talk to Marinette as Adrien so far have failed, and he couldn’t wait for his schedule as a civilian to open again. 

His feet landed on the Dupain-Cheng rooftop, but the ice on top of it caused him to slip. He let out a yelp and threw his hands forward to claw for support. The high pitched whine that came from his gloves when they caught on the ice made him wince, but it was better than falling off the edge of the roof. He scrambled upwards to safety, blowing out a sigh of relief as he found Marinette’s window. That was close.

Now that he had steady footing, Chat Noir stole a peek into Marinette’s bedroom. The last time he came to her house uninvited, it was while she was sleeping, and that did not end well for him. Therefore, he’s started checking whether she’s ‘ready’ for him or not.

Marinette buzzed around her room, a bright smile on her lips as she gathered empty soda can, cups, and plates. Why were there so many drinks and plates? Did Marinette eat that much or did she have someone over earlier? If she did have someone over, then who would it be? Everyone at Dupont was still grumbling about her supposed misdeeds. Did someone finally come to their senses and apologize? 

Chat Noir perked up. This was great! If she’s reconciled with one of her old classmates, it would be that much easier to sway her in his direction.

Fueled by a fresh spark of hope, he climbed up to Marinette’s balcony. The coolness of the metal railing seeped through his gloved hands as he grabbed it, but he hardly cared as he swung himself over. His padded feet hit the wooden floorboards without a sound, and he knelt down to knock on the trapdoor.

“I can’t believe how much fun today was!”

His knuckles faltered in the air at the sound of Marinette’s voice. She sounded positively giddy, which was nice, but who was she talking to? He didn’t remember seeing anyone in the bedroom with her. Were they sitting outside his viewpoint? Should he come back later?

“When everyone got covered in flour, I thought the rest of the night was going to be horrible, but they looked like they had a good time.” Marinette continued, oblivious of her eavesdropper. 

Chat Noir frowned slightly. ‘Everyone’.. Did more than one person come over? How did they get covered in flour?

He shook his head and checked his baton for the time. 10:20pm. If he was going to talk to her, it needed to do it now. 

Tentatively, he knocked on the trapdoor, hoping beyond all hope that she was making a simple phone call. Marinette would be ticked if he came over, uninvited, while she had someone else visiting.

Her idle chatter immediately ceased, and Chat Noir shifted nervously on the floor. Please be alone. Please be alone.

His ears twitched to the sound of movements. Footsteps were making their way across the room. Then up the first ladder to the loft. Then up the second ladder to the balcony. Then-

Marinette pushed her way through the trapdoor, offering him a warm smile. “Hey, Chat! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here. How have you been?”

Chat’s shoulders sagged in relief. It’s been forever since he’s seen that wonderful smile. “I’ve been okay. Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” Marinette held the trapdoor open long enough for Chat to grab it and started climbing back down the ladder. “I was just cleaning up from having my friends over.”

So she did have people over! 

“Which friends?” He asked, trying not to sound too eager as he climbed down the ladder behind her. Could it be Alya? They were best friends, after all. Or Nino? He was always skeptical of Lila’s tales. Oh! What if it was Nathaniel? Chat remembered the red-head having a soft spot for Marinette a while back. Or what about-

“My new friends from school!” Her enthusiastic reply shattered his hopes, and Chat Noir froze, the trapdoor rocking shut above him. She had.. new friends? Already? She’d only been gone a week or two..

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I transferred from Dupont to Rosemary!” She added, completely oblivious to the bomb that she’d just dropped on him. It shouldn’t surprise Chat that she had new friends, since Marinette was amazing, but..

“What about your old friends?” 

Marinette shrugged, dumping a few soda cans into the trash bag that lay in the corner of her room. “Oh, you know. Lila’s been rallying them against me for a few months now. I figured that wasn’t good for my mental health or my education, so I decided to leave.”

Guilt festered in the pit of his stomach, and Chat Noir cast his gaze to the side. He understood where she was coming from. Lila hadn’t been making life easy for her as of late. 

“Do you miss them?”

“Nope!” The answer was immediate and cheerful, and it shot a knife right through Chat’s heart.

“There’s not a single part of you that wants to go back?” He persisted. School had been difficult for her with Lila’s lies. He got that. But it still hurt to know that she was willing to throw them away like they hadn’t been friends for the better half of two years. 

Marinette shook her head, shoving the imagined knife deeper into his chest. “If they wanted me to stay, they should have treated me better.”

“What if they’re sorry?” He asked, probably faster than he should have. “What if they missed you and wanted you to come back? Wouldn’t you forgive them?”

Weren’t friends supposed to work things out? 

A sigh fell from her lips. “I don’t know, Chat. No one’s even apologized yet. Even if they did, I’m not sure that I’d want to go back?”

“Why not?” Chat all but yelled in exasperation. If everyone apologized, that would mean no one was upset with her anymore. The problem would be gone! So why would she want to stay away from them?

Marinette frowned at him. “If I go back to Dupont, it’ll only show them that their actions don’t have any real consequences. They need to learn that they can’t just treat people however they want.” 

Chat Noir didn’t respond, because what could he really say? She was right. He knew she was right. You can’t rage against someone day after day and expect them to take it. Even so, he couldn’t help wanting her back. They needed her. He needed her.

“Why are you so concerned about this anyway?” Marinette inquired, breaking him from his thoughts.

Chat Noir managed a sheepish smile. “N-No reason. I just don’t want you making any rash decisions is all.”

Marinette eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, I don’t think it’s rash to get out of a toxic situation, but why don’t we change the subject? Do you want to play games? I can bring up snacks if you plan on staying long.”

Chat Noir pulled out his baton to check the time. 10:40pm. Drat.

“Actually, I should get going.” He replied, slipping on an apologetic smile. “Patrol and all that.”

Marinette gave an understanding nod. “No problem. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Thanks for having me.” Chat Noir said with a small wave. He then clambered back up the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor. The freezing air hit him full force, but he didn’t have time to be skittish. Nathalie would be coming to check on him in twenty minutes, and that didn’t include the possibility of her coming to check on him early.

He shut the trapdoor behind him, making sure it was tightly closed. (Just because he had to get frostbite didn’t mean that Marinette had to) Then, Chat Noir swung himself over the railing, slid down the Dupain-Cheng’s rooftop, and started homeward.

He’d wanted to change Marinette’s mind about Dupont, but in the end, he was the one who had his mind changed. With Lila running about and spreading lies, it wouldn’t be fair to ask her to return. However, if his classmates were too.. say.. change their ways and learn to appreciate Marinette, she might be inclined to come back. All he had to do was convince them that Lila was a liar and that Marinette was an actual angel, and he would start with apologizing. What the school Marinette said she transferred to? Rosemary? Yeah, that’s it. Rosemary.. Wasn’t that the prestigious school for rich kids that Father almost sent him to? How did she manage to enroll there? He thought the tuition was supposed to be extremely expensive.

Chat Noir shook his head slightly. How she enrolled at that school didn’t matter. What mattered was that that’s where she’ll be most of the day from now on, and as soon as he got even a second of free time as Adrien, she will be the first person he sees.

Tag List:  @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas

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

[josefavomjaaga]

Metternich on Napoleon’s family

This is taken from “Mémoires, documents et écrits divers”, Vol. 1:

Napoleon had a great weakness for his family. There is no doubt that many of the sovereign' s moves were due to the desires of his brothers and sisters.

Not all members of this too large family were equally ambitious, however. Napoleon's mother loved only money. Neither her mind nor her tastes led her towards social advancement. She had an immense income, and, without her son's precise orders, she would have thought only of investing her funds. When her children took the liberty of ridiculing her extreme thriftiness, she said to them: "You don't know what you are doing; the world does not always go in the same direction, and if you all fall on my hands again, you will be grateful for what I am doing today.

In 1814 Madame Lætitia had amassed a large sum of cash, which she had buried in a hiding place covered by the portrait of her late husband. The fact, and the place where the treasure was deposited, were denounced to Napoleon, who went to his mother and had the money removed. She may have taken with her from France a fortune of about six million francs.

I never knew either Joseph or Lucien Bonaparte personally, so I cannot express an opinion on their behalf. Napoleon had a favourable opinion of Lucien's mind, but he never ceased to accuse him of excessive and misguided ambition.

In an interview which Lucien had with his brother in Milan, he offered as a token of reconciliation a declaration by his wife giving, of her own free will, the assurance that she did not wish to impede her husband's fortune. The Emperor, on leaving one of their conferences, said to the people gathered in his anteroom: "Lucien does not want to give up his little rascality; he wants to prove to me that he has a hard head, I will prove to him that I have a harder head than he has. - And there was no further question of mending fences from then on. It is indeed known that in consenting to leave his wife he insisted on the recognition of his children. His conduct in 1815 provided the true measure of the severity of his republican principles.

Napoleon has often depicted Joseph to me as a gentle man of character and spirit, but incapable of undertaking a career which would require vigour.

Louis was placed in the family like an outsider. Injustice alone could have found fault with his moral character.

Jerome was gifted with a lot of spirit. The depravity of his morals, an exalted vanity and his mania for imitating his brother in every way, covered him with ridicule.

Two of Napoleon's sisters were remarkable for their wit, the third for her great beauty. Elisa, the eldest of the sisters and at the same time older than Napoleon, had a male spirit, and in character as well as in figure a great resemblance to her brother. Ambition was her dominant passion, and had not the low extraction of her husband, Baciocchi, and the latter's complete lack of intellectual faculties been an obstacle to it, there can be no doubt that this branch of the family would have risen to a high fortune. Of the three sisters, this was nevertheless the one who had the least power over Napoleon, who feared her and knew how to resist her.

Caroline combined a lovely appearance with an uncommon spirit. She had studied her brother's character thoroughly and was under no illusion as to any of his faults, nor as to the risks which his fortune ran as a result of his excessive ambition and domineering spirit; she also knew perfectly well the weak sides of her husband, and she would have led him, if he could have been led.

Aww, Clemens. Still fuming over 1814/5, are we?

Murat was only a soldier, but a soldier of the Revolution and endowed with a certain instinct for domination which I have always seen as the prerogative of the Jacobins. Caroline had great power over her brother's mind, and it was she who held the family together. Her ambition was to create for herself and her family an existence placed as far as possible beyond the reach of Napoleon, and even beyond the chances of his fortune, a fortune which she judged to be compromised by every excess arising from his insatiable lust.

Pauline was as beautiful as it is possible to be; she was in love with herself, and her sole occupation was pleasure. Of an affable character, gifted with an extreme benevolence, Napoleon devoted to her a feeling different from that which he bore to his other parents. He cited her as a unique example in the family. Pauline," he often told me, "never asks me for anything. The Princess Borghese, for her part, used to say, "I do not like crowns; if I had wanted them, I would have had them; but I have given up the taste for them to my relatives." She had a veneration for Napoleon which approached worship.

Josephine had exercised a long reign over Napoleon; she was gifted with a benevolent character and a peculiar social touch. Her mind was not great, but it followed a good direction. Her excessive taste for spending often led to painful explanations between her and her husband. It would be unfair to put any of the failings caused by Napoleon's ambition on her shoulders. If she had been able to do so, she would undoubtedly have stopped the wagon onto which, however, she had contributed directly, in the beginning of his fortune, to place the future Emperor.

Gifted with more wit and a far greater measure of ambition, his daughter Hortense never ceased to play a part in Napoleon's career. He loved her, and his condescensions for her were the cause of perpetual and active jealousies between her and her sisters-in-law. More than one friction in Napoleon's personal situation and even in the course of business was due to this cause.

Cardinal Fesch was a singular compound of bigotry and ambition. A devotee in good faith, he was not far from seeing in Napoleon an instrument of heaven and an almost supernatural being. He believed his reign to be written in the book of fate and regarded his deviations as decrees of God.

Napoleon knew all the individualities of his family, and he did not conceal from himself the fault he had committed in abandoning himself to the spirit of domination and the insatiable greed of some of them.

He said to me one day, in 1810, on the occasion of a long interview in which he had just told me the story of his life: "I have obscured and hindered my career by having placed my relatives on thrones. One learns by walking, and I see today how wise and necessary is the fundamental principle of the ancient monarchies, to keep the princes of the ruling house in great and perpetual dependence on the throne. My relatives have done me much more harm than I have done them good, and if I had to do it all over again, my brothers and sisters would have palaces in Paris and a few millions to spend in idleness. The fine arts and charity would have been their domain, and not kingdoms, which some do not know how to run, and in which others compromise me by parodying me.

Napoleon was careful to place a man of confidence with each of his brothers and relatives. The fortune of M. Decazes dated from the position he held as secretary of the commands of Madame Laetitia.

There’s so much I would love to answer to that, dear Metternich ... But mostly I find it rather funny to hear Napoleon go all judgemental over other people’s ambitions. Particularly as he had to coerce both Joseph and Louis to even accept their crowns, and as he did not even succeed with Lucien.

Also of note: Both of Napoleon’s adopted children, Eugène among them, are not even listed as “family” here.

@joachimnapoleon: I think the first two volumes of Metternich’s published papers might be of real interest to you!

Clemens Wenzel Lothar Prince de Metternich: “Mémoires, documents et écrits divers”

Volume 1

Volume 2

#napoleon #napoleon's family #bonaparte family #joseph bonaparte #Louis Bonaparte #Jerome bonaparte #madame mere #elisa bonaparte #pauline borghese #caroline murat #hortense de beauharnais #josephine bonaparte #josephine de beauharnais #uncle fesch

[chusui00]

Have A Little Faith

Word Count: 1,783

Summary: You are at Lady Danbury’s evening ball, which is the perfect opportunity to find a potential suitor so that you can finally settle down. But of course, it’s not as easy as it sounds. You’ve found yourself standing far away from everyone else, and just when you think tonight will be fruitless, your childhood friend, Anthony Bridgerton, changes all of the thoughts inside your head.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Tonight was the night where I needed to do a little flirting with men I have never personally met, and hopefully, I’ll impress them with my charms. That’s if they would gauge their attention onto me instead of whatever they wanted to boast about.

Mama practically talked my ear off when we were upon arriving Lady Danbury’s estate, but Richard distracted her with the topic of his new fiancée like the eldest brother he is. I still hadn’t thanked him for his act of bravery, although, that could wait for when we were in the carriage.

In my mind, I ventured on about whether or not he would be at the ball. The last time we’ve met was nearly three days ago when our families agreed to have a picnic in celebration of a newborn baby coming into the world. As much as I enjoyed engaging in social encounters, I had been more comfortable with reading alone in my room.

But alas, he persuaded me to join everyone outside where we could eat and share jokes under the warm sun together. Since then, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his shoulder brushed against mine more than enough times to call it accidental.

The man even offered to feed me a sandwich and delectable piece of scone he had already bitten into. Luckily for the two of us, our families were too immersed with doting over the aforementioned newborn baby to realize what we were doing.

Viscount Bridgerton, informally known as Anthony or Bridgerton by both family and close friends. I was not exempt from the latter formalities, although, I’ve always wondered what my life would be like if I had not crossed paths with him.

He is everything and more when Lady Whistledown wrote about him in her society’s paper last Tuesday. And to be quite frank, he needed to work for what he wanted rather than let it fall into his lap.

It seemed unfathomable the way he charmed his way through women of the ton while simultaneously rejecting them. I found it entertaining to see the crestfallen faces of girls my age, but am I to blame for their naïveté?

Anthony Bridgerton is a Rake through and through, which I can say with the utmost certainty because I am his childhood friend.

Now, don’t get me wrong. He loves his mother and siblings in place of his late father, and he is very passionate in regards of his interests. That includes women who have a pretty face and have given him an unforgettablely good time.

But this did not excuse the trail of broken hearts as well as tearful confessions behind the Viscount. Although a bit discouraging for someone who harbored feelings for the man, I always kept a smile on my face whenever we had a conversation with one another.

Anthony was extremely well-versed in politics, social skills, and the economy. There were times when I tested him on a popular topic in the papers, which as expected, he excelled.

I should not be thinking about the past at this hour. Everyone around me was dancing, drinking their glasses of champagne, and looking for someone to court. Letting out a deep sigh, I brush off a speck of invisible dust from the hem of my dress.

That’s when I see him, politely making his way through the crowd to go to where I am. A silent panic breaks my former calm demeanor, and I quickly stand taller to seem more presentable. It does not go unnoticed in the slightest, thus Anthony chuckles behind a hand then he stands before me in his handsome glory.

“Good evening, Miss Willows. How are you enjoying the ball so far?” There’s a mischievous glint behind those mesmerizing brown eyes, but onlookers would mistake it as a completely different emotion. “Hello, Lord Bridgerton. I’m much comfortable standing on the sidelines rather than dancing the night away. Thank you for asking, my lord.”

He shakes his head with amusement, and he finds my honest reply to be of a different mood compared to the other young women. “Then you shan’t refuse my offer to dance the night away, Miss Willows.” I furrow my brows in confusion and not a moment later, I’m swept onto the dance floor.

I’ve not the chance to process all that has happened, but Anthony keeps me focused on him and only him. He lowers his head to whisper words of encouragement, and I flush like a rose when he sneaks a kiss on the apple of my cheek. It’s too much for me to understand why he chose me instead of any other woman he wanted in the ball room.

“I’m relieved to see that you’re not stepping on my feet, and how beautiful your smile glows, Miss Willows.” I’m temporarily rendered speechless as to why he’s suddenly being quite the gentleman towards me. If it weren’t for the bystanders, he and I would be playfully bantering nonstop about the most random things we could think of.

“Anthony, tell me, what’s gotten into you? I appreciate the change of attitude, but it’s not the Bridgerton I know.” He’s unresponsive for a minute, then two. I can feel his grip on my waist tighten and the subtle action to bring our bodies closer. I’m not sure how I should react, but I needn’t say anything at all when he spins me around.

“My mother wants me to find a young lady to court because she’s tired of me being a bachelor for most of my life.” “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised because she’s right.” I’m quick to give my reply, and he briefly glares down at me. “Oh, come now, Anthony. Even Lady Whistledown knows about your spectacular reputation and preferences.”

“Yes, but that’s all she knows about me, y/n. I just don’t think I’m capable of settling down with a family of my own in the near future.” The song comes to an end, and we bow before walking together for some refreshments. I say my hellos to several couples, single lords, and some of my friends when we come across them.

“That is a lie because from my knowledge, you’re the spitting image and exact replica of your father, Anthony Bridgerton.” “Y/n, I’m grateful to have met an extraordinary woman like yourself, but sometimes you get on my nerves.” That stabbed me right in the heart. Alright, perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned his late father, but he didn’t have to be so harsh.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you can marry whoever you want to, but you’d most definitely choose a woman with the same personality as yours.” I watch him take a swig from his wine glass, and then he points it at me. Narrowing my eyes as I brace myself for possible humiliation, he sets down the glass and takes my hand to drag me off to someplace other than where we were now.

I won’t lie when I say that I was nervous yet excited to find out where he was taking me. Benedict, Colin, and Eloise all looked our way then at their mother, and I could tell that they had connected the dots. It was a good thing that Lady Bridgerton found her happy place with alcohol, otherwise she would’ve stopped Anthony in his tracks.

We eventually reach our destination, which so happens to be one of countless rooms that was conveniently far away for anyone to hear. Don’t tell me... “Anthony, what are we doing over here? Shouldn’t we be with all those people, and dancing the night away?”

No answer from my captor. He seemed to be in deep thought, and I scoffed in disbelief. I most certainly did not want to spend the rest of my time on my friend, especially when he wouldn’t tell me why he brought me here. “Look, I came to this ball to find a suitor. If you won’t answer me, then—“

Before I knew it, his lips were on mine. The hand that was once squeezing my waist found its rightful place, and the other gently brushed my hair back. I fluttered my eyes closed, letting myself melt in his embrace as we kissed with a fiery passion I knew that had always been between us.

A few moments later, he pulled away then buried his face into the crook of my neck. I felt him inhale then exhale, as though he was trying to control himself from doing something I hadn’t done before. “I want you, y/n. But only if you’ll allow me to court you. We have gone through thick and thin in our childhood, and I want nothing more to continue for the rest of our lives.”

The Viscount Anthony Bridgerton was asking for my consent to be courted, and I would be delusional to reject his confession. I’ve never seen him so sincere and vulnerable like this before, and it made me giggle. He must’ve thought that I was going to refuse his offer, but I snake my arms around his neck then kiss his soft lips for reassurance.

“I’ve never thought you would ask, Anthony. But this means no more secret meetings, alright? If I hear an inkling about you being where you’ve told me you wouldn’t be at, then I’m ending things. Am I clear, Bridgerton?” He swallows thickly and nods, so I’m rather grateful that my warning has gotten through.

I bring my hands to cup his face, and I now see how much he adores me the way he relaxes against my touch. Unfortunately, we’ve been gone for far too long, but I don’t doubt that he’ll come up with a reasonable excuse to his worrying mama.

Anthony kisses the top of my head before taking my hand and leading me back the way we came. I intertwine our fingers to which he brings up to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “It might be too soon to say this, but I absolutely and undoubtedly love you, y/n Willows. I promise to cherish you for as long as I am going to live.”

It takes a bit for me to absorb the sudden declaration, but I’m not complaining whatsoever. All that mattered was that we shared equal affection for one another, and we were willing to work for a bright, lovely lifestyle ahead of us. “And I wholeheartedly love you, Anthony Bridgerton. You are mine for eternity,”

Some might say that we were too inexperienced when it came to love, but we ignored their opinions. Like my mama used to tell me when I was a child, “Have a little faith.”

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #romance

[binniesthighs]

two tails | reader x minho |

Two 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho 

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff 

Tags:  neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, coworker!hyunjin, florist!jisung, punk!jisung (yeah boiiii), agedup!skz, slow burn, plot-driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food, passive body shaming 

Word count: 5.5k (y e e t we love self indulgence) 

Tagging: @lauraneuuh​

Chapters 

P | ONE | TWO | THREE

busybody noun 

:an officious or inquisitive person. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

There are a couple things that your mother is known for--or rather, a couple things that she has been deemed. 

Mother, wife, friend, matriarch, socialite, unofficial event planner, gossip, show off, professional nagger, and, to certain people, bitch. 

And yet, somehow your mother was intertwined with some of the most prominent circles within the city, and she knew everything about everyone’s business. Frankly, she often didn’t have anything better to to with her time. ” If she had any job at all, it would be calling you every weekend to give her opinions on your rather “less than auspicious” life choices. 

To her, another one of your “less than auspicious” life choices had to do with the way that you had dressed yourself; however little sense this made. 

Your mother sipped at her tea with dainty fingers, barely cracking with age due to her expensive hand creams. 

“Quickly. Go get changed. We don’t have much more time and you’re dallying. It should fit you, just as long as you haven’t put on any more weight.” Her hawk-like gaze inspected your hips and thighs. “Hmm. I think you’ll be fine.” 

Seungmin, where he sat on the couch with perfect posture tapped his feet up and down with discomfort. 

I hate you for doing this to me, he glared at you with despair, hiding it behind the wide smile he performed for your mother. 

“What? Do you not trust me to be alone with your friend here?” 

Your best friend nervously chuckled out in that little puppy-like way that he would. “What? Ahh no, I’ll be fine, go on Y/n, I should be leaving soon anyway, I was just stopping by.” 

Your mother’s eyes followed you up your staircase, watching for the very moment that you closed your bedroom door. The second you did, her snide voice hissed out loud whispers, undoubtedly drilling Seungmin about the usual questions: are you married, where do you live, what’s your profession, what does your family do etc. 

The little metal zipper of the pencil skirt pinched your fingertips as you attacked it up your body. Once again, your mother had underestimated your clothing size. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes looking at the tags for the designer matching skirt and blazer ensemble. There was nothing in your mother’s life that didn’t denote the status that she “worked so hard for.” 

In a way, you hated that you had done this to Seungmin as well. Initially you had thought that having some kind of male presence over when your mother arrived would deter her stabbing remarks about your singledom, but in fact, it has just made it worse. For once in your life, you just wanted to hold something over her. Now, you’d likely traumatized the best friend that you had. 

You nearly slipped on the carpeted stairs in your nylon stockings on the way down, but held fast the the banister, looking a bit like some kind of sad, business-casual, plastic-looking prom queen. 

Seungmin’s eyes widened seeing you in the toning skirt. Likely you knew that he must’ve been keeping his jokes to himself the very best that he could--you wouldn’t hear the end of it later. 

“Wonderful. Let’s get going.” Your mother set down her teacup with a clink. “I’ve got some cosmetics in the car that you can use as well. We’ll be stopping off at the flower shop before we get to the venue. I’ve ordered an arrangement for the bride-to-be.” 

“I feel like a China doll.” You muttered under your breath, catching a little laugh from your friend. Your eyes met as if to ask him if he was okay, which he rolled his eyes as his answer. 

You put on the only pair of kitten heels that you owned: they were brown, banged up and the pleather was cracking a little at the edges. Of course, your mother let out an exasperated sigh upon seeing them. 

“I’ll bring shoes next time.” 

Seungmin politely opened the door for the both of you and the spring morning’s sun washed your face in it’s warmth. The morning was perfect: the exact kind of day that you would spend in your garden writing or reading on the single-person porch swing you had just installed. Dew still held to the Kelly green blades of grass and your cherry blossom tree bowed a little in the breeze. 

“Well, it was nice meeting and speaking with you Seungmin--” 

“--We’ve met before thou--” 

“--You seem to be a strapping and organized young man. I do hope that you consider what we discussed.” 

Seungmin appeared to flush a little, “I-I’ll think about it.” 

You tugged at your friend’s shirt, pulling him in to whisper, “What the hell did she talk to you about?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes fluttered around nervously. “She just kept going on about how she wanted me to--”  

“--Oh, Y/n!” 

From your mother’s surprised expression on the other side of the car, to the way that Seungmin stopped dead in his sentence, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to. 

Your body turned around in slow-motion, hoping that this must have been some kind of nightmare, and that you hadn’t woken up that morning yet and were cozily still tucked in bed. 

If it would have been socially acceptable, you would have hidden behind that car until he walked away, but it was too late considering he already knew you were there. 

Your mother let out some kind of ungodly squeal before rushing towards Minho and taking his hand in hers to shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you! I take it that you know my daughter? And who might you be, such a handsome man as yourself???” 

You really did contemplate hiding behind that car. 

It was unfair how you had to run him into at a time when he looked like that. Your mother was nearly eating him with her eyes while Minho looked to you in his confusion. 

Of course when your mother had to see him, he was fresh off of his morning run: white cotton sleeveless shirt, running joggers, a thick headband with sweat dripping down his body in rivets from his forehead to the curves of his toned arms. 

Life was just too fucking unfair.  

“Minho!” Internally, you crawled so far into yourself it was like you were barely there. You squeaked out the words coupled with a poorly-timed voice crack, “I didn’t plan on seeing YOu here!” 

“Minho?!” Seungmin echoed your phrase, grabbing onto your arm with force. 

“Uh, hello, nice to meet you I’m Lee Minho. And yes, I do know Y/n, I actually live a couple doors down--” 

“--A neighbor! How wonderful! I know she doesn’t leave the house that much, but I’m so glad that the two of you have met. Do you live your family..? Or...your wife...?” 

He smiled warmly, polite as always, “No Ma’am, I’m not married, I live with my mother.” 

“Your mother? Well, that’s very honorable.” 

You and your best friend locked eyes upon hearing the answer to the question that both of you had been silently wondering. 

With a little eyebrow raised, he gave you a smirk, before braiding his hand through his locks strung with sweat. “I also live with my cats too.” 

“Cats?” Your mother tried her best to hide the distaste in her mouth. “That’s...honorable as well. Taking care of animals is...hm, well, Y/n get in the car, time is ticking!!” 

Your mother’s shrill voice was clipped by the sound of the car door closing behind her. You and your best friend choked in silent laughter together. 

“Are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?” You patted down your itchy grey blazer. 

Seungmin nodded, “Do you want me to tell you the truth? Not your colors. But, you’ll just have to live with it.” 

“I think that you look nice.” Minho’s compliment melted into your skin like honey. “But I agree, the colors don’t work the best. Sorry.” 

“Oh. Thank you...” Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry! God, I’m-this is Seungmin, my-my friend Seungmin, sorry I didn’t introduce you both, my head is just--” 

“--Nice to meet you. Finally.” Seungmin’s expression turned a bit more stoic, a stark contrast to his softer features. 

“Nice to meet you as well.” 

“Okayyyy, well, I’ll just...get going then. See you both...later.” 

Seungmin slammed the door behind you, leaving you with your huffing mother in the car. 

“All of these handsome men around you and you can’t lock down one? I can’t believe you...” She threw her makeup bag on your lap. “I’ll play matchmaker if you want me to, I don’t mind, but you know that I have a lot going on already--” 

“--Haven’t you already started? Don’t pretend like you didn’t tell Seungmin something. Seungmin is my friend, mom.” 

“I just don’t get you. Aren’t you ever a bit sad that you don’t get invited to things like this since you have no female friends...?” 

“Honestly? I don’t really care--” 

“--You should. Thank God that you have me.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

The front windows to the floral shop winked in the morning sun and the gold lettering of the signage glistened with a similar glow. On the display, there were several dozens of different types of flowers all arranged into different glass vases, tied with bows or swaddled in burlap. The arrangements of roses, chrysanthemums, peonies, daises, sunflowers and other wildflowers appeared to be freshly cut, and beaded with water droplets. 

“Here. Take my card. If any of them seem to be brown at all, tell them that you won’t pay until they fix it.” 

You took the little plastic card from her red painted nails. “Will do.” 

There was a little bell hung over the shop door, and it tinkled when you entered like fairy chimes. The entire place seemed a little magical: the kind of place that you would find yourself reiterating in your writings. On the marble tiled floors, flecks of dirt seemed to gather in the grout. 

The golden brass counter stretched on for nearly the whole length of the shop, and held a display case which doubled as a cooler holding smaller things like corsages and boutonnières. 

“Can I help you?” 

The man approached you wiping the dirt off of his hands onto his canvas apron which was stained with smudges of green and brown. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the tattoos adorning his arms in beautiful patterns of black with muted colors of yellow, lavender and pink. They were nearly all floral in design and reminded you of the drawings from a botany book. His shaggy dark hair had a bit of a curl to it that tasseled over his eyes. His smile too was devastatingly charming, decorating it was a black hooped lip ring. 

“Here to pick up an order?” 

“Y-yes, for L/n.” 

“I just finished that one up, lucky for you.” He palmed through the little stack of receipts near the register. “I’ll go get it real quick.” 

It was criminal how fast you found your heart beating after hearing how strikingly soothing his voice had sounded. You also found your head spinning over how familiar he seemed, like someone you had met before, but couldn’t place where. 

He had brought the sizeable arrangement over, and upon seeing it, you knew that your mother must’ve asked them to pull out all the works. Not only were flowers like this a bit of an unusual bridal shower gift, but it was just one more way for her to show off. The moment that the two of you would arrive with that, heads would turn, and that was exactly what she wanted. It was so large, you had to crane a little to see the florist behind it. 

“That’ll be 360.” 

Never had you been more thankful to pay for a gift with someone else’s money. 

When you passed him the card, you noted the little scrapes up and down his hands and forearms, looking a bit like cat scratches.

“It’s the roses.” He chuckled. “This job is a lot more dangerous than you would think.” 

“Oh.” A heat in your cheeks rose along with his observation of you. 

“Beautiful day isn’t it?” He tapped at the register, then nodded to the sunlight streamlining in from the windows. There were little rainbows speckling the store from the prisms hung above the displays. 

“I-it really is.” 

Your eyes wandered to his nametag which looked like he had decorated with hand-drawn stars. Jisung. Once again, he caught your eyes, slyly rolling his tongue over that black hoop. 

“It’s the kind of day that makes me wish I wasn’t cooped up in here and doing something else; going somewhere else. You seen the cherry blossoms yet?” 

“I-I have one in my yard.” 

“Oh really? It’s my favorite time of year because of them.” 

His smile was a bit in the shape of a heart, and the way that his eyes smiled along with it was just as charming as the rest of him. 

Blaze. 

He was Blaze. 

Quite literally, never in your life could you have said that you had felt your heart skip a beat, but, you imagined that there’s a first time for everything. 

He scribbled down something down on the receipt, handing you both the card and the slip. 

“Have a good one, ‘kay?” 

Had it been socially acceptable, you would have slapped yourself square in the face, right then and there, to snap yourself out of your awe. 

“Yo-you as well.” 

It was a miracle you didn’t drop that expensive-ass floral arrangement getting out of there as fast as you did. 

“What took you so long? People will start wondering where we are.” 

Your mother said a couple more chastising remarks, but they faded away once you looked at the crinkled piece of paper on your hand: 

I hope to see you again, Blossom. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“Y/n!!! Oh my god, I am so happy to see you. I’ve been decaying, simply drying out in this office all by myself.” 

You swatted your melodramatic friend by the backside of his head, subsequently ruffling up his perfectly primped long, blond hair. 

“Shut up. You’re surviving just fine without me.” 

Hyunjin lowered his voice into a rather loud whisper, “Everyone here is just so boring.” 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting ‘Jin. It’s a publishing company, all we do is read here. You kind of did it to yourself too. Hell, you edit the children’s books!! You don’t have a thing to complain about.” 

“Are you sure that you can’t take an office here? We could eat lunch together, make coffee together from that broken-ass coffee machine, and bitch about Mr. Yoon together. By the way, what are you doing here anyway besides not seeing me?” 

“Picking up a couple manuscripts. I finished the ones from before.” 

“You’re inhuman. I don’t know how you get through 300+ pages over a weekend.” 

You shrugged, “It’s just what I like to do, that’s all. And, no, I will not be taking an office here, not when I have my classes too.” 

“Aren’t you the perfect symbol of adulthood.” Hyunjin pulled up for you the creaky plastic office chair from the empty desk next to his.

“Tell that to my mother, I think she’d have a different oponion.” 

“Screw your mother--and you can tell her that I said that too.” Your coworker fiddled with his white collar, pulling it from his neck. You knew how much he hated those and would have much rather preferred the silky low-cut ones which had become his trademark. 

“If only it were that easy.” 

“How’s Princess Bomi doing?” 

“My cat or the story?” 

“I was talking about the story, but sure, tell me about your cat too.” 

Hyunjin was a sarcastic little shit, but that was why you loved him. Seungmin tended to be the same sometimes--you surmised that perhaps you made the same type of people gravitate towards you. 

“It’s been pretty well received actually, and I think I’m just about done with the first book, there’s probably only a few chapters left. I just passed 8,000 reads.” 

“Wow, that’s actually...really impressive. I mean it.” 

When he wasn’t being a sarcastic little shit, Hyunjin was actually a genuine friend. He had been supportive of your writing ever since he forced the information out of you a few months ago after seeing a your chaotic notes mixed in with your manuscript ones. Of course, he had laughed at the prospect of you naming your main character after your cat, but he understood otherwise. 

“You’ve been getting good feedback?” 

“Mmhm! They really like Bomi as a character, that, and it seems like Blaze has some fans too...” 

Upon saying the same, the boy from the flower shop sneakily crept back into your head along with that stupidly Blaze-like smile of his--or at least, the smile that you had always pictured Blaze to have. 

Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Earth to Y/n? Where did you go?” 

“Huh? Oh sorry, I think I just got...lost in thought.” 

“I said I think that you should really consider brining it to the company. What if they want to publish it? I think that it’s worth a shot. You said yourself that its successful online. What makes you think that people wouldn’t be interested in the print version?”

“I--Hyunjin, Princess Bomi is kind of a personal thing...” 

“--Why do I even bother!” In his mock disgust, Hyunjin crossed his flabbergast arms against his chest. “I’m only trying to give you a helpful suggestion.” 

Above the two of you, the florescent white lights bore down on you with a harsh luminescence. 

“But--” You shyly picked at the hem of your blouse, “I could use your help with something else.” 

“What?” 

“What do you suggest that I wear...to meet someone’s mom?” 

Hyunjin practically leapt out of his chair and three feet into the air. 

“YOU’RE MEETING SOMEONE’S MOTHER?! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!!” 

“Get your ass back down in your seat.” You whipped your head around to see your coworkers concerned glances. “Yes, I am.” 

“Thank God that you asked me. This is a serious matter.” 

“I can’t exactly ask Seungmin...so...” 

“Don’t you worry! I know exactly what you can do. So,” His voice turned sing-songy, “~What’s he like~ And how come you didn’t tell me about this sooner??” 

“-Because I knew that you would have this exact same reaction.” 

“I promise I’ll calm down, okay, go:” 

“Well, he’s my neighbor, and I’ve only met him a few weeks ago, and he’s got cats, and he’s really sweet and not to mention hot as well but in like kind of a... cozy, librarian kind of way? Anyway, he wears cardigans--and you know that I’m a sucker for a good cardigan--and I’m convinced that the universe is trying to get me to destroy him but, that’s beside the point--” 

“Slow down slow down! Literally all of the words you said just now don’t make sense together.” 

You wheeled your chair closer to the man across from you, “And then he asked me to meet his cats and his mom or maybe just his cats or his mom, he was kinda unclear about that now that I think about it...” 

“So he’s hot and has cats, hmm, sounds right up your alley.” 

“I-I guess.” 

“Are you sure he’s not, you know, trying to be neighborly?” 

You punched Hyunjin’s arm so hard you jiggled your glasses on your face. “Don’t ruin this for me.” 

“Sorry I brought it up! Ok, ok, I think I know what you should do. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you bag this sexy librarian man?” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“I sure as hell hope that you’re not trying to be neighborly.” 

You smoothed down your freshly ironed blouse: a floral pattern with birds, something “light and springy” just as Hyunjin had recommended. The pleats in your trousers were in shape as well. He had suggested too that you tied your hair up, something about it being professional and “dateable.” 

Bomi sauntered up to you while you inspected your outfit in the full-length mirror. Her gorgeous green eyes were squinted after her day-long nap, and she yawned while she brushed up against your leg. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure Bomi?” You bent down to pat her head, which she promptly shied away from. “You think that this looks good? Mother-worthy?” 

Bomi blinked. 

“Thanks for your input Bo.” 

Another yawn. 

Your nightstand held your little jewelry tree, and from it you took a dainty silver necklace that hung just above the neckline of your blouse, as well as the thin tan wristwatch that you wore once in a blue moon. 

The watch face read 5 o’clock exactly.  

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit!.” 

Bomi scrambled out of your way as you flew around the room trying to find a matching pair of socks. You stopped one more in front of the mirror. Your mother’s words always did find a way of seeping back into your skin like poison. Even if you had looked “nice” a nagging voice deep down echoed: “you’ve only ever been less than auspicious. Why don’t you ever change that?” 

“Screw your mother.” Hyunjin had said. 

If it only was that easy. 

Your footsteps clomped down the stairs, and you threw on the same pair of kitten heels. 

“Shit. The gift.” You slapped your forehead, cursing your horrid memory. 

“And don’t forget to bring his mother something. A gift. Something small but thoughtful. Something that she can use. Mothers eat shit up like that.” 

You frantically searched your entire home for something that resembled a gift. After a few moments of searching, you had resolved to go without it--you’d explain that it was in the mail, or misplaced, or anything but the fact that you didn’t have one. You grabbed your humorous amount of keychains on your keys, eyes catching that little box of complimentary chocolates from the bridal shower.  

“Good enough.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

One more time, you checked your reflection in the glass door leading to Minho’s mother’s townhouse. 

“This is fine, you can do this. Don’t screw this up, you’re fine, you’re fine.” 

Minho opened the door, looking as confusingly adorable and downright gorgeous as you had grown to know him as. This time, he had ditched the cardigan for a sky blue sweater that still pooled at his palms. Seeing how casually he had dressed, you instantly felt overdressed, and made a mental reminder to cuss out Hyunjin when you got the chance later. 

“Come in,” He gently ushered you to the spot where you switched on shoes for slippers.

“You-um, look really nice.” Minho pushed up his glasses up his nose bridge, “Really pretty.” 

“Th-thank you, um, you too.” 

He snickered, “No one has called me pretty before.” 

“Shit, Sorry, that was weird, sorry, I’m just kinda...nervous.” 

“No, not at all, I don’t mind. I appreciate the compliment.” 

You stood at the doorway, awkward silence permeating the air. Suddenly, you remembered the chocolates in your hands. 

“Oh, this is for you and your mother, I thought I might as well bring something over...” 

Minho took it from you, and you prayed that he wouldn’t think too much of the packaging that just looked a little too wedding-y. 

“Thank you for this.” He popped the box open excitedly, “What kind are they?” 

It took a couple seconds, but you watched in horror as his expression turned from thrilled to deeply confused. 

“What is it?” You craned your neck over to see.

“Are they...supposed to look like that?” 

Inside of the little plastic compartments, each of the chocolates had melted into blobs pathetically and swirled together making one huge, brown, melted--and then solidified again--chocolate mess. 

“Oh my god.” Your throat felt as tight as a knot in your embarrassment. “They’ve...” 

Minho hurriedly closed the box. “It’s okay! Don’t worry about it.” He tried the best he could to suppress his laughter. “It’s still about the same.” 

“No it’s not.” You whined out the words. “Don’t let your mother can’t see them, oh shit, oh shit.” 

“What happened to them?” 

Your horrid memory suddenly let you remember the fact that those chocolates had stayed in the car after the bridal shower when you had gone to visit your mother’s home. 

“Nothing good, just-hide them--” 

“Minho? Is that Y/n? Is she here?”

“--Hide it, quick!!!” 

Minho shoved the box behind a large houseplant, still hiding his laughter caught in his throat. 

“Ahhh Y/n! It’s so good to meet you at last! I’ve heard so much about you!” 

You greeted Minho’s mother with a bow, throwing the box of chocolates a disdainful glare. She was a gentle looking woman who appeared to be a little older than your own, or,  perhaps the same age. You wouldn’t be surprised if your mother had paid enough to procure the elixir of life; sounds like something she would have done. 

“I’m so happy to meet you as well. Thank you for inviting me in.” 

“Minho!!” His mother nudged his arm, “You didn’t tell me how pretty she was.” 

Your cheeks flushed with heat when you gave another little bow in thanks. “Your home is really lovely too.” 

“Oh, it was all Minho’s idea, I’m just the one that did the cooking. I’m always happy to cook for a neighbor.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ve got a couple more things to prepare, Minho, you go show her the cats, I’m sure that she’d like that--I hear that you have a cat too?” 

You nodded. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?” 

“No no, you both go on, I’ll handle this.” 

By each passing moment, this all started to feel a bit more like a playdate than an official meeting of one’s mother. Here you were, a grown woman, and you had gone over to someone’s house to play with their cats. Maybe you weren’t as much of a grown woman as you thought you were. 

“Over here.” Minho guided you to the living room: it was a modest one with furniture that looked to be very old, with beautiful traditional pictures of landscapes with assorted baby photos hanging on the walls. Everywhere, there was little pieces of evidence of the residence of cats: cat toys, scratching pads, a couple cat carriers and the cat tree nearest the window. At the top tier of the structure, there was a white and orange cat lazing with a foot slung over the side. 

“Doongie?” You carefully approached the furball to pet it’s tiny paw. 

“That one is Soonie, I have two cats that look a bit similar. Doongie is probably somewhere strange. You never know cats. Mine really like hopping on top of the china cabinet; it scares my mother half to death” 

“I can imagine.” 

Soonie remained unbothered, little cat body peacefully sleeping. 

“Over here is Dori, the youngest one.” 

Dori was a bit striped, with a grey body and a white belly. The smaller cat was rolled up into a perfect cinnamon roll on the loveseat. The cat stirred hearing it’s name, and keened into Minho’s touch when he scratched its head. You copied the touch, and Dori granted you the same permission. 

“You cats are so sweet...wanna trade?” 

“I...think that I’m good with the cat’s I’ve got. But that is a tempting offer.” 

Making a rather loud appearance was Doongie, who ambled into the room with a series of loud yowls and meows, looking up to both you and Minho with striking yellow eyes.  

“Doongie!” You crouched down to give the cat scratches under it’s chin, making it purr slightly. “Did you miss me? I hope that you’ve been staying out of trouble.” 

Minho’s gentle brown eyes observed your interactions with his cats, simply letting you play around with them as you wished. Every once and a while, you could catch his eyes following you with a contented little grin on his face.

There was something so domestic and comforting about the whole scene. Inside the townhouse that felt well loved and with the smell of a homecooked meal in the air, there was something so peaceful about it all that was a little foreign to you. 

“Minho! Please come help me with the bowls!” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎ 

Crickets chirped along the pathway and into the spring’s chilly nighttime air. Minho had offered to walk you home, even though you were just two houses down. Because of this, it seemed as if the two of you were walking in slow motion, taking one step after the other as slowly and carefully as you could. Absentmindedly, you both wanted just a little more time. 

After spending the night being on your best behavior, you felt as if you could finally breathe. Granted, you had grandly spilled soup all over Minho’s mother, but this seemed to diffuse quickly once she had laughed raucously at the event. She was a sweet woman, with a kind soul, much like Minho. Her lightly wrinkled face shone like the sun and made you feel loved even without knowing her much. 

In many ways, you wondered what it would be like having a mother as such. It was likely however, maybe you just weren’t supposed to know. 

Minho cast his gaze up to the sprinkling of stars spread out over the vast sky: most of them invisible due to the closeness to the city. 

“You know, I’m starting to really like living out here, in the suburbs I mean. Everything in the city was so fast and chaotic, it’s nice to sit back and let things be still for a while.” 

“You don’t miss it?” 

“Not as much as I did. The city...holds a lot of memories for me; some of them I’d rather forget. Being out here feels like a new start.” 

The two of you stopped near the light coming from your porch. In the soft glow of yellow, coupled with the gentle navy blue tint of the night, Minho looked ethereal--perhaps even a little fairy-like. 

You cursed out your writer brain for thinking of your little made up world at a time like this when you had this boy, real, in front of you. 

“I had a nice time with you tonight.” Minho shoved his hands into his pants pockets with a cute little smirk. “I think my cats are a fan of you as well, so, that puts a good word in for you in my book.” 

“Me too. Thank-thank you for inviting me.” 

“Next time, we should do something different, I heard actually that there’s a meteor shower in a couple weeks.” 

“Wait, next time?” 

“Or, we could do something sooner if you’d like.” 

“You want to do something else? With me?” 

“Yes you, who else would I be talking about?” Minho capped his sentence with a little snicker. 

“S-sorry, I just...don’t understand...why would you... I mean, I don’t do too much besides kinda hide in my house with my cat...there isn’t really a lot of things interesting about--” 

Minho squatted down, sweeping something off of the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he had put it in your hair that you had realized he had taken one of the cherry blossoms from your tree to tuck it behind your ear. His head titled slightly as he admired the decoration, fingers lingering by the side of your cheek for a moment. 

“I disagree.” He hushed, barely saying the words louder than a whisper. “Even though you you tent to get yourself into...situations--not that I mind anyway, you are special. Hell, and I haven’t even known you that long. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” 

Had it been socially acceptable, you would’ve kissed him right then and there. 

If only it were that easy. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Chapter 25 

There Blaze was, standing, simple, cuts on his face and that little scar on his eyebrow twitching. The campfire illuminated his eyes with the flames, creating that brazen fire that he had gotten his name from. 

Bomi knew him well. In fact, she thought she had known him better than most--a fact which she selfishly kept to herself. Blaze was everything she had known for the past year or so, and the time had interwoven their paths in ways that she had never expected. Before her was a person who knew her too, perhaps better than she knew herself. 

Blaze’s callused hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing over her own battle scars. 

“If you’ll not have me, please know Princess, you are the strongest warrior, bravest leader, and wisest friend that I have had the pleasure of knowing. I’ll stay by your side until I breathe my last breath.” 

With a shaking hand, Bomi took Blaze’s hand resting on her cheek. She memorized the way that his skin felt on hers, making a million silent wishes that she knew would never come true. 

“You and I, we both know that fate would have other plans for us...I’m sorry.” 

Bomi turned from the warmth of the campfire, and the way that his eyes held hers. 

She wished a million wishes, and he was nearly every one one of them. 

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids drabbles #stray kids oneshots #stray kids imagines #lee minho fanfic #minho fanfic #lee minho imagines #minho imagines #skz minho fanfic #skz minho fanfiction #stray kids smut #skz smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop imagines #kpop drabbles #kpop oneshots #lee minho x reader #lee minho x your #lee minho x y/n #lee minho smut #minho smut

[seungminotes]

Broken Noses and Potted Plants (pt.1)

w.c. ~2k

warnings. some cursing I believe, gender neutral (please notify me if anything suggests otherwise!)

desc. high school au, love triangle w/ student body president! seungmin and reckless and lazy! jisung

a.n. hello! I am getting back into writing! this will be part of a series updated weekly, for now please enjoy part 1 and tell me if you're liking it? any and all feedback appreciated.

For someone as lonesome and timid as you, Kim Seungmin was what you'd call your savior.

Him being Class President and the longest standing place holder of the first rank of your grade, you would think he was the solitary and studious type of person. No one would think such a straightforward and driven student was so popular and well-liked as he was.

You being only second to him, knew it was difficult enough to balance academics with a few simple extracurriculars, imagine having a social life on top of that, it made your head spin.

And yet, somehow Seungmin managed to do it all. He was class president, captain of the baseball team, and on the officer committees of at least five clubs and honor societies. On top of all that, he was one of the most popular and well-known students in your year.

Sure, Seungmin had lots of friends and acquaintances, but some he would consider a lot closer than others. You weren't really one of those, let’s face it. You knew that much.

In fact, you and Seungmin were mostly just "friends" for the academic benefit of it all. You'd sat near him all year long, were his vice class president, and were also in numerous of the same honor societies. It just made sense that you'd be at least academically close, a lot more would get done that way.

For instance, you two would often study together at the school’s library after classes, specifically on Fridays, when no extracurriculars were occurring to keep you busy. Lunch time was strictly student government briefing for you two. And in the time between lessons, you’d regularly check each other’s classwork and homework for each other, catching any errors either of you made before it was time to submit, not that Seungmin made many errors anyway. To say that you two spent a lot of time together would be a bit of an understatement.

Despite all this time though, you could hardly say you really knew Seungmin, at least not on a personal level. You knew he always preferred chicken at lunch, and how math was undoubtedly his best subject, whereas he struggles a bit more with language. You knew he was an amazing leader and how his decisions were always very well rounded and well-received amongst the student body. You knew he was an exceptional baseball player.

But that was about it really. Yet you somehow still managed to develop some huge crush on this guy. This boy who would never feel the same towards you surely, because you two were merely classmates with similar goals and no intentions of building upon this acquaintance-like friendship.

Knowing this, you still sometimes tried to get closer to Seungmin, you really did, out of the sheer possibility that one day he may notice and you’d have an implicit agreement of friendship at the very least.

-

One of these attempts was made with the founding of the club you’ve always wanted the school to have, but were sure hardly anyone would join unless prompted to do so.

The morning you had asked Seungmin to take into consideration a new club proposal, he had initially rejected it quite harshly.

“Who would join this?” he smiled. To be quite honest he had found the idea of a gardening club maintaining potted flowers and vegetables on the school’s old rundown rooftop greenhouse to be pretty wholesome, but did not think it held quite the right formality to be taken as seriously as other clubs if presented to the rest of the student government. Everyone was way too stressed and busy with exams to waste time playing with dirt.

He eyed the proposal form meticulously, looking for the student’s name, but to no avail.

“Who submitted this?” he asked, looking up from the table for the first time since lunch began.

“I just thought it’d be a nice stress reliever for everyone,” you replied, now feeling a lot less confident than when you had slid the piece of paper in front of him.

Your shy look told Seungmin he had probably hurt your pride just now, something that he would never mean to do on purpose of course, and now he felt the remorse creeping up on him. Perhaps the club wouldn’t be such a bad thing, he thought over. Maybe tweaking the name just a bit would make it sound more worthwhile to students.

He sighed.

“Put your name on it and change the name to an Environmental Awareness Club, something along those lines at least. We can present the idea at today's meeting.”

Headstrong and confident as always, Seungmin brought a smile to your face as you reached over into your bag to fish out a pen and correct the form.

Seungmin had always been this closed off and serious, never speaking informally to you, and never wasting his words, he was the most concise and careful speaker you had ever met. And for some reason this only drew you in. His big brain energy was just that attractive.

On the other side of the table, Seungmin took notice of your surge in mood and smiled to himself, relieved to have boosted your spirit.

-

The board hardly agreed to the proposal until Seungmin cut in and beautifully explained the benefits of gardening and plants on stress relief and the ideologies of being environmentally conscious at your age.

After that everyone was pretty much sold on the idea with just one condition. Miroh High’s new Environmental Awareness Club would have to be established in time for the annual club fair in two weeks. Meaning, recruitment of leading members, supplies and set up on the rooftop would have to be set by at least next week to be considered for the school’s extensive list of beneficial extracurricular activities for students.

The condition was enough to falter even Seungmin’s confidence. He was unsure if you’d manage to do all that on your own in just a week, especially with your rather quiet tendencies, he doubted you could recruit many students in such a small amount of time.

He looked over at you, almost as if asking for your approval, to which he caught your lingering gaze on him, a look he had never seen coming from you. You slightly nodded your head once in agreement to the ruling and Seungmin politely shook his head towards the rest of the government board members, bowing as he took his seat once again.

Seungmin had made your dream gardening club a hopeful reality, you just needed more people now, that was the only problem. Still, you imagined having Seungmin join and coming along to your gardening club, gently taking care of a flower. No, a vegetable, you decided. Seungmin would prefer a vegetable, it’d be more practical of him.

-

The day following your ‘environmental awareness club” approval was a Friday. Your designated study session with Seungmin was as always to take place in the library after classes had ended, only today he had opted to stay behind a bit and insisted you meet there in thirty minutes instead.

“I’m helping Han with cleaning duty today, so I’ll meet you there,” he explained, before he stood up from his seat making way for the desk behind you.

Behind you, a certain Han Jisung had sat for the last 3 years of school in which somehow you two were always assigned the same classroom and the same seating order, you in front, him right behind you.

Today Jisung was dead asleep, as he usually was after a math lesson. The sight made you smile, Seungmin lightly shaking his friend awake as a very disoriented Jisung began to stretch and groan from his interruption.

Jisung was actually a very close friend of Seungmin’s. Very unexpected given their contrasting qualities. Sometimes opposites just attract huh. Seungmin could never sleep in class, for instance, while Jisung might as well have brought a pillow on the daily.

You knew Jisung wasn’t exactly the most driven student either, but his rank had miraculously never sunk below 10, he was just naturally smart that way. He also never bothered with extracurriculars much, claiming music was all he cared enough for to ever sign up for. Overall, Jisung was an unexpectedly exceptional student with lazy tendencies and not much academic ambition, a striking polar to Seungmin.

After watching the scene unfold, you stood up yourself and made your way towards the vending machine to pass the time waiting for Seungmin before heading to the library. You decided on a small bag of chips and two cookies. You also decided to save one for Seungmin, even though you weren’t supposed to eat in the library, you figured he could save it for afterwards or something.

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin would later take this small offering in a different light.

Because you see, Seungmin had experienced a fair amount of admirers in his time and had been used to the small gifts given to him by more brazen ones before. In combination with the lingering gazes he felt you giving him both yesterday and now today, he was worried the same was occurring once again. Only this time he didn’t know to go about it. Usually he would simply refuse their gestures with a polite apology and it’d be enough to kindly reject them. But he was unsure this time. Not because he felt anything of the sort towards you, no, Seungmin was much too busy for romantic gestures and feelings to eat up his time, but rather because you were simply so close to him. Not in the personal sense, but in the academic proximity sense of closeness. If he were to “kindly reject you”, would you avoid him like his other past admirers often decide to do? That would make a lot of student government stuff difficult. He suddenly wondered if he could have led you on at all, had he been too kind towards you lately? His racing thoughts spiralling into a mess of ‘what ifs’ were fortunately cut short.

“Are you alright Seungmin? You haven’t finished the problem set yet.” you inquired. Seungmin was usually the one to finish long before you, especially if it was math.

He’d looked over at the fully scribbled page of your workbook, realizing his distraction.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No problem,” you replied, glancing towards our watch briefly. It was just nearing the time the school’s library closed and you had planned to leave a bit earlier to make a quick trip to the plant nursery just a few minutes off your route home, you had thought your study session would have ended by now.

“Do you need to go,” Seungmin voiced, noticing a slight impatience in the bounce of your knee.

You thanked Seungmin’s impeccable attention, you couldn’t find it in you to excuse yourself when he still hadn’t finished.

“I’m heading to the nursery today for some supplies for the club,” you unconsciously checked the time once again.

“We can look over the answers Monday if you like? I got a little distracted today…” Seungmin trailed off.

It was unusual for Seungmin to trail off his sentences and get distracted and for a second you worried for him and wanted to ask if anything was bothering him.

Only, you stopped yourself. You didn’t know Seungmin like that. It would be inappropriate and insensitive to ask him something like that, right? You decided it was best to let it go, everyone has off days after all. Even the amazing Seungmin isn’t immune to them.

“I’ll leave first then,” you offered, bidding him a polite bow of the head before slinging your bag over our shoulder and making your way out of the library.

Seungmin watched you walk towards the door, unconsciously biting his inner cheek, he felt... worried, that was the best fitting word, he would say, only he wasn’t completely sure that was what the heavy weight in the pit of his stomach really was.

When you had disappeared down the hall, Seungmin slumped his head down onto the table heaving a deep sigh.

#stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #skz angst #han jisung imagines #han jisung #kim seungmin #seungmin imagines #jisung imagines #skz scenarios #jisung drabbles #jisung fluff #seungmin fluff #skz x reader #skz imagines

[robininthelabyrinth]

Chapter 5 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4)

-

Nie Mingjue took three tries to wake up.

In all truth, he wasn’t that badly injured – if it hadn’t been for how tangled his spiritual energy already was, steeped in resentment from his wayward cultivation and burned by trying to keep a saber’s pace from within a human body, a night’s rest and some tonics would probably have been enough to put him right. But it was, and he was, and so the concern of his doctors was all the more pronounced.

The first time he woke, it was to Nie Xiaoxuan, a cantankerous old doctor who’d lost all patience with her patients years before Nie Mingjue had been conceived, looking down at him with a scowl, saying, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Go back to sleep!”

A needle had descended, leaving him not much choice about the matter – it was a good thing he was used to such rough treatment, or else he might’ve worried. Instead he found some comfort in how some things were always the same, and his Nie sect’s objectively awful bedside manner was one of them.

He slept.

He woke a second time to arguing outside his door in the middle of the night, whispers and hisses that were so loud as to be unworthy of being called lowered voices –

“– the Sect Leader deserves to know!”

“Nie-er-gongzi gave the order, and it was obeyed. There isn’t any need to disturb the Sect Leader’s recuperation over nonsense.”

“Nonsense?! Do you know what the implications will be? Nie-er-gongzi is still young, he doesn’t understand –”

“Sect Leader was once younger still. There is still sect discipline, or are you making an official challenge to his judgment? If so, you should be bothering Nie-er-gongzi, as the one who gave the order, and a council of peers that would be assembled to determine if his judgment was flawed.”

“I  - no. I won’t.”

“If there’s no challenge to the quality of Nie-er-gongzi’s judgment, then there’s no reason to talk to the Sect Leader.”

Nie Mingjue smiled, proud of his sect and of his brother – even if he didn’t know exactly what it was that Nie Huaisang had ordered that had caused such a stir – and went back to sleep.

He woke up the third time to the sounds of a guqin.

He’d always been slow to wake from an induced sleep, and this time was no different – his body was heavy, confining, and it was a long time before he managed to open his eyes. A half-shichen at least, and yet the guqin continued steadfastly onwards.

So by the time he did manage to open his eyes, the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth were, “Wangji, please stop making a racket.”

The sound of the guqin paused.

Nie Mingjue turned his head to look at him. Lan Wangji looked better than he had the last time he’d seen him, in that horrible mixture of nightmare and reality that had been their flight from the Cloud Recesses and the terrible strain of flying all the way to Qinghe in a single night.  If either of them had been lesser cultivators, they wouldn’t have been able to manage it; even at their level, it was considered highly unwise, and they had known that they were spending life energy rather than spiritual qi to buy them the strength they needed.

At least it had been late enough that both children, initially excited by all the rushing around involved in their escape, had quickly lapsed back into sleep instead of descending to tears.

Still, better was a low bar. By the end of their flight, Lan Wangji had had blood soaking through his white robes, his eye locked on the horizon and unable to focus on anything nearer, his entire body wracked with occasional shudders – if he’d been anyone else, he would have been screaming.

He still look pale and bloodless, his eyes hunted and guilty and tired, stark white bandages visible beneath the pale (but not white) robes that looked like something Nie Huaisang had once owned, but he didn’t look about to expire, so Nie Mingjue would take that as a victory.

“I would have thought,” Lan Wangji said carefully, laying his hands on the guqin chords to stop the sound, “that you would prefer that it not be silent.”

“There’s silence and then there’s silence,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to shrug and abruptly realizing that that was a bad idea. His shoulders and neck and back all hurt – possibly he’d dislocated something in trying to get out of that horrible room. Probably, even. “Not wanting to be locked in a room designed to be as close to nothingness as possible doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t want some peace and quiet once in a while…I shouldn’t have called your playing a racket. It’s very good. There was just a lot of it.”

Lan Wangji blinked, then shook his head. “I do not take offense,” he said, simply enough that Nie Mingjue believed him. “It is a surprise that you think the way you do about silence, even now. I myself have been…struggling, with the concept.”

“It’s very loud here,” Nie Mingjue said knowingly, and Lan Wangji averted his eyes. “It’s all right if you don’t like it that much, you know. Has Huaisang talked with you about the options for soundproofing?”

“He has,” Lan Wangji said. “I have not yet accepted.”

“Why not?”

“It feels –” he hesitated. “Like a step backwards. My Lan sect has always valued silence, quiet – not just valued, but imposed, even on those for whom it is not appropriate.”

Like you, he meant, or maybe he was thinking about little Lan Jingyi, the orphan he’d stolen away from his own sect – truly stolen, since unlike little Lan Sizhui Lan Wangji had no guardianship rights over him to justify taking him away.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t objected to it, figuring that it didn’t make much difference to the amount of scandal he would undoubtedly causse whether he had taken away one child or two when he convinced the Second Jade of Lan to abandon his ‘seclusion’ in favor of refuge at the Unclean Realm. Anyway, if Lan Wangji had concluded that it would be better for the child to leave, then it probably was – Nie Mingjue trusted his judgment.

Just like you trusted Lan Xichen’s?

“Each sect has a different cultivation style,” he said, deciding not to think about that right now. “With both strengths and weaknesses. My Nie sect has a martial style, aggressive and overpowering; your Lan sect, although it still follows the orthodoxy of sword cultivation, focuses on contemplation, thoughtfulness, and, yes, quiet. Who is to say which is better than the other? They’re just different.”

Lan Wangji was frowning.

“Sometimes I think Wen Mao made a mistake when he abandoned sects based on preference and style in favor of raising up his clan,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “And your ancestors and mine, too, in following his lead. Look at Huaisang – to cultivate a saber is his heritage, his birthright and his duty to our bloodline, and so he must do so despite being clearly unsuited for it.” He paused, then sighed. “Not that he’s all that suitable for anything else, either.”

Lan Wangji shot him a quelling look, disapproving, but in the sort of way that Lans had when they were amused by you.

“Still, we’re all cultivators, each of us fighting against fate,” Nie Mingjue continued. “While we must be guided by our traditions, we must also each find the path that suits us best. You’ve always enjoyed the quiet, Wangji; you welcome peace, prefer order, thrive within the confines of your sect’s rules. Finding the point at which you and your traditions part ways does not mean that you are morally obligated to give up everything about them.”

“Not even when those traditions have caused so much harm?”

“Even so,” Nie Mingjue said firmly. “We’re all on a path, and in choosing to take a new turn, you are not disregarding the past, but adding your wisdom to that of those who came before you. I made changes to my Nie sect’s cultivation style once I became sect leader, just as my father did before me; my brother will make still more when he takes the position after I go. Each of my Nie sect disciples practices the Nie sect style, but each one takes it and makes it their own. Keep what helps, discard what hurts.”

“But in this case, is it not the very same thing?” Lan Wangji asked. His brow was still furrowed, the matter clearly one of great concern to him. “I have always turned to the quiet for comfort and strength, sought seclusion to temper myself and test myself, and yet – in the absence of all noise– I found myself slowly going mad, locked away and alone. You yourself nearly died from it. What lesson can I take from this, if not that the quiet is evil?”

“You can take the lesson that too much quiet can be an evil, in the same way too much medicine can be a poison,” Nie Mingjue said. “I might hate your jingshi, since it doesn’t suit me, but I’m given to understand that it often helps, too. It brings peace to cultivators who are tormented by a mind full of thoughts they cannot quiet and helps them fight the demons in their hearts, it allows those who are too connected to the world to tear themselves away. It was built for a purpose.”

“It was,” Lan Wangji said. “A purpose it has now betrayed.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t have anything to say about that. He’d once told Lan Xichen that he thought his sect’s practice of introducing children to that place until they learned quiet whether they liked it or not was inhumane and cruel, and Lan Xichen – in a rare moment of sarcasm – had asked him if teaching them to cultivate a saber spirit that would eventually consume their minds with rage was somehow meant to be morally superior.  

To each their own faults, he supposed. Perhaps the next generation would do better.

(He found himself thinking things like that a great deal, these days. He was only in his twenties, and yet his thoughts resembled an old man’s – the feeling of death stalking his footsteps, the day nearly done, his legacy a book that seemed to be nearly completed.

That had been what had driven him to stop his sessions of Clarity with Jin Guangyao, in fact. He’d been reviewing a plan for renovating the western courtyards of the Unclean Realm as part of a long-term plan to get more air and light in there and he’d found himself thinking I probably won’t be here to see this completed, and that had been when he’d realized that it was time to start seriously planning for succession.)

“Perhaps it is the conflation of different things,” Lan Wangji mused, more to himself than anyone else. “The quiet, being alone, loneliness…and yet you can have quiet without being alone, you can be alone without being lonely, you can be lonely without quiet. A balance between disconnecting from the world and connecting with other people.”

That sounded like poetry, and Nie Mingjue could see Lan Wangji’s fingers twitch towards the guqin – he’d probably been inspired.

Nie Mingjue sighed and put his hand over his eyes. His father had told him that being an elder brother meant a life of sacrifice, and he’d been right. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead and play something. I know you want to.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a few long moments, and then his fingers began to move, the too-familiar sound of the Song of Clarity rising up to fill Nie Mingjue’s ears.

“I didn’t mean for me,” Nie Mingjue clarified, rolling his eyes while his hand was still hiding them. The Lan were always so earnest. “I’m not even meditating right now, Wangji. Don’t waste your effort.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers stilled briefly, then continued.

“Chifeng-zun –”

Nie Mingjue pulled his hand away long enough to give Lan Wangji a stern look – he’d already told him several times to refer to him more casually, and however long or short his stay at the Unclean Realm was, if they were going to endure a scandal together, he was simply going to have to adjust to their ways.

Lan Wangji looked long-suffering.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he conceded, and Nie Mingjue nodded, pleased. “Please pay close attention to my playing. Identify if there are any differences between my rendition and –”

“Wangji,” Nie Mingjue interrupted, feeling pained at the very thought. “I can’t.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, his eyes showing distress.

Nie Mingjue felt guilty at once, and exhaled a sigh. “Wangji, you know I don’t cultivate with music,” he said. “It’s all just interminable plucking to me.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows shot up. “Plucking?” he echoed, and Nie Mingjue winced – he’d probably shocked poor Lan Wangji’s conscience. “Mingjue-xiong…you really don’t like music, do you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “I can more or less follow a beat or rhythm, and military calls are fine no matter what instrument is involved, but the rest is all a mess of pointless noise. I can’t tell if the notes are high or low, which ones go before the others, and apparently there are different tones in music as there are in speech? Except in music, certain of them apparently sporadically considered bad, in a variety of different and exciting ways, sometimes but not others, none of which make the slightest difference – ”

He stopped talking on account of Lan Wangji having started to make an unusual hiccupping sound.

Nie Mingjue squinted. Was Lan Wangji…laughing?

If so, he was sorely out of practice. Though now that he thought it, that seemed to make some sense.

“Forgive me,” Lan Wangji said, shoulders shaking – he’d stopped making audible noise, but he was evidently still suffering from an attack of hilarity. “You speak so well, Mingjue-xiong; I had not realized that you suffered from amusia.” He saw Nie Mingjue’s frown of confusion and clarified, “Tone-deafness.”

“I say so all the time!”

“I had incorrectly assumed, as I suspect many have, that you were using the term colloquially,” Lan Wangji said. “How do you fight alongside my brother? I have seen you do so flawlessly, without any impediment, even when he wields Liebing.”

“I can follow along with what he’s doing with his qi,” Nie Mingjue said. “We have been close for so many years, and his spiritual energy is as familiar to me as my own –”

Lan Wangji flinched.

Nie Mingjue stopped talking.

His heart was heavy in his chest, weighed down with feeling, all those things he’d been so carefully not thinking about suddenly stifling him. Lan Xichen, his childhood friend, his lover, his beloved…

He’d hurt him.

Nie Mingjue couldn’t bring himself to believe that the act had been intentional or malicious, not even when Lan Wangji’s arrival made painfully clear that Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to supervise him. It simply wasn’t in Lan Xichen’s nature to do such an underhanded thing –

(You once thought Meng Yao wouldn’t do that sort of thing, either. Do you make a habit of blindness?)

He had known Lan Xichen for such a long time, though. If he didn’t know him, both virtues and faults, what person existed that he could say he understood?

No, Lan Xichen must have been trying to help him, not hurt him. And yet – regardless of his intent – he had.

He had hurt him very badly.

Lan Xichen hadn’t listened to him, had ignored him, disregarded him – Nie Mingjue had been as clear as he could be about how he felt about the quiet room. Perhaps he hadn’t told Lan Xichen about his youthful attempt to see if he could handle it, at first out of simply not wanting to appear weak in front of his lover, but later out of (admittedly petty) principle: shouldn’t his ‘no’ be enough? Shouldn’t Lan Xichen have trusted him?

He hadn’t.

He’d trusted Jin Guangyao instead.

Jin Guangyao with his smiles and slippery manner, with his so-believable excuses and always-present rationalizations, always the victim in every exchange they had – Lan Xichen always went to comfort him first after they had another one of their arguments, Nie Mingjue recalled abruptly. He’d called him on it once, in his anger, but Lan Xichen had explained that he knew how strong Nie Mingjue was, how resilient, and that his “A-Yao” needed his sympathy more.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He was resilient, and anyway he knew how frightening his rages could be; he’d thought perhaps that Lan Xichen simply wanted the excuse to be elsewhere until he’d had a chance to calm down.

He’d rationalized a lot of things. Maybe too many. But this?

This was too much.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said hesitantly. “About – about my brother…”

Nie Mingjue grimaced, and Lan Wangji felt silent once more.

Nie Mingjue’s heart cried out for his lover, the kind and gentle man who might be a little too reluctant to express himself, a little prone to going with the will of the majority to avoid confrontation, a little inclined to panic at the thought of disappointing people, but whose faults only made him the more human, the more loveable.

But Nie Mingjue had slept, and slept well, and even if his heart was still tangled, his mind was now clear.

“I have long thought,” he said carefully, painfully cognizant of the fact that Lan Wangji was Lan Xichen’s younger brother, “that fate had arranged for your brother and I to meet, and that we would live the rest of our lives intertwined, our hears and minds filled with thoughts of one another. But it seems to me now that that was perhaps – not our destiny.”

“My brother has wronged you,” Lan Wangji said solemnly.

“I still believe his intent was good,” Nie Mingjue assured him earnestly. “Your brother has – more reason than most, I think, to resent my intransigence on matters of my health, and to suspect – to suspect –”

He stopped, swallowed. He had long been (politely) termed to be a straightforward man; it was not in his character to stutter over his speech, to be unable to say the unvarnished truth no matter how painful. Even if it was his lover who was causing him such pain.

“Wangji,” he said instead, and Lan Wangji looked at him. “You know that my family – does not live long lives.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“It is not uncommon,” he said carefully, “for those in my family to begin to show signs of decline before the end. A certain rigidity of thought –”

“You are not so far down that path that your thinking has become impaired,” Lan Wangji said abruptly, his voice unexpectedly fierce. “Moreover, your refusal was not new, but consistent with your prior thoughts, your opinion expressed repeatedly and consistently. Do not make excuses for him.”

Nie Mingjue was a little surprised, having expected Lan Wangji to defend his brother, but then he recalled the matter of those thirty-three marks marring Lan Wangji’s back. Even if Lan Wangji’s conduct had been wrong, it had been motivated by love, and at any rate the others in the Lan sect had not died – no one had died, except for Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji had only been able to offer his beloved the succor of his presence for a short time before he returned to submit himself to punishment.

Impulsive, hot-headed, passionate – it might not be the actions of a Lan, but, as a Nie, Nie Mingjue found his sympathies lay with Lan Wangji in this matter. Yes, he had defended a murderer from being torn apart by the hands of his victims, and Nie Mingjue would not say that he did not think it was necessary for Wei Wuxian to die, but even those that had been duly tried and sentenced to the worst capital punishment might still be allowed the mercy of a good meal and the touch of their lover’s hand before they were executed, and a bit of disobedience against one’s elders was to be expected in any love affair.  

Was fending off a few old men to buy a few shichen of love before its premature end really worth a punishment that would have crippled anyone weaker?

“Actions matter more than intent,” he agreed, wondering how he could convey his thoughts on the subject without being offensive to the Lan sect, “but that doesn’t make intent meaningless. To act from love and affection is still better than for – other reasons.”

He wasn’t sure Lan Wangji had understood his meaning: the other man only lowered his eyes.

Nie Mingjue’s mind reluctantly returned to his own troubles.

“I’ll speak with Xichen,” he decided, even though he knew it was probably a bad idea. Lan Xichen’s conduct, however it was meant, could be understood as having brought him to the very precipice of death – enough justification to start a war, given that Nie Mingjue was a sect leader. Their respective positions meant that a disagreement between them could never be simply personal, but was also political; if Nie Mingjue allowed his soft heart to convince him to forgive Lan Xichen, he would be setting a poor standard for the future. “He can explain what he was thinking. If I find his explanation unsatisfactory, I will – tell him what I told you.”

Nie Mingjue was blunt and direct, sparing no one – not even himself – but he was not so cold as to be able to cut off a relationship that already spanned the majority of his life sign unseen. He would give Lan Xichen one chance to salvage things between them, to be shocked into sobriety by the extent of how things had gotten out of hand, to genuinely apologize –

“I think,” Lan Wangji said, very slowly, eyes still locked on the floor as if there was something fascinating there, “that brother’s explanation may omit that he was distracted by his other lover.”

Nie Mingjue’s heart froze in his chest.

“Other – lover?” he said dumbly. Lan Wangji refused to look at him. “Wangji – are you saying – Xichen has..?”

Lan Xichen wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

“Lianfeng-zun has told him lies, and Brother accepted them without verification,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice was bitter. “I believe that he feared confronting you on the subject of a man he knew you disliked, and also saw an opportunity to obtain his heart’s desire – to not give up anything and yet gain something he wanted. And Lianfeng-zun is known to be skilled in anticipating people’s desires.”

Nie Mingjue stared at the ceiling in a daze, his mind whirling.

So many little things suddenly made a belated sort of sense.

The way Lan Xichen seemed so certain that all the troubles between them were only temporary, the way that he entreated Nie Mingjue to think kindly of Jin Guangyao as if there was a stronger bond between them than a lost former friendship and a new sworn brotherhood. The way Jin Guangyao acted more intimately with Nie Mingjue whenever Lan Xichen was present, only to return to a more professional remove once they were alone – he’d assumed that was because Jin Guangyao knew that Lan Xichen would protect him if Nie Mingjue got annoyed with him for such familiarities and that Nie Mingjue would not want to upset his beloved by scolding over something so minor.

But if, for instance, Jin Guangyao had told Lan Xichen that they had been lovers once, those public intimacies, and Lan Xichen’s joy in them, all suddenly took on a new flavor –

Surely Lan Xichen knew that Nie Mingjue would never have done that to him?

Skilled in anticipating people’s desires.

Nie Mingjue had noticed Lan Xichen’s fondness for Jin Guangyao from the first, back when Jin Guangyao had been only Meng Yao, and he’d known that Meng Yao had respected and even revered the beautiful, powerful, and chivalrous Zewu-jun. He’d been pleased when they’d become friends, hadn’t minded the occasional light flirtation – he’d been so certain that nothing would come of it, trusted in Lan Xichen’s morality and their love. He himself was not skilled in wordplay the way they were, nor as sensitive to the subtle changes in a conversation, preferring to stay silent rather than risk mis-stepping, a habit formed of too much responsibility and exposure to politics at too early an age. Why shouldn’t Lan Xichen get to enjoy the cut and thrust of charming, clever conversation with an expert at the art?

They had all been friends back then. Nie Mingjue had been so proud of his prized deputy, and pleased beyond measure that Lan Xichen liked him as well; Nie Mingjue had so few friends that the addition of another one was something he treasured. Even if Lan Xichen’s good sense had surely told him that such betrayal was impossible, given Nie Mingjue’s character, he might still in his reckless desires allow himself to be intoxicated by his affections and believe it for just a little while – just long enough to taste Jin Guangyao’s lips, perhaps.

That’d be enough.

Nie Mingjue knew Lan Xichen well; he knew his lover’s faults as well as he knew his virtues. If Lan Xichen had allowed himself to act foolishly for a moment, he would have panicked at the thought of coming to terms with it, and Jin Guangyao was so good at soothing his panic. Too good: where Nie Mingjue, in his harshness, had always advised revisiting mistakes and learning from them, no matter how difficult the process, Jin Guangyao would always recommend being kind to oneself, taking care of oneself, avoiding the pain that came with tackling one’s flaws and erroneous self-conceptions head-on.

Too much care for the self would eventually mean not enough care for others, Nie Mingjue had always thought, rolling his eyes whenever Jin Guangyao earnestly held forth on his views. But Lan Xichen had liked it – and why wouldn’t he? It was easier to put yourself first, to refuse to admit mistakes were mistakes, to rationalize events until you were always the victim and everyone else wrong. It meant you didn’t have to confront your own capacity for cruelty and selfishness, could conceive of yourself as always virtuous and always good and always right.

Right, rather than righteous.

Justified, rather than just.

The way Jin Guangyao always did.

Yes, Lan Xichen might allow himself to kiss Jin Guangyao, or more if Jin Guangyao pushed his advantage – which he would, Nie Mingjue had no doubt of that – and then, after the fog of lust had cleared, Lan Xichen would realize that he’d have to confess the entire thing to Nie Mingjue.

An emotional confrontation of the sort he hated most.

And then, of course, just as Lan Xichen was most upset and vulnerable, Jin Guangyao would offer him a way out – a way for Lan Xichen to continue to see himself as a good person who had done no wrong, who didn’t need confront anything – a way to get a new love alongside the old, to have Jin Guangyao’s clever speech and gentle care while not losing Nie Mingjue’s steadfast affection and support.

It was not uncommon in their times for a man to have more than one wife and entirely possible for him to love them both equally; the idea of a triad was not so strange. But Lan Xichen should have asked.

He didn’t.

He didn’t ask because some part of him knew that the answer would be no, and, just as he had with the quiet room, that was not an answer he wished to accept.

And that…that was not something that could be blamed on Jin Guangyao, as much as Nie Mingjue would prefer to do so.

That was all Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen...how could you do this to me?

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes in pain. It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him, like a really good punch might do - he felt hollow, weightless, disconnected, as if he had been struck by a blow that had shattered his bones and he was drifting in that blank space in the moment after the blow landed but before the pain reached his brain.

The full weight of the revelation would hit, eventually. He would feel it all, eventually.

“I see,” he said, and he did. Lan Wangji was upset over it in a way that suggested that he had only recently learned the truth. Given the speed of their travel, that meant he must have discovered it while conversing with Nie Huaisang – and that was another problem, because Nie Huaisang was their father’s son just as Nie Mingjue was, and nothing sparked their rage more than an offense against a loved one. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It is what I should do.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, his throat tight, his chest dull as if there was a knot where his heart had been - yes, he would need some time to deal with this.

“Huaisang is managing well?” he asked, not quite able to bring himself to actually ask for a little more time before he had to return to being the stern and untouchable sect leader, before he had to once again take on the mantle of power and make all the decisions – to force himself to react as a politician rather than a betrayed lover. It would be disgraceful to give into such weakness.

“He is,” Lan Wangji said. “He has given orders that you may not leave your room until the end of the week at the earliest, so as to remind the disciples of the benefit of rest following an injury.”

Nie Mingjue loved his brother.

“Very well,” he said, and decided not to ask about what Nie Huaisang might or might not have gotten into over the last day or so that had led some disciples to think they needed to disturb his rest in order to tell him. It didn’t really matter. They needed to adjust to taking Nie Huaisang’s orders as if he was sect leader in truth – especially if Nie Mingjue’s health continued to deteriorate…

He didn’t have time to think too much on that before Lan Wangji spoke again, saying, “Even if you do not understand music, you can follow the emanations of qi from an instrument, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Nie Mingjue said, a little puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation but deeply relieved to have something to think about - anything, really, as long as it wasn’t the brutal feeling of his heart being torn to shreds within his chest.

“So if I were to utilize musical cultivation, you might be able to determine if I were using the same patterns as you had heard others use?”

“I suppose so,” Nie Mingjue said. It would be extremely irritating to have to pay attention to such small ebbs and flows, especially when he was also trying to meditate and draw the qi into himself for the fullest effect, but he was familiar enough with Clarity by now that he probably could if he really had to. “But why?”

“A suspicion,” Lan Wangji said. “Nie Huaisang has pointed out that Lianfeng-zun’s actions in connection to my brother are suggestive of malice against you, his actions in convincing my brother to lock you into the jingshi doubly so, and yet he comes to visit you regularly, purportedly to improve your health.”

Purportedly.

Nie Mingjue grimaced again, but this time it was with anger at himself – because the suggestion did not shock him the way the information about Lan Xichen had. Meng Yao, Meng Yao, he thought, I wish I didn’t believe this of you. I extended my trust to you twice over, and each time you have disappointed me…it’s my own fault, I suppose, for being arrogant enough to think I could change you.

“Thank you, Wangji,” he said, suddenly tired. “I understand your implication, and we will of course need to examine whether it is correct. But not today.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji said, and stood up. “I will take my leave and go tell Nie Huaisang to move me into one of the soundproofed rooms. I require time to contemplate the subject of quiet.”

That made Nie Mingjue want to smile, though he couldn’t quite manage it, still twisted by all the revelations that had relentlessly pounded against him since he had awoken. “Good,” he said instead, turning to nod at Lan Wangji in approval. “I hope your meditation on the subject is fruitful.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agreed. “As you said, I must find my own path, be guided by tradition but not unduly restricted by it. But there is one point in what you said that was incorrect.”

“Oh?”

“You said that I should not, without consideration, throw out my sect’s traditions,” Lan Wangji said, and he was standing stiffly, at attention, with his face as serious as it ever got. “But at the moment, it is not my sect. You have given me permission to stay here, and I intend to do so.”

Nie Mingjue’s first thought was oh that’s going to have some serious political implications, followed immediately by I guess I did do that didn’t I and someone is going to wring my throat over this, probably Huaisang, but very shortly thereafter with if this is what he needs then so be it.

Still, he could do nothing but watch, stunned, as Lan Wangji lifted his hands to his forehead and very deliberately removed the forehead ribbon that marked him as a member of the Lan sect – the symbol of his family, the symbol of his restraint, which he would normally have never allowed another person outside his family to see him without – and, just as deliberately, wrapped it around Nie Mingjue’s wrist.

“I would ask that you keep this for me, Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said, and his tone when he said Nie Mingjue’s name was the same as when he called Lan Xichen brother. “Until such time as I decide to reclaim it as my own, or discard it forever.”

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice a little faint from shock. “Whatever you need, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, grateful, and saluted deeply before leaving.

Nie Mingjue lay back down on the bed and stared at his wrist for a long moment.

This is going to have some serious political implications, he thought a second time. And Lan Xichen won’t ever forgive me for stealing away his little brother.

A moment later, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Lan Xichen had made his choices.

Now he would have to pay for them.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #the quiet room

[alyss01]

|[New blood]|

[Comfy cartel!Rae x GN! reader]

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Genre: mafia AU

Word count: 2.5K

Requested by: @another-fantasy-world

To request: requests are open! You can request anonymous or with your account so I can tag you in it if you send a message instead of an ask.

Synopsis: Rae joins the cartel, Toast appoints you as her handler. Mostly platonic with a implied date at the end.

Warnings: fighting, weapons, blood, death, crimes (if i missed any, let me know!)

A/n: my first and only request I've done so far! I really enjoyed it and although it took some time, I'm happy it turned out the way it did. Please enjoy!

Masterlist

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"i want you in charge of her." Toast's voice was stern as he looked at you, the documents in your hands and you skimmed through them.

You hummed, nodding your head along before closing the document and locking your eyes with Toast.

Usually you'd partner up with toast yourself, but these days he was busy recruiting new blood for the cartel. Besides that, you were itching to do some field work once more.

"What makes you think we're a good match?" Similarly to your capabilities in the field, Toast was well known for his scarily accurate perception of people. You didn't doubt his skills, but you were curious to know why he thought you'd be best suited as her handler.

It had been a while since you trained the new blood, and though you weren't opposed to it, there were others that would probably do a better job.

A small confident smirk formed on his face, the light on his sunglasses hiding the confident look in his eyes that you knew was there, "I'm sure you'll understand what I mean when you meet her."

You slid the files over the table, back to Toast as you stood up, "then I'll see her this afternoon, correct?"

Toast raised a curious eyebrow, in your eyes he could see your intentions, "you're not joining the meeting?"

"I'll catch her on her way out, don't worry about it. Just send me our task before she arrives."

Toast nodded at your words, wordlessly watching you stand up and walk out of the room.

Besides Poki, Lily and Toast himself, you were one of the capo's that had been part of the cartel since the beginning when the Don created it. Besides him, the four of you carried the most power in the ranks.

You met Poki in the hallway, her eyebrow curiously lifted as she undoubtedly had overheard your conversation.

"It has been a while, huh?" The question underlaying her words was obvious. It was well known that generally you didn't bother with the new blood of the cartel.

Shrugging your shoulders you replied, "i trust Toast's judgement." A small chuckle escaped her lips as she nodded, walking with you deeper into the building.

"Won't you scare the new blood away?" The smile on her lips told you she didn't mean it in a bad way.

"If anything, she'll scare herself." A small smile tugged your lips as you locked eyes with Poki, "although I have the feeling that won't happen to this one."

• • •

That afternoon you leant against the wall, just outside the meeting room you had spoken with Toast earlier that day. You could hear his voice and a contrasting female voice besides his.

It was obvious they were wrapping up, and you had arrived not a second too late as the door opened.

You were met with a shorter female, long dark locks that grew lighter at the ends framing her face and a mischievous smirk that rested on her lips.

She stood in the doorframe as she seemed to take in your appearance, Toast behind her letting out a small chuckle.

"Meet your handler Y/n." You gave a nod as greeting to Toast, who returned it with a small smirk, watching the satisfied expression hidden on your face.

You could see why Toast had matched you with her, the confidence in her pose and the mischievous smile on her face telling you that she was ready for what you would throw at her.

She followed you as you walked through the building. You knew that she had known you, the spark in her eyes once she heard your name obvious enough.

Despite any of that, your voice was filled with authority as you spoke, "tomorrow I will meet you in the training room." You looked at her curious face, a raised eyebrow conveying the silent question, "you don't have to worry about the field work for now."

You eyed her from the side, "is that clear?"

She nodded her head eagerly as you walked, she seemed alright enough to join the cartel, but despite that you knew how important it was to establish the ranks once more with the new ones.

In her file you had read that she'd been in the business on her own for a small while before attempting to join a organization to stay at. Because of that, she knew you, and the reputation that you carried.

The comfy cartel was a big organization, although it hadn't started as such. It had earned a reputation early on, not leaving anyone standing that opposed you.

On top of that reputation stood you, beside Toast. Even in the early start of the cartel you had partnered up with the male, making a scarily powerful duo.

Yet your loyalty stayed by Don Scarra, despite the damage the two of you could have done if you had left, or taken over, the cartel.

Over the years Toast had retreated himself to the shadows of the business, recruiting new blood and expanding the cartel exponentially.

That left you in the field, and as the cartel grew, so did your power and reputation. You had become one of the reasons why people didn't meddle with the cartel.

Judging from her reaction, the female besides you was wholeheartedly aware of that.

You split off with her after showing her how to reach the training rooms and telling her you wanted her there, tomorrow morning at ten.

You returned to your office after that, sitting behind your desk as you looked at the files on it. On top of it laid what undoubtedly was the task assigned by Toast to test your recruits skills.

Reading the papers inside a few times, you nodded, it would make a fine trip to observe.

The door to your office opened, leaving Toast leaning against the doorframe as you met his eyes.

"Knocking is a thing y'know?" A chuckle left his throat, "what did you think of her?"

You shrugged your shoulders, "could've been worse." Toast could see the pleased expression behind your words, "I'll be sure tomorrow however."

He nodded his head as you produced a phone from your pocket, typing in a number as you spoke to Toast, "that reminds me."

The phone rang for a second or two before it got picked up, "Edison, can you get me a few ready for tomorrow 10?"

Edison was in charge of those captured by the cartel to pay for their debts, or those that had turned out as a spy in hindsight.

Generally the only reason to get those out of their confinement was for the training of the new blood getting into the cartel. The only other reason would be if one of them had actually done something big enough to catch the attention of one of the higher ups.

A chuckle came from the phone, "it's been awhile since you took in someone new, what changed?"

"Toast did." Toast gave you a small smirk as you met his eyes. You could hear some scratching on paper on the other side of the call, "got it, they'll be ready at 10, what training room should they be sent to?"

"Training room four." Edison confirmed the order once more before saying his goodbye and hanging up.

You put the phone away as Toast spoke up, "I'll hear your opinion of her later."

• • •

You leant against the wall of the training room. It was similar to a gym, but connected to the main area was a shooting range, on the walls were multiple weapons to train with displayed. Pushed against one wall stood training equipment, although you wouldn't make much use of it today.

The middle of the floor was padded, the cushiony material breaking all the falls that were bound to happen on the mat. In the corner stood three males, each bound by handcuffs that were in turn fastened against a wall. Not that it mattered, even if they could get loose they wouldn't make it far before you'd take them down.

Their files laid on the bench beside you as you waited, twirling a butterfly knife in your hands with complicated movements executed with practiced ease.

Beside you stood a small rack with different knives, brass knuckles, nun-chucks and other weaponry to use.

Right as your gaze watched the clock move to exactly 10 AM, the door to the training room opened.

Rae stepped inside, her curious eyes automatically gliding towards you. You stood in comfortable clothes, Rae in her own as she walked in.

You could see how her eyes made contact with the three men that accompanied you in the silent room. It wasn't hard to see the glint flicker in her eyes, you were more familiar with it yourself.

She stood still on the mat, turning to you in silent question as you watched her.

Pointing to the cases of paper that laid beside you, you spoke up for the first time since you entered the room, "pick one"

Once she reached you, she opened the files, her eyes gliding across the words as she picked one out. A small smile formed on your face, her pick was perfect.

You walked over to the males, singling one of them out as you produced a small key to unlock his handcuffs from his wrists.

He glared as you moved, leaning behind him to unlock him.

As expected, the moment his wrists were freed he threw a punch your way. He could barely see you move away from the movement before he could feel a pain in his stomach as he dubbeled over.

Pushing him away, he fell to the floor, and you made simple eye contact with Rae.

"He's a feisty one." Your feet rested on the man's back as he laid on the floor, a small smirk on your face as you turned to him, "up boy, you're not done yet."

You allowed Rae to go loose on the man.

Although the fight could have finished within a few minutes if she had tried, you could see the extra, unnecessary, effort she put in to make it painful. There was a certain hint of sadism in her movements, and you couldn't help but feel satisfied as you watched.

She dragged it on, but with your simple command her arms locked around his neck, her grip unrelenting as the man fought for his life.

It had never been a fight he could've won.

Nevertheless you moved on, handing the woman in front of you a knife, before handing another one to her new opponent. He had seen what had happened mere minutes before and the discarded body that had been thrown off the mat.

The weapon shook in his hands as Rae went to work once more. Her fighting style was elegant and fast, calculated as she moved with precision and made small nicks that turned into deeper gashes.

Once more, the fight was over before it ever had begun. You were happy with the display of skills, although it was too early to judge just yet.

For this she'd have to approach it with a more tactful technique.

You freed the last man, pushing him on his knees as you dragged him to the middle of the room.

Ripping the handcuffs loose from the short chain that connected it too the wall, you returned the metal objects to the man's wrists as you pulled him to the middle of the room.

Your foot was dominantly placed on his back as he laid face down on the floor, "this man possesses the information you'll need for your field work next week. "

Not wasting anymore words, you could tell Rae knew what you wanted her to do. You stepped back, watching as she went to work, pulling the man in a sitting position as she gripped the collar of his shirt.

"Speak." The man shook in her hold, scared big eyes watching her carefully as her piercing gaze was focused on him.

He didn't know what to say, had he not told the cartel all there was to know already?

"I don't know!" The man clenched his eyes shut as Rae looked over at you, a question in her eyes as you shrugged. He had indeed given the cartel the information they needed, so for now, Rae had free reign.

The still blood stained knife was still stuck in her hand, the dangerous metal eerily close to the soft tissue of the man's neck, "I'm sure you do know."

Warm blood trickled down slowly and got absorbed by the fabric of his shirt.

"I- I.. don't know!" He voice shook as you spoke up, "tell her what you told us."

"He's! H.. He's- hiding in a safe house." The words finally left his mouth as he shook, not dating to make eye contact with the woman in front of him that held his life in her hands.

"Wrong." The word was simple as it left your mouth, but the man shook and shivered in Rae's hold, "no! No- its- NO!" Rae's eyes were cold as she retracted her knife, her free hand releasing his shirt as she gripped his chin, forcefully pulling his head upwards.

"I don't like liars," tears cascaded down his face at her words, "you've seen what I did to the two others, it makes me curious to what I can do with you." Her voice velvety smooth as she spoke.

This time you were certain as you realized you were liking this woman more and more as time passed.

A scream echoed through the hall.

The handle of the blade the only thing protruding from the man's thigh as his pants rapidly started to colour red around it.

He begged for the pain to stop, for her to pull the knife out and help him.

She was unrelenting until he had spilled every last bit of information he knew.

The life faded from his eyes as Rae pulled the knife from his thigh, the blood spurting out from the massive wound and the smaller ones that now littered his body.

Blood stained her clothing, but she stood proud amongst the corpses that littered the ground.

The happy glint in her eyes as she waited on your praise.

"You did well." A satisfied smile on your face, "we'll continue this evaluation Monday. Then you'll be tested on your aim, but for now this will do. At the end of next week we'll head into the field."

Rae nodded, the smile on her face bright at the words of praise you granted her.

You walked towards her, a satisfied smile painted on your features as you spoke, "then, would you like to join me for coffee this weekend?"

A small tint of red dusted her cheeks at your words. Nevertheless she accepted the offer.

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