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soobmint · 3 years

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paper hearts | choi soobin [f] ; [c] 80s! au, 9.6k words

s u m m a r y ; if there was one thing you wanted to avoid on valentine’s day, it was running into your ex best friend, choi soobin. but when a series of unfortunate events involving too much purple eyeshadow, drunken punches, and one stolen bicycle leads you right back to his side, you begin to realize that maybe you truly belonged with him all along.

c o n t e n t s ; soobin x fem!reader, 80s! au, valentine’s day, ex best friend! soobin, rich boy! soobin, but he’s a major dweeb and the biggest softie, yeonjun is a major prick (i’m so sorry junnie), reader is a part time worker, soobin is best friends with lee felix of stray kids, some themes of social classes, roughly inspired by the 80s movie “pretty in pink,” mentions drugs, alcohol, and single parent households, mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff, with a hint of crack/humor

n o t e ; hello friends! this was a very quickly planned, last minute valentine’s day idea, and it’s actually a collab with one of my dearest friends, @chanluster ! she posted her piece of the collab as well, you can check it out by going to the collab masterlist here! this was so much fun to write and i think that 80s! soobin was just too good of a concept to pass up! anyways, happy valentine’s day, i hope you enjoy this oneshot! do leave a like, reblog, or comment if you could, it really helps so much <3

[back to my masterlist] [oneshot playlist]

IF ONE MORE CUT-OUT, CRAFT-PAPER HEART HIT YOU IN THE FACE, YOU WERE GOING TO QUIT YOUR JOB.

Of course you would never actually quit. With your mother out of the picture and your father working nonstop overtime just to barely have enough cash to put food on the table for the both of you, you had come to rely on your minimum wage part-time hours more than you liked to admit. However, the handmade strings of paper hearts that hung from wall to wall throughout the entirety of the record shop you were employed at was enough to make you consider it; not to mention the Phil Collins record that had been spinning all day, filling your ears with melodies embodying the very air of romance, and the embarrassing pink sweater your boss had forced you to wear. You mumbled curses beneath your breath as you pulled at the collar, itching away at your neck.

When you made a step towards a crate full of records, ready to tidy it up after a customer had rummaged through it leaving it a mess, you were met with another face full of cheap red construction paper. With a large growl of exasperation, you swatted at the hearts and accidentally caused the entire string of them to fall to the ground. You cleared your throat, glad that no customers were present to see your little outburst.

Your boss, Jen, still saw it all.

“That’s not very festive of you, kid,” She said, taking a drag on her cigarette. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Lighten up.”

“Ah, my bad. I forgot that I was supposed to be overjoyed on the day honoring the execution of St. Valentine,” You said as you gave her a sarcastic smile. “I’ll make sure to smile at the next couple that walks in and ask them how they plan to contribute to the commercialization of a martyr’s death.”

“You must be real fun at parties,” Jen mumbled. She shook her cigarette at you from behind the counter. “You’re just bitter because you don’t have a valentine. I can’t blame anyone for giving you the cold shoulder with that attitude of yours.”

You scowled, picking up the string of hearts that you had sent crashing to the floor. “I’m not bitter, and I don’t want a date. Also, I told you to stop smoking inside! It smells awful.”

“Last I checked, this was my shop, not yours.” You rolled your eyes as you approached the counter, handing the discarded string to Jen so she could throw it in the trash. “Now you’re making me do chores for you too? You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

“Jen, please, I’m really not in the mood for this today.”

Jen shrugged, bending towards the trash can to throw away the string of hearts when she paused and pulled something from the bin. You glanced over your shoulder and gasped when you saw what she held in her hand—a small red envelope with your name scrawled across the front and a pink heart-shaped sticker stuck on the back.

“What’s this?” Jen asked, opening the envelope and shaking out the contents. A single slip of paper fell out, landing atop the counter. You rushed to grab it, but Jen snatched it up just before your fingers reached the countertop.

“Give me that,” You insisted, face growing warm. “I threw it away for a reason!”

“It’s an invitation to a party?” She seemed beyond surprised, glancing back and forth between you and the paper several times. “You got invited to a Valentine’s Day party, and instead of going, you asked me to give you extra hours? Why?”

You looked down at your feet, digging the toe of your sneaker into the blue carpet. There were, in fact, many reasons why you did not want to go to that party. They were as follows:

One: Choi Yeonjun was the one who had invited you. After you had rejected his offer when he asked to take you to a basketball game a month before, you could barely make eye contact with him in the school hallway without feeling guilty. That and the fact that he was one of the richest preps in the school, you knew he had just been asking you out for some sort of prank or dare that you preferred to not potentially fall victim to.

Two: you needed to work as much as you could. Money, as always, was tight for you and your father. There was no way you would sacrifice precious hours to go to a party full of rich kids where nothing but humiliation was sure to await you.

Three: your old childhood friend and the one person you couldn’t bear to see was probably going to be there—Choi Soobin.

You had barely spoken to Soobin in the four years you had been in high school. Crossing paths with him in the cafeteria, turning down the same aisle of books as him in the library, all those tiny stolen glances and accidental encounters were the only bits of interaction you had kept throughout all that time. The worst part was, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was nothing but your own cowardice that had driven the two of you apart, and you were still too afraid to own up to it.

Instead of explaining all of this to Jen, you simply shrugged and said, “I dunno. It just sounds lame.”

Your boss sighed, holding the invitation out towards you. “Okay, I’m letting you off early. Go to the party.”

With wide eyes, you shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. Why in the world would I go?”

“Well, first of all, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. Who knows when your next chance to go to a party will be.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that.

“Second, it’s a holiday! The only reason I even opened today was because you were begging me for hours. I thought it was because you were bummed about having no plans, but clearly it’s because you wanted an excuse to be a recluse.”

“Hey, I’m not a recluse.”

“Clearly.” She shook the invitation at you once more, brows raised. “If you go, I’ll raise your pay by fifty cents for the next month.”

Your ears perked up at that.

“Well?” She asked, well aware that she had hit the jackpot. “What'd ya say?”

Weighing the risks against the benefits, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Make it a dollar and you’ve got a deal.”

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S, CHOI.”

When Soobin heard the sarcastic remark coming from his best friend, Felix, he had to fight back the urge to burst into tears then and there. He still wasn’t quite sure how Felix had convinced him to come, but he was already regretting it. The last thing he wanted to do to celebrate the day dedicated to love was spend it at a house party—or, as Soobin preferred to call them, any outcast high school kid’s version of hell on earth.

With a quick peek between his fingers, which he had used to cover his eyes immediately upon arriving at the site of the Valentine’s party, Soobin caught another eye-full of couples getting all too familiar with one another out in the open. He gulped, letting his hands grip the handles of the bike as he averted his gaze, choosing to cast his best glare at Felix, who was busy adjusting his ever-present beanie.

“Shut up,” he murmured, slowly sliding off the seat of his bike. He dusted off the worn, tearing cushion, glancing around the area. “Now quick, we gotta put our stuff somewhere safe.”

Felix looked aghast, making no moves to help Soobin in his search for a hiding spot. “What are you doing?”

“Tryna find a safe place for my bike?” He thought the answer to be somewhat obvious, but clearly Felix wasn’t on the same track of thinking. “You don’t know today’s world! Anyone is willing to steal nowadays.”

“Soobin, your bike is coughing up oil from its chains. It should be in its own care home at this rate.”

“I don’t wanna hear your slander, skater boy,” Soobin retorted, eyeing Felix’s ebony skateboard that he refused to be seen without. As if on cue, when he pushed his bike forward, the chains squealed, drawing the attention of a pair of particularly passionate individuals who had been wrapped up with one another moments before. Soobin ignored their annoyed stares, feeling his ears burn from embarrassment. He glanced back to Felix. “Help me find a hiding spot.”

Felix was anything but enthusiastic, but he began to help Soobin search nonetheless.

“Slide it in here, Soobs,” Felix called a few moments later. He was pointed to an empty space between the home’s perfectly trimmed bushes. Soobin pursed his lips together, pushing his large glasses further up the bridge of his nose—a nervous tick of his. Felix groaned, rolling his eyes. “Or you can leave it out in the open so it’ll spit more oil on the passersby? Is that what you want?”

“Fine, fine!” Soobin huffed, wheeling his bike over to the shrubbery, chains squeaking all the way. He carefully laid it beneath the brush and moved a few branches to cover it up nicely. He stood up straight, dusting his hands on the front of his loose blue jeans. “What about your skateboard?”

Felix gave the board a pat, awarding his most prized possession a dazzling smile one would expect to see a proud father giving his beloved son. But in reality, it was the school’s stoner grinning ear to ear at his old, dusty skateboard. “Nightrider stays with me.”

Soobin scrunched his nose, cringing on instinct. He still calls that thing by that stupid name?

Felix clapped him on the shoulder before he could make a remark, catching him off guard when he said, “Right. Let’s go and get your girl.”

There was nothing Soobin could do to stop the flush that rushed to his cheeks right away. Images of you, his ex-best friend and the only reason he had even come to this party in the first place, flashed through his mind. Had he not overheard Yeonjun invite you earlier that morning and then casually mention the encounter to Felix, there was no way he would have even stepped foot out of his house that night. Part of him was peeved, wishing he had never uttered a single word about you to his overbearing friend. Yet, deep down, there was hope within him—the tiniest sliver.

If there was even the slightest chance that he could talk to you that night, he would do anything. Even if it meant dealing with a stupid party, and the never-ceasing teasing he was bound to continue receiving from Felix.

“Don’t even say that,” He said, emphasizing each word as they walked up the front steps. Soobin had to glance down at his much shorter friend to see the devious grin on his freckled face.

“Say what? That she’s your girl, your woman, your one and only?”

The blush must have been creeping to his neck by that point. He could feel it. “I. . .” There were many things Soobin wished to say; angry words that would hopefully shut the blonde skater boy up real quick. But he couldn’t bring himself to say a single harsh word, so he sighed in defeat. “I can’t even say it.”

“That you hate me?” Felix only grinned even bigger, and Soobin couldn’t help the tiny defeated smile that slipped over his features. “Oh, I know. It’s because I’m too good of a best friend.”

They stepped into the house then, instantly being overwhelmed by loud music, boisterous laughter, and drunken yells echoing throughout the halls. Soobin latched onto Felix right away, gripping his friend’s sleeve as someone stumbled into him, a bit of beer spilling from their cup. He pushed his glasses up, only for them to slide right back down as he began to sweat.

“Maybe we should go home, Lix!” Soobin shouted to be heard over the noise as they travelled further into the house. “We can always try next year!”

“Stop being a scaredy-cat!” Felix shouted back, and Soobin thought he might actually begin to cry as they squeezed their way into the living room. Soobin nearly gagged at the strong smell of alcohol as it burned in his nose. The scene was nothing short of a nightmare to Soobin—loud voices, smoke rising in the air, vodka assaulting his nose and sweat beading on the back of his neck. He had never been one to drink, and he didn’t plan on starting that night; but he was beginning to understand what Felix meant when he had once told him it was nearly impossible to get through one of these parties sober.

He was about to make another complaint and beg to leave when someone from the crowd hollered his name, causing him to wince when he recognized that voice as the one that belonged to none other than Choi Yeonjun.

“Soobin! Where you been?”

Soobin smiled nervously at the school’s heartthrob—and textbook snobby rich kid—before he turned back to Felix. He didn’t want to leave his friend, but he knew that he would never hear the end of it if he ignored Yeonjun’s persistent calls. “I’ll be right back,” He promised Felix, still holding onto his sleeve.

“No, no,” Felix assured. “You go. You’ll probably find her around that place anyway.”

Soobin wasn’t so sure of that. You were definitely not of the right social standing to be caught amongst the circle of the school’s rich boys—which was why it had surprised Soobin that Yeonjun had invited you to the party in the first place. Your high school had its own caste system, and you were near the bottom of it.

And, as much as it pained him to admit it, Soobin was stuck at the very top with all the other rich snobs who cared about nothing more than their daily allowances that came straight from their daddy’s bank account.

“What about you, buddy?” He asked Felix, desperate for any excuse to remain by his friend’s side. He would have tried to bring Felix with him, but his friend was in an even worse social standing than you were—he was poor, and he was most known for being the school’s pothead. There was no way Soobin would willingly drag him into a situation where nothing but slander and torment awaited him.

“Me?” Felix shrugged, gripping his board tighter. “I’ll just smoke away the night.”

Soobin pouted, glancing back at the group of preps as they called for him once again. He sighed, clapping Felix on the shoulder. “Just make sure you won’t smell too much of it when I come back.”

Submitting himself to his doom then, he turned on his heel and slowly made his way to where the group of boys sat near the sofa, giving them a half-hearted wave.

“Why were you hanging around that Felix guy?” Yeonjun asked once Soobin had reached their circle. “Did he blackmail you or something?”

Soobin frowned, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He’s my friend.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, brushing a hand through his perfectly-straightened ebony locks. “Sure he is. Tell me, do you see every kid you find on the streets as some sort of personal charity project? Or is it just Felix and—what was her name—” He snapped his fingers then before he said, “Y/N, right?”

Soobin didn’t respond—well, it was more like he couldn’t respond. By nature he was a very passive being, but nothing drew him closer to bouts of anger than when the people he cared about were being insulted right before him.

Especially when it came to you.

Yet, as much as he wanted to tell Yeonjun off or give him a nice shove into the smoke-stained walls, words failed him. They always did. Perhaps this was why you had abandoned him all those years ago. Nobody knew him better than you did, so of course you were able to see what he truly was beneath all the expensive clothes and nervous laughter—a coward.

He figured that he’d probably have left himself too.

“Drink up, buttercup.” The chipper voice that belonged to the other Choi in the small gathering of socialites, Choi Beomgyu, thrust a plastic red cup towards Soobin’s chest.

He shook his head, throwing another wavering smile in his direction. “No thanks. I don’t drink.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t. Why are you even here then?”

Once again, Soobin chose silence as his only response. He swallowed, patting the front pocket of his denim jacket. As the group of boys began conversing once more, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around the room, searching every drunken face for the features that belonged to you, trying to hear your name in every conversation, desperate for your voice to break through the blasting music and shouting voices.

“Who ya looking for there, Big Choi?” Soobin grimaced at the nickname. He was skinny, but incredibly tall, and nobody would let him forget that. “Big Choi” was one of his most common nicknames among the elitists. He despised it, but of course, he would never voice that aloud.

He glanced at Beomgyu and smiled nervously again, shaking his head. “Nobody.”

His eyes met Yeonjun’s and he gulped yet again as the latter eyed him with suspicion. It wasn’t as though he had anything to hide, but something about Yeonjun’s calculating gaze made his skin crawl.

He needed to escape. Just for a moment, at least.

“I’ll be right back. Going to find some water.”

He slipped out of the living room then, apologizing profusely to each couple he accidentally bumped into, bowing in remorse to each person’s toes his big feet happened to stumble over. He ached to be by Felix’s side—the stoned skateboarder had become somewhat of a security blanket to the taller of the duo—but his blonde friend was nowhere to be seen.

After snagging a bottle of water from the kitchen, Soobin managed to slip into an empty bathroom. He slammed the door shut and wasted no time in locking it. Letting out the biggest sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door, taking a big gulp of the ice cold water.

He set the bottle on the counter and carefully reached into the front pocket of his jacket, his fingers finding the piece of paper he had been storing there all evening. He pulled it out and let his eyes wander over his middle school creation. It was a big heart, cut out from a scrap piece of red construction paper. Scrawled across it in his eight-grade handwriting were the words, Be mine this Valentine’s! His name was etched at the bottom, and at the very top, delicately printed in hot pink glitter glue, your name was written as well.

He had planned to give this to you four years ago on Valentine’s day. Everything had been planned out perfectly; he was to pick you up on his old, trusty bike. It wasn’t really made for two people, but the two of you had fashioned a makeshift extra seat for you to sit upon whenever you went places together.

He wanted to take you to the Dairy Shack, which was the local ice cream shop where the two of you spent the most time together. You always got a large chocolate shake to share, playing a quick game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who got to eat the cherry on top. He was going to order a shake and specially ask for two cherries that time, and planned to give both of them to you before he would bravely present you with the handmade card he had spent all day working on.

However, when he waited for you outside your house that day, the red dusk turned to pitch black night, and you never stepped foot out your door.

He had even gone up to your door a few times and knocked, but there was no answer. Eventually he pedalled off into the night, back to his house. He was disappointed, of course, but more worried than anything else. He had hoped you weren’t sick.

But when he saw you at school the next day, he knew that hadn’t been the case.

And when you ignored him calling your name as you passed by him in the hallways, he knew that something had drastically changed.

For weeks, Soobin was in great turmoil as he replayed your last few encounters together before you had stood him up. Perhaps you were angry that he had won the last few games of rock, paper, scissors? If he had known, he would have given you all the cherries for the rest of time if it meant you would still talk to him. He didn’t care about them—he cared about you.

He missed you.

And as weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, you still barely spoke to him, and he missed you more and more. The best friend he had wanted to take a step closer to had taken a thousand steps back from him, and he still had no idea why.

But that night, he was determined to find out.

Well, if he could muster up the courage to get a single word out, of course.

He folded the heart back up and stuck it back in his pocket, taking a deep breath as he observed himself in the fogged-up mirror. He fixed his bright blue hair that Felix had helped him bleach and dye, making sure the pieces fell over the corners of his eyes just right. He straightened his white turtleneck and cuffed the sleeves of his denim jacket until he was at least somewhat content with his appearance.

“You can do this, Soobs,” He told himself, adjusting his big round glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “That’s what Felix would say.”

“Hey, rich boy!” A loud scream came from outside the bathroom door, accompanied by harsh knocking that sent Soobin stumbling backwards until he fell in the shower, pulling the curtains down with him.

“Hurry up in there! I’m about to piss myself!”

Soobin let out a shaky sigh, scrambling to his feet as he rushed to fix the curtain he had torn down with his clumsiness. “Sorry,” he mumbled, though he doubted the person on the other side of the door could hear him.

He realized then with an ever growing dread that it would be a miracle if he survived the night long enough to even find you, but it would take the work of God himself for him to actually speak to you.

He figured it was time for him to start praying.

YOU KNEW IT WAS A MISTAKE TO LET JEN DO YOUR MAKEUP.

When she had stopped you on your way out the door with a compact of bright purple eyeshadow, you had turned her down right away. No way in all of creation were you walking in a party with such an atrocious color caked up to your brow bone.

“How can you say it’s gonna look bad if you haven’t even let me try?” Jen had asked.

You had given her a once-over, your lips pressed into a thin line. “If it’s gonna look anything like the way you do your own makeup, I’m gonna have to pass.”

After that snide remark, she had threatened to fire you if you didn’t let her apply the makeup. And so you obliged, though you didn’t have much of a choice.

The booming sounds of the party hit your ears before you had even reached the lawn. Screaming teens—well, there were probably some adults thrown in there as well—and the sound of music spilled through the open windows of the home. Couples and singles alike were scattered throughout the perfectly kept lawn that was now littered with empty cups and other assortments of garbage.

You looked down at your patchwork jeans and pink sweater, certain that you would be underdressed compared to the rest of the partygoers. But from the looks of things, as you carefully squeezed your way through the front door and into the home, everyone was probably too wasted to even notice your arrival, let alone care about your looks.

You caught a glimpse of your face in the hallway mirror, cringing at the sight of your eyeshadow. You had tried to wipe some of it away before arriving, but it simply smudged, giving you quite the shocking smoky, purple eye look. For someone who didn’t even know the difference between a paintbrush and a makeup brush, it was a bold look, to say the least.

If Soobin saw you looking like this, he’d probably have a heart attack.

Soobin.

In the midst of all your frantic preparation, you had nearly forgotten about the main reason why you had planned to avoid this party at all costs. With a quick glance around the room, you realized that he was nowhere to be seen. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t shown up at all. He was never a fan of parties, anyway.

You crossed your arms over your chest and slowly slipped past the couples crowding the hallway with their limbs intertwined, mouths practically swallowing one another whole, until you reached the living room. Surprisingly, it was less crowded in here than you thought it might be. A few minglers were scattered about the room’s perimeter, but they all kept away from the center of the room, which was occupied by none other than Choi Yeonjun and all his brainless, rich-boy worshippers. You quickly scanned the group, not able to make out Soobin among them. When you realized he wasn’t there, you were partly relieved and partly disappointed. If was to be anywhere at this party, it would probably be with these guys.

With a quick turn on your heel, you planned to make your way out of the living room before Yeonjun could see you. The last thing you wanted was for the boy with a bruised ego to see you, regardless of whether or not he had been the one to invite you.

“Y/N? You came?”

Too late.

Plastering a forced grin to your face, you slowly turned to face Yeonjun, who had just called your name. He was eyeing you with slight surprise, but soon, a smirk slipped across his lips as he motioned for you to come over. You had to hold back your sigh, wishing there was some way for you to get out of this situation. It was all Jen’s fault that you had to show up in the first place. You decided you were going to demand an extra ten cents be added to your raise the next time you saw your pushy boss.

“Hey Yeonjun,” you said once you had walked over to him. “I figured I’d stop by for a minute or two, since you were kind enough to invite me.”

He smirked, glancing at a few of his friends. They shared a knowing laugh with one another, but the meaning of it was lost to you. You wanted nothing more than to get away from them, but that wasn’t an option.

“You’re too busy to go out with me to a basketball game but free enough to come to a party, huh?” He asked.

You blinked, digging your nails into your arms. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine, really,” He drawled, swirling his plastic cup of beer in his hand. “You didn’t think I’d be upset or anything did you? I only asked you out because I was dared to shack up with you. But I’m guessing you already knew that, since you’re so smart and all.”

Your eyes went wide, but you managed to control the rest of your expression. It was just like you had guessed—Yeonjun had invited you to the party with the sole purpose of making a scene.

If you survived the night, Jen was never going to hear the end of it.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” He asked, pushing himself to his feet. You could tell by the slight stumble in his step and his hooded eyes that he had quite a bit to drink. He took a step towards you, causing you to back up immediately. Your back hit the wall, and you placed your palms against it as Yeonjun towered over you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know why you’re here anyways.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering near your ear. “You’re here to see Soobin, aren’t you? Since he’s the only one here willing to waste his time on filth like you.”

Your blood boiled, and you had to clench your fists at your sides to control your anger.

“Don’t,” You seethed, “Call me that.”

“Call you what? Filth? Or sweetheart? Why, is that something good old Binnie used to call you—”

He never got to finish that sentence, because with one big burst of anger, you stomped on his toe as hard as you could with your worn-out platform sneaker.

“What the hell!” He screeched, drawing the attention of several others in the room. His outburst even caused a few of the couples to pull away from each other’s faces long enough to eavesdrop.

Before you could even say anything back, lukewarm liquid was splashed up in your face, burning your eyes and nose. You gasped, running your hands over your eyes to see Yeonjun with his now empty cup of beer pointed towards you.

“Think twice before you act out against me next time, sweetheart. Never forget your place.”

Tears of anger burned in your eyes, and you scanned the room to see several people exchanging whispers and giggles as they glanced in your direction. You pushed past Yeonjun and quickly made your way out the back door of the house, unable to stand the humiliation for a moment longer.

Soobin arrived in the living room just in time to see you leave.

He wasted no time in rushing towards Yeonjun, grabbing hold of his arm. “Yeonjun, was that Y/N?” He asked, eyes quickly taking in the puddle of alcohol on the floor and the empty cup in Yeonjun’s hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty blue head about, Big Choi. I just put her in her place is all.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you ‘put her in her place?’”

Yeonjun laughed, giving Soobin a nonchalant pat on the back. “Just drop it, would you? It has nothing to do with you.”

“What did you say, Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun was growing irritated now. He huffed out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said it has nothing to do with you, Soobin. I know you like to hang around people like that pothead Felix, but the rest of us live in the real world, where we’d rather not waste our time with those who have no future anyways. I bet he’s the one that got you to dye your hair that god awful blue, isn’t he?”

Soobin bit the inside of his cheek. He so badly wished to rip Yeonjun to shreds then and there. If he had Felix’s courage, the cocky bastard would have been knocked to the ground ages ago. But if there was one thing Soobin was sure he could never be, it was brave. And so, despite his rage, he remained silent, his eyes practically burning a hole through Yeonjun’s chest from how intently he was glaring.

It seemed as though Yeonjun was about to say something, but his eyes landed on the bit of red that peeked through the front pocket of Soobin’s denim jacket. Before Soobin had time to defend himself, Yeonjun had reached forward and snatched it from his pocket, revealing the large paper heart—his valentine for you.

“So this is why you care so much,” Yeonjun said, laughing as his eyes scanned the glittery words that decorated the page. “You want her to be your valentine.”

“Give that back,” Soobin said quietly, his hands beginning to shake.

Yeonjun instead lifted his eyes to Soobin, gave him a sickly sweet grin, and ripped the heart straight down the middle. He let the two pieces fall from his hands to the ground, and with them Soobin’s heart went also.

“You’re really willing to try and go against me, and for what? For the sake of a girl who can’t even afford a new pair of jeans and a boy that smokes his life away in the bathroom stalls?” Yeonjun took a slow step towards Soobin, his eyes glinting with a sinister determination. “You may be rich, Soobin, but if you choose to lower yourself to their standards, you may as well be dirt poor just like they are.”

With his hands clenched into tight fists, his glasses sliding down his nose, and his heart quite literally in two pieces on the floor below him, Soobin decided that he had had enough.

“I’d much rather be associated with people who are kind and have actual depth to their character than be lumped together with a bunch of pricks like you with no real personality—because that’s something you can’t buy with daddy’s paycheck.”

He had to physically restrain himself from slapping his hand across his own mouth in shock. It was as if the spirit of Felix himself had possessed him to say such harsh things. He wondered where Felix was then, wishing more than ever before to have his best friend by his side as he began to tremble from either the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, or from fear. Or perhaps it was both.

He didn’t have time to ponder it any longer before Yeonjun’s fist collided with his nose, resulting in a sickening crack as pain echoed throughout his face in tidal waves.

He stumbled backward as people began to shout, raising his hand to his nose and gasping when he saw that his palm was covered in blood.

Beomgyu had his arms wrapped around Yeonjun, who was desperately trying to lunge towards Soobin once again.

“Knock it off, Yeonjun!” Beomgyu shouted, pushing the elder back. “His dad is on the school board! Are you trying to get expelled?”

Beomgyu looked over his shoulder at the still stunned Soobin, who was gaping at the blood that now stained his once white turtleneck.

“Get lost, Soobin,” Beomgyu said, to which Soobin only blinked in reply, his ears ringing.

“Now!”

Head spinning, Soobin picked up the two halves of his paper heart, stuffed them into his jeans, and stumbled out the same door he had seen you go through just minutes before. After checking to make sure his glasses were still intact—they were, thankfully—he shook his head in an effort to clear his mind of the static, eyes scanning the front lawn looking for any trace of you.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to spot you among the now dwindling crowd of partygoers. Your bright pink sweater stood out against the darkness, so he was able to recognize you even with your back towards him. He sniffed, wiping the back of his hand against his dripping nose as he slowly made his way to where you sat on the curb, your feet planted on the asphalt street. He wished that he looked a bit more presentable—when he played this scene out in his head over the years in which he would finally reunite with you, he never imagined himself dazed and covered in blood.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.

When he reached you, he simply stood beside you in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. He could tell that you sensed his presence, but you refused to look up at him as you kept your face buried in your hands. He could have sworn he heard a few muffled sobs slip through your fingers, but of course, he wasn’t going to bring that up.

Eventually he decided to slip his jacket off of his shoulders, leaning down to drape it over you. You still kept your head down as he sat beside you on the curb, but he watched you grip the jacket and pull it tighter around your body. He smiled a bit, holding the collar of his turtleneck against his throbbing nose.

“Thank you,” you muttered, wiping your hand across your eyes. You finally looked over at him, and when you did, you couldn’t hold back your gasp. “My God Soobin, what happened to your face?”

“Oh, well, I might have gotten punched,” He said quickly, trying to wave off your concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Punched? By who?”

He looked down at the ground, sniffing as a drop of blood hit the pavement. “Yeonjun,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry, did you just say Yeonjun? Are you insane? Why on earth would you butt heads with the Choi Yeonjun?”

Soobin didn’t say anything in response, he simply stared at you, eyes wide with beer dripping off the ends of your hair, makeup smeared across your face, your sweater stained down the front. It didn’t seem to take long for you to put the pieces together, as the shock left your face and was replaced with something akin to guilt.

“Oh,” You said, looking back down at your shoes.

“So she knows that I did it all for her,” Soobin thought.

For some reason, the idea of that both terrified and excited him.

A second later, he glanced over to see you ripping one of the hand-sewed patches of fabric off your jeans, leaving a square of your skin exposed to the chilly night air. You leaned towards him, pushing his hand away from his nose so you could use the patch to clean up some of the blood on and around his puffy red nose.

“Y/N, your pants!” He exclaimed, trying to push your hand away. “They’re ruined!”

“I’m not worried about my pants, you idiot,” You said, swatting his hand away as you continued to press the cloth against his skin. “You got punched in the face because of me, this is the least I could do.”

“That was my choice though,” He muttered, although he stopped trying to resist your touch. He ignored the way his heart thrummed harder in his chest, hoping that you couldn’t hear.

“Well, this is my choice too.” Your eyes flicked to his for a brief moment, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Why did you do it, by the way?”

“Do what?”

“Stand up to Yeonjun for me and get a nasty nosebleed as a result.”

“Oh.” He blinked slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on yours. “Just ‘cause.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Because of you.” He blurted, causing your hand to go still against him. He swallowed his fear, braving the best smile that he could. “Just you. That was my only reason.”

You didn’t say anything as your hand fell from his face, the cloth clutched between your fingers. The anxiety he had tried his best to suppress came rushing up all at once, and he was surprised that his ears didn’t begin to squeal like a tea kettle from all the pressure.

“Y/N,” He said, gently placing his hand over yours despite how his fingers trembled. “Why did you pull away from me?”

“What?”

“Four years ago. Why did you stop talking to me?”

You were quiet for a moment, digging into the ground with the toe of your sneaker. Soobin held his breath until you finally replied with, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“We were getting older, Binnie,” You said, and his heart skipped at the use of your old nickname for him. “You and I, we’re from very different walks of life. You get to hang out with people like Yeonjun, whereas I get a cup of beer poured all over my face just for existing, and you get a fist to the nose for trying to stand up for me. We’re from different sides of the track, one might say.”

“So?” Soobin asked, his hand tightening around yours. “Did you really think that would affect us that much, Y/N?”

You frowned, glancing down at his hand over yours.

“I thought you’d be embarrassed of me,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Embarrassed?” Soobin’s eyes went wide as he gripped your hand tighter still, pulling it into his lap. “Y/N, I would never, ever be embarrassed of you. Besides, have you seen my best friend? He’s on a first name basis with the principal because of how often he gets written up for smoking behind the school. If I’m not embarrassed of him, why would I ever be embarrassed of you?”

You laughed, wiping the back of your hand across your eyes once more. “I guess I was worried about nothing, huh?” You sniffed, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Soobin.”

He shook his head, squeezing your hand right back. “Don’t apologize. You’re here now, that’s what matters. Do think we could—you know—”

“Pick up where we left off?” You smiled, nodding vigorously. “I’d like that very much, Binnie.”

He beamed then, almost pinching himself to be sure that he was not dreaming, but the pain in his nose was real enough to remind him of that on its own. He jumped to his feet, pulling you right up with him.

“In that case, how about we finally go on that Valentine’s date I had planned all the way back then?”

“Date?” You asked, a brow raised. “Is it really considered a date if two friends are just hanging out?”

He didn’t respond as he pulled you along behind him towards the bushes where he and Felix had hidden his bike. He crouched down and moved the branches aside, feeling his heart drop to his stomach when he realized that his bike was, in fact, no longer there.

He shot up, turning to face you with eyes wide. “Felix—that bastard took my bike!”

You were quiet for a moment, but then, you burst into boisterous laughter, leaving Soobin utterly confused.

“It’s not funny, Y/N!” He whined, shoving your shoulder lightly. “I was supposed to take you to the Dairy Shack on my bike!”

“It is funny,” You said between bursts of laughter. “Only you would get such a rusty old piece of metal stolen from you.”

He pushed his lips out in a pout, sliding his glasses up his sore nose. “It’s a good bike, don’t make fun of it.”

You grinned, interlocking his fingers with yours, which was enough to instantly wipe the pout right off his face.

“Let’s just walk, Binnie. The Dairy Shack isn’t that far anyways.”

You were right; the walk to your favorite milkshake place was very close to the house where the party had occurred. Although Felix stealing his bike had thrown an obvious wrench in his plans, it was a minor hiccup, and one he could most definitely handle. Besides, he wouldn’t have to see Felix until the next day anyways. He could deal with his frustration then.

At least, that’s what he thought anyways, until the two of you spotted Felix at the skatepark on your way to the dairy shack.

Soobin’s eyes took in the deplorable sight before him—from where he stood on the dimly lit sidewalk, he could see Felix and a girl he had never seen before, their faces nearly pressed together, and most importantly, with his bike discarded a few yards away from them.

“Soobin,” You said, tugging on his arm. “They look like they’re busy, let’s just go—”

But Soobin, who had little patience when it came to Felix messing up his plans, didn’t let you finish before he screamed, “Give me back my freaking bike!”

You had to hold back your snort of laughter at his choice of words. Even when he was trying to sound angry, he was undeniably adorable.

Soobin watched as Felix startled, clutching his spliff between his fingers as he glared daggers back at his friend. Soobin gulped, trying not to let his fear show on his face. What did he have to be afraid of, anyways? He was the victim of thievery, and his best friend was the offender.

Felix took a big step towards him, but he paused, his eyes landing on your interlocked hands. Soobin glanced down as well, his face growing furiously warm as he realized the situation he had gotten himself into.

He decided to divert the subject before it could even be brought up by saying, “I can’t believe you stole my bike! All this time I was trying to hide it from strangers, but you, my best friend! I should’ve been hiding it from you!”

Soobin noticed Felix’s female companion step off the skateboard and walk over in his direction, and for a second he felt bad for possibly ruining her night with his best friend. However, his frustration was more prominent in the moment as he fixed his gaze back on his best friend, who had fixed a mischievous smirk upon his face that made warning sirens blare in Soobin’s head right away.

“Now, now, buddy,” Felix said, his voice calm and carefree as ever. It probably had something to do with what he had just smoked, but Soobin didn’t care all that much. “You’re just gonna have to let me borrow it for a little longer.”

Soobin nearly laughed at the audacity of such a statement. “You are gonna give me the bike, or—”

“How about this, Soobs?” Soobin’s lips clamped shut at his friend’s interruption, as the thief in question gestured with his joint to where Soobin’s fingers were locked with yours. “You let me keep your bike for the night, and I don’t tell your dad about you hanging out with the opposite gender.”

Unable to control yourself, you let out a big laugh. Soobin would have felt betrayed, but he was more terrified than anything else at the idea of his father finding out that he was taking a girl out without his permission. He would be grounded for weeks—no, months.

“You wouldn’t.”

Felix’s lips curled up even more into a twisted grin that Soobin wished he had the guts to slap off his face. “God, just imagine the look on Mr. Choi’s face. Imagine him finding out about your premarital hand holding.”

No. Not the hand holding.

Soobin almost felt faint, but he steeled himself to the best of his abilities as he cleared his throat. “One night, Lix,” he warned. “If I don’t see it on my porch in the morning, you’ll be sorry!”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Felix teased. His expression changed a moment later though, when he finally noticed Soobin’s swollen nose and blood-stained turtleneck. “Wait, Soobs, the hell happened to you?”

Soobin, however, had already taken his first steps away from the skatepark, pulling you along behind him. “I’ll tell you later, bud. Enjoy your spliff with that kind girl who you probably don’t deserve!”

“Hey!”

Soobin couldn’t help but laugh as he swung your interlocked hands together, grinning as you let out a laugh as well. The anger that had seeped through him seemed to melt away in an instant as the two of you continued your journey to the Dairy Shack.

“Would your dad really be that upset if he found out about this?” You asked.

Soobin grimaced. “We should probably wait til next year to tell him about this outing. Or maybe the year after that.”

When the two of you had finally reached the Dairy Shack, you waited outside for him while he went in to order your drink. A large chocolate milkshake, with two straws, just like you used to get every time before.

When he had the drink in hand, he walked back outside and sat down beside you on the curb, smiling as you wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders. You smiled back up at him, your eyes creasing from the expression. Your smile had always struck him right to his core; he had missed seeing it every day.

He hoped he could see it every morning and every night from that day onward. There was no way he would let you go this time.

He just had to muster up the courage to grab hold of you first.

“You know what, Binnie, you turned out to be a lot taller than I thought you ever would be,” you said as you took one of the straws from his hands. “You’re actually enormous. It’s shocking.”

“Should I find that offensive? It sounds kinda like an insult.”

“Take it however you will,” You teased, leaning over as he popped the plastic lid off the milkshake. He grabbed the cherry by the stem and held it towards you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, holding out your fist. “We have to rock, paper, scissors for it. Remember?”

Soobin laughed as he shook his head. “I’m giving it to you this time. It’s what I planned to do all those years ago, when I asked you to hang out on Valentine’s.”

You seemed to be taken aback, but you simply shrugged as you plucked the cherry from his hand and pulled it from the stem with your teeth, glancing back over at him. It was silent for a moment, but then your eyes landed on the pocket of his jeans, where you could see a bit of red paper poking out. You leaned over even further, reaching your hand out to snatch the paper.

“What are you—hey! Give that back!”

Soobin desperately tried to take his Valentine back from you, but it was too late. You held both halves of what used to be a whole in your hands, your eyes scanning the words as you pieced them together.

“Soobin . . .”

He held his breath. Had his act of young love left you completely speechless? Were you so touched that you would burst into tears?

“This looks like a middle schooler made it.”

He let out the breath in the form of a long, long sigh.

“That’s because it was made by a middle schooler,” He said as he set the milkshake down beside him. “I made it back in the eighth grade. I planned to give it to you that Valentine’s.”

“Oh.” You ran your finger along the card’s surface, the smallest smile creeping across your lips. “Well in that case, it’s not half bad. Why’s it ripped though?”

“Ah—well, Yeonjun . . .”

You nodded, taking another glance at his swollen nose. “No need to elaborate. It seems you had a lot planned for our Valentine’s Day back then. Is there anything else you wanted to do?”

His mouth went dry at that, and he wished that you couldn’t see his face because he was sure that his expression was quite comical. All the way back then, four years prior, he had in fact planned the perfect, ideal day in his head. Picking you up on his bike, giving you the cherry from his milkshake, and presenting you with his hand made card.

There was only one thing left on his list.

He didn’t move at first, willing himself to have enough courage to even look back in your direction. But when he finally did allow his eyes to meet yours, he felt his shoulders relax and his heart rate became more manageable.

He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against your cheek.

He lingered there for only a moment before he pulled back, daring to pry one of his eyes open to take in the look on your face.

The disappointment was palpable—from the way your brows furrowed together and the way you pursed your lips. His stomach dropped, and he scooted the tiniest bit away from you.

“I’m sorry,” He blurt out, his face growing warmer by the second. “I shouldn’t have done that, I just—”

“Is that all?”

Your question stopped him mid-ramble, his eyes growing wide. “Huh?”

“Is that all?” You repeated, closing the distance between you that he had created. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Soobin. I think we can do better than a peck on the cheek.”

The implications of what you were saying didn’t register with him right away, but when it finally did, he could have sworn his heart began to beat loud enough for the entire town to hear. His hand curled into a fist as he gripped the denim of his jeans. He leaned forward, keeping his eyes open just enough to watch you as he brought his lips closer to yours. He could feel your eyes on him all the while, causing his heart to pound fiercer still within him.

When he was just a breath away, he whispered, “Can you close your eyes?”

“Hm?”

He lifted his hand, gently placing it over your eyes. He leaned closer then, filling the space between you both as his lips met yours. You tasted vaguely of cherry and strawberry slice soda, and he found it quite nice the way his lips seemed to fit perfectly against your own. As the seconds drew on, your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer. He slowly let his hand fall from your eyes, tracing lines with the tips of his fingers down your cheek before he cradled your jaw, letting his lips part just enough to taste the sweet sugar on your lips once more.

He thought in a haze that it was a good thing he didn’t drink anything at the party, as kissing you was proving to be intoxicating enough on its own.

When you finally pulled away, leaving your forehead resting against his, he let his eyes flutter open enough to see the euphoric smile that adorned your features. He grinned as well, gently running his thumb against your cheek.

“I think that back then, I had planned to ask you this before kissing you,” He whispered, “But Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

Instead of a spoken answer, you laughed, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours once again, and that was the only answer Choi Soobin would ever need.

WHEN SOOBIN ARRIVED HOME THAT NIGHT, HE WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE TELEPHONE.

It was kept upstairs at night right outside his parent’s door, to keep himself and his brother from using it in the late hours. Of course, this never stopped Soobin from sneaking it downstairs to his room in the basement to make late night calls to Felix.

And that particular evening, he really needed to give Felix an update.

He grabbed the phone from the small table in the hallway, carefully tiptoeing towards the basement stairs. Before he had even taken the first step down, the bathroom door creaked open. Soobin whipped his head around to see his brother Kai standing there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he raised a brow at his older brother.

Soobin froze, blinking slowly as he realized the incriminating situation he found himself in.

“Please don’t tell mom,” He whispered, his eyes pleading with his younger brother.

Kai nodded, although Soobin wasn’t quite convinced that the boy was even coherent enough to understand what was going on. Soobin offered a rushed thank you, and ventured his first step down the stairs.

Well, he tried, anyways, and ended up missing the first step. He tumbled down the rest of the stairs, landing on his butt at the very end.

He winced in pain, glad to see that the phone was still intact in his hands. He glanced over his shoulders to see Kai staring down the stairway with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. Soobin quickly put a finger to his lips, begging his brother for silence.

Kai simply shook his head and walked away, allowing Soobin the freedom to breathe out a sigh of relief.

He quickly ran to his bedroom and shut the door, collapsing onto his bed with the phone as his breaths came in ragged gasps as an aftereffect from his tumble down the stairs. He figured he should have dialed Felix’s number right away, but he couldn’t help but brush his fingers against his lips, remembering the feeling and taste of having yours pressed against them.

He was so caught up in his daze that he didn’t notice Felix calling until the third ring.

He picked it up, breathing heavily into the speaker as he rubbed a sore spot on his lower back.

“Please tell me that panting is from running a marathon, and not what I think you’ve successfully tried.”

Soobin nearly gagged, holding the phone away from his face as he coughed, flustered by his friend's crude words. He brought the phone back to his face and said, “No, you sicko, I just fell down the stairs.”

“How the hell did you manage that with those long legs?”

“That’s not important, Lix!” He laid back onto his pillows then, twirling the phone cord in his hands as he stared up at his ceiling, the memories of his adventure with you that night flooding his mind once more. He couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear as he said, “Look, I need to tell you something important.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he could hear the smile in Felix’s voice too as his friend replied.

“Well buddy, I got something to tell you too.”

1K notes · View notes

satoruvt · 3 years

Text

for a moment i forget to worry

pairing → xu minghao x reader

word count → 3196

genre → fluff + angst, college au ↳ tags: strangers to friends to lovers </3, college kinda sux, ROOMMATE CHAN MAKES AN APPEARANCE OR TWO, dance major minghao, reader is completely lost but its ok who isnt, lots of cute couple stuff, pov ur entire relationship with minghao. thats it, a sad break up scene, a solid amount of crying

summary → there’s something about minghao. maybe it’s the way he dances, vibrant and youthful, or maybe it’s the way he loves you. based off of hunger by florence + the machine.

warnings → i hint at sex but its pretty vague, i also mention a breakdown type deal (revolving around school/life after school)

a/n → first of all this was NOT supposed to be 3k words i dont know how it happened. second of all i’m only kind of happy with this HAHA i feel like the story itself isnt bad but i wanted it to match the song more ... idk :/ i hope u guys like it regardless !!!

pieces of you masterlist

The first time you see him is by accident.

Really - all you’re doing is trying to find Chan. You’re passing by the practice rooms, looking into them in hope he’ll be there, stopping to gaze at decorations and medals and trophies lined up on the walls. It’s when you approach a room that music plays from that you think you’ve found Chan, but when you gaze in, it’s definitely not him.

You don’t know who it is, but he moves like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

It’s hypnotizing, almost makes you want to drop your things and dance with him. There’s a sense of youth that comes from him and it’s almost overwhelming - but it’s not in energy, necessarily, but rather from the precision of his movements, the technicalities that he seems to both follow and break at the same time. Something vibrant seeps out between the seams of his body, colors you can barely recognize as they splash against anything they can reach. It’s almost tangible.

You watch him long enough for him to finish his performance (an unknowing one) with the last notes of a song you forgot was even playing. His eyes meet with yours, slow as he completes an eloquent turn, and at the same time, a hand meets your shoulder.

A small wave of embarrassment washes over you, and you turn towards whoever touched you, effectively breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” Chan asks, hair still wet from what you assume was a shower.

“Looking for you,” you tell him, following as he starts to walk towards the exit. “I wanted lunch, and you owe me for that time I took your British literature quiz for you.”

Chan groans but agrees to pay, and you laugh, though the world seems a little paler than it did a few moments ago.

The second time you see him is by chance.

(Maybe.)

You’re waiting for a lecture to start, tapping your fingers against your laptop idly as you watch students trickle in last minute. It’s not a strict course, but it does start at nine in the morning, and most everyone shows up with a coffee.

You look down to brush a stray hair off of your table, and when you look up again, the dancer from before walks through the door, then looks right at you.

You feel a blush heat your face and it’s like he wants to make sure that you know that he knows, because he almost refuses to look away. You break eye contact first (like the last time, you remember for no reason) but still watch as his figure moves up the stairs, past the rows, and you hope he’ll just move past you too…

He doesn’t. He takes the empty seat right next to yours, and you don’t say anything, instead finding the peeling sticker on your laptop incredibly interesting. The professor comes in and decides that today he’ll take extra long to set everything up, apparently, and you want to scream.

“So,” the dancer says, voice quiet. It takes your breath away, the way he sounds. “Mind if I ask why you were watching me the other day?”

You cast a glance at him - not too long, you don’t think you could handle more than five seconds tops - and finally open your laptop so it makes you look busy. “I was waiting for a friend.”

“And?”

The smile in his voice is palpable. You’re already exasperated.

“You…” you start, finally deciding to look at him as some sort of subconscious power move. “You’re a beautiful dancer. It was hard not to watch.”

Beautiful doesn’t even cover half of it, but you figure he already thinks you’re weird for watching him, so you hold back the thoughts of youth and vibrancy and color. The dancer looks at you, almost blank for a moment, before a soft smile draws itself on his face. It makes your heart beat a little faster. He says “thank you” with a gentle tone, sincerely felt.

The class starts, and the two of you don’t speak throughout the next hour and a half. You type out notes on your laptop and you see him write down names of the paintings being shown on the projector, little thoughts and notes written afterwards.

By the end of class, your professor assigns an optional partnered project, and you’re more than prepared to head back to your apartment and start on it yourself. The dancer stops you before you leave, however, asks if you’d like to be his partner.

(And he says it like that, would you like to be my partner, polite and somehow sweet.)

You know your answer. “I don’t even know your name,” you stall, standing from your chair.

“Minghao,” he tells you. “I’m Minghao, and I’d like for you to be my partner.”

You say yes easily, put your number into his contacts even easier. The sky is blue when you leave the lecture hall, trees dotted with pink and purple flowers, and it is all so bright that you forget it wasn’t this way in the first place.

The third time you see him is for school.

Underneath the excitement of giving Minghao your number, there is the knowledge that it’s for the sake of an assignment. He texts you the day after to ask if you’re free to meet up to work and you tell him sure.

(Sure is what you send back, but he doesn’t have to know that you burst into Chan’s room immediately after, plunging face first into his bed just to scream into his pillows. Chan had sighed, turned around in his desk chair to look at you, then asked what happened. He gave you two minutes to rant and then kicked you out, back to your own room.)

You and Minghao agreed to meet at the library on a day that neither of you had any afternoon classes, and you get there early, spend some time working on other classes. You have somewhere around thirty minutes to freak out to yourself before you see Minghao come in, dressed like he knows what he’s doing to you (which is really just a hoodie and jeans, but you think it’s the cap that really pulls the whole boyfriend look together), smiling when he finds you at a table in the corner.

“How are you?” is the first thing he says when he sits down, and you pull down your laptop screen a little to see him better.

“I’m good,” you say, feeling your heart pound. “What about you?”

Minghao sends you a kind smile. “Really good. Should we get started?”

You lose count of how many times you see him after that.

Meeting up to work on the project soon becomes just meeting up, and after the project’s done and turned in, it happens even more. You hang out and get lunch, send each other texts and stupid videos, take walks around campus together. The weeks pass, summer mellows into fall, then into the early days of winter. You develop a genuine friendship with him, finding comfort in his presence, looking for him wherever you go.

(Although the crush is still there, potent and patient, stubborn in a way you’ve never experienced before. You wonder if it’s a sign of some sort.)

You’re in one of the practice rooms with him, sitting in the corner. You had a class nearby and he’d wanted to practice a little more, so you told him you’d work on your own stuff while he finished up and then the two of you could grab something to eat.

But you made a small error on your part - the dancing. You’d forgotten the way he moves (you haven’t seen him dance since that first time) and in no time at all you’re letting your screen go dark in front of you and watching him. Honestly, it’s not your fault, you really can’t help it.

But of course he notices.

Minghao meets your eyes through the mirror and raises his eyebrows at you, and all you can do is look away, desperately try to get your laptop up and running again so at least it seems like you weren’t watching him for too long.

“You’re staring,” he says, long after you’ve looked away.

“Sorry,” you tell him anyways, immediate, quick.

Then he says, “I never said anything about stopping.”

In a second, you look up from your laptop and up at him. He moves closer, crouches in front of you. His eyes are kind - they’re never not - but you think you see something a little more in them. “Sorry, I think I missed that last part,” you respond, blinking. Minghao smiles like you’re endearing.

“I said I want you to keep looking at me.”

You think you’re barely breathing when he shuts your laptop for you, slides it off of your lap and onto the floor (gently, with care, and it’s a wonder to you how he can focus on that right now). He practically crawls over you, one of his hands eventually reaching the junction of your jaw and neck and holding there. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” he says, but doesn’t move. You nod as soon as his words reach your brain, eager and quick.

And the next few hours get a little wound up in your head, a little mixed in with the feeling of his body - that moves so youthfully, with so much vibrancy that it reaches everything around you - melting into yours and the sound of him asking you to tell me what you need, honey, and the still-playing slow jam music he was practicing to.

You watch him sleep next to you, hand curled around yours against his pillows, and think that nothing bad could ever touch him.

The two of you… come together, after that.

Neither you nor Minghao use any proper labels, but you both seem to know. No labels are needed, really. You have each other and that’s all there is to it. And everything is really good.

You work together and laugh together like you’ve always known each other. He tries to teach you to dance with him when you’re in the practice room with him, pulls you up by your hands and guides you through your giggles. He was the first person you called when you realized that you had no idea what you were working towards, didn’t have a clue what you actually wanted to do with your life. He gets along well with your friends and you text his because they’re basically yours, now, too.

Winter turns back into spring, slow and easy. Vibrant and youthful. You’re not able to meet Minghao’s parents, but he meets yours (and you’re sure a quick introduction to his mom over a FaceTime call has to count for something). The two of you take advantage of the newfound warmth of the season and try to get out as much as you’re able to, with picnics and city dates and anything you can think of. A drawer in his dresser is reserved for your things, you bought an extra toothbrush for him to use when he stays over.

You watch him dance. It still feels like the first time, like color and breathlessness. You tell him he’s beautiful every time, feel yourself fall a little deeper when he still gets bashful amidst his comedown. You tell him you love him for the first time after he gets done with a performance - a proper one, for a showcase of the dance club he’s in. He says it back.

You think he put all the stars in the sky just for the two of you to gaze at them together.

Things shift the beginning of your junior year.

Minghao tells you about a program he’s applying to, a proper dance academy in New York that could really kickstart his career. Training under some of the best choreographers and performers in the world.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask him after he tells you, and he shrugs, leaning back in his chair. You’re studying at his apartment tonight.

“It’s just…” he frowns. “It’s so far away, you know?”

Oh. You hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in the excitement of him being able to apply at all. A quick sigh leaves your lips, and then you reach for his hand, hold it between both of your own.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, though now that you’re thinking about it, you feel nervousness in the pit of your stomach. “We can work something out, though, when we get that far. We’ll figure it out.”

Minghao nods, a fond look in his eyes. He pulls one of your hands to his lips. “We’ll think about it if I even get accepted,” he says.

It’s bittersweet, but a promise nonetheless.

Fifteen minutes after you get a call from Minghao, there’s a knock on your door.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re worried, but, well. Everyone’s experienced the jump of anxiety when they get hit with the “I want to talk to you about something” line. Nonetheless, you stand from the couch to open the door, mentally preparing yourself for any and everything.

“Hey,” you greet when you see Minghao, opening the door to let him in. His face is unreadable. “Everything okay?”

He walks a few steps into your apartment, waits for you to close the door before turning back around to face you. Then he holds up a piece of paper, the creases from where it was folded still bending. You send him a confused look.

“I got in,” he says, a grin breaking on his face, and you blink, then feel your jaw practically hit the floor. Minghao only nods like he understands, and before you know what you’re doing, you launch yourself at him, holding him close.

“Oh my god, Hao, that’s amazing,” you say into his sweater, then step back to get a proper look at him. Youthful, vibrant. “I’m so proud of you.”

He seems to soften at your words, pulls you back into him again with a gentle kiss to your head. “Thank you for believing in me,” he tells you, tenderness palpable in his voice. All you can do is squeeze him tighter.

Minghao spends a lot of time away from you after that.

You’re not really hurt in any way - even though he got into the academy in New York, he still has to practice. You get it, this is important. He doesn’t text you as often, isn’t able to stop by as much, and you miss him, but you know how much this means for him. But it gets… weird, almost, after a while. Strange, even for him. It feels weird that he’s set to leave at the end of January and it’s December and he’s distant.

Both of you are laying in your bed, looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, when you decide to bring it up. “You’ve been… kinda far away lately,” you start, nudging him with your shoulder gently. “Everything okay?”

His eyes stay on your ceiling, but you feel the way he sighs. “It’s about the program,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And about… you and me.”

Oh. That doesn’t… sound the best. “About, like… what we’re gonna do?”

Minghao nods.

You say, “I wouldn’t mind visiting every so often. It’d be hard, but I’m sure we could find something to work.”

Minghao shakes his head, says, “no.”

You pause, and when you look at him he’s already looking at you. What does he mean by no? Does he want you to move with him? Or does he -

He reaches for your hand and you think oh.

His eyes are a little glassy. You feel the tears come, too.

“Oh,” you say out loud. Minghao squeezes your hand. “So this is… this is it?”

Your room is suddenly cold, and you want to crawl under the covers and stay there. The person in front of you is blurred into something unrecognizable, but you can’t be bothered to blink away your tears.

“I think so, love,” he whispers back to you. “I think it has to be.”

The two of you cry like that for a while. In your bed, loosely intertwined and broken. Even the way Minghao cries carries a kind of vibrancy that’s overwhelming, makes you think of the first time you saw him so long ago, and now -

When you manage to get a better grip on yourself, you ask him if you can still see him off at the airport. He says, “I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Then you ask if you can kiss him again. He responds by kissing you first.

And it’s sad, it tastes like salt and sorrow and you feel like the promises you never got the chance to make are broken. It feels like the most beautiful blue you’ve ever seen, and you know it’s only a branch of Minghao’s color.

He leaves soon after that, pulls on his shoes and his coat and turns around at the door to give you a tired smile. After he’s gone, you drag yourself to Chan’s bedroom, and once he sees the state you’re in, he offers up one side of his bed. Neither of you say anything, but the friendly reassurance of his hand in yours says enough.

You don’t fail to notice that everything seems to be washed out, a blandness you’re not used to.

The last time you see him is at the airport.

It’s a cold day, despite being sunny. The airport offers little warmth, but you figure it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here for long.

It doesn’t take you very long to find Minghao - you still look for him wherever you go, even if you’re not looking for him. Even then, it’s still so easy for you to find him, to pinpoint that vibrancy, that youth. He’s talking to a few others, you think you met them. Soonyoung and Jun.

Minghao meets your eyes and you freeze, but then he waves you over with a gentle smile. You follow like you think you always will.

You greet Soonyoung and Jun and the four of you talk, albeit a little awkwardly, even when Soonyoung tries his hardest to lighten the mood. Eventually he has to leave, and Jun follows with a shy goodbye. They both hug Minghao before they go.

You’re not sure what to say, but after a minute, you find words. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” you tell him, a little selfishly.

Minghao says, “you’ll do good. I know you will. I’m not worried about you.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and you think he’ll give you a stiff and sad goodbye, but he steps a little closer to you. Looks at you the way he used to.

“Maybe…” he starts, then pauses. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

Maybe, you think. Maybe.

“I hope so,” you tell him, then watch as he leaves.

#caratwritersclub #kdiner #kpopscape #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagine #seventeen imagine #the8 x reader #the8 imagine #svt the8 x reader #seventeen the8 x reader #svt the8 imagine #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao imagine #svt minghao x reader #seventeen minghao x reader #minghao x reader #minghao imagine #pieces of you

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houseboatisland · 3 years

Note

I'm rather curious for your own takes on Thom Thom~✨💙

Edit credit to @/ComradeOpThomas from Twitter, this is my ideal Thomas!

(Season 5 Thomas is the best Thomas, I don’t make the rules)

I started this hoping for it not to become a whole biography, but it just kept pouring out of me, so here's a very, very long post indeed lol

Thomas is NOT an L.B.S.C.R. E2 Class. He’s actually a unique design born to the North Western Railway in its earliest days… and in remarkably sad circumstances.

When the Railway Executive Committee first took over in August 1914, they were repulsed at the state of the Sudrian railways. Here were several argumentative companies operating in isolation from one another, with geriatric engines and stock, and one of them hadn't even run a train or maintained its permanent way since the start of the century. A key agenda item of the R.E.C.'s was a continuous, efficient railway system to quickly move men and materiel to the Island's eastern coast were Ireland to side with Kaiser Bill against John Bull. The existing standard gauge railways would have to be more or less torn up and rebuilt from scratch, and several new miles of track laid in to make for a single fluid network.

This required, among other things, many new engines. Several came over the Channel as and when could be spared by the Mainland, but as it became increasingly clear that the war would not be over "by Christmas," this wasn't an ideal long-term solution. The R.E.C. was especially upset that it had to put so many of its tender engines onto construction trains when their strength could be better used on other work. Two tank engines off the former Wellsworth and Suddery Railway, No. 1 "Short" and No. 2 "Stumpy" were by now nearing fifty years old, and exhausted mechanically.

The R.E.C., out to keep costs down and use resources to the fullest, ordered the N.W.R. to scrap these two engines and use the best parts of each to create one new engine. Measurements were taken, plans were hastily drawn up, and Short and Stumpy were quietly cut up in January 1915. Several fittings were made new for what odds and ends neither engine could contribute a usable part. The resulting new engine was "Thomas," who was put to work fresh off the shop floor.

Thomas at this point became the N.W.R.’s No. 1 quite by accident. He was the first engine to be built at Crovan’s Gate, and the REC misinterpreted this on his builder’s plates as an intention by the N.W.R. TO make him No. 1. So when Thomas gained his number, the R.E.C. and the N.W.R. both assumed this was deliberate by one another. And it was just too much of a hassle and too unimportant to change, so No. 1 he stayed.

As for his name, Thomas is named after Thomas Reginald Payne, the North Western Railway's first Chief Mechanical Engineer. Payne had made Thomas' construction a reality, from drawing up his blueprints to supervising his piecing together. Payne, who was CME from 1914 to his death in 1951, never forgot this connection to "his" engine, and often wanted to be on the shop floor whenever Thomas was in for repairs.

Thomas’ “infancy” was in a word, harsh. He was working around the clock, surrounded by engines who came and went, and did little if any socializing. Foremen were ordering him about at every turn. His first friend ever was the new N.W.R. No. 2, Edward, the former Wellsworth and Suddery Railway’s No. 5 and only tender engine, who knew his old crewmates were chopped up to make Thomas. Thankfully, Edward knew better than to let Thomas in on this, lest he give him some sort of existential crisis, and he made quick work of making himself a mentor to the little engine.

In these conditions, Thomas’ “cheeky” and anti-authoritarian streak took shape. His whole life thus far had been work and taking lumps from his superiors, most of whom were English and not Sudrian. This morphed into a disrespect for big engines, who wanted him to be their errand boy as construction work began to ebb and focus shifted to running trains. Ever the contrarian, Thomas only doubles down on his disrespect for tender engines when he finds out that that’s “the traditional order of things.” Edward is of course exempt from this attitude, but in his tensest moments Thomas can even lose patience with HIM momentarily.

The war finally ends. January 1919 sees the N.W.R. out to make an identity for itself as peacetime takes hold and Parliament quietly rumbles about Grouping or outright Nationalization. Thomas is the first engine to wear "Hatt Blue with Red Stripes," the company's planned standard livery. This isn't unique to him for long, however, and Thomas' new line of work from hereon is Station Pilot for Vicarstown. Needless to say this is upsetting to him. He's not moving up and down the Island like he was when building the railway. He's still rushed off his wheels. He's expected to be answerable to tender engines as he makes up their trains. Most importantly, he's still having as much difficulty as before to make time to make friends. This new job is in every respect everything Thomas could have wanted to avoid, and there's no telling if he'll ever even get out of it. January 1919 is thus where "Wants to See the World" Thomas begins.

Thomas still gets to see Edward regularly, and he is for a pinch joined by two other tank engines shunting at Vicarstown. They're also ex-Wellsworth and Suddery Railway, Nos. 3 and 4 "Edwin" and "Victor." Thomas befriends Victor, who is a friendly old joker, but dislikes Edwin who has become cranky in his old and as a 2-4-0T has a tendency to slip and not be of much help. They leave him too, in 1922, when The Fat Director relocates them to run other branchlines on the Island. So, 1922 onward, we meet Thomas as the sole pilot, thoroughly busy and thoroughly lonely.

This seems more or less canon, but The Fat Director probably sent Thomas to Wellsworth after his runaway with Edward's trucks in anticipation of giving him the Ffarquhar Branch once he was a matured engine. He didn't give Thomas the line just because he rescued James in fine style, that was really what made his mind up.

Thomas looks kindly enough on Henry as a big engine at this time, he and Edward as mentioned aren't necessarily the kinds of "Big Engines" he dislikes. He'll occasionally give him a tease or two, or lose patience with his health, (something he now deeply regrets years later,) but there's no real malice in it. Think of him as the little brother poking fun at his bigger brother for having one arm in a cast, but altogether still feeling sorry for him and accommodating him how he can. Henry for his part appreciates Thomas, but takes his teasing very seriously considering how sensitive and implicating it is to, you know, his whole existence.

My idea of Thomas' relationship with Gordon is heavily inspired by @/mean-scarlet-deceiver's: Thomas is initially awed by Gordon's arrival and finally confident the N.W.R. can survive, but quickly resents him when he shows his true colors as a "big engine" through and through. I wouldn't even call Gordon and Thomas "friendly" until their alliance at Toryreck Mine. From 1923 all the way up to then, depending on when you place it, they... legitimately dislike each other. There's no affection beneath all the ribbing and jibes, they ACTUALLY disliked each other that whole period of time.

I'm still hashing out my headcanon of 98462 and 87546, (just know that those aren't actually their numbers,) but it's safe to say Thomas hates their guts, and '62 and '46 hate his guts in return as a servant willing to speak up for himself.

Thomas and James were a couple from 1924 to 1933, when they broke up amid the Big Engine Strike. I'd really rather reserve this for a post of its own at a later date.

Thomas and Percy are good friends, but I wouldn't go so far as to call them "best friends" like the TVS has so often hammered in. They clearly come to blows whenever the tension's too much. I like to explain that away as a shift in Thomas' character. With him doing more passenger work as Percy and Toby handle the stone trains, and his increasing fame, Thomas begins looking down on Percy, not long after he transferred to Ffarquhar in 1955 in fact. This might also have to do with unresolved feelings between them both. (Hey, remember that little green engine you kissed once just to try it over twenty years ago? He's your roommate now, probably forever. Play nice!)

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theboredwritertm · 3 years

Note

"Oh, darling, everybody sees how you look at him" fic request with Din/reader! (Please and thank you :3)

Everyone Knows

A/N: Another request done and dusted. I’ve been getting some new prompt lists ready for when I open requests back up again (not sure what tumblr etiquette is for compiling a masterlist using other people’s prompt-lists, but I’m considering doing something like that), but I still have about 4 or 5 fics to finish off before then!

Rating: PG?

Pairing: Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, a bit of alcohol, that’s about it.

Word Count: 4500 (Me, failing to keep a story under 2k words? It’s more likely than you think)

Summary: After taking on the krayt dragon together, you’re forced to confront your feelings for Din (with a little help from everyone’s favorite marshal).

***

The monster was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

There’d been times aboard the Crest, when there were still thousands of miles to go between stops, that you’d sit by Din, giving him your rapt attention as he’d recount one of his many stories about a particularly terrifying beast he’d encountered. Not that he would ever call them terrifying – the man had a will of steel when it came to facing these kinds of things. And on this occasion, in the middle of the Tatooine desert, things would prove no different.

Only this time he had you.

You were still coming into your abilities, not really sure what they meant or the true extent of what you were capable of, and amazingly enough you found you were learning a lot from watching the Child. For instance, before he came along, you had never known you could heal people. A simple experiment with Din had proven this to be true enough – the man was prone to injury in his line of work – and though it had taken a lot of concentration, enough that you were sweating by the end, it got you wondering just what other miracles your hands could perform.

Now, standing beside Din and the man who had introduced himself to you both as Cobb Vanth, you stared down into the dragon’s lair and found yourself hoping those powers might come in handy.

“So, how’re we drawin’ this thing out?” Cobb asks.

You glance back at the dozens of townsfolk and Tuskens around you, sensing their uneasiness as they shuffle from foot to foot and cast occasional apprehensive glances in the direction of the danger and you’re surprised to see a couple of the Raiders step forward. Considering how well their peoples’ last attempt to draw out the beast had gone, you hadn’t expected any of them to be so willing to approach the pit again.

Cobb glances over at them and cocks his head in immediate acceptance. Given his past troubles with their people, he can’t say he’s overly concerned over the prospect of losing a few more of them.

But you’ve never been one to stand by and watch people get hurt.

“No, wait.” The words leave your mouth automatically. Up until this point, you’d been feeling completely useless. Din had been keeping an even closer watch on you than usual since a stunt you had pulled back on Nevarro; one that had involved your unpredictable powers and the dozens of stormtroopers who’d had him cornered. Though he had come out of the situation a lot worse for wear than you had, he’d been hovering over you, keeping you a safe distance from any action ever since. You were starting to get sick of being kept on the sidelines. “I can do it,” you say.

The Tuskens turn to look back at you, not able to understand what you’ve said, but sensing a potential change of plans, then their attention is drawn to the Mandalorian beside you as he quickly dashes their hopes.

“No,” comes Din’s clear, expected response.

You turn to him. “I can handle this.”

“No. You’re staying where you are.”

You gaze at him for just a moment, anger starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach, before turning around and striding down the tall dune, towards the gaping mouth of the empty saarlac pit. You know better than to argue – you don’t have the time right now, but every time you did, he managed to use it as a way to distract you. You wouldn’t give him that opportunity now. You’d already made up your mind.

You feel the air stir as his hand shoots out to grab you, but you’re too quick; one of the things that’s managed to keep you alive this long, but now maybe the very thing that’s going to get you killed.

“Dank Farrik!”

Cobb glances between the man beside him and your retreating form, attempting to hold back a smirk. In the short couple of days that he’s known you both, he’s already witnessed at least three separate arguments, none of which seemed to get either of you anywhere. He didn’t see this one going the big guy’s way, either.

The modulator seems to amplify the frustration in Din’s voice, but you ignore it. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself, as you had proven to him numerous times now, and whatever problem he had with that was his own – you weren’t about to let his fears hold you back. Yet, as you draw closer to the yawning darkness, your heart begins to thud in your chest. For the first time, you feel the enormity of this creature, and you’ve never felt so small in your life.

You sense him approach before you hear him. That was one advantage you’d always had over Din; he could never sneak up on you.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of watching everyone else do everything,” you say, finally coming to a stop, your gaze still trained forward, “I want to play my part. I need to play my part.”

“No, you need to stay safe.” His words sound threatening despite their context, but you ignore him once more. This time he does grab you, catching you around the forearm as you raise your hands in the direction of the cave. “Stop!”You’re tempted to use your powers to throw him off, but you can feel how much he means it and you’re struck with a sudden guilt. He cares. That’s all there is to it.

“Please, let me do this.” You stare up into his helmet and feel him gazing back, considering things. His fingers loosen from your wrist.

“Fine. But I’m staying with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, not bothering to hide your bitterness at the constant babysitting – though, if you’re being honest, you do feel better with him by your side.

You raise your hands again and close your eyes, focusing on the low hum of energy around you. You don’t feel it at first, but then its as if you’ve suddenly locked onto a connection – plugged yourself into an electric charge – and everything suddenly feels heightened. Everything feels more. You draw on from that, concentrating on the pit of darkness before you, then you push forward with your mind, reaching out. In the darkness, something stirs.

“What is it?” Din asks, as if he’s sensed the sudden change.

“I feel it,” you reply, eyes still closed, your brow now marked with a frown.

He stares down at you and you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze (as much as you can through the helmet) but before either of you can say anything, a low rumbling begins to emit from the ground.

It had worked.

And it was heading right for you.

You’ll admit that, as much you’d wanted to play your part in this, you hadn’t really considered what came next once you did manage to draw the thing out. So now, as you watch the sand shift and begin to rise a hundred or so feet in front of you, you find yourself rooted to the spot.

It’s Din who moves first.

Your hands had come up again, all you can think to do to hold the beast off, then suddenly a strong arm is wrapping around your waist and you’re being propelled into the air. You glance down just in time to see the enormous mouth erupt from the ground where you had just been standing.

This time, you don’t argue. You clutch onto him, air whipping through your hair, thankful that he’s just as stubborn as you are.

When you finally land, he sets you on your feet and quickly glances down to make sure you’re alright. You give him a quick nod, sensing the question in his gaze, and then he takes off again to rejoin the action. It takes you a moment to regain your balance, and you still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, but when you glance back you find that he’s set you down by the landspeeder, with the Child. He’s put you back at the kids’ table.

You give a frustrated growl and the baby blinks curiously at you, eyes full of wonder. He’s just happy to be here, close to someone he likes. You offer a reassuring stroke over his little head, then turn to stalk back down the dunes; back towards the rest of the group whose lives apparently don’t mean as much to Din, since he’s more them happy for them to join in despite them having little-to-no fighting experience. You’re not about to sit back and watch them all die.

As the dragon bursts out of the sand once more, the Tuskens and townsfolk begin firing harpoons into its side – a desperate attempt to keep it in place – and you watch as it wrenches itself free with a simple shake of its body. There’s no way this plan is going to work.

When you arrive back by Din’s side, he simply looks at you, not even bothering to admonish you, knowing it’s not going to get him anywhere at this point anyway. But as you look at him, a silent warning to not push you aside again, he sees you’ve got that same look in your eyes now as you had back on Nevarro. And it worries him.

You move off together as a unit as the dragon begins its assault, firing with everything you’ve got to get its attention – in your case, your trusty blaster pistol – stopping only when it opens its jaws wide and proceeds to spit boiling acid down onto anyone within its reach. You watch in horror as people are disintegrated before your eyes.

A massive explosion beneath it distracts it long enough for any survivors to get clear of its path, and the creature suddenly dives.

You wait, watching for any sign that it’s coming back up, but the smoking landscape is silent and still. Yet, something doesn’t feel right.

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Cobb says, voicing your concern, and you exchange worried glances.

“Me neither,” Din replies. His grip tightens on his blaster, waiting.

Then suddenly, up on the mountain, the creature bursts forth once more. It opens its mouth wide and you glance down at the people in its path about to be annihilated. You can’t watch this happen again. Moving as fast as your feet can carry you, you rush down towards them, shoving them aside with a powerful force-push seconds before the acid hits the sand, clearing them of its path just in time – leaving you in a tricky predicament. You’ve caught its attention now – and you have nowhere to go.

You catch the sound of jetpacks as Cobb and Din land either side of you, weapons raised and ready to come to your defense.

“Get back!” Din barks at you, and you find you have no choice but to listen to him. Failing to do so now, even just to prove a point, and you’re certain you’d be the dragon’s next meal. You’d pick your hill to die on one day, but this just wasn’t it.

Din and Cobb take off into the air again, firing their weapons to draw the dragon’s attention away and give you time to escape. It works. The dragon, furious from the sudden new assault, turns and comes after them, spraying up sand as it whips its massive body in the new direction.

As you watch them draw it further away, you can’t help but wonder what the plan is, since the original one has long fallen apart. They can’t keep drawing it away forever. Now that you have minute to breath, you look around for a way to help, and spot the explosives-laden bantha that had been led down as bait. It looks like it would rather be anywhere else and, hell, you don’t blame it, but glancing between it and the massive monster that currently has its sights set on the one man who never failed to put himself in the path of danger for you, you think maybe it was time to return the favor and finish this once and for all.

So, you grab the bellowing, hairy animal by its halter and do something stupid.

You start yelling. And waving your arms. And when that fails to grab the dragon’s attention, you start firing your weapon. Taking your odd behavior as some kind of cue, the townsfolk closest to you begin firing, too, and finally the dragon turns to face this latest assault, drawn to the movement of your waving arms and the scent wafting from the bantha.

You spot the two armored men, now free of the dragon’s attention, flying up from the mountain before one in particular makes a sudden beeline in your direction. You can practically feel Din’s wrath radiating off of him before he even gets close, and it’s like the bantha can, too, as it begins to protest and pull against its rope. Or maybe it’s the giant monster coming to swallow it whole that has it so skittish. Either way, you feel like an ass as you try to calm it down, knowing the only reason you’re doing so is to keep it in place long enough to be eaten.

You’re grateful to have the marshal land behind you first as Din drops down in front, poised to lose his absolute mind at you for your reckless behavior, but finding the situation momentarily put on-hold as Cobb asks to no one in particular, “Now what?”

Din’s staring at you, gaze heavy, burning, and humiliating all in one, but he doesn’t have time to berate you as the dragon breaks from a nearby dune. “I have an idea,” he says, and before either you or Cobb can ask what that is, he shoves you into the marshal’s arms and sets off the man’s jetpack, sending you both careening up and away from the dragon’s path – and leaving him right in the middle of it.

You had come to suspect that you were in pretty deep with Din Djarin, ever since he had first rescued you many years ago, but watching him disappear into the enormous jaws of the krayt dragon was a lesson you had never asked for in how you really felt about him. Even as everyone around you falls into a stunned silence, your ears begin to buzz and you have to fight to keep your footing, absently leaning against Cobb for support as the energy drains from your legs. Cobb reaches for you but misses as you collapse down onto the sand by his feet. Your throat starts to tighten. Everything feels hazy.

This can’t be it. This can’t be the way it happens.

Then the beast erupts from the sand once more and you spot a familiar shape fly out of its roaring mouth.

Your heart leaps into your throat. Suddenly, you can breathe again. Then you’re back on your feet and racing towards him.

The huge blast that follows knocks you back and you hold an arm across your eyes to protect them from the cloud of sand billowing from the site of the explosion, but even that’s not enough to stop you as you keep your sights trained on the metal armor glistening in the hot sun.

When you finally reach Din, you stand for a moment looking at him, then a sound escapes you halfway between a sob and shout, and you shove him – hard. He stumbles backwards but remains on his feet.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You don’t think you’ve ever been this angry in your life. Fury radiates from every cell in your body, and still Din just stares at you. Then you hug him. Neither of you are expecting it, and his body stiffens immediately in surprise, but when you feel him relax and one of his arms comes up to wrap around you in return, everything suddenly feels right again. You couldn’t care less that he’s covered in gross dragon goo and that it’s probably getting all over your clothes, or that there’s a crowd of onlookers witnessing this moment between you – all you care about is the fact that he’s here, that he’s still alive.

A cheer erupts behind you as you part, and it’s not for you and Din, but for the smoking remains of the dragon nearby, and it’s soon joined by the howls of the Tuskens as they raise their weapons in victory.

It’s over. It’s done. And as you look up at Din, you can think of many things worth celebrating.

***

And celebrate, you do.

As much as he had wanted to make a quiet exit once he had collected his promised armor from Cobb, you had managed to convince Din to stay in Mos Pelgo just a little longer for the revelries. It had been a long time since you’d stayed anywhere close to civilization, let alone had a good reason to celebrate; and though you’d grown used to the comfortable silence of the Razor Crest, there’s some comfort in being surrounded by happy, chattering people for once, instead of the lonely vacuum of space.

Cobb had asked you back personally for a couple of drinks at the bar, and though the invitation had been extended to both of you, Din had failed to take it that way. In hindsight, you suppose your initial run-in with Cobb is to blame for this sudden standoffish behavior, since your contribution to convincing the man to hand over the beskar had involved you telling him that the helmet was ‘a waste on a face like his’. You guess that comment hadn’t sat too well with Din, but it had just sort of slipped out. What could you say? The guy was a looker. Yet even now, as Cobb glances over at your table from the bar, offering a warm, friendly smile in your direction, you find yourself distracted.

You look around and finally spot Din. He’d been radiating quiet irritation since arriving back, and stands now in the furthest corner of the room, watching the festivities with what you imagined was a sulky expression beneath the helmet. The Child sits by his feet, on the sandy floor, playing with something round and shiny, completely absorbed in his own little world.

“I take it Mandalorian’s aren’t much for parties,” Cobb comments as he finally reaches your side with drinks, breaking you from you trance. He sits down beside you and slides one of the glasses of bright-blue liquid your way.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He nods over towards Din whose gaze is currently burning into you, and you shift uncomfortably trying to find somewhere else to direct your attention, unsure why you don’t just look at Cobb. You realize why when your eyes shift back to him and the feeling of being watched intensifies.

“Him?” you reply, trying to sound casual, now hyperaware that Din is currently reading every detail of this interaction, “Oh, he usually just prefers the quiet, you know? Not really the social type. He’s only here because I asked.”

“Just watching over his girl, huh?” Cobb teases, taking a swig of his spotchka.

“His gir—What are talking about?”

He frowns before giving you a knowing look, then risks a quick, pointed glance towards Din, who he’s noticed hasn’t turned his gaze away from you for longer than a few seconds the entire evening.

“We’re just friends,” you tell him, even if that label doesn’t feel quite right to you. “It’s not like that.” You take a mouthful of drink just to give yourself something to do, and wince at the unexpected bitterness. When you glance back over at Din, your cheeks heat up a little when you realize he’s still looking back. You finally drop your gaze away, reassuring yourself that the weird feeling you’ve suddenly gotten in your stomach is just the alcohol taking affect, but when you look back at Cobb you catch him smirking at you.

“We’re friends,” you repeat, wondering who you’re trying to convince now, since Cobb seems pretty damn decided on the matter. “Colleagues, you know. We’ve just been through a lot together.” You frown as he chuckles. “What?”

“I did not just spend two days listening to the two of you bicker like an old married couple, to hear you say that you two are ‘just friends’.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I just don’t look at him that way.”

“Oh, darlin’, everybody sees how you look at him.”

You think back to the desert, to your arms wrapping around him like he might disappear again at any moment; to the arm that had pulled you closer and squeezed you in return.

You take another gulp of spotchka to calm the fluttering feeling in your belly, and shoot a quick glance over to see if he’s still looking at you.

But he’s gone.

Panic floods over you.

You look around the room, hoping you don’t look as desperate as you suddenly feel, when Cobb nudges you. You look back at him and he nods to the door, where you just manage to catch a flash of cape and armor and Din disappears through it into the night.

Cobb smiles. “Go on. Go talk to the guy. I’ll still be here if you want another drink. If not, I hope we meet again someday.” He tips his glass towards you and you nod, managing a brief smile of appreciation as you stand.

Your legs feel heavy as you walk towards the exit. It’s dark outside – almost pitch black aside from a scattering of light coming through a few windows, and the few fires burning outside to keep people warm on the cold desert night – and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot Din still standing out on the road. It looks like the kid is giving him some trouble, his fussy cries reaching your ears easily in the quiet. He settles as soon as he sees you, though, and Din turns to see what has the ability to calm him so quickly.

Of course, it’s you, he thinks. He should have known – you have the same effect on him.

“Hey,” you greet, still fighting back these unexplained nerves as you approach him. You’d known him for years, spent a lot of time in his company, and been through a lot together, but it’s the first time you feel nervous around him.

“Hey,” he replies simply, “I was just heading to take him back to the ship.” He pauses like he’s weighing up what he wants to say next, then adds, “When should I expect you back?”

“Back?”

“I can meet you there in the morning if that’s more suitable.”

He’s acting weird, and though you know exactly why, you can’t help but frown at the bitterness in his tone. He’s trying to keep it cool and calm around the kid. You wonder what he’d be saying instead if it was just the two of you.

“Why would you do that? Why would—” You hate what he’s implying, but you need him to say it, to admit why it’s a problem for him – to know if Cobb’s right. “Where am I supposed to be in all of this?”

You stare at him, the question written on your furrowed brow, wondering if he has the guts to admit the accusation outright.

He looks back towards the bar and then back at you, cocking his helmet as if he’s expecting you to be the one to make the confession, even if there is a low rage bubbling away inside of him at the thought of it. He thinks back to the desert, to the feeling of your arms wrapped around him, to the way his own arm had come up instinctually to hold you closer, and he thinks of how much he wants that again.

“I’m coming back to the ship,” you tell him.

“Don’t do that on my account,” he replies, and you swear he says things like that just to piss you off.

Before you can formulate a response, he turns away and starts walking towards his borrowed landspeeder. The Child looks back at you over his shoulder and stretches his little arms towards you with a cry, but Din ignores it.

You almost shout his name, forgetting for a moment where you are, and instead splutter out an awkward ‘Mando!’, which you haven’t called him in over a year; not since he entrusted you with his true name. He stops and slowly turns back. By now the kid is wriggling and fussing so much in his arms that he has to put him down, and the little one immediately heads towards you, reaching up to be held. You scoop him up and Din watches as the kid coos happily and buries his face in your hair. He’d thought they were leaving without you, Din realizes, and he can’t help but wonder if the kid’s picked up on his own emotions too – at his own distress at the thought of leaving you behind.

He watches you for a moment as you soothe the Child, observing the tender way you fuss over him, and feels guilt start to creep over him.

“I am doing it on your account,” you tell him firmly, after a moment, finally looking back at him again, and his helmet tilts slightly as he stares back at you. You screw up your face like you hate the idea of having to say the next words out loud, but you do anyway for his sake. “I’m not interested in the marshal.”

He makes a non-committal noise like he either doesn’t believe you or he’s pretending it’s not a big deal, and you roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the kid.

You wonder what you can say, how you’re going to make him understand what you’re feeling, because you can’t go back to the ship like this – things can’t just keep on going how they have been, with the arguments and all these unspoken words that are causing them. So, you step forward, closing the gap between the two of you as you rest a hand against his chest plate to get his attention.

Din stares down at you, heart thumping as he tries to read your expression and figure out what you’re going to say before you say it, hoping he’ll be less caught off guard this way.

You reach up to the back of his helmet, guiding him down towards you, muttering, “Come here, you idiot.” Then you press your forehead to the cold beskar of his helmet and find a way to tell him.

“Where you go, I go.”

He seems to understand that well enough.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #mando x reader #fic requests #cobb vanth #din djarin #din djarin imagines

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mistabullets · 4 years

Note

i also want alucard to rail me ! could i perhaps suggest,,, alucard with a chubby s/o,,, as wholesome or nasty as you desire

A Taste of You

Characters: Alucard | Adrian Tepes x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Alucard decides to show his love for you.

Content Warning: n/s/f/w, afab reader but neutral pronouns, chubby reader, virgin reader, reader is a witch, vaginal finger, slight blood drinking (he just accidentally nip your lips), slight virginity and corruption kink (???), and post season 3 but it’s quite fluffy so don’t worry

Note: There wasn’t any railing involved but you gave me a reason to write some indulgent smut with Alucard and for that, I appreciate you.

Not SFW under cut ;

You let out a quiet gasp when the dhampir’s careful lips meet the warm skin from the column of your neck, tensing slightly as it sends tingles down your spine. He laughs at your small reaction, finding it adorable; a lithe hand running down your side to ease the fluttering anxiety and reel you into his ghost kisses. “Relax, my dear… I just want to make you feel good.”

Considerate as always, you think, despite the growing erection brushing up against one of your thick thighs. He must feel uncomfortable to a degree since he is still in his trousers.

How odd it is, that fate led you to him.

You were a mere witch, hopping from town to town but never staying too long in fear that some close-minded individual would suspect your magical ability and report you to the church officials. However, the last particular town found out too soon of your sorcery. Before anyone could act and drag you to a stake to be tied up and burned, you packed your belongings and ran into the forests. You heard from the townsfolk how dangerous it was to roam those woods, especially at nighttime, that a particular vampire lived within the heart of it. However, you reasoned it must be some myth to scare the children or just something to make this dreadful town more interesting and have something to talk about.

Yet deeper into the greenwoods, the lingering smell of decaying death met your nostril. Again, you rationalized - this was the territory of wildlife. Perhaps it was a deer carcass nearby. Who knows? Now wasn’t the time to fret, as you heard voices bounce and echo from the trees, too far away but you could certainly pick up some words: witch, find, and a few curses. Without properly analyzing your surroundings, you picked up the pace, not considering directions and ignoring the fact the putrid scent grew stronger the further you went.

You were stopped in your tracks by a blur of red and a thunk to your head. Before the waves of unconsciousness dazed you, you caught a brief glimpse of golden locks and a pale figure. Perhaps the villagers had gotten you; perhaps this was your angel to guide you toward heaven. But can a witch such as yourself go to heaven, especially if you dabbled in the dark arts?

Well, considering where you are, beneath a beautiful man who carried a merciful soul that you did not deserve… this is the closest to any celestial afterlife you’ll ever be. It took months, perhaps even a year, to mend the wounds of his heart. You recall the first couple months here, living behind the closed doors of Castlevania. Alucard, who happened to be dhampir son of the late Dracula, wasn’t too enthusiastic about allowing another soul to inhabit, especially after being alone for nearly half a year. While you were polite to never ask questions, you eventually put two and two together upon catching a glimpse of the scar, from recent times, forever ingrained into his porcelain skin. No wonder he longed for some privacy. For they were a reminder of loss and betrayal, the day when he saw humanity’s corruption.

And while he’ll never fully forget the sin they committed, he came to realize his lapse of judgment. It stemmed from the unmerited tribulation - he was quick to close off his heart, not properly allowing himself grief, to process the trauma he’s been through.

But seeing how you still forgive the humans and long to aid them, despite them killing your coven, gradually made him realize how foolish he has been. He was reminded of his mother’s wisdom; how she was willing to be scrutinized by the church if it meant she could help others and spread her nurturing knowledge. You were willing to help those in need, despite the hardships humanity has gifted you. While it certainly took time, he was beginning to open his heart to you… and in return, you were showing him your vulnerability, culminating into this moment: you and Alucard, glowing under the moonlight, exploring each other’s bodies like new lands.

He kisses your plush lips again, mindful of his incisors. His hands find your plump breasts, giving them an experimental squeeze, relishing in the breathless gasp your voice elicits. Adrian withdraws himself from your mouth, savoring the taste of your lips; he wants to smother them, hear the symphony he can pull from you, but he wants to drink in your blushing form and the plush curves of your flesh against his muscled figure. The dhampir sees you as a goddess undeserving of him yet here you are, sprawled out and waiting for his next move. You find yourself more flustered than before, small and fragile beneath his resplendent eyes. His visage softens, noticing the doubt casting your lovely face. Adrian leans back down, resting his head against the middle of your breasts, the blood rushing through your veins sounding delicious. But oh, while your blood may be sweet, he wants to try the appetizers first.

“God, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he declares, lips peppering kisses on one of your breasts before finding a nipple to feast on. A shaky moan leaves your lips, your hands find themselves in his hair. Alucard makes sure to give each of your pert buds attention; suckling them in between his lips and gently pinching the sensitive skin with his lithe fingers. Your mind is swirling - how painful the virginal heat is between your legs, how merciful yet ruthless his touch is, how patient this angelic man is despite his own carnal desire, and how you love it and you love him. He allows your breasts to rest from the overstimulation; kisses explore your collarbone and neck while a curious hand searches for the heat radiating at the apex of your thighs. You whimper please at the feel of his hand against your now damp undergarment and your lover can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness. “Patience, my love.”

He rewards you a kiss, brushing strands of your hair away from your forehead. Your face is burning from how intently the dhampir observes each time your visage twists in newfound pleasure. A finger rubs up against your clothed slit, wishing to draw out more of your juices and lewd noises. “A-Adrian, please… t-touch me, please.”

“I am, my treasure,” he teases with amusement.

You whine, exasperated, and Alucard gives a playful grin. He understands what you mean but it’s fun to tease. Looking into your blown-out pupils, he asks for silent permission and you already know what he wants. You awkwardly lift up your hips so he can pull down your undergarments with ease. Once off, his fingers make contact with your naked mound, collecting the slick pooling from your heart and down your thighs. You’re eager to spread your legs further apart, allowing him access to more. He sighs, pride swelling how he is able to make you fall apart so quickly. After some painful slow strokes of your exposed slit, Alucard’s finger experimentally rubs your bundle of nerves, relishing in the moan of his name and how desperate yet demure it rings. Finding the entrance to your maidenhood with ease, he easily slips his index finger and god, that wail sounds ethereal. The dhampir sees how your entire form is quivering, from the tension and nerves, and he’s quick to litter your body with kisses and lovebites to distract your melting brain. You giggle a bit when a strand of his golden locks brushes against a ticklish spot and he’s glad to know you’re easing into his touch.

Adrian tentatively curls his finger in a come here motion - and after a few strokes, he finds that spot that makes your toes curl and makes you moan even louder. Your mind is foggy but you’re feeling confident, enjoying the way your lover is making you come undone - you plead for more. And so he adds another digit to your tight heat and repeats the same motion and experimenting more; scissoring your insides, burying his digits to the knuckle, and alternating these motions. You’re almost at the peak, he sees - with how your moans grow in volume, you’re bucking into his touch, and your e/c eyes swim in lust and adoration. His fingers pick up the pace, drinking in your divine image: soft and thick thighs spreading out more, lightning shape stretch marks adorning your cute belly and hips, and your chubby face contorting in the madness of pleasure as you imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you.

Wishing to relinquish you of this torture, he presses his thumb up against your clit and you’re seeing stars speckle your vision as strange pressure builds higher and higher to the cliff of your undoing. “A-Adrian, i-it’s too much! I-I’m going to, a-ahh--!”

Alucard rubs faster and harsher and thrust his fingers deeper - like he wants to feel every inch of the textured insides of your pussy. His forehead comes to rest on yours to admire your hungry eyes. Before you tumble from your peak, his lips crash against yours to consume the lovely noises, desperate and needy, and he accidentally bites your lips; but god, is your blood even sweeter in the glow of your climax. You didn’t even realize he’s grinding his groin against the mattress, too caught up the new sensation of Adrian’s fingers fucking your womanhood. If you could read minds, could you handle the extent of his ardor for you, a bashful witch? After seeing you wonderfully fall from your summit, Adrian truly believes he would die if he didn’t have more of you, if he couldn’t hear more of those needy keens, if he couldn’t pound you into oblivion, if he couldn’t--

His focus shifts from his lewd imagination to your glowing visage. From the dazed glisten of your eyes and the soft smile plastering your blood-smeared lips, Adrian could wait. Carefully, he pulls his fingers out of your sopping core, curiously bringing them up to his lips and lapping up the juices (much to your embarrassment), Alucard can’t help but laugh at your burning red face, planting his lips against yours and drinking up the remaining blood (the metallic taste of it combined with your juices made for a good combo).

“Do you need a break before we get to the main course, my beloved?”

He smiles at your cute face, steam particularly coming out of your ears.

But he smiles wider when you say no.

#my writing #scenario #alucard x reader #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes #alucard #castlevania anime #castlevania (netflix)#castlevania #castlevania x reader #not sfw #read content warnings #Anonymous

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reifromrfa · 3 years

Text

Surprises: Vanderwood x MC | Mysme RBB fic

Hi guys! I’m sure you’ve seen this project in the fandom, there are a lot of talented artists and writers who are a part of it ^^ This piece is for the @mysme-rbb and it was such a thrill to write it! I’ve missed writing for the fandom and I’m glad I got this opportunity to do so <3 Even luckier that I got paired with two amazing artists!

For this first collab, I got paired with the wonderful GLX ! Please check out their instagram HERE! We’re super lucky to have collaborated on a character we both love: Vanderwood! So I hope you enjoy the story and I hope I can write for everyone again soon ヾ(@^▽^@)ノ PS: I’ll edit this post with the link to the art once it’s out! ^^

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Surprises

In collaboration with gl.artsy

"Hurry!"

Vanderwood chuckles and closes the car door, hoisting bags and baskets on his arms and shoulders. MC laughs and hugs the beach towels to her chest, grinning widely.

"Sorry...I'm a little excited," her grin turns sheepish but Vanderwood shakes his head, his smile mirroring her own. Seeing her this happy makes him feel things he hasn't felt before --pleasant feelings. Feelings...that a secret agent just doesn't have the luxury to be thinking about, much less feel. But he's not a secret agent anymore --he has a legal job now, one where he doesn't have to risk his life everyday or dirty his hands. Hell, the dirtiest his hands can get with his new job as Jumin's bodyguard is cleaning up after his cat.

With his free hand, he reaches for hers and weaves their fingers together.

Today is their one-year anniversary and Vanderwood wants everything to be absolutely perfect. He's not one for grand gestures and romantic stuff, but he knows celebrations like these matter to girls.

In the past year he's been with MC, he's gotten used to watching those cheesy romantic chick flicks. Never in his life did he imagine he'd be forced to watch those kinds of shi--stuff. But he's braved through The Notepad, A Stroll to Remember, Crazy Silly Love...and he's learned a lot from those movies. For one, his girlfriend ends up crying every time they watch the shows together.

Every. Single. Time.

But he'd see how immersed she is in the scenes where the guys make a big move for the girl. Vanderwood would notice how she heaves a deep sigh and wipes her eyes, a dreamy smile on her face.

Ha...he's new to this relationship thing but he's not stupid; Vanderwood knows how this works. The bigger the gesture, the happier MC will be...

...right?

He's startled out of his thoughts when MC tugs his hand, pointing at a spot on the beach. "Over there! There's a free spot there!"

Vanderwood follows after MC and starts setting up their towels and beach umbrella. This is the first step in his grand surprise for MC today: spend the morning at the beach, a place MC rarely went to. The excited look on her face is all the confirmation he needs; he did good, choosing this as the start of their date.

MC sits on the towel under the shade of the umbrella and takes off her wide-brimmed hat, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she opens them, she turns to Vanderwood. "Baby, this is perfect. The skies are clear, there's a breeze and there's not much people; it's almost like we have the beach to ourselves!"

Vanderwood chuckles, sitting beside his girlfriend and reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "You like it?"

At his touch, she blushes and smiles, nodding her head. "I do, Vanderwood. I really do."

He leans forward, lips quirking up into a smirk. "Good...that's real good, MC." Vanderwood can see the blush on her face deepening as he inches closer and his own heart races, eyes darting to her slightly-parted lips. As he draws nearer though, he hears a whooshing sound through the air and a distant yell: "LOOK OUT!"

His reflexes kick in and Vanderwood pulls MC against his chest then pins her against the ground, using his body to shield her from whatever it is --MC doesn't even have the time to process what's happening. But she feels herself warming, eyes fixated on Vanderwood's tense expression, at the way he's hovering on top of her, holding her protectively against him.

A second later, their umbrella is knocked over and a spray of sand flies across Vanderwood's back. He turns away and shields MC's eyes, a million thoughts already flying through his mind.

"Could it be that some agents found me? How many are there? How am I gonna get MC safely to the car? The taser's in the bag, if I could just reach it in time

"Vanderwood turns his head to look for the target-

-when his eyes fall to the white volleyball lying on the sand near them.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry, that's my fault!!!" A kid with blonde hair is running up to them, waving his hand and trying to bow at the same time. Vanderwood's eyes narrow. Wait a minute...isn't that-

"Yoosung?" comes MC's voice.

Sure enough, Yoosung's purple eyes widen as recognition dawns and he laughs, running faster. Right behind him is the silver-haired actor and Jaehee Kang, all dressed in their beachwear. Zen smiles when he spots the two familiar faces but it only lasts for a second --the moment he realizes the position the couple are in...

"YA!!! Vanderwood! What are you doing!" Zen glares at Vanderwood, pointing an accusatory finger at the Silver Spoon's bodyguard. Vanderwood narrows his gaze at the actor but hurriedly straightens himself, his face feeling warm.

"Baby, are you okay?"

"I am...what was that all about?" MC takes Vanderwood's hand and he pulls her up just as Yoosung stops in front of them, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Sorry! Zen hit the ball too hard and I received it wrong so it went flying...I didn't know it would end up here where you guys are! I didn't even know you two were going to be here too!"

Vanderwood rubs the back of his neck, wishing they'd leave him and MC alone. It's not that he doesn't like them, but today he'd like MC all for himself. "Ha...yeah, what a coincidence."

"Ya, you!" Zen jabs a finger at Vanderwood's chest, eyes blazing. "What the heck was that!"

Vanderwood looks at Zen with a deadpan look on his face. "I thought there was a threat, so I was defending my girlfriend. Will you stop having perverted thoughts?"

MC giggles. "It's true, Zen! He was just trying to protect me~"

"That's very quick thinking." Jaehee pipes in, picking up the ball. "I suppose that's what makes you a great bodyguard, Vanderwood."

"Ha...thanks." Vanderwood feels awkward still, but for an ex-agent with no family and no friends...his life's shaping out real good. Still, friends or not, he wants these people to go away and let him pamper his girlfriend. "So, now that that's settled-"

"OH! Why don't you two join us in a game of volleyball? Please!!! I'm tired of picking up the ball all the time!" Yoosung begs them, hands pressed together in front of him.

"Aww, that sounds fun! We're game, right, baby?" MC says, winking at Vanderwood. To the others, she says, "The two of us will be in a team against you guys! You'll see, Vanderwood will carry our team!"

Vanderwood can't help but feel proud at MC's words. Okay...maybe one game of volleyball wouldn't hurt. After that, they'll go back to their spot and maybe he can go swimming with MC, or get some cool drinks.

Yoosung, Jaehee and Zen stayed with them the entire time. After volleyball, they took MC and Vanderwood to their rented cabin and shared their meal. Vanderwood and Zen ended up grilling meat and seafood for the rest but it was actually fun. The non-stop chatter and laughs, the volleyball games, seeing MC enjoy herself --okay okay, it's not so bad that their first date got interrupted. But of course, Vanderwood has more tricks up his sleeves.

A long drive and a shower later, Vanderwood and MC change into more semi-formal attire as he drives them to one of the fancy restaurants in town. The restaurant is situated atop a building, with the entire floor encased in glass windows so guests can dine with a view overlooking South Korea. It's fine dining and Vanderwood has never been to a classy restaurant while off-duty; to be honest, something like this kinda suits Jumin Han more...but Vanderwood doesn't want to take MC to their regular dining spots. No, for this special day she deserves something special too.

As they're led to their seats by the hostess, Vanderwood once again intertwines his fingers with hers. "I heard this place has the best seoullangtang."

MC tugs at his hand, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Baby, this place is really expensive...you didn't have to."

Ha...oh no, doesn't she like it?

"It's our anniversary," he tells her, lifting their hands and then turning hers so he can kiss the back of it. "Don't even think about that, baby."

MC turns red at Vanderwood's blatant display of affection. Usually, he's more reserved and careful when they're in public; she assumed it's because of his past and she didn't mind. But today, he's been more touchy and showy...MC has to admit, it's giving her heart a pleasant workout. They're seated right by the window and Vanderwood is the perfect gentleman, pulling her chair out for her and helping her onto her seat. MC feels shy all of a sudden as Vanderwood slides into his seat across her. With the dim lighting from the restaurant, the candle in the middle of the table casts Vanderwood's face in a warm glow and MC unconsciously swallows, entranced by him.

Their previous dates were never this fancy and she's not complaining --she loves wherever they are, be it the beach or the supermarket, a fancy restaurant or McFonald's. As long as they're together, she's happy.

But seeing her boyfriend all dressed up in a crisp button-down shirt and a coat, hair tied into a half-ponytail, brown eyes staring at her --she can't help but feel the depth and seriousness of their relationship. Today is their anniversary, which means she's spent 365 days with this man...more than that, of course. Ever since they met, her days have been full of color and life. MC reaches across the table for his hand and holds it tightly in hers.

"I love you, Vanderwood."

Vanderwood's glad it's kinda dark because his heart does that weird little thing and he feels his cheeks burn as a smile spreads across his face. "I love you too, MC."

She mirrors his smile and it's strange but MC feels like she did the first time she met him in person, nervous and intimidated, but at the same comforted by his presence and intrigued. This once mysterious man is hers and though she knows she's barely scratched the surface of all that he is, she can't wait to learn more about him everyday, for the rest of their lives.

"Baby, order whatever you like, okay? Haha, don't be worrying about the prices." Vanderwood says as they open their menus. MC's eyes are skimming through the dishes (half of which she can't even pronounce because they're in different languages) when she hears the sound of a familiar voice.

"I didn't expect to see you both here this evening."

Vanderwood tenses. No freaking way...

But he's been hanging around that voice for months now and he'd recognize it anywhere --his boss, Jumin Han. Vanderwood reluctantly looks at the man standing beside their table, the leader of the RFA at his side. Jihyun at least looks apologetic for barging into their date.

"Jumin! Jihyun! What a coincidence!" MC exclaims happily, smiling at them. Truth be told, she was looking forward to spending more alone time with her boyfriend, but she also doesn't want to be rude to her friends. "Did you guys just arrive?"

"Yes. A business colleague recommended this place. I would have asked for a private room but Jihyun preferred to stay close to the windows."

Jihyun laughs good-naturedly at Jumin's words. "This place is popular for their stunning view of the city, after all. We should get going to our table, Jumin, let's not bother them..."

"Have a good time, boss, Jihyun." Vanderwood gives them a little wave. "Nonsense. We haven't seen MC in a while. Perhaps we should ask for a bigger table and dine together."

You've got to be kidding me.

"Jumin-" Jihyun tries to interrupt, but Jumin is already gesturing for the host. In mere minutes, Vanderwood and MC are seated with Jihyun and Jumin. Of course...it's not all that bad. He didn't have to be so formal with his boss since they're outside of work, and Jumin knew his way around the menu; the meal Jumin ordered for them was mouth-wateringly delicious. Vanderwood had no idea which ones were good, so he's grateful for that part, at least.

But seriously...this was starting to get annoying. Would the RFA be popping up at his planned dates with MC? Vanderwood represses a sigh though, and fights the itch for a cigarette.

They enjoy their meal and, realizing he has no choice but to endure it, Vanderwood relaxes and allows himself to enjoy the company.

All of a sudden, they're bathed in a hue of colors and MC's eyes turn to the windows, widening with surprise. The sky is lit up by fireworks --something Vanderwood had arranged for. Her eyes are bright and her smile is priceless. As the fireworks paint the night sky with streaks of brilliant color, MC feels a peace inside her, knowing that's exactly what she was thinking of moments before. Vanderwood is like the scene outside, illuminating her life with the most dazzling colors.

And while MC gazes at the beautiful display, Vanderwood stares, enchanted, at the woman who brought light to his life.

The last stop of the evening is the last showing of the latest romance movie, a movie MC has been waiting for. Vanderwood settles into their comfortable lazy boy couches, glad he paid for these seats.

"I'm so excited, I've heard a lot of good reviews already!" MC whispers to him, leaning close. Vanderwood chuckles.

"Baby, it's gonna be amazing." He leans closer to her, stealing a quick kiss in the dark theater. MC bites her lower lip as he pulls away, wanting to tell him how much she loves him. But the movie starts and MC has to stop herself from squealing in excitement. She keeps her hand locked with his, eyes focused on the screen.

Vanderwood feels relaxed now, knowing no one can interrupt them, knowing he can enjoy this moment with his girlfriend and sneak glances at her cute reactions.

But just thinking those thoughts has jinxed the situation. The doors to the cinema creak open and Vanderwood picks up the sound of popcorn bags and two hushed whispers. He glances at the empty seats beside him and sighs.

"Oh! If it isn't Mary and MC!"

Vanderwood curses inwardly and almost slaps his hand to his face. No. No freaking way. No damn way.

But after some shuffling sounds, Saeyoung plops down on the seat beside Vanderwood with Saeran occupying the other.

"Ohoho, I didn't know you were into romance movies, Vandy~" Saeyoung whispers before leaning forward in his seat and waving at MC. "Hi, MC! Thanks for restarting this guy's heart! If you ask me, you should have used a tase-"

"Ya! Shut up!" Vanderwood says, a little too loudly. The audience shushes him and Vanderwood slinks into his seat while Saeyoung covers his laughs with a hand.

For the duration of the movie, Vanderwood has to put up with Saeyoung's reactions and his hushed side comments. At some point, popcorn starts to fly towards the brown-haired man too, bouncing off his hair. Saeran shakes his head, heaving a sigh as Saeyoung takes another popcorn and throws it subtly to Vanderwood. The ex-agent was ready though; he catches the popcorn and throws it back to Saeyoung, who slides down his chair dramatically.

"I've been hit...Saeran ah, save yourself~~~"

Vanderwood glances at MC's face to watch her reaction and he's surprised to see her eyes fixed on him. She's biting her lower lip, trying to stop herself from laughing. Vanderwood smirks, reaching out and freeing her lower lip from her bite.

"You want a shot at the idiot?" Vanderwood murmurs near her ear. MC nods and takes a piece of popcorn then tosses it to Saeyoung, who's crawling up his chair as quiet as he can.

Saeyoung gasps and flops back down on the ground, holding his chest as though he's wounded.

"Sneak attack! Saeran, help m-"

"No."

"Okay no ;;;;"

Vanderwood stirs, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn.

Damn, what time is it?

Yesterday felt so long --with all that happened, Vanderwood feels exhausted and a little disappointed at himself for failing MC. Everything should have been perfect, but as luck would have it, the RFA just had to meddle in all his plans.

He lays in bed, blinking away his sleepiness, wondering if he can do anything today to salvage their anniversary. Absently, he reaches beside him, wanting to pull MC to his side and wake her up with kisses --but his hands come up blank.

"What the-?"

His head whips to the empty space beside him and Vanderwood sits up just as the door opens. MC comes in, balancing a small tray table filled with food.

"Baby, what are you doing?" Vanderwood asks, bewildered. He starts to move from the bed but MC makes a sound and continues moving towards him.

"No no, you stay right there," she says, eyes staring at the orange juice sloshing inside the glass. "Don't get off the bed, baby!"

Vanderwood freezes, unsure what's happening. Finally, MC lays the tray table on the bed and beams at Vanderwood. "Happy anniversary, baby!"

The brown-haired man blinks, surprised. Then a soft chuckle escapes his lips. "MC, baby...did you do all this for me?"

MC shrugs, her smile wide enough to light up the room. "Maybe~"

She carefully sits on the bed closest to Vanderwood, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Baby, yesterday was amazing! I wasn't expecting those surprises at all."

Vanderwood's brows furrow. "What do you mean..? MC...I...was gonna apologize-"

"What? For what?"

Vanderwood awkwardly scratches his cheek, not sure what to say. "Uh...ha, 'coz I didn't intend for the RFA to show up. And I mean, anniversaries aren't supposed to be celebrated like that...right? The movies we watched, the celebrations ain't like that."

Giggling, MC leans towards her boyfriend and kisses his cheek. "Oh Vanderwood, it was perfect. I had so much fun, even more so because our friends were with us celebrating our special day with us.

Without the RFA, you and I would have met in a different way. But I like our love story, because everything that has happened so far has led us to this moment, baby." She holds his hands, cheeks turning red. "I loved watching you play volleyball and grill our lunch, I loved listening to you talk with our friends, I loved catching my boyfriend all dressed up to take me on a fancy dinner, and I loved that you sat through another romance movie with me, all the while having a popcorn battle with Saeyoung."

MC squeezes his hands and all of Vanderwood's doubts vanish; his eyes fix on her, his heart beating loudly against his chest.

"Vanderwood...the girls in those movies we watch get one big gesture per movie but I got three amazing dates in one day. My friends were there to celebrate a special day with me: the anniversary of the day I promised forever to the love of my life. And I-"

Before MC could finish her speech, Vanderwood closes the gap between them and meets her lips for a kiss, pulling her close to him without toppling over the tray. MC's hands clutch the front of his shirt and her eyes close, her body tingling as he pours his emotions into their kiss.

"MC," Vanderwood says breathlessly, leaning his forehead against hers, "I love you. I'll keep takin' you out for dates, keep celebrating this day with you every year. 'Coz it's the day you and I got together, the day my life started to make more sense..." He gives her another peck and pulls her closer, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "But every day you remind me that there's more to life than fighting and running. Every day, I wanna see you smile and hear you tell me you love me."

MC giggles and wraps her arms around him. "I love you, Vanderwood." She lays her head on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart, a heart that's tied to hers. "Yesterday was amazing but today I'm keeping you all to myself."

Vanderwood chuckles, reaching for a piece of bacon and holding it near her lips. MC takes a small bite from it and Vanderwood takes a larger chunk. "You and me all day, huh?"

MC nods, reaching for her phone. "You and me, all day, everyday." She holds the phone away from them, opening the camera app. "Happy anniversary, baby~"

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Thank you so much for the opportunity to participate, @mysme-rbb :) I had fun and kudos to the mods for an amazing project!

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Check out my other Mysme writings here!

Mango Shake/Ko-fi is always very much appreciated (ᵔᴥᵔ)

I’d be honored to write your story <3 (Commissions are full and closed atm ;A;)

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barbers-glimmerin-darlin · 3 years

Text

At The Touch Of Your Hand

Charlie Barber x (Female) Reader (Historical AU)

As a young woman whose entire life has already been mapped out for her, you believed there was very little to look forward to as you entered the ballroom. It was just another ball, during another season, with the same foppish men shallowly vying for attention. However things are bound to take a turn for the unexpected when Charles Barber makes his re-entrance to society after six years in obscurity.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Warnings: Period typical sexism, historical inaccuracies

Word count: 2.9k

“I’ll not be listening to any more of your incessant griping tonight Judith.” Your father’s voice was firm and unwavering, his distaste for his wife’s unending list of complaints evidently getting the better of him.

“You cannot possibly think him to be an agreeable man Edward! Not after he-”

“Enough Judith!”

Your mother’s mouth bubbled open and closed as if she were impersonating some incredibly affronted fish, it was very rare that father would plainly tell mama he had tired of listening to her whining. You swapped a furtive glance with Jemima, the tension spiking to a palpable degree, your mind instantly began scrambling to fill in the gaping hole left in your mothers remark.

After he what? What could he have done, this enigmatic man, whom you had never heard of before this night, to have warranted such obvious distaste from your mother? You could not help but feel that whatever it was should be much cause for concern, if it meant that your mother was unwilling to host him. Judith Bell would usually be seen falling over herself for the opportunity to have such a man welcomed to dinner, an impressive man, titled.

Before your racing mind had the chance to create a whole plethora of beastly scenarios to cast this man in, along came one of the very few things in the world that made you want to disable all intelligent brain function in your mind.

Hartley.

You regrettably saw him approach you over your father’s shoulder, straightening his gloves and smoothing his flaccid hair as he neared. Every last cell in your body heaved a long groan at the sight of him, so bland, so thoroughly unimpressive, truly he was an unremarkable sight to behold. In no time at all, he stood proudly before you.

“Miss Bell, I believe the first waltz is almost afoot.” He declared. You saw your mother’s previously enraged face fracture into an unbearably bright beam at his appearance, all distaste for Lord Barber’s presence seemingly forgotten.

You flashed a tight smile as he held out his gloved hand for you to take. You accepted, placing your hand in his with the lightest tough you could manage, as if placing your hand solidly within his pudgy one would solidify your future with him. Unfortunately you feared that there was very little you could do to escape that.

He led you briskly onto the dancefloor, amongst the sea of brightly coloured silk taffeta frocks, and then proceeded to draw you into a hold appropriate for a waltz. It was far too intimate for you, even though his hands were in no danger of straying, you would have much preferred a livelier jig that required much changing of partners.

As the rhythmic arrangement of the waltz began to fill the room, you willed your feet to move in a reasonably graceful fashion, it’s not that you were a bad dancer, you were just much better when paired with a partner you actually wanted to dance with. Robert was a long way from fitting that criteria.

You could not help but note the hotness of his hand upon your shoulder, and you guessed it would probably be sweaty if he were to take that glove off, you repressed a shudder at the thought of his slimy hand upon your skin. Sweaty hands were indicative of nerves, what on earth could he be nervous about? If he could not struggle his way through a meagre waltz without being overcome with nerves, what chance did he have of upholding one end of a fiery debate, or withstand a passionate feeling about anything?

You allowed your eyes and mind to wander as you twirled about the dancefloor, you spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, many of your mother’s acquaintances gathered to watch their own daughters on the dancefloor, your mother was no exception. She watched you with beady eyes, looking for mistakes in your footing or your posture, clutching her dainty glass of sherry in her clawed fingers.

You were vaguely aware of Robert droning on about a business venture his father was allowing him to head, something pertaining a new weaving technique for linen, you really did not care to give much attention to it, you occasionally emitted a noise of agreement to create the illusion of engagement.

As you rounded the dancefloor once again, your eyes swept over a broad form that was becoming undeniably familiar all too quickly. Charles stood a little way back from the dancefloor, conversing with a stout man who you recognised as the host of the ball, Lord Harrington. Although upon closer inspection, you were forced to reconsider your observation that he was participating in conversation. It appeared that he was being talked at rather than talked to, his attention otherwise much diverted, much like yours. His glittering eyes were very much fixed on the couples dancing before him.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were not travelling aimlessly amongst the group of merry dancers, his gaze was solely tracking you. He watched as the buttery yellow light shimmered upon the lavender fabric of your gown, sparkled through your hair, and highlighted the barely exposed curve of your shoulders. He drank this in all without your knowledge, your attention far too occupied with ensuring Hartley did not step on your silk slippered feet. What an enchanting little creature he saw twirling before him.

“Did I see Lord Barber making conversation with your father earlier?” You were forced to tune back into Hartley’s voice as he spoke directly to you, stopping your eyes from repeatedly searching out the towering height of Barber,

“Yes, I believe he knows my father.” You replied flatly, not really eager to discuss the man with Robert. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, Charles had begun to feel rather sacred to you.

“I’m interested in making his acquaintance myself while he’s in town, quite the recluse he’s been for the past five years or so from what I understand.” Robert remarked, this did admittedly capture your interest. Why would a man like him have hidden himself away from society, other than the obvious fact that it was a dreadful environment, it was practically created for powerful men like him.

“I confess I was unaware of his existence until tonight.” You offered blandly, while you were tempted to probe Hartley for more information, you found his predisposition for gossiping more repellent that intriguing.

“People don’t talk about him much anymore. Though what I have heard them say is undoubtedly interesting, I’m sure his reappearance tonight will be the talk of the town by tomorrow breakfast.” Robert’s sentence was punctuated by a ridiculously salacious chuckle at the end, which made you long to put more distance between your bodies.

“Undoubtedly, people do little else but talk the day after a ball.” You deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with his misty eyes.

“Although I dare say there ought to be rather a lot of talk of just how ravishing you look in this gown.” Your stomach dropped at his words, spoken in a voice that he had forced down into a lower octave. You flicked your eyes up to his, only to find him inconspicuously allowing himself a good look at your chest. You swallowed back the tart response that your brain formulated, much in favour of finishing the dance as quickly as possible. You settled on a lifeless little laugh.

As soon as the band began to cease their performance you delicately pushed yourself out of his hold, and lowered into a quick curtsy.

“Thank you for the dance Mr Hartley, it was quite… satisfactory.” And without waiting for his response you turned on your heel and began to hasten away, in search of Jemima. You were eager to tell her in agonising detail how utterly lecherous he had been. But you didn’t even make it off of the dancefloor before a broad chest blocked your path. Your eyes were obscured by a wall of icy blue and white, and you didn’t even really need to glance upwards to confirm the identity of the individual.

The scent of fresh mint and fragrant pine greeted your senses, cleansing them of the heavy musky smell, with an undercurrent of body odour that you had endured with Hartley moments before. You refrained from indulging in a deep inhale as you summoned the courage to raise your eyes towards his face.

Charles Barber’s smirking face.

“In a rush, Miss Bell?” He asked, his honeyed voice vibrated through the air, breathing against your ears like a summer wind. You momentarily forgot every word you had learned since infancy, and struggled for a response.

“No I- I mean yes I was just- I’m not in a rush per say I just-”

“Were making a fleeting exit from your partner over there?” He stopped your aimless flailing with his words, allowing his full lips to quirk even further into an amused smirk. You felt your cheeks warming rapidly.

“I was just in search of my sister.” You replied, unsure if it was proper to admit that you were, in fact, shamelessly fleeing Hartley.

“Well, by the looks of things, he will presently approach and ask you for another dance. Allow me to be so bold as to assume that you would like to avoid such an occurrence.” Charles remarked, quickly glancing over your head to where you assumed he could see Robert.

“I would be reluctant to dance with him again so soon.” You said quietly, unsure of his next assumption.

“Well in that case, would you do me the honour of the next dance, Miss Bell?” Your heart gave itself to flittering beats as you absorbed his words. You could hardly fathom the idea of sharing a dining table with him, and you were being offered a dance? The pristine white glove upon his expansive hand moved into your line of sight as he offered his hand to you. You could not help but raise your eyes to his, though you promptly wish you hadn’t when you were met with the scorching intensity of his gaze. It was fight or flight really.

“Yes my lord, I would be honoured.” You replied, placing your hand firmly in his.

The experience of being led into a dance by Charles Barber was worlds away from that of the artless movements of Hartley. You knew that much.

You stood facing each other, as part of a long line of men and women standing parallel to one another along the centre of the marble floor, you could not help but notice that he was the tallest in the line by a considerable amount. Your heart was racing as you heard the shaking violin strike up the opening measures of the dance. The line of ladies ducked into graceful curtsy, directed at the men before them, and then the dance fell into an elegant sequence of turns and fleeting touches of hands.

It was not two measures into the dance that Barber clearly felt that he was in rhythm enough to begin to talk to you as you moved around each other, and the other occupants of the dancefloor.

“Are you enjoying the evening?” He asked as you passed close by one another, his eyes firmly fixed upon yours, paying no mind to his feet or the people around him, though his body continued to move with a grace and ease you would have thought impossible for a man of his stature.

“Very much so, Lord and Lady Harrington do always host the most beautiful parties.” You replied politely, though it was untrue that your night had been pleasant up until this point, the unfamiliar feelings fluttering about your stomach presently were enough to erase all memory of the previous encounters from your mind.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly Miss, though I might add that I think Lord Harrington has very little to do with the festivities you see around you. I believe it is fair to say that Lady Harrington is the brains of the operation.” He concurred, his face breaking into a smile, one you might call mischievous if you were so inclined to such flirtatious words. You could not stifle the laugh that escaped at his remark towards the esteemed Lord Harrington.

“Are you well acquainted with the hosts, my lord?” You asked him, the smile laid upon your face beginning to ache slightly, though you could not for the life of you force it down. You gasped silently as your hands entwined, as he led you side by side down the line formed by the other couples, as part of your dance.

“Old friends of my late father’s.” He explained, looking sideways at you. His hand dwarfed yours, it warmed his glove in a way that was so different to the sticky heat of Hartley’s hand. You found yourself wishing that there were no gloves separating your hands from touching skin to skin. A tingling sensation began in the palm of your hand, still held in his, and worked its way to the tips of your fingers and up your arm. In that moment, you decided the touch of his hand was something quite inexplicably magical.

“And you, Lord Barber? Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, longing to hear the velvet of his voice again. He smiled down at you warmly, sending the tingles from your hand all over your body.

“I am enjoying the evening far more than I anticipated, it has been pleasant to see old friends.” He started, his eyes moved swiftly once up and down the length of you, never hesitating anywhere for too long. As he met your eyes again, his smile curled into a smaller one, far more intimate, meant only for you. “It has been even lovelier making new acquaintances, which is not something I usually find myself able to say.” He tells you.

Your mind raced to stumble through the meanings in his well measured words. Did he mean meeting you? Part of you screamed that he must mean that, why else would he have bothered to make such a point of saying it to you? A larger part reasoned that he had undoubtedly met many new people tonight, and why in this vast room full of people would he single you out as a lovely new acquaintance?

All too soon it was time for your hands to part once again, you already missed his large warm palm and it hadn’t even left yours yet. As he opened his fingers to loosen his grasp on your hand, and pulled his palm away from yours, your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his middle finger trace a burning line across your palm as he slipped his hand away from yours. A shiver shot down the length of your spine at the sensation, which you had felt so keenly despite the presence of your silk glove.

Another glance towards his regal face showed you that his smile had faded, melted into a look of deep concentration. The chocolate of his eyes had darkened, the light sparkled in the depths of them. So many thoughts were rushing through them, but you couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, your own brain was still trying to make sense of the litany of feelings coursing through you from the mere brush of the tip of his finger along your palm.

It was a wonder you had managed to complete the dance without bumping into a single other occupant of the dancefloor, as you had quite forgotten that you were sharing the space with anyone else at all besides him. You could scarcely remember a time before you found yourself cradled in his gaze, you could not remember what your hand had felt like before it had been encased by his. It was only the end of the melody that brought the end of the dance to your awareness, you found yourself short of breath, though you were absolutely certain it had nothing to do with the steps of the dance.

You bowed to each other once again, as was customary, and then he went a step further by enclosing your hand in his. He lifted your slightly quaking hand up towards his face, and you held your breath as his warm lips pressed down gently upon your glove. Had you not have held your breath, you were quite certain he would have robbed you of it. The impression of his lips seemed to burn your knuckles in a delightful way, in a way that made you yearn to tear the white silk from your body and request that he press his lips to your bare skin. You couldn’t correct the way your own lips parted slightly, something which he seemed to note as his eyes roamed your face as he straightened back up to his full height, allowing your hand to fall back to your side.

“Thank you for the dance Miss Bell, it was quite… enchanting.” He spoke softly, caressing your face with his eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head, turning, and leaving the space, your eyes were stuck to his wide shoulders as he left. You were pulled out of your little world, where you and he were the only inhabitants, by Jemima’s voice suddenly at your ear.

“Just to warn you, sister dear, mama is quite enraged.”

Tags: @millenialcatlady @safarigirlsp @mariesackler @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @stumbleonmywords @fizzywoohoo @hopeamarsu @roanniom @kylobien (Please let me know if you would like adding or removing!)

#Charlie Barber #Marriage Story #Charlie Barber x Reader #Historical AU #ATTOYH #ADCU #Adam Driver

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t-lostinworlds · 4 years

Text

Clumsy (Tom Holland)

A/N: This one is short but sweet. Also, I made some minor changes anon I hope you don’t mind <3 and to the others who sent in an ask, I’m working on em! just patience lovelies. Hope you guys enjoy this one!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Requested:

Warnings: Nada and maybe typos

Word Count: 2.4k+

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

It's very remarkable how you've managed to make the public believe you weren't together. Seeming friends in the eyes of strangers when in reality, 'in love' is all you see in the gaze of one another the moment you're alone.

Granted there are a few who are still speculating, that never does go away. But the majority of his fans do think you're nothing more than just a part of Tom's close circle of friends, one of the boys as some would say.

An unwritten rule was established when you two got together, only going out in public with the group all while making sure that public displays of affection were kept at a minimal. By default, people thought that you weren't dating Tom as you two where never seen alone together.

Unless it was a remote area where no one would be able to see or recognize you, then you and Tom can take all the alone-time and stroll around as much as you want, as close as you desire to be.

It was peaceful like that, no unwanted eyes peering through your relationship like it's some reality show, throwing their two cents as if they're opinions matter. It truly doesn't because by the end of it all, you and Tom are the ones who are in a relationship, not you, Tom and the world.

However, you can't always hide the truth for eternity, someday, in whatever way, it will slowly come out whether you like it or not.

You and Tom knew that of course, it was just the case of when you're ready to share it with the world. But no matter how many times you've discussed on how you were going to come clean, neither you nor Tom expected your relationship to be revealed in such an unexpected and odd way.

It was another day, another comic con in the life of Spider-Man.

You've been traveling with Tom for most of the press tour, and having that you had no better way to spend the day other than rot in a hotel room, you decided to tag along. Harry was with you as always – to lessen any suspicion – with a camera hanging on his neck to photograph every moment.

You were now walking towards the backstage of the last panel, tailing just behind Tom with Harry by your right, big burly bodyguards surrounding all corners to make sure no one gets trampled.

Thomas was being clingy. He regularly is, but this time more than usual. It was obvious how he's itching to get a hold of you as he kept looking over his shoulder, hand swinging a little too much to the back for him to just brush yours.

It was so adorable that you couldn't even try to hide your giggles.

"Stop being so cute or else." You hear him mumble, just under his breath, your eyes meeting as he turns his head to shoot you another glance, pout in full play.

You flashed him an innocent smile, shrugging your shoulders as you clearly haven't done anything. Tom sighed as he tore his eyes off you to look back ahead.

He was dying to just hold you, to have your warmth coat him as he snuggles close to your skin. Your cuddles and kisses, he was in dire need of those at the moment.

Maybe it's because he was a bit knackered, having done a meet and greet with the countless interviews to add beforehand. And when he's tired, he just wants to snuggle with you right after, to be in each other's arms, for you to ground him back as you are his anchor through all this chaos of a lifestyle.

But alas, the numerous eyes around you was making it hard to sneak a loving embrace, he'll have to wait until everything is all over.

Finally reaching backstage and inside these long black curtains, your eyes were constricted by how dim it was. It wasn't dark by all means, but the only sources of light were the once placed on the floor. Clumsiness being part of your blood — not by choice — you were busy trying to not trip over something that you didn't realize that someone was approaching.

You felt a gentle hand wrap around your wrist, making you look up to see Tom with a certain curve on his lips and a gloss over his eyes which usually means he needed something. Before you could even ask him what it was, he turned to his brother.

"Cover for us for a sec Harry."

Leaving a confused looking Harry, Tom dragged you behind these tall and big black boxes, completely hidden from plain sight unless someone would peak their head in fully through the gap.

"What's up?"

Tom didn't even bother to answer your question. He just wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning down to sweetly capture your lips in his with a satisfied sigh. You giggled as you kissed him back, arms taking home over his shoulders as you pulled him close.

"I really needed that, needed a recharge." Tom breathed out, withdrawing from the kiss for some air, pressing his forehead against yours with a soft, content smile on his lips.

You felt your heart burst at that, a soft coo escaping your lips as you run your fingers through his hair right on the nape of his neck.

"As much as I would love to kiss you some more, we can't be gone for too long." You gave him a sympathetic smile. He's a very important person in this comic con, so when he goes missing — even for just a little bit — people tend to notice.

Tom nodded with a sigh. "I know, but just one more please." With those adorable puppy eyes and the cutest pout he could muster, how could you say no to that?

You got back just in time for Tom to be given a microphone and then ushered on stage, the crowd roaring in delight at the sight of their favorite superhero.

You could only watch on the sidelines with a smug grin on your lips, utter pride and genuine happiness coursing through your bones at the sight of Tom's wide smile as he waves at the crowd.

***

Everything was all wrapped up and you were finally on your way back to the hotel. If only it was as quick and easy as getting out of the venue and inside the car in a snap, but you're with Tom Holland, what did you expect?

There were a few fans on your way out, Tom walking ahead again to take a couple photos with them and sign a few stuff too.

You were laughing at something stupid Harry had said that by sheer dumb luck, you managed to hook your foot on a protruding cable wire, your whole body falling forward in one swift motion and landing on the floor with a hard thump.

The loud yelp you let out was enough for all eyes to be on you, especially Tom's.

You ignored the stares and tried to get up quickly with the help of Harry, but the slight movement only made you wince, a sharp pain coursing through your leg that made you grit your teeth with a hiss. You only managed to turn and sit on your bum, after that, you weren't able to make another move, eyes screwing shut at the constant throb on your foot.

Forgetting all the rules you've set when you're in public, Tom was by your side in an instant, eyes swimming with concern as he crouched down in front of you, cupping your face with both hands to check what was wrong.

"What hurts love?"

"Ankle." You muttered under your breath, head leaning forward to land on his chest reluctantly, the pain just too much for you to stay upright.

Whispers of the people and the clicking of phones were soon heard not long after, but Tom could careless as all his was attention on you, too worried to give a damn at the moment. He knows well enough just how much it hurts to twist your ankle; he's been there before a couple of times. But when it's you who's hurting, Tom's worry always comes tenfold.

He needed to get you off the floor, away from the snooping eyes, and get you to a hospital fast. You never know just by one look if it's just a light sprain or something serious, better safe than sorry.

"I'm going to carry you okay darling? It's going to hurt but just for a second." Tom whispered, brushing your hair away from your face delicately. As soon as you gave him a small nod, Tom placed a reassuring kiss on your forehead before wrapping an arm around your body as the other hooked right under your knees, hoisting you up bridal style.

You whimpered in agony as you buried your face on his shirt, your arms going around his neck for support, Tom muttering sweet 'I'm sorry's over and over against your hair for causing you the discomfort.

Sure, Tom could've just let one of his bodyguards carry you but he doesn't trust them well enough to know if they'd be gentle with you. Of course there was a voice inside his head on how there was no way you'd go back to hiding this relationship anymore, but Tom tuned it out, more focused on you than anything else. He'll worry about that later.

Tom was saying something to Harry and his agent that you couldn't quite comprehend, the throbbing pain making you feel lightheaded that you weren't fully aware of what's happening around you.

"I've got you my love." You hear Tom whisper as he walks out of the venue with you in his arms, ignoring all the questioning looks and the countless of photos being taken just to get you some much needed medical attention fast.

***

"Well, the internet is definitely buzzing." Tom joked, gently scooting closer beside where you sat on the hotel bed, ankle all wrapped up in a cast while being elevated by a pillow.

Numerous headlines were already popping up by the minute due to that little mishap earlier, a picture of you on the floor with Tom and then of you in his arms circling the internet to match.

Some fans were saying they knew it, and some totally not expecting it, even though neither of you have confirmed anything whatsoever. But the media, they tend to draw a conclusion without having much to go about.

"I'm sorry." You frowned at him. Despite his playful tone, you can see it in his face how troubled he was, you can practically see those gears turning inside his head.

Yes, Tom was worried, but not because the secret was finally out, it was mainly about how the fans were going to treat you. The internet can be cruel at times, and you weren't trained for that kind of attention. Tom is the public figure, not you. He signed up for this, you didn't.

Throwing an arm over your shoulder to pull you closer to him gently, Tom shook his head at you. "Hey, you did absolutely nothing wrong."

"If I wasn't clumsy this wouldn't have happened." You said shamefully, the embarrassment from your little stunt still there, and of course, the disheartened feeling being that you took the choice away from the both of you, the choice of when you were going to go public.

"But I love you and your clumsiness darling. And it's alright. We're going to be fine." Tom placed a reassuring kiss on your forehead, hand rubbing your arm comfortingly, lovingly that has you sighing with gratitude that there was no ill-will in his voice, even in the slightest.

"I think we should say something." You pulled away from his arms slightly to be able to look at him fully. Tom knitted his eyebrows at you in question. "About what?"

"Us." You stated simply, and Tom didn't need any further explanation, he already knows that you meant officially confirming that you two were in fact together.

Tom stared at you for a full second, brown orbs searching yours if you were genuinely certain about the decision. "Are you sure angel?"

You nodded at him with a sincere smile, ready for all the things that come with it, but also excited to be able to hold him, to cherish him without having to worry every second if someone was watching. "Yeah, plus I'm kind of tired of hiding."

Tom chuckled, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on your lips, a kiss full of gratitude, adoration and pure love for such an amazing woman like you before pulling away to get a hold of his phone.

"Okay. But what should I post?" He asked, frankly having no clue as to what to say or do.

"Up to you Tom." As if there was a hidden message in your words — there wasn't — Tom's whole face lit up, an 'aha!' moment crossing his features before he went tapping away on his phone in concentration.

You let him be as you paid your attention back on the television screen, but it didn't take too long until Tom handed the device to you.

"You do the honors my love." Tom grinned smugly as he showed you the post he's created on Instagram, you letting out a hearty laugh at how dorky yet adorable it was.

It was a collaged photo of you and him. The upper half was of him in his trailer on the set of Cherry, sporting the US military uniform as he leaned back on the couch, a towel covering his face while the medic patched up his ankle. The bottom half was a photo of you earlier — that Harry took without your knowledge — almost in the same predicament.

The only difference was that you were on a hospital bed as the doctor wrapped your ankle up, and instead of a towel, you had your arm over to cover your face, Tom right by your side for moral support.

The caption only had two words: Relationship Goals.

After pressing the blue-colored Share button on the upper-right corner, you handed Tom his phone back, both of you mirroring wide and satisfied smiles.

Granted, there will be challenges with having your relationship out there, and maybe you were going to face most of it even. But with just one look at him, the feeling of being wrapped in his warm embrace, the pure happiness that courses through you whenever you're with him, just being with the absolute love of your life...

It was all worth it.

-:-:-:-:-

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Tom H. Taglist: @spacebitch2 @hollanddolanfangirl @keepingupwiththehollands

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shimmershae · 3 years

Text

Just watched the episode and I’m going to have a lot of thoughts for you, most of them probably bordering on incoherence (LOL) so this is your last chance to nope on out of this post because I’m going to go ahead and put everything else behind a cut to save the eyes that do not want to see any spoilers at all. Unlike mine, that very much wanted to see but in a lot of cases? Could not see shit, but I digress.

Shae’s stream of consciousness coming at you in 3-2-1.

First of all, can I saw how good it is to have my show back again? Like, no. I don’t quite have Season 5 levels of excitement about the new/last season, but it is definitely nice to have all these characters back.

So all these thoughts of mine. Okay. Bear with me because there be a whole lot of them, lol.

My immediate impression as the episode opened was WHOA. Such a cool shot of Daryl with one light wing, one dark wing (representing the two sides to Daryl maybe--the man of honor versus the man he was raised to be, hmm?) looking out over some dark vista of something. Seriously. It’s dark. My room is also dark at the moment and still I was squinting to see. To make out what I’m “looking” at. I really, really hope the rest of this season isn’t this hard to make out.

Is that a tank? Kinda sorta a callback to Rick’s first episode? If so, cool. If not, well. Us fans have always put way more thought into things. For real. Change my mind.

Holy intense eye contact, Batman! Daryl Dixon has literally never looked at anyone--not BethusConLeah--in quite the same smoldering way as he looks at Carol. It’s next level. I don’t know why people be fooling themselves into thinking different.

Let’s see. I can make out--besides Daryl, Maggie, and that face mask dude I already forgot the name of--Kelly, Magna, Jerry (who’s that with him?), and Carol. Sorry. My world, like Daryl’s, inevitably narrows to Carol. She’s loking fierce and fine AF per usual.

Was that Rosita I noticed rewinding to relive Daryl eye-fucking Carol?

I’m guessing this is the army base they talked about in 10C.

That Walker perking up like “I smell food--pancakes and bacon and oohhhh” has me giggling inappropriately right off the bat. WTF.

Look at all my fabulous ladies tiptoeing through that Walker minefield. And Carol spotting that gun that might be useful right away. Listen, if you don’t think her mind ain’t always ten steps ahead of everybody else’s, you’d be wrong.

So. Are these Walkers just so old and feeble not even the call of fresh meat attracts them? Because just tiptoeing through their midst without the knockoff Lady Gaga meatsuits or skin masks has never really worked before that I can remember.

I just want to see most of this season. Is that really too much to ask? Don’t X-Files and Game of Thrones us, Angela. Please and thank you very fucking much.

Okay. Is the one drop of blood thing making anybody else have 28 Days Later vibes? Kinda? Sorta? No? Just me? Okay then. Carry on.

Wait a minute, though. How they be explaining how Daryl keeeps acquiring all these new tats all the time? Hmm? It’s like they just quit giving a shit about continuity in these latter seasons.

I mean. Do Walkers sleep now? LMAO. What is this? I guess they’re constantly evolving?

There’s my baby Lydia. Love my smol bean.

Alright though. I love to see the ladies of TWD kick some ass. It’s very gratifying. Gimps would never. Thank you, Angela.

Clever, resourceful, calm and collected, quick thinking Carol to the rescue! Seriously. Her haters must be withering away inside with absolute envy.

Hey, ya’ll. Remember when Carol was still mastering her sharpshooting skills at the Prison yard and shot at Rick’s feet? Her little “sorry, sorry”? LOL. If Rick could only see her now. Wait. He already knew what so many of his stans refuse to acknowledge--Carol=ultimate survivor and true savior to the group many times over.

Maggie’s got herself a gun, too. Go my badass girls.

Of course, Carol’s got everybody’s back. Of fucking course, Daryl’s got hers even when everybody else seem frozen in some kind of awe or stupification or something. Microcosm of the whole damn show right there.

Carol’s like “here’s your knives, love of my life.”

Eh. Maybe that’s just me.

Nah. She’s totally thinking it, too.

YAS! YAS! Norman Reedus and Melissa McBride with the top billing. How very far my babies have come.

Listen. I miss all the characters we’ve lost. Absolutely. But I love the ones that are still with us, that have been with us for so very long so hard. Whether I love their stories or decisions or not.

Is that THE Alexandria sign? That sign’s been through some shit.

DOG! Daryl kneeling to embrace our Grimes babies has me all up in my feels. And how cute is Dog getting all excited and making sure he’s the first one there to welcome back, Daddy?

Hershel is literally just as puppy dog cute as Glenn ever was. Really some Grade A casting.

What did Maggie call Mr. T? Ducky? Dougie? Sometimes with Maggie? I really cannot tell. Anyway. He’s Mr. T. for me until I find out differently, probably through rewatching with close captioning, lol.

Maggie’s got more people. So. Some new redshirts to sacrifice for plot purposes. I don’t know if I should bother learning their names or not.

I seem to remember Meridian being mentioned in one of the episode synopses.

Sophia’s hair tie around Carol’s neck will never fail to be an emotional throat punch. My heart.

“They come at night and by the time you see them, you’re already dead.” Welp. Guess that means we ain’t seeing shit for at least this first third of the season, lol. Very horror-eque though.

“You’re leaving to fight ghosts.” Aaron, to Maggie. So I see Aaron’s the type to get the hell outta Dodge when the Boogeyman comes calling, hahaha. Least he was. In the old world.

Rosita’s pissed off expression at Gabe’s decision to volunteer for the so-called suicide mission gives me life.

My baby Carol is tired AF of suicide missions. You can tell. Also? Methinks she has something to prove to Daryl here. Or at least feels like she does.

Dog with his little tactical vest. I love it.

I guess I get why they had Carol and Rosita stay behind. They had to more evenly split up the badassery to make things more fair and balanced, lol.

Okay. So Negan’s definitely earned everybody’s disdain. But they’re being woefully short-sighted by not at least hearing the dude out. Isn’t he at least native to the area?

“That is God telling us to turn around.” I’m actually on Negan’s side with this one, but Gabe answering him with “I’m pretty sure he would have run that past me first” has me howling with laughter. Father Gabe has gone straight up savage in these last couple of seasons. Rosita’s influence, perhaps?

I see what Angela is doing. Trying to make Negan the voice of reason. In this particular case? It’s kind of working. I’m still ultimately on Maggie’s side with this though BECAUSE GLENN.

Imagine showing up to work and unironically dressing like a storm trooper every day. Excuse me while I LOL.

Even in the ZA, there’s bullshit paperwork.

“Pumpkin colored spacesuit.” Good one, Ezekiel.

LOL forever. I love Princess.

“Michonne. Our Michonne shut people out of Alexandria for years.” Timely reminder that choices aren’t always perfect. Neither are people.

WTF is reprocessing? Sounds ominous. LMAO at Eugene’s “Okay. We gotta go.”

What in the actual hell with all those bagged, squirming undead? Creepy AF in that subway tunnel.

Should I just go ahead and call that the Easter bunny? We’ve had some version of it pop up since Season 1.

Is it stubborn pride with Maggie or what? Why go through with something when all signs point toward the wisdom of stopping? You can argue that she’s acting similarly to Carol last season, but there’s a huge difference here folks. Carol did her damndest to Lone Wolf that shit and minimize the danger to those she loved. Maggie’s straight up enlisting those she “cares about” to carry out her mission of revenge or vengeance, what have you. Let’s see if she gets near the amount of hate for it. Personally, I don’t blame her for her feelings one bit. They are valid. But her knowingly drawing the others into the game? That’s my sticking point. That’s how she and Carol differ, even if some people refuse to see or accept it. Anyway. Hopping right on off my soapbox.

“Why don’t you get up on your little tippy toes and try?” Omigosh, I’d dying. When I tell you I about passed out with laughter, I do not exaggerate. I should hate Negan forever and I do. Really. But I adore JDM and he frequently makes me LOL. He’s made Negan entertaining if not completely redeemable since Angela took over and more layered so I say kudos.

He has a point about Maggie playing dictator. Damn you, show, for slanting the writing just that smidgen that makes Negan make sense over his victim. I guess, though, it’s better this way. Gives both characters more shades of gray.

“He’s a dick but he makes sense.” I feel like this is Angela calling us all out when we dare to harbor any lasting resentment toward Negan for what he did to Glenn.

Speaking of--Negan. You deserved Daryl’s punch to the mouth. You just went a bridge too damn far.

“Keep pushing me, Negan. Please.” Warning shots fired, Asshole. You better watch yourself around the Widow Rhee.

Have I mentioned how much I love Princess? Her shipping the Commonwealth guards is killing me, lol. I can’t wait ‘til she meets Carol and Daryl. She’s going to have their number in two seconds flat.

I like Ezekiel and Princess as a duo. I’m not saying romantically necessarily. I just like them in scenes together because they’re fun. There’s sort of a protective indulgence Ezekiel seems to telegraph whenever they’re in scenes together. Like he’s like don’t hurt this one. I don’t know. For all these words I’ve written, I can’t quite find the ones to adequately describe what I mean.

The wall of the lost gives me such Battlestar Galactica feels. What sad thoughts it inspires.

Eugene in that Commonwealth gear. Omigosh, lol. So did they just sneak up and take Princess’s little Commonwealth ship’s gear when they were sneaking off on their own to have a quickie?

Princess finding that note for Yumiko on the wall actually gave me chills. Yeah. I’m easy. Just the suggestion of someone getting reunited with lost family gets me all up in my feels. Yumiko saying “I have to stay”? I felt that.

Oh no. Dog ran off! Somebody protect my favorite fictional puppy. Of course, Daryl goes after him. He’s always been the sweet one. Merle said it.

Eh. Negan taking Maggie’s hand at the end there would have smacked too much of Negan Sue and Maggie’s biggest plot of the season would have been prematurely dealt with so I get why they did what they did. But c’mon. It’s not really that big of a cliffhanger, is it?

Okay, so Angela calls those sleeping beauty Walkers “Lurkers” and I get it. Apparently they’re a bigger deal in the comics, but I really don’t remember seeing them all that much on the actual show. Somebody jog my memory.

Of fucking course, you can actually see what’s happening in the inside the episode clips. I wish we could choose to view the episode with that lighting because some of us be blind. And this time I mean in the more literal sense. Not the figurative one.

Anyway. I’m going to stop trying to write a novel for ya’ll and move on to better things. Like maybe a nap. Maybe some early dinner. I don’t know. I’m tired AF and need a little recharge.

Before I go, though? Overall impression of the episode? I liked it. There were parts that I loved (all the ladies being badass, every second of Carol, Daryl reuniting with the Grimes babies and Dog, all things Princess, some of Negan’s one-liners about had me busting a gut, Rosita serving looks, Kelly and Lydia getting to be badass too) and parts I didn’t love (not being able to see a damn thing, Angela trying to tip the scales in Negan’s favor, not enough Carol or Aaron or Rosita, no reunion between Aunt Carol and the Grimes babies even though that picture floating around suggests it was at least shot, not being able to see a damn thing, all the Alexandria people playing follow the leader for Maggie when she’s been gone 6 years and Daryl’s right there--hell, even Father G deserves the honor over her because it’s obvious they’re not exactly on the same wavelength anymore).

I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m just glad to have our show back.

Later, lovelies.

#The Walking Dead #Season 11 #spoilers #TWD spoilers #things that make me smile and cry #and giggle and giggle

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