distinctive door

The Hideout (Happy x Reader)

I wrote this earlier in the week and forgot about it. Here y’all go my lovelies <3

Word count: 5,346

WARNINGS: Language & Explicit Content (Smut) 

Playlist: Safari - Jidenna 

Originally posted by lolsthecat

Originally posted by canadaloveselena

There was only one rule at the Hideout; no problems. In order to step into the building, you had to leave all issues and affiliations at the door. The Hideout was common ground, an in-between, a meeting place. All gangs of every kind were welcome. On the condition that you didn’t bring your violence inside with you. Once you were outside the front doors, well – that was a whole other story.

~(xXx)~

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What Do YOU Want? Pt. 1

A Kwon Jiyong series ft. Kim Jiwon

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Word count: 2,500+

Summary: The most important person in the world to you can appear most often when you least expect it. But through everything, you can’t forget about you and your own happiness. Who are you happy with? Who is the best for you?

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 

Originally posted by peaceminus8ne

Your patience was wearing thin.

It had been nearly 3 weeks since you and Jiyong had spent any time together and it was time to address it. Since you worked during the morning/day at YG and then spent the early evenings in your studio, you made sure that you had all night free and you assumed Jiyong would do the same. But you were mistaken. Again.

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Best Friend confesses Series: WOOZI

This is part two of a new series of Seventeen imagines. Feel free to message me and say who you want to see confessing next.

You know Woozi never meant to say it. But you still spent the whole evening yesterday replaying the Seventeen live interview video about a hundred times and trying to work out what the strange feeling in your chest was when you heard his words.

There is was, your best friend, your delightful, interesting, intelligent, stoic yet adorable best friend, sitting there with his newly re-dyed pink hair and his serious, focused face. Telling the interviewer that the inspiration for his latest song came from some night walks around the city with his girlfriend. 

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anonymous asked:

Anticipating the next chapter of the artist series!!! 😍

Mod Note: If anyone can remind me which fic this is, I’d be very grateful. Until then, have some more CoC.


Chain of Command: Part 5.

Claire traced the pattern on the rough table, trying to avoid making eye contact with Mama Crook who –with a very motherly stare– was keeping council with her in the privacy of the downstairs study.

“Who, Claire, ye need to tell me, aye?”

Dipping her head closer to the wooden hardtop, Claire tried to contain the butterflies that were forming in her belly.

She shook her head.

“Did he force ye? You can tell me. Ye *ken* me, Claire…”

-

For six months she’d managed to conceal the child, using rags to hold her belly flat under her skirts after her failed ‘escape’ attempt. But in a moment of weakness, she’d snuck away from her duties, undone her bindings - just as her baby began to move within her - and just sat with her palms cradled over the unborn babe.

Mrs Crook watched her sneak away and had followed, curious as to why Claire had been so withheld recently. Pushing the door open, she viewed Claire with a sort of awed-wonder as the lass stripped down and sat cross legged on the floor, cradling her extended belly with such peaceful reverence.

-

Claire shook her head again, keeping the identity of her secret lover concealed.

Huffing out an audible sigh, Mrs Crook dropped her joined hands onto the tabletop, her patience wearing thin as the minutes ticked by.

“Claire, ye need t-”

Opening the door, Brian plowed into the small room a large smile on his face as he viewed the two women, “Mrs Crook! I need some…” his words trailed off as he took in the tense scene in front of him, his smile faltering as he caught the sweep of Claire’s belly beneath her thin dress.

“Mary, mother and bride,” he cursed, pulling a chair beside Mrs Crook as his weight fell into the seat with a solid thump.

“Dinna ask me who, sir,” she sighed in defeat, “I canna get her t’ tell me who’s fathered the bairn.”

Holding his hand up to Mrs Crook a look of understanding crossed Brian Fraser’s face as he placed his large palm over Claire’s joined ones. “Claire, lassie, who?”

Remaining stoic, Claire pressed her lips together, Brian’s familiar blue eyes piercing her armour as she tried to stay quiet. “You’ll send me away, so what does it matter if you know?” She questioned, her voice stable for the moment as her fingers twitched where they lay beneath his.

No matter what, she wasn’t from their world. Whether she told him the truth or not, she would not be allowed to raise her baby the way she’d dreamed since discovering her new circumstances.

“Ach! It *does* matter, Claire,” Brian whispered, his hard stare holding some unspoken emotion that Claire couldn’t place, “especially if it’s someone who hurt ye! And we willna send ye away, why would ye think such a thing?”

Hiding her head beneath her curls, Claire pulled her eyes away.

“Is that the reason fer *Inverness*?” Brian whispered, sensing her crumbling resolve he changed tack, his palms rubbing soothing circles over Claire’s clammy hands.

Claire’s cheeks pinked but she remained quiet.

“Did I ever tell ye,” he began, a wistful reverence in his tone, “about my mother, Claire?”

Bringing her head up, Claire studiously ignored Mama Crook as her eyes locked with Brian’s once more. Shaking her head, she licked her lips as unshed tears welled in her eyes. “No,” she replied, the hunched set of her shoulders relaxing a little as she settled to listen to his tale.

Seeing her calm, Brian’s mouth twitched upwards as he continued. He had an idea, of course, as to why Claire was being so coy about her tryst. But he wanted her to tell him the truth of it without having to force the information from her. He knew that this story was likely the only thing to break down the walls which she’d built around her wee secret.

“Ye already ken Jamie and Jenny’s grand-sire, aye?” He forged ahead, waiting only briefly for Claire’s nod in between words, “weel, he met my ma in a rather unconventional position…”


Sitting on the guest bed, Claire shifted her weight. The mattress was incredibly comfortable but she just couldn’t seem to relax. Despite his best efforts, Brian had been unable to coax the identity of Claire’s mystery suitor from her. She very nearly cracked after hearing his story but the more rational part of her saw through his attempts to prize the information from her. In the end, the story saw Brian’s mother raise him alone - without the help of Simon Fraser. Only in guilt had the man gifted Lallybroch to Brian and Claire could only see the same fate for herself and the baby. Why bring Jamie’s reputation into disrepute? She’d rather continue to conceal it in the hopes that Jamie wouldn’t feel the need to claim ownership of her unborn once he discovered her secret.

She’d come this far, already in too deep, Claire -as stubborn as she was- had chosen her path.

Ellen clicked the door open, pushing the thick wood slowly so as not to spook Claire. She had returned home to find Brian with his head in his hands and and empty dram of whisky drained on the table in front of him.

He’d only to say two words and Ellen knew it all.

‘She’s pregnant.’

With the words still echoing around her head as she snuck into the bedchamber.

“Claire?” She questioned quietly, reaching her hand out to run over the young lassie’s hair as she tried to hide her eyes from Ellen. “Ye ken what you mean to me, to us…” she began, her hands trembling a little as she tried to quash Claire’s misgivings. “I wouldna be here today if it wasne for you.”

“I’m so sorry, Ellen,” Claire blurted, her emotions boiling over at Ellen’s motherly touch.

“What is there to be sorry for, a leannan? I dinna think there is anything ye need apologise for. But we canna do more until you tell us…tell me, Claire…” she pleaded, “please?”

When Claire still refused to speak, she tried one last thing. Wrapping her arm around Claire’s shaking shoulders, she brought her against her chest. “Ye ken how strong our Scottish blood is, Claire,” she whispered, “tell us and we can assure you both safety and protection before the bairn arrives. Do you want to be a family?”

The question was supposed to be rhetorical, but Ellen did not, and had never believed in the impossibility of any situation.

“You’ll send me away once you know,” she spoke repeating the same worry to Ellen as she had to Brian, her voice muffled as she burrowed deeper into the wool of her shawl. “Or take my baby away from me. Why yearn for something I can never have?”

“This has to be your choice, Claire. I canna force yer honesty. But I will strive to help you in any possible way. And we would *ne’er* remove your child from ye.” That particular statement and cut Ellen deep - for Claire to assume that either her or Brian would punish her so severely made her heart ache. 

Taking Claire’s hand in her own, Ellen first ran their joined palms over Claire’s belly and then raised them to place over her own heart. “Trust in us, Claire. We will see ye safe.”

Closing her eyes tight, Claire felt the steady beat of Ellen’s heart and swallowed. “I should have told him first,” Claire sighed, tears falling down her cheeks as she opened her eyes again, staring directly at Ellen as she tried to convey meaning with simply a look. “W-will you tell him I’m sorry for it…?”


Padding downstairs, Ellen huffed out a rather large breath as she pressed herself to Brian’s side.

“How is she?” He asked, eager to know if his clever wife had managed to wrangle the truth from Claire.

“Scared still,” Ellen sighed. “She thinks she’s alone.”

“Have ye managed to convince her that view is supremely foolish?” Brian chuckled worriedly.

If anyone could do it, Ellen could. After Jamie, Ellen was the Fraser with whom Claire had the strongest bond.

“What’s amiss, Mam?” Jamie piped up, his voice echoing through the almost-silent room. Brian and Ellen’s eye rose to meet his immediately. They’d been so deep in thought that neither had seen or heard their youngest enter until he’d made himself known.

“Son,” Ellen coaxed, patting the sofa next to her as she spoke, “before I tell ye, I think we need a wee chat, aye?”

Sitting with some trepidation, Jamie perched on the end of the seat with his fingers strumming out a nervous rhythm against his bare knees. “It’s Claire, isn’t it?” He broached, unaware of her current predicament. She had been off-colour for a while, avoiding him completely in recent weeks. He’d been busy though, which had made giving her space easier.

Brian took Ellen’s hand, watching as Jamie’s gaze flittered restlessly between them both. After Willie had been taken, sickness in the house always came with some manner of trepidation.

“Jamie,” Ellen began, her eyes serious as she clutched Brian’s hand tightly, “Claire’s pregnant.”


Steeling himself, Jamie wrung his hands together as he stood outside the guest bedroom door. The distinct sound of sobbing filtered under the door and his heart shattered at the idea of Claire suffering alone for all this time, afraid and unable to come to him with her news.

*Promised*, his mother had told him. She’d spent most of their romantic time together thinking their actions to be illicit - all because of some misconceived notion that he was to wed another.

In a moment of weakness as a child, his grief at losing his brother consuming him inside and out, he’d made a promise to his father. Claire had been his beacon. His shining light. And no matter how she saw herself, he saw the treasure she truly was. In those dire days he had promised Brian that one day Claire would be his bride - no matter what.

Brian, it seemed, had taken him at his word to this day. The rumours that had been spilt throughout Broch Tuarach had not been wrong, he was permanently entangled with someone whom he loved greatly. But since the name of the lucky lassie had been conveniently omitted - to allow Jamie the chance to woo his intended properly - Claire had only heard a partial truth.

She’d craved Jamie, labouring under the assumption that sometime soon he’d be betrothed to another woman.

Suddenly her downtrodden mood over Laoghaire became clear to him as the mist evaporated before his eyes.

Cursing his foolishness, Jamie berated himself for the lack of clarity on his behalf. This mess would not have occurred had he cleared Claire’s misconceptions. Had he not allowed her to block his every attempt at making his position clear to her, they would *not* be in this situation now.  

Opening the door, he walked across the wood paneled floor and knelt beside the cushioned four poster bed.

“Why, Claire?” He muttered, taking hold of her frozen hands as he began to kiss her frigid digits. “Why did ye spend all this time thinking yerself no’ fit for me?”

Stunned, Claire remained silent. She’d expected the ‘why’. After all, Jamie was loyal to a fault. To think that he’d missed the chance to resolve this mess earlier would have certainly had him in knots. But she hadn’t expected latter part of his statement.

Ellen’s calming influence earlier had worked. Within moments of their unusual mother/daughter-like conversation beginning she’d broken, sobbing relentlessly as she hiccuped through her sorry tale.

“Because I’m not, Jamie. You’re the Laird Broch Tuarach… and I’m plain Claire, nothing more.”

“No!” Jamie cried, tears slipping from his eyes as he leaned forwards, pressing his forehead gently against hers, “dinna you ever say that, Claire!” He castigated, his patience at the depredation of her self-worth depleting.

“It’s you, mo nighean donn. It’s always been you! Can’t you see?” He begged, pleaded, his tone reverent and true as he grasped her tightly.

“All of those years ago, I pledged myself to ye. My body, my heart…everything. I told da. So yes, I am promised. I was *always* promised…but to you, Claire.”

Fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks now as she dragged in a ragged breath, relief and sorrow coursing through her veins as she hurled herself from the bed and into Jamie’s waiting arms.

“Oh, Jamie,” she spluttered, gripping onto his shirt so tightly that she almost tore into the fabric, “I l-love you…God how I love you.”

“Then you’ll have me?” He whispered, his lips caressing her ear slowly as he pressed his flat belly against her round one, the feel of his child between them emboldening his words by touch alone. “Because, Christ, Claire, if I don’t love ye too. I always have…”

Façade [Prologue]

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: You thought you wanted fame. You thought you wanted this. But a part of you still yearned for that normal life, a normal love: finding someone that you love and will love you back with all his heart. So soon enough, this became too much for you.


PrologueChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Epilogue



“…the most famous couple…”

“…thousands of fans have gathered in anticipation…”

“…their twenty-seventh nomination…”

“…can they win again?”

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Trust Me | Jumin Han x Reader

RATING: Teen | WORD COUNT: 1,326 | GENRE: Drama/Fluff
SUMMARY: A rumour comes out that you’re cheating on Jumin with Zen, and you’re afraid of what Jumin’s reaction would be.

It’s amazing just how vicious the public media could be, twisting words and statements around and interpreting situations to suit their own satisfaction. They would do anything to get a good story and try to rile up the general public. They can either raise a simple nobody to glory and make them out to be a hero, or they can drag someone so revered down through the dirt. Say what you will, the media possessed power.

Jumin was already used to dealing with those vultures from a young age. It was something he learned quickly and by himself, but you were different. Being hounded by the press or having self-proclaimed experts spouting nonsense about you online was completely new to you. Though you expected this kind of response after that public stunt Jumin pulled at the party, it was a bit more intense than you had initially thought.

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Virgo represents serving on one end while Pisces represents sacrifice on the other end.

With serving others, Virgo is willing to do things for others with the knowledge that they will be fine. With serving, there is no pain, but as a service, there’s a lack of intimacy since there is a distinctive distance. The doors are closed and locked. The boundaries of obligation and formality is too restricting.

With sacrificing for others, Pisces is willing to do things for others knowing the pain that comes with it. Unlike serving, sacrifice comes with pain, but there is a chance for intimacy since there is closeness. The doors are open and free. The lack of boundaries and restrictions is unpredictable.

Virgo will struggle to free themselves from their boundaries to be truly intimate with others. Pisces will struggle to build appropriate boundaries so that they can be healthily intimate with others.

This is the Virgo-Pisces axis.

Mr. CEO; 2

Pairing: Reader x Taeyong
Genre: Angst
Summary: How can someone’s life go back to the it was if they couldn’t remember the past two years. Series 2 of the Coldhearted Series

[Important Sneak Peak] // All Parts/// Coldhearted

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Submitted by @rynnwolfe

(Hello! You answered an ask about how a very ‘Bim Trimmer’ sort of song is “Angel on Fire” by Halsey, and I looked it up, which prompted this story-snippet. I imagine that the Egos have never really experienced any of the others ‘fading’ before, at least not first-hand. I hope you enjoy the Plant Boy Suffering!)

Their first hint toward something wrong was the wilting plant in the hallway. Silver was the one to notice it, though he was typically too busy falling over himself to observe those small sort of details; maybe he had fallen into the plant on one of his ‘perimeter checks’. He had dutifully carried the pot to Dark’s office, leaving a trail of dirt across the entire building, placing it as carefully as he could onto Dark’s desk without so much as knocking on his door. The pale Ego was understandably upset, though he paused in his breaking, glitching spasm when he noticed just how sorry the foliage was looking. The entire plant was losing its color, ugly brown splotches indicating exactly how long it had gone without water. Silver didn’t have to say a word for Dark to understand his fears.

“Bim most likely forgot about this one. It is in one of the lower wings of the building, after all.”
    Silver slammed his oversized hands on Dark’s desk - pent up energy and confidence that he had recently gained from Mark’s newest Ego video, in which the superhero had starred - and locked eyes with the more powerful Ego.

“Does that sound like Bim to you?”

They had found Wilford already at their destination: the door marked with a star, upon which was etched “THE Bim Trimmer”. Wilford was impatiently knocking for all he was worth, his bubblegum-pink mustache twitching with severe irritation. He reached for his gun, Dark quickly stopping him with a hand on the pink Ego’s shoulder.

“What’s going on here, Wil?”

“What’s going on?” Wilford spoke with his usual dramatic flair and threw his hands up in exasperation “this good for nothing is late for his curtain call, again! I have half a mind to fire him, and half a mind to shoot him!” He gave a sharp kick to the door, which remained steadfast and its interior unnervingly silent.

Dark’s grip on Wilford’s shoulder tightened enough to make the pink Ego duck down away from the touch with a small yelp. The eccentric Ego took the hint and slided away from the entrance to Bim’s room, leaving Dark to knock four distinct times. The door, in response, shook subtly before disintegrating into what would best be described as ash.

“Well, I could have done that.” Wilford huffed, then quieted as Dark held up a hand.

A strange atmosphere fell from the room, now unhindered by the heavy door; the feeling of growing things and fresh oxygen that was usually prominent in Bim’s room clearly absent. The three Egos were quiet, a feeling of dread beginning to take hold of them. Dark was the first to step over the threshold, followed (probably too closely) by Wilford, and Silver trailing behind the two more powerful Egos, his large gloved hands still holding the sickly potted plant.   

“Bim?” Dark’s voice echoed almost too much in the Ego’s room; it felt sterile and dead.

There was a sudden skittering of claws against hardwood flooring, prompting WIlford to bring his gun out in a flash, Dark to take a small step back, and Silver to hold the plant near his face as if it would protect him from whatever was about to round the corner. A blur of green shot across the floor, and suddenly Poppy was trying to crawl her way up Wilford’s pant-leg, a sort of guttural whining emitting from her throat. The pink Ego was quick to scoop her up into his arms, holding her like a baby - how Bim always cradled her - and gently pick at the drooping flower that grew from the dragon’s forehead. With closer inspection, it was obvious that Poppy was in as bad of shape as the plant that Silver still carried; her scales were browning at the edges, and her flower had perhaps a third of its usual petals. Her eyes were dull and looked uncomfortably dry, causing the little creature to blink every few moments. Dark looked at WIlford with rising impatience that, if he were honest (which was rarely) stemmed from the trepidation that was forming like a rock in his stomach.

“Wil, precisely how late has Trimmer been to curtain call?”

The pink Ego looked up from his concerned examination of Poppy, his eyes flicking around different points of Dark’s face to try and understand exactly what he was getting at.

“I suppose that depends on what day it is today; you know I was never one for keeping time.”

Dark growled, making the dragon in WIlford’s arm (and WIlford, to a lesser extent) shiver. The pale Ego took a moment to let his shell crack, then walked swiftly in the direction from which Poppy had run. This room was Bim’s favorite: his indoor greenhouse of sorts, what had once been an office with a wall of windows and now had shelves of his precious plants. Every one of which were utterly shriveled and dead. Dark halted in his tracks at this sight, causing Silver to bump into his back and then drop the potted plant to the ground, with the telltale crack of ceramic shattering. Wilford came into the room in response, holding a now-watered Poppy, the dragon already beginning to look mildly perked up. A quiet curse passed his lips at the sorry sight of Bim’s precious plant friends. Silver took the brief pause to brush dirt from the back of Dark’s otherwise immaculate suit, then step back hastily as the Ego walked over to the small desk in the corner of the room.

The chair had been left a foot or so from the desk itself, as if the person sitting in it had suddenly sprung up and walked away. Dark began a methodical search of the area, noting the uncapped pen that had rolled onto the floor. When he bent down to retrieve it, he found a pale green envelope lying face-down under the desk as well. The address written on it in Bim’s neat scrawl was one Dark knew well: Mark’s. Though the envelope was already sealed, the pale Ego felt that all courtesy could be thrown out the metaphorical window in the given circumstances; with one deft movement, he had ripped one end open and coaxed the letter out of its casing. Unfolding it, Dark read the contents quickly, his permanent frown growing deeper as the letter progressed.

‘Mark,’ the correspondence began, Bim’s handwriting neat but slightly dramatic, just like his personality, ‘I hope it’s not a bother that I’m having Amy bring you this letter - though I put the address just in case she doesn’t visit for a while. I know you’re busy, and everyone here appreciates what you’ve been doing for us on your channel. Google was especially pleased with his video, and I know Ed’s over the moon about how his turned out!’

Dark skipped the half-dozen lines detailing exactly how much Bim enjoyed each video that Mark uploaded, rolling his eyes at the flattery and finally finding the important information. He noted that the Ego’s writing had begun to get smaller and shakier as the letter went on.

‘I’ve started to feel…off. Sort of empty, like not all of me is there anymore. I understand that you’re saving the best for last-’

Dark let a huff of air pass his lips in what could be described as a rueful laugh, ignoring Wilford’s impatient shuffling as he stood back in the doorway, seemingly afraid of entering this dead room..

‘-but I don’t know how much time I have left. I’m getting worried. Poppy’s restless around me, I think she knows something is wrong. I don’t want to be forgotten, Mark. Of course, I know you and Amy will never forget me, but I don’t think that’s enough to keep me here anymore. I can’t go yet; Wilford needs me, Poppy needs me, Reginald, Mattias, Rupert, Annabelle, Thomas, Bryan, J-Fred, and all my other plants need me. I don’t know how else to say it: I’m scared and I need your help.’

The signature at the end of the letter was sloppy, lacking its usual finesse and blotched with excess ink in a few places. Dark stood there a few moments more, his mind drawing rapid conclusions, then he neatly folded the letter up and placed it back into the envelope. Then, with a quick turn on his heel, the pale Ego stepped past Wilford and Silver, ignoring their sudden questions and increasingly vehement demands for explanation. He pressed the letter into Silver’s hands as he walked past toward the exit until Wilford’s hand gripped his shoulder far too tightly and spun him around. There was murder and a surprising level of parental panic in the pink Ego’s eyes, which were frantically searching Dark’s face for any hints as to what he had read.

“Where the hell is Bim, Dark?!”

Dark let his shell splinter for a few brief moments, showing anger and a bitter sadness that made Wilford draw back in shock. Then the pale Ego adjusted his suit and looked Wilford in the eye; a small spark of sympathy in their vast depths.

“Bim is gone.”

Ninth [Chapter 1]

Superpower!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Warning: Language

Summary: Seven supernatural beings are captured and imprisoned in the governments’ most secure and secretive department. The eighth is on the loose and agents are hot on his tail. What they don’t know is that there’s a ninth member that has never appeared in any records, and you are in charge of finding him.


PrologueChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4



A man sits on the roof of an old building, looking down on the large city below him. A small hum escapes, calm and slow and lighthearted.

He dangles his feet as a small breeze blows past, rustling his soft dark hair.

“You look awfully calm.”

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Klangst - Don’t Keep it Bottled Up, part 2

Soooo, I said that the fluff would come in the next part, and that was what I had intended, but since I wanted to post something today and I’m too tired to write up the rest right now, I’m splitting up the second part of the headcanon into two parts. Sorry!

Click here for part one of the headcanon, or check out my headcanon masterpost for more of my headcanons.

Don’t worry I promise there’s some fluff coming up in part 3! Sorry for any mistakes (I’m falling asleep rn)! 

To say that Lance felt bad the rest of the day would be a severe understatement. If he had thought that the exhaustion and frustration from before was bad, the guilt and uncertainty that now weighed upon his mind was thousands of times worse.

He couldn’t bear to look anyone in the eye for the rest of the day, scared of what he’d say, what his expression might show. He knew he should’ve tried harder to hide it, because of /course/ the others would notice. He never tried to show any of his darker emotions. He had always tried to have a smile on his face, just so he could see another person smile too.

Lance’s mother had taught him about the power of expressions when he was little. She had told him about how, even if he was feeling bad, if he could still smile, that smile would brighten someone’s day, and that maybe that knowledge alone could make him feel better too. And so Lance had grown up laughing over the sound of his embarrassment, smiling through the harder times. He wanted to make others laugh. He wanted to make them smile. He took their negativity and kept it buried away, never letting anyone feel just how dark and heavy his heart felt under the burden. He had planned to keep it that way.

That had gone out the window from his and Keith’s first meeting. He found someone around whom he felt no need to fake smiles. He would scowl and glare whenever the mood hit him. It was weird, new, and Lance didn’t know what to do with it. Rationally he knew he didn’t hate Keith, though he had believed this in the beginning, but it was frustrating how hard it was to put up fronts around him. Today he had snapped, unleashing all those years of frustration, anger and hurt, on the one person from whom he’d never taken any negativity.

He felt sick, awful in the knowledge of what he’d said. He knew he could have a sharp tongue, but in the moment he hadn’t been thinking. He’d just been so stupid, proving just what everyone believed about him, and now he was making the others worry too. They all approached him and he sent them away as gently and swiftly as he could. He was fine. He /was/ fine…but now Keith wasn’t.

Hunk was the hardest to send away, for which Lance was grateful for him being such a good friend, and yet he couldn’t stand him being around. It wasn’t Lance that needed comforting. No. He wanted to be shouted at, because what he’d done was terrible. Eventually Hunk relented with a heavy sigh and soft words promising an ear if he should need one. Hunk was the best. Lance really didn’t deserve him.

Lance’s stomach grumbled, so he went to eat, but looking at the food made him nauseous. With nothing better to do, he headed to his room, wincing upon spying Keith’s door. Should he… Should he, what? He didn’t know what to do. He had never been in such a delicate situation before, and Lance was awful when it came to sensitivity. He knew an apology wouldn’t be enough. Maybe begging for forgiveness?

Ughhh. He felt dizzy and sick as he considered what he should do. Maybe he shouldn’t see him right now. He wasn’t in the right mind to talk. However, what if he left it too long?! In the end, as his stomach grumbled again, he went into his room, collapsing on the bed. He didn’t care that it was too early to sleep, he didn’t care he hadn’t changed, he didn’t care he hadn’t washed. He was exhausted.

Lance lay there, too tired to do anything. Including sleep.

Lance was a naturally active person. Now, this didn’t mean he was particularly keen on sports or exercise. However, when he had energy, he HAD to do something or else suffer the constant buzz beneath his skin. Unfortunately for him, despite his mental exhaustion and worsening hunger, as he lay on his bed, he could feel that itch to do something. It wasn’t long before his foot began to tap. Then, before he knew it, he was pacing the small room, head and arms hanging loosing as he let his feet carry him in circles.

As much as he wished to be able to sleep, Lance knew he would have to face Keith soon. The longer he left it, the harder it’d get. Yet this knowledge didn’t help ease the tightening of his heart at the thought of seeing Keith again. What kind of face would he have? Would he still have that cold expression? …would Lance even get to see him?

Given the circumstances, the last thing Keith probably wanted to do was see Lance, but it was inevitable. They were stuck together on the Castle, and they’d have to work with each other sooner or later when they next needed to form Voltron. Plus, Lance didn’t know how long he could cope with even more tension between him and Keith. The problem was Lance’s record of riling Keith up. Outside of pickup lines, Lance was not the most eloquent when it came to words, and despite first impressions, Lance had learnt that Keith was quite sensitive. Which meant that Lance would have to be careful when apologising.

Their situation was unstable enough as it was, he couldn’t afford letting his loose mouth cost him any chance of reconciliation. Which meant that Lance needed to decide his words before they next met. Finally coming up with a plan, Lance stopped pacing his room to sit heavily on the edge of his bed. Now the only problem was what to say.

It turned out to be quite a big problem as Lance sat on his bed, mulling over how to begin the conversation, only for him to change his mind each time. It never sounded right; too casual or too stiff. He wanted Keith to know he was being sincere, but Lance didn’t have much experience when it came to sincerity. Of course, he was honest to people about what he thought, but he felt like he needed to do more than just state what was on his mind. Besides, it was just so embarrassing to actually admit how he felt, and since old habits die hard, Lance knew he’d end up quipping at Keith to hide the embarrassment. Since when was having a conversation so difficult?!

Wait…that’s it! The way to start his apology! It would mean that he wouldn’t have to catch Keith alone and risk any slips of his tongue. Lance nodded his head, decision made. He now knew what to do.

He didn’t know how much time had passed since then, but as Lance woke up suddenly, from a nap he didn’t remember taking, Lance heard the distinct swoosh of Keith’s door opening and closing. Finishing the last bit of writing, Lance waited a couple of minutes to make sure the coast was clear. Then, he snuck into the corridor, still having the need to slowly poke his head out first. As quietly as possible he slunk to Keith’s door. Now the only question that remained was whether Keith had just entered or left. Thankfully, there was a sure-fire way of checking. Keith had a reputation for always locking his door when he was inside, ever since Coran apparently ran into his room without notice.

If he was in his room, Lance’s passcode would not work and Lance would have to call out to Keith to let him in, though that was not the plan this time. He needed Keith to be out, and as the door opened immediately, Lance let out a small breath of relief. He backed slowly into the room, his head still checking down both ends of the corridor for signs of Keith’s return. He kept the lights off as he slinked inside, knowing there wouldn’t be any obstacles in Keith’s room. All he had to do was place the note and leave before Keith came back. Lance had brought tape, not wanting to risk the note falling off or getting lost in the bedding.

He needed Keith to see this note. It was the start of his apology that would hopefully be enough to convince Keith to at least hear the rest out in person. So, with the taped note in hand, he made his way over to Keith’s bed in the dark, thankful for the lack of personal effects Keith kept in his room to have to worry stepping around (though a part of Lance hated the lack of belongings they had in the Castle, after all, this was to be their home for however long it took for it to all be over, and as everyone loved to remind Lance, who knew when that would be). Lance leaned over the bed, reaching to stick the tape to the wall next to Keith’s pillow. That should be a good spot.

A throat clearing made Lance jump, almost falling into the bed in his shock. Then, as Lance looked down, his eyes struggling to see anything in the dim room, he made out the shape of something on the pillow. Or, more specifically, someone.

Oh, quiznak…

Well, I hoped you enjoyed this small part! Please check out part 3 (and the epilogue)! As usual, I’m happy to chat/discuss theories/headcanons if you ever fancy, so just drop me a message if you do.

Juxtaposed

so this is my first fanfic on here and I hope you guys like it! Basically takes place around a month after 1x13 and is just some Bughead smut really. My ultimate goal for their first scene in season 2 lol x

So it’s a bit long sorry and like I said smut you have been warned haha

It was a dreary Friday afternoon. The halls of Riverdale High seemed to have transgressed into an even duller shade of grey, rivalling the clouds outside.  Betty sighed as her eyes drifted to the clock behind the teacher’s desk, willing the hands to move faster. The usually attentive blonde was barely tuned in; the teacher’s voice a humming in the background fading into a symphony of tapping pens, restless feet, and quiet chatter.

Her eyes scanned the room as she slumped in her seat- a rarity after being raised with indoctrination of the importance of correct posture- taking in the other patrons of the room. Ethel was to her left idly taking notes, while Veronica on her right was texting behind the guise of her text book. Archie was a row in front of her jotting what Betty presumed to be lyrics in a notepad, while Kevin was next to him probably texting Veronica. She sighed again, deflating as her heart ached a little at the missing piece.  Jughead was at Southside High, probably staring down hallways greyer than these, softened against the harsh leather that plagued the school but dull none the less.

Betty understood why he went. He didn’t have much of a choice, but she respected that he was content with what had played out. These people, the Serpents and the Southside community had accepted him without a second thought, welcomed him before they knew him and offered unwavering support and protection. A family. It was something the people on this side of town had never done. It was something even his oldest and closest friends had failed to deliver on many times. It was something he had only ever found in her and as much as that warmed her heart and made her feel special, she knew that he needed it in something else too; now more than ever.

The piercing shrill of the bell intruded Betty’s reverie and she jumped slightly in her seat, making a mental note of the homework the teacher was now rattling off for the weekend before hastily gathering her things. Kevin was by her side immediately.

“Is it just me or is everything particularly mundane this Friday?” the sharp tongued boy asked her, shaking his head. Betty laughed lightly nodding in agreement.

Keep reading

Then Again, P5  Peter Parker x Reader

Author’s Note: Finally, the first Peter P.O.V. chapter! 

Thank you to everyone who liked the previous parts and to my new (and old) followers! I’m so excited to share the upcoming chapters where things get more intense. That being said, let me know what you guys think of this bit!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6

And here it is,

Then Again, Part 5:

(Words: 2,381)


If I said that this was the worst week, and that yesterday was the worst day, of my life, I would be an absolute idiot. Of course it isn’t. But it does suck. It sucks a lot. A lot, a lot. The last few months have been pretty awful, but for some reason, this has been the worst week of them. 

Y/N is just so happy. It’s driving me nuts.

I blame it mostly on Halloween. If Halloween hadn’t happened the way it did, maybe everything would be different and the other things would matter less.

That night, Y/N and I were supposed to meet MJ and Ned at Ned’s apartment before going to Betty’s party. (Ned forced us into it, I didn’t really want to go in the first place.)

Anyway, Y/N came to my apartment first so we could walk to Ned’s together. Just as I answered the door, MJ sent something to our group snapchat. The little popcorn sound echoed between us as I let Y/N inside. I pulled out my phone.

“It’s from MJ,” I said, opening it.

MJ, dressed as someone from the 1700s judging by the bonnet, was perched on the back of Ned’s couch and holding a whip outside an open window; Ned was in the background, running toward her from the hallway. He was wearing an Indiana Jones costume and his signature Don’t you dare, MJ! face. 

I laughed.

“Look, MJ’s already tormenting Ned with his own costume,” I said, showing Y/N the picture before it disappeared.

“What?”

She looked at the screen and froze.

“It’s a costume party?”

I thought she knew, especially since Ned talked about it so much. I hadn’t planned a costume, but that’s because I was hoping if I showed up to Ned’s without one, he might tell me not to come at all. I guess it made sense though. I’d been wondering all week what she was planning to wear. I thought I even asked her at one point. Maybe not. Yeah. I wouldn’t have wanted her to think I was being weird.

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t have a costume either.”

She groaned.

“No, I should’ve paid more attention to Ned when he told me about it. I’ve been so… so out of it and distracted lately, and I can’t let him down like this. I know how much it means to him. I told him just an hour ago that I was completely ready for tonight. I can’t believe myself.”

I tried to console her a bit, make jokes and lighten the mood. But she was kind of right. Ned had been talking about it a lot and she had seemed pretty distracted the last couple weeks. Plus, we only had an hour before we needed to leave.

I remember wishing May were home. She would know how to help. But she must’ve been busy because she didn’t answer any of my texts.

As Y/N beat herself up for being unprepared, she kept pacing and wringing her hands. Then, she stopped.

“I always told myself I would never ask this,” she said slowly, “but Peter, can I… try on the suit?”

I always told myself I would never let my friends try the suit on. I didn’t want it to get complicated. I mean, once you get a hang of the suit, it’s kind of addicting.

In that moment though, I wanted to let her. She tends to get stressed when she isn’t one hundred percent on top of things and this was definitely one of those times. I thought it would help distract her while I came up with costume ideas. And maybe another reason I didn’t want to admit to myself yet.

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I let you try it out?”

She shrugged, the corners of her lips tugging upward. I smiled immediately, like a reflex. I could tell she was getting excited. Weirdly, I felt excited too. I told myself it was a reaction to feeling helpful.

“I just thought Ned said something about it once. Like you were overprotective of it or whatever.”

“Pff, no way.” I tried to be nonchalant. “Ned is always saying crazy things.”

That wasn’t true and we both knew it. Awkward things, occasionally. Crazy, not so much.

I dug the suit out of my bag and tossed it to her.

While I waited out in the living room for her to change, I heard a sharp thud from my room. I ran to the door.

“Uh, you okay in there?”

An oomf later, she replied, “Yeah. I just tripped a little. The suit’s fine! Hit my funny bone, that’s all.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Not for the suit, obviously. It can take a beating.

A minute later, she called my name. Her voice carried a distinct… reluctance.

Outside the door again, I offered up a, “Yeah?”

I know, I know. I’m an idiot.

“Um, how exactly does this work? I can’t figure out how to make it not so… baggy.”

“Hit the spider.”

“Hit… the spider?”

“Yeah. In the middle?”

She groaned and opened the door.

I had to shove down the laughter rising in my throat. She was in the suit and holding it up by the collar, clutching it to her chest. That was the first time I realized how short she is. I would notice it a lot more after this whenever she stood next to me, Ned, or better yet, MJ. Y/N is short enough to wear the suit and practically swim in it.

At that moment, Y/N was helpless.

“‘Hit the spider.’ Really? What does that even mean?”

Her confusion was amusing, but how could she not see the black spider symbol right under her hand?

“Ignoring how ridiculous you look, which, by the way, is off the charts ridiculous, it means,” I said, stepping forward. “Hit. The. Spider.”

I lightly punched the spider symbol, as if it was a fist bump.

Probably a stupid idea, seeing as it was situated sort of… right between her, um, breasts?

Makes sense that she screamed a bit.

“Jesus! Are you serious? More of a warning would have been nice!”

The suit can be shocking if you aren’t used to it snapping like that. I’ve gotta admit, I was not used to it snapping on her. On me, yeah. Of course. But on her… not at all. Luckily she was too engrossed in the suit to have noticed my expression. I remember thinking, it definitely doesn’t look so ridiculous on you anymore.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, looking at her arms as she turned them here and there. “This is so weird.”

She moved her shoulders a bit as if testing mobility, then her fingers, toes, legs.

“This is… the weirdest sensation. I can’t tell if I hate it or if I love it.”

Actually, that’s probably the best way to describe how I’ve been feeling since then.

That night, we never ended up going to the party. Y/N called Ned to explain that she didn’t have a costume and he immediately said it was alright if we didn’t make it. Something about, “MJ is already enough to handle at the moment.”

Instead, we stayed in and watched Lord of the Rings while Y/N kept experimenting with the suit. Testing different web shooters (she nearly destroyed my closet), watching Spider-Man Youtube videos in the mask and mocking my “poses” (for the record, I do not pose… as often as those videos suggest), and talking to Karen (they got on immediately). Once she started asking Karen personal questions, like her first one about me: “What does Peter talk to you about every day?” I decided it was time to end her Spider Time.

(Yes, I was worried Karen would tell her how often I talked about her - but to be fair, she is my friend. Obviously I talk to Karen about her a lot. I just couldn’t figure out why it was more than Ned or Aunt May or MJ. And Karen had plenty of ideas I knew she would love to tell Y/N about.)

“That’s enough! Karen, say goodbye now!” I hurried.

“Really, Peter? We just started a real conversation. You didn’t tell me the system was a person! I’ve been so rude - I’m so sorry, Karen, if I had known-”

“Come on,” I begged. “I’m being serious. I don’t want the suit to be a thing with everyone. Better to stop now, before you get… attached.”

“Attached?” The left eye of the mask widened to match her sarcasm. “Worried I’ll steal it and hide in a cave, stroking the fabric? My precious Spidey suit?”

“Very funny,” I said. “And you just said, ‘My,’ so clearly, you are being affected!”

I reached across, about to hit the spider, when I realized exactly what the suit would do if I did, and pulled back.

Not a good time to accidentally see her naked.

I swear, I didn’t mean to think that. But that idea - of one of my best friends, that way, in my room - took me off guard. Like a massive idiot, I jerked back too quickly. My ankle hit hers and she fell on top of me, simultaneously hitting the spider and setting off a series of awkward movements in which she tried to hold the suit together and I tried not to, well, see too much. (I saw a tiny bit, not going to lie.)

On the t.v., the Watcher in the Water began attacking Frodo, so the chaos of fiction and real life blended together in the worst way possible. The screaming from the movie made our own awkward grunts and “Sorry!”’s more intimate by contrast. Mostly it was just weird because she was practically drowning in the deflated Spider suit and as we moved against each other, trying to get off of each other, it wasn’t much of a barrier between us. Plus, the baggy mask on her face was a weird addition to the situation.

After untangling herself from me, she stood up gingerly and pulled the mask off. Her hair was a nest, a soft I-wish-I-could-reach-out-and-feel-it-moving-through-my-fingers kind of nest.

“D-do you mind if I change now?”

My mouth gaped. Here? Now?

“I mean, if I have to call May to escort you out, I do have her on speed dial.”

Without me here. Duh.

“Yeah. S-sorry. I’ll just, um, get up then.”

I must have looked like an idiot, staring at her from the flat of my back on the floor, practically spread eagle. Sliding past her to the door, I swear I noticed blush on her cheeks. Then again, my own face was burning. But then again, that was because I realized I liked her. Like really, really liked her. So maybe her blush meant she liked me too?

That was Halloween.

Six months later, that memory plays back almost every day. On top of six months worth of other memories. She’s there, in my head, all the time. Simple things, like her ridiculous victory dance when she wins Scrabble or her helping Aunt May make dinner (and when it comes to food, she helps a lot - in terms of taste and frequency) or even Karen telling me that she sent me a text, they all make my chest hammer. It’s the absolute worst, all variables considered.

I don’t know. This week has been weird. Seeing her so excited reminds me of how she looked trying on the suit which reminds me of everything else from that night and how I’ve never worked up the courage to just ask if it meant anything. Knowing that it’s way, way too late to ask now makes me a bundle of nerves and serious regret. Plus, her unguarded joy and enthusiasm itself…. It’s a lot to take in. Sensory overload or something. It’s like, I catch a glimpse of her teeth as she’s laughing and my brain spirals into One Hundred and One Ways I Could Make Her Laugh If She Was In Love With Me Instead or Ten Kissing Scenarios In Which She’s So Happy We Can’t Kiss Properly Because We’re Smiling Too Much. This week, these imaginary scenes keep getting out of control. It’s driving me nuts.

I need to stop thinking about her. It’s impossible when we’re always together, though. All of us. I can’t tell which is worse: when it’s just us, or when it’s us and MJ. And Ned, obviously.

So the last few days, I tried to keep a smidge of distance. Yesterday was particularly rough. Ned and MJ convinced her to skip a bunch of classes with them. They sent me dozens of snapchats, half trying to rope me in, half reporting on their adventures. (My favorite was when they nicknamed Flash an Ass-Hat Rich-Boy Bitch-Boy. Or maybe it was the video of Ned where he dissolved into a fit of laughter because he couldn’t say the phrase more than twice without messing it up.)

At the end of the day, because we all have Psych in seventh hour, I may have annoyed them by leaving that class early. I couldn’t help it. Y/N was so stupid crazy beautiful happy and it was agonizing to watch her scribble notes back and forth with MJ, her pen clicking in the almost dark as she did everything she could to not laugh and disrupt the episode of Mind Games playing on the screen. I had to get out of there before I got, like, a boner or something.

That was weird. And graphic.

God, it’s such a mess. I’m such a mess.

The point is, I need to stop thinking about her like that and just forget what happened yesterday and this morning and six months ago.

That being said, it’s not exactly easy when she’s been pissing me off the last few days. This stuff with MJ and Flash is starting to seriously eat away at me. Some of it isn’t her fault, and I’m trying to work through that on my own, but plenty of it is and I can’t tell if she even cares how I (or Ned) feel about it.

I hate these secrets.


Next update: Friday 13. 

(Spooky. If anyone wants to be tagged in updates, let me know.)

If you liked this part, have any questions, or want to offer some constructive criticism, send me a message! My asks and messages are always open to anyone. I know I’ve only posted around 8k words so far, but I have upwards of 23k written and a few small notes of encouragement would help the writer’s block I’ve been struggling with lately.

Thank you to those who have reviewed! My beta, of course: fanboyswhereare-you, and tomhollandimangines - you guys are the best.

P.S. I’m still working on getting a AO3 account. Once I do, I’ll post each part on there as well and then post a link to the complete story here on Tumblr.

You Make Me Happy

Request: Can I request 14 + 1 for GOT7 Youngjae? Can they be roommates who secretly have crushes on each other? Thank You!!! ~💚

14) Looking for a roommate? Your bias is as good as any
1) “You think you could do better?”

Prompt list can be found here! 

Member: Got7′s Youngjae x Y/N 

Type: fluff/light angst


You blinked repeatedly, a muffled noise inhibiting your sleep. Reaching around in the darkness, you waited for your hand to land on your phone to silence what you assumed to be the source of the annoying sound. After locating your cell, you quickly realized it was neither vibrating, nor blaring Elliot Yamin. 

…Elliot Yamin. 

“Youngjae!” you screeched, flopping over in your bed. You pounded your first against the wall and sighed as the song continued. “Youngjae!” 

You scoffed as you swung your bare legs from the comfort of your bed and slid into your slippers. You pulled your blanket tightly around your shoulders and waddled down the hallway, only needing to take a few steps to reach your roommate’s living quarters. 

“Youngjae,” you groaned, pushing his door open. You were immediately smacked in the face by his phone alarm still blaring in your direction. You sighed as CoCo popped his head up, his tail beginning to wag at the sight of a conscious human. 

“Hi CoCo, good morning CoCo,” you hissed, patting him lightly on the head. “Yes, I know. seeing me means you get to go potty and get fed.” 

You waddled closer to Youngjae and leaned down, noting that he was still snoring. “Youngjae. Get up!

Youngjae. 

YOUNGJAE. 

YOUNGJAE PLEASE.” 

Youngjae sniffed and flipped in his bed, still not cracking his eyes open. 

“Come on, CoCo. Let me get your tiny, sensitive ears out of this sound chamber,” you muttered, lifting the white dog out from between Youngjae’s legs. CoCo followed you into the living area and allowed you to pull on his small, knit sweater. You fastened his harness to his collar and began your trek downstairs. 

After waiting in the chilly, morning air for nearly fifteen minutes for him to do his business, you began the journey back upstairs and into your apartment. You cursed Youngjae several times, not like he would ever know. Even if you cursed him while standing at his bedside, he’d be too deeply asleep to hear it. 

You entered the apartment and unlatched CoCo, allowing him to wander freely before breakfast. Stifling a yawn, you began back down the hallway, stepping past Youngjae’s bedroom, which was now silent. 

Glad to see he had managed to find the snooze button in your absence. 

You wandered into the bathroom and groaned, flipping on the light, and blinding yourself with the fluorescence. You turned on the sink and began to feel around dizzily for your face wash until your eyes could adjust. Your hands finally found the bottle and began to pour the sudsy solution into your palm, only to realize there was hardly any left. 

“What? I just bought this like two days ago…” you grumbled, shaking the bottle a bit harder. “What in the hell…YOUNGJAE!” 

You flipped the light off in the bathroom and stomped toward his bedroom. You flung his door open and screeched as you saw his bed empty. 

“Choi Youngjae!” you shouted, balling and un-balling your fists. 

“Kitchen!” he sang happily. 

You flew past the living area and toward the kitchen, nearly falling down as you attempted to bring yourself to a halt. You spun around, noticing the computer desk that Youngjae was normally camped at, was completely covered in coffee cups and energy drink cans. 

“Youngjae,” you hissed again, turning on your heel, and continuing back toward the kitchen. 

‘Good morning, darling,” Youngjae cooed as you leaned against the bar. 

“Don’t darling me,” you spat. 

“Oh, Y/N,” Youngjae gasped, clutching his chest. “I was talking to CoCo. You scared me.” His hiccupy quickly followed up his statement. He leaned down and set CoCo’s food bowl in front of him and stood again. “Early morning for you?”

“Because you didn’t turn off you alarm,” you grumbled. “So I went ahead and took YOUR dog out.”

“To be fair, he is also Mark’s dog,” he nodded. Youngjae turned and opened the fridge, beginning to rifle through it’s contents. 

“Well, I don’t see Mark over here waking up at six thirty to take him outside,” you argued. “I see me. And it was cold.”

“You should’ve warn a jacket,” he clucked innocently. “I don’t want you getting sick.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you grumbled. “But my pores probably won’t be because SOMEONE we live with used all of my face wash.”

“CoCo, how dare you!” Youngjae laughed nervously. He turned around with a wince. “Sorry Y/N, I’ll pick you up a replacement when I go to the grocery.” 

“Thanks,” you sighed, feeling your anger begin to deflate. 

“Just make sure to leave some money on the counter.”

“Leave…leave some money on the counter?” you stuttered, a blind rage flashing through you. 

“Yeah, for the face wash,” Youngjae nodded blankly. 

“You. Are. Impossible!” you shouted, pounding your fist on the countertop. “I won’t be leaving any money because YOU used my face wash. I didn’t! Also, while we’re at it, clean your mess by the computer! We’re going to have families of bugs moving in because of your trash!”

“Hey, calm down,” he laughed uneasily. “It’s just a few cups.” 

“No, Youngjae, it’s more than a few,” you croaked. “And I’m sick of having to manage you. I know you’re used to being a musician, and you’re used to people babysitting you, but that’s not me, okay?”

“Okay,” Youngjae squeaked, furrowing his brows. His usually bright face formed an expression of guilt as he nodded. “I get it.” 

You immediately felt a pang of guilt begin to twinge deep in your stomach. “Look, I’m sorry, I-”

“No, don’t apologize,” he sulked, finally slamming the fridge behind him. “Don’t apologize for things you mean when you say them.” 

Youngjae moped down the hallway in the direction of his room. You heard the distinct sound of a door slam, followed by the voice of Bernard Park

You closed your eyes before opening them again and looking down at CoCo. “Damnit CoCo, why do you let me be so stupid?”


You pulled your knees to sit beneath your chin and sighed. CoCo tilted his head as he looked up at you from his makeshift bed in the corner of your bedroom. You had never intended on loving the little pup. 

Or the big pup he belonged to for that matter. 

You weren’t sure when you actually started developing feelings for Youngjae, but once they came, they were quick and overpowering. He was the literal human embodiment of sunshine. While he thrived and beamed brighter than anyone you knew, you found yourself always hiding out in the shadows. You didn’t intend to get annoyed with him, but with all of your pent up feelings, that had seemingly become your outlet. 

Youngjae brought out the best in you though. Even when you snapped at him and became irked with the little things he did. He always gave you a second chance and forgave your bad behaviors. He was the best roommate and friend you could ever ask for. 

So how could you ask him for something even more, like his heart?

You huffed to yourself as you checked the time on your phone. It was nearly midnight and you hadn’t heard anything out of Youngjae for the better part of the day. You had really done it this time. You knew how sensitive he was, and it was never your intention to make him feel unwanted or as if he were a bad roommate. You had to learn to communicate better. And you had to learn that this was not the way to win over his heart. 

But you could probably consider that effort useless at this point. 

You stood from your bed and immediately had CoCo at your ankles. You tugged lovingly at the t-shirt draped across your figure. It was much too large and belonged to Youngjae at one point, but that was one of the many reasons why you loved it so much. The material was soft and familiar, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle into it’s fabric as a small comfort to yourself. 

“Come on baby,” you clucked at CoCo. “Let’s have a snack.” 

You tiptoed down the hallway and past Youngjae’s room, music still pouring out from the door gap. You bit your lip as you entered the kitchen and mentally chastised yourself. Maybe it wasn’t too late to knock on his door and apologize. You grabbed at the handle of the freezer and yanked out the nearest ice cream you could get your hands on, popping off the lid with one swift motion. Pulling a spoon from the dish rack, you hopped to sit on the counter, and began to inhale the frozen treat. Maybe you could find the confidence after a pint or so. 

“You think you could do better?” a timid voice from behind you croaked. 

You jumped, immediately glancing over your shoulder to see a pouty Youngjae standing in the hallway, his arms crossed. 

“I’m sorry?” you asked quietly, lifting your brows. 

“Do you think you could do better with a different roommate?” he repeated, slinking into the kitchen. He stood before you in the small space between the counter and the fridge. 

“Why would you ask that?” you whispered, shivering from the ice cream now sliding toward your stomach. 

“Because I’m a pain,” Youngjae sighed. “I’m messy and I use your products and…Hey, isn’t that my shirt?” 

You looked down sheepishly at the t-shirt you were wearing and tried not to grin. “Maybe.”

Youngjae rolled his eyes before his lips began to break into a smile as well. “So you’re allowed to steal my clothes, but I’m not allowed to steal your face wash?”

“It’s not stealing…” you mumbled. “I’m borrowing it.” 

Youngjae took a few short steps toward you and set his palms on the counter, placed at either side of your knees. He lifted his head toward you before tilting it to the side, much like CoCo did on occasion. “You still didn’t answer my question.” 

“If I would do better with a different roommate?” you repeated, your heart beginning to sink. Just as you suspected, you had made Youngjae feel unwelcome in his own home. “…well, do you want a different roommate?”

You shivered again as the words left your mouth, this time more from his close proximity than from the ice cream that was now dripping from it’s container. You set it down in the sink beside you and quickly licked at the melted mess dripping down your hands. 

Youngjae sighed before grabbing a dish towel and taking your hand into his. He wiped at the sugary liquid sliding across your skin and looked up at you again. You held your breath as he did so, uncertain of his answer. 

“Why would I want a different roommate?” he muttered, echoing your answer. 

“Because I’m annoying and I nag you and-” you began.

“It’s really no different from living with JInyoung,” he chuckled. Once your hands were wiped clean, he set the towel in the sink and placed his arms in their original position on opposite sides of you. “Except Jinyoung never made me feel the way that you do.”

“Oh?” you gasped, your heart seemingly halting it’s beating. ‘Well, I would hope not…but please, enlighten me?” 

“Aish, why should I enlighten you when you must already know?” Youngjae chuckled. 

“Well…maybe I need to hear it from your own lips,” you nodded. 

“You make me happy, Y/N,” Youngjae smiled. “In the simplest of ways. i get excited when you come home. And I never feel as comfortable as I do when we’re laying on the couch together watching Disney movies. And you always make me feel better when I hear you sneak off to talk to the neighbors…whenever they complain that I’ve been singing too loud.” 

“They just don’t know real music,” you grinned. “But I tell them you’ll sing more quietly every time.” 

“I know you do,” he laughed. You had missed that laugh over the past eighteen hours. This was the pure Youngjae laugh that could only flow from his mouth, breathy and from his gut. 

“So I guess we’re stuck with each other then,” you sighed. You lifted your hand nervously to run it through his thick, dark hair. He shut his eyes as your skin touched his scalp and caused him to smile. 

He placed his hand lightly on your knees and squeezed the bare skin. Leaning forward, he placed a light kiss along your jaw, and laughed again nervously. “I don’t think we’re stuck at all.” 

Originally posted by 949464

RULES CAN BE BROKEN {epilogue of ASSISTANT}

Time passed as the two of you got used to being not only coworkers, but also boyfriend and girlfriend. There were moments when it was hard to separate work from home life and vice versa. But you made a rule that the two of you were not allowed to talk about work at home and home at work, that way your personal life stayed personal.

Months had flown by as you sat in your office, typing away at an email. You heard a distinct knock at your door and looked up. There was Yoongi in his usual casual attire. He had a photoshoot earlier in the day and complained for a majority of it, to which you responded with eye rolling. But now he was happily standing with a bouquet of flowers.

What’s this? You asked as he walked into the office and closed the door. Raising your eyebrows at this unusual notion, you slowly took the flowers from his hands as he leaned down and gave you a peck on the lips. YAH! Not at work! You exclaimed and he chuckled.

Babe, it’s passed 6pm. He held up his phone for proof and he was right. You had worked up 7pm and you were surprised to realize that the studio was probably empty except for you two.

Still. You told him in a warning way and he chuckled. Really, what are these for? You asked once more and he smiled.

It’s your one year of being my assistant! He said in his most excited tone and you looked at him with surprise.

Wow, with everything moving so fast, I’m surprised you remembered! I totally forgot! You uttered and Yoongi shrugged.

What can I say? I’m an amazing boyfriend AND boss. He laughed and you rolled your eyes, smacking him lightly as you stood up to find a vase for the bouquet somewhere around your cluttered office. As you wandered around, crouching and searching for the glass container, Yoongi sat in your desk chair, slightly spinning as he looked around your office.

The office walls were no longer bare, your desk had little trinkets from dates and shows. Whenever he would go somewhere, he would bring a little memento back for you and it would end up somewhere in your office. Yoongi smiled when he saw just how much he had permeated into your life. As you finally found a vase to hold the flowers, you placed them lovingly on a little table in the middle of the office.

Walking over to Yoongi, you smiled. But then he reached his hand up and pulled your face down to his. Placing his lips over yours, your eyes went wide with surprise.

No, no! No hanky panky in the office! You blurted and Yoongi laughed.

Hanky panky? What are you? 80 years old? He chuckled and you smacked his chest again.

I’m serious. Remember our rule! You murmured and he looked from your lips to your eyes then back to your lips. His pillowy pout remained ajar as the corner of his lips twitched in an upward position. He leaned closer to you and whispered in a husky and deep voice.

I think we can break the rule once. He covered your lips before you could object. You felt a fire light inside of you as he lifted you to sit on your desk as you draped your arms around his neck.

Opening your eyes as the two of you separated to gasp for air. The flecks of brown that glittered in his eyes were gorgeous as the two of you reaffirmed your feelings for each. Maybe a little personal time in the office wasn’t always a bad thing.  

hjs; rainy days, bright smiles

Originally posted by visual-17

GIFs aren’t mine

Summary: Rain is beautiful, that’s why you love to go out in it. Joshua would much rather stay in and watch One Piece or reading a huge book. 

Warnings: none

Words: 718


The rain pounded down on the sidewalk, and you were shoving your feet into your rain-boots and your arms into your raincoat. Jisoo was sitting on the couch behind you, watching as you frantically tried to get outside before the rain stopped. 

“Jisoo, c’mon!” You cheered, “It’s so nice outside!” Jisoo’s brow quirked at your statement. You laughed at his face, and opened the door.

“Nice? (Name), it’s pouring!” Jisoo argued. Your head turned back to look him in the eyes. The smile on your face grew into a toothy grin as you saw his nose turn up at the thought of getting soaked in the rain. You stepped into the downpour and opened your arms, like you were welcoming it.

If the rain comes, they run and hide their heads. They might as well be dead. If the rain comes, if the rain comes …” you sang the well-known Beatles song, and glanced inside at Joshua watching you with a smile on his face.

You spun around, and jumped and splashed in puddles. The rain ended up finding its way into your boots, and you sloshed around, laughing to yourself and probably looking like an idiot.

The distinct creak of the door opening caught your attention, as your head turned on a swivel, looking towards where the sound came from. You saw Jisoo sitting on floor, safe from the rain, with a book in his lap. He picked it up, and began to read, every so often glancing up at you.

“Hong Jisoo, my wonderful boyfriend! Get out here with me!” You laughed. He shook his head defiantly, and your face fell to a small frown. You couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to play in the rain with you. Finally, you had to take your hood down, because it was getting in the way. Immediately, your hair was drenched, nonetheless, you danced about and eventually, Jisoo abandoned his book. He was captivated with your voice as you sang in English and in Korean, and he was fixated on your body as it moved to the beats you created in your head.

“(Name), it’s been awhile, you should come in!” Jisoo called out to you. You looked like Niagara Falls itself was dumped on you personally by Poseidon.

“Alright, Jisoo. I’m coming!” You ran as fast as you could, back to where he was sitting.

“I even got you a towel. (Name), you were right when you said I was a wonderful boyfriend,” he teased, leaning over to grab a fluffy towel. You smirked, and sat right next to him, your raincoat still saturated.

“I think something else could dry me off, Jisoo.” You launched yourself at him, and hugged him. There was nothing he could do to keep from getting wet, his shirt turned a darker shade of grey and the water even reached his hair, making it go limp.

“(Name), you’re going to get us sick!” Jisoo whined playfully, a bright smile snaking its way onto his lips.

“We’ll survive,” you beamed, taking his face in your hands and giving him a kiss, “I promise.”

“I don’t know, maybe you should do that again.”

“Nice try, Jisoo,” you scoffed, reaching over him to get the towel. He laughed, and grabbed the towel for you, wrapping it around your shoulders. You leaned your head on his shoulder, and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence.

“I love you, (Name),” Jisoo said.

“I love you too, my wonderful boyfriend,” you replied, chuckling.


“What did I tell you,” Jisoo’s nasally voice sounded from your right, “what did I tell you? I told you we were going to get sick.” You rolled your eyes, and took another tissue from the box sitting in-between the two of you, on the plush cushions of the couch.

“Okay, Mom,” you retorted, voice almost gone.

“Don’t talk to me like that, young —,” Jisoo cut himself off, “oh my gosh. I am a mom.”

“I guess we could watch One Piece, since we’re basically stuck inside,” you suggested. Jisoo’s eyes lit up, and he beamed at you.

“Well, only if you want to.”

“Oh, shut up and go turn it on, Jisoo,” you laughed, hitting his chest with the back of your hand. He smiled once again, and pecked your cheek.

The Day After (fratboy!Ethan x Reader)

Summary: You wake up the day after a huge frat party in a bedroom you don’t recognize with no memory of last nights antics at all. Turns out you ended up in Ethan’s room.

Word Count: 2,926

A/N: This is kind of a part 2 of Sigma Chi Boy but with Ethan and another “universe” I guess. I just wanted to write fratboy!Ethan too. Enjoy! Also, request anything, my ask is open! x


The distinct sound of a door slamming woke you up from your much needed sleep. You jerked awake, your eyes opening up automatically only for you to clench them closed.

“Fuck,” You swore, hissing under your breath as your head started pounding. Your whole body was sore, eyes burning under your lids from the brightness of them room and suddenly a wave of nausea hit you. What the hell happened last night? Your hands reached up for your tousled hair, wincing at the soreness.

For how long you laid there, you didn’t know. When you felt like you could sit up without wanting to vomit all over the place, you did just that, trying not to contort your face in pain too much because you found that the headache only increased while doing so. You peeked an eye open, taking in your surroundings and feeling confusion settle when you didn’t recognize the room nor the bed you were in. Blue walls, posters were pinned to the wall and was that… posters of hamsters? Where the hell have you ended up?

Keep reading

Love and Law

A/N: Oh boy, oh boy, ooohhhhh boy! This fic has gotten so much love and support over the last twenty four hours so thank you all so much! But now it’s time to conclude this story! I’ll put it up on my AO3 shorty! It’s been so fun (and sometimes emotional) to write this. There aren’t enough Mark Darcy fics (in my opinion) so incorporating him into this one with Greg was really fun! (He was also a bit of an inspiration for ‘Love and Law’.) Crossovers are a whole different world AND SO AMAZING TO WRITE 😁 it’s a bit long (I got carried away…)

Warnings: Swearing, angst, I love to mess with your minds, DRAMA! Tooth decay inducing sweetness.

Part One

Italics are flashbacks!

—————————

“I do…”

You almost crashed your car hearing Mark’s words over the speaker on your phone, your heart, shattered by that point, somehow managed to break even more knowing that Mark wasn’t the only person to say that today.

“So you do think the judge will be in our favour?” You asked in an emotionless voice.

“Course I do, our evidence is solid. We’re going to win this case Y/N.”

You nodded your head as if he could see you “Alright, I’m just pulling up now-”

“I see you,” Mark cut you off and you parked your car. Mark jogged over and opened the car door for you “Jesus, Y/N…” He trailed off seeing the red and pink blotches on your face and your tear stung eyes as well as the dried tear lines forked down your cheeks. You pulled down the visor in front of your head and glanced at yourself in the mirror, taking out the pressed power compact in your glove compartment and tidied yourself up.

“I’m fine, Mark,” you waved off his worries “I have a suit jacket in the boot.” You stepped out and Mark looked at you, full of concern.

“It looks like you’ve been just been to a wedding,” his eyes wandered up and down your navy blue lace dress and the fascinator nestled in your hair, lightly laughing, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t,” you softly whispered and fumbled around putting on the slightly crumbled jacket, you mentally praised yourself for always having one in the boot of your car as well as a briefcase with a few documents for the Jenkins case. You tossed your fascinator in and shut it over.

A crowd of reporters and journalists surrounded the two of you and Mrs Jenkins who you were pushing forward, it wasn’t advisable to answer questions until after the case. The flashing lights stung your eyes even more.

Finally making it inside the courthouse you and Mark sat Mrs Jenkins in between the two of you as her husband entered. The judged followed shortly after “All rise,”

Everyone in courthouse stood and bowed to the judge. You glanced over to Mark and you both shared a silent nod. “I’ve reviewed this long and lengthy case with a fine tooth comb,” the judge began “Here is my verdict…”

Meanwhile back at the church Greg was still standing there, streaming out a string of ‘I’s. Rachael’s smile faltered a bit “Greg,” she quietly said his name between her gritting teeth “Say it.”

Sherlock stood up and went after you, only to realise that your car was gone so he phoned Mycroft to try and find you.

“Greg,” Rachael hissed a little louder and Greg’s mouth snapped shut. He glanced over to Mary and John who were looking out for Sherlock but also turning around to keep an eye on Greg himself.

Greg inhaled a shaky breath “I…don’t,” he whispered and couldn’t help but smile as repeated himself in a more confident, louder tone for the whole church to hear “I don’t.”

Rachael’s eyes widened and her jaw slacked, Sherlock ran into the church with his ear pressed to the phone “I found her!” He screamed and everyone turned around to him, almost appalled at his loud outburst “I found Y/N, she’s at court. They moved the verdict to today.” He was looking in John’s direction and the doctor nodded, Sherlock glanced up to Greg before rushing to a cab.

Greg stood there still frozen in place “Rachael, I’m sor-” he was cut off as her hand came into contact with his cheek.

“It’s her isn’t it?” She spat out and Greg let out a sigh “It’s always been her hasn’t it?”

Greg mulled over her furious words…it had always been you…

“What’s going on out there?” Greg asked coming up the stairs of 221b. Outside was teeming with press.

“Y/N’s case, attracting a lot of attention since she has been hired as the Prince of Denmark’s lawyer…” Sherlock trailed off nonchalantly.

“Who’s Y/N?” Greg asked cocking a brow.

“Our new roommate,” John clarified “She’s a lawyer and good at it!”

“Oh she’s taking the so called ‘Hamlet case’ isn’t she? How’s it going?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself,” Sherlock smirked and turned on the TV. You were on it with a huge smile on your face, standing in front of the distinctive black door. Greg’s jaw dropped the moment he saw you, he honestly thought you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Miss Y/L/N…” One reporter captured your attention “How are you feeling?”

“Ecstatic, I had every confidence that we’d win this case. My client and I will be holding a press conference tomorrow. Thank you,” you smiled and turned your back as they asked more questions, their voices eventually warping into one collective noise. You made your way up the stairs and walked into the flat with a huge grin “I did it!” You screamed with delight and danced about on the spot.

Your smile didn’t leave as your own eyes met with a brown pair filled with warmth. “H-hi…” You greeted the unfamiliar man standing in the middle of your living room.

“Eh Hi!” Greg greeted and stuck his hand out “I’m Greg, a DI at Scotland Yard.”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

Since that day, meeting you years ago, it has always been you.

Rachael took his silence as a yes and she let out a low growl under her breath “Her!” She screamed and jabbed Greg’s chest with her forefinger “That stupid poxy lawyer!”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Mary stood from her seat and people’s eyes locked on to her as she stormed up to the bride “Y/N is a thousand times better than you! Even more than a thousand!” Mary screamed and went to lunge forward but John was quick enough to grab her and hold the fiery blonde back.

Greg smirked and shook his head, finally seeing Rachael’s true colours…something that he should have noticed at the first Christmas party he brought her to at Baker Street.

“Stop fucking about with that…wait-what is that again?” You asked, exasperated and feeling a bit like Sherlocks mother, telling him to put his (highly dangerous chemical) toys down.

“Christmas is such a waste of time,” he huffed out and turned off his Bunsen burner. “We do this every year, what changes?!”

You rolled your eyes “Christmas is a time for family and friends! Isn’t that right Mary?” You turned to your friend, she smiled and nodded in agreement whilst hanging a sprig of mistletoe between the kitchen and living room.

Molly arrived first and then Greg arrived with a woman on his arm. You chewed the inside of your lip with frustration. So this was the one he mentioned to everyone a few weeks back…

“Uh hello everyone, this is Rachael!” Greg introduced her with a smile but when he saw you it faded a little. He felt guilty.

A few hours later you walked into the kitchen to grab another drink, Greg followed you in with a small, rectangular box in his hand. He handed it to you and you ripped open the wrapping paper and opened the box to find a fountain pen with your initials on it. “You’re always writing yanno ‘law-ish’ things,” Greg smirked and you looked up to him with soft, thankful eyes.

“I love it, thank you. I have something for you too. It’s in my room, follow me…” You trailed off and he followed you. But you both froze when Mary and Molly let out an ‘Ooohh’. You lightly shut your eyes and cursed under your breath, tilting your head up and opening your eyes you were both standing under the mistletoe Mary had hung earlier. You were going to kill that woman.

Greg nervously chuckled but it died in his throat when you looked at him, if Rachael wasn’t in the picture he would have given you the biggest kiss he could have mustered.

Instead you both settled for a kiss on the cheek.

Rachael narrowed her eyes and walked up to the both of you, pushing you out the way and planting a kiss on Greg. The DI narrowed his eyes, unhappy with Rachael’s actions, seeing her tossing you to the side.

Your heart sank and your gaze fell to the floor. You decided to go and get Greg’s gift on your own. Sherlock however followed you into your room and shut the door over, not closing it completely.

“It’s not too late you know…”

You looked up and your eyes found the crack in the door, of course Sherlock had to leave it ajar just enough for you to see Rachael practically eating Greg’s face off.

“It is too late Sherlock.”

You pulled out some paperwork and placed it on the table. Your heart almost stopped seeing the pen Greg had gotten you. The same Greg who’d be basking in martial bliss right about now, probably being drenched in tacky pastel coloured confetti.

The tears began to well in your eyes again.

“I believe,” the judge’s booming voice broke you away from your thoughts “That the defendant, Mr Peter Jenkins, is guilty. I am instilling ten years minimum prison sentence for tax evasion and money laundering and as well as this all his overseas bank accounts will be placed under criminal investigation in the countries which they are situated in.”

The three of you let out a huge sigh of relief and a spark of happiness flowed through you as the judge continued to speak “Mrs Jenkins, this court awards you one million in compensation from your husband as well as granting you divorce from him.” Mrs Jenkins let out a loud cheer and frantically clapped her hands.

“Furthermore-” the judge was cut off by the doors to the courtroom opening.

“Y/N!” Sherlock screamed out before he was held back by security.

“Sherlock!” You said his name in a scolding tone “Oh for the love of god I’m in the middle of something here!” You hissed.

“Y/N it’s not too late! It’s-get your hands off me!” He told the security guard.

“Get this man out of here!” The judge ordered and Sherlock was dragged out kicking screaming. You let out a huff and turned to the judge.

“I’m so sorry your honour,” you bowed and sat down, more agitated than you would have liked to admit.

“That’s alright Miss Y/L/N,” the judge smirked “He’s a passionate man that Holmes. Anyway back to the case Mrs Jenkins you are also awarded with the house that you and Mr Jenkins both share. He will be denied all assets from this point on. Send him to the docks,” the judge ordered before banging his mallet “Case dismissed.”

Mrs Jenkins, Mark and yourself let out joyful cheers and hugged one another “Congratulations Y/N!” Mark smiled and embraced you in a hug “Are we still alright for that…you know…us?” He whispered in you ear and you both pulled back, you smiled at him.

“Of course Mark, I think we would be great together…” You admitted bashfully and he nodded with a large grin.

The three of you left court and were greeted by nosy reporters, you all couldn’t stop smiling at the outcome. “Miss Y/L/N!” One caught your attention “This is your twentieth successful case. You haven’t lost a single one, firstly, congratulations. Secondly, what’s your secret?”

A soft smile tugged the corner of your mouth “I just love what I do, I’m so passionate about it. But I didn’t handle this case alone…Mark Darcy,” you motioned to him “He is an incredible lawyer too.”

“Will you two be working together in the future?” Another reporter asked.

You turned to Mark and let out a huff of air as your heart began to pound against your ribcage from all the adrenaline rushing through you “Well I should hope so!” Mark nervously laughed “We are partners…as of now!” Mark wrapped an arm around your waist.

Looks of confusion were facing the two of you “Partners?” One said “As in romantically involved partners?”

You and Mark both blushed before laughing at the comment “God no!” You laughed out “I suppose now is as good as time as any to let you all know Mark and I are starting a law firm together. As of next week 'Y/L/N and Darcy law firm’ will be starting operations!” You announced with a large smile.

You opened your mouth to speak again but a tall, curly haired man was waving at you “I have to go, I’ll see you at the press conference tomorrow yes?” You asked Mark.

“Course, see you then!”

“Give Bridget and little William my love!” You broke away from the reporters and over to Sherlock with a scowl on your face. “What the fucking hell was that all about Sherlock?! I was in a middle of a verdict hearing! You can’t just barge in!”

“I’m sorry but Y/N,” Sherlock gripped on to your upper arms “It’s not to late. It’s just the beginning.”

You rolled your eyes and felt yourself being dragged down into the pit you thought you were starting to get out of “Sherlock what are you on about? And shouldn’t you be at a wedding reception? Greg has married her end of-”

“He didn’t.”

Your world stopped spinning. Did you just hear him right? He could be lying to try and make you feel better.

“Wh-what?” You choked out.

“He didn’t go through with it, Mary phoned me. She, John and Greg left. Mary tried to punch Rachael when she bad mouthed you.”

You chewed your lip as a tear streamed down your cheek.

“Where is he now?”

Greg kept his forehead pressed the cold window of his office as it rained. Again.

His office was a dreary grey colour, he didn’t turn any lights on when he arrived and asked John to leave with Mary. He needed time on his own, especially after hearing that you and Mark were now partners. He turned off the car radio the one the interview was being streamed to not wanting to hear anymore after making his own assumptions.

He’d lost you to a man who would probably make you happy.

Greg didn’t realise however that you and Mark were only business partners and nothing more. Mark had his own family.

“I’m a stupid poxy lawyer then?”

A halfhearted, light laugh made Greg turn around and made his mouth gape. “After winning twenty cases consecutively, I think I’m a bit better than that…” You joked.

Greg stood in the same spot, he could move, every bodily function of his shut down. The blue, grey colour from the weather outside enhanced your features beautifully.

“When did you fall in love with me?” He asked in a low voice and you blinked, he knew how you felt. Mind you, he could have probably guessed that from your actions today.

“The night I crashed on the couch and you placed a blanket on me…” You admitted with tears sticking to your eyelashes.

“That was the day after the first time we met each other? The very next day?” Greg’s brows furrowed.

“I know.” After you whispered that out it remained silent for a few minutes, that was until Greg let out a small laugh of disbelief.

“I’ve always settled for second best,” he told you “I didn’t think I deserved the best things life could offer me. I mean for Christ sake I’m second best at my own job! I’m always going to Sherlock for help.”

You swallowed hard as he started moving, Greg didn’t think he was going to be able to put one foot in front of the other again but he was managing. “I didn’t think I’d even have the privilege to be in the same room as you-”

“Why not?” You asked, cutting him off.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” He questioned and you silently nodded “Because,” he was now standing in front of you “You are one of the finest lawyers in the world and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Rachael was my second best, but I wanted you. The first good thing in my life.”

He placed his hands on the back of your neck and you moved with his actions as he brought your lips to his own.

Years. Years you waited for this moment and it was everything you had ever imagined, if not more.

He pulled back slightly and pressed his forehead to yours “I don’t want second best anymore,” he whispered against your lips.

“You never deserved second best in the first place…” You trailed off and gingerly pressed your lips to his again, you couldn’t get enough of the feeling of his skin against yours.

“You and Mark aren’t…”

“No, he’s got a lovely wife and an adorable baby boy. We’re just partners in law. That’s all.” You told him and you felt him relax.

“I love you,” he admitted kissing you again.

You smiled at the DI. The man who’d dedicated his life to the law just like you. “I love you too.”

You loved the law and the law loved you back. He would never stop enforcing that.


—————————
D'awww! I’m not that mean am I? I’m just a huge softie at heart. This was cute. I cried writing this so many bloody times.

I hope I messed with your minds at some parts 😏😉 thank you all again so so so much! I loved writing this two part story! ❤️

Tags-

@adorablebadger @damnitman-jamlocked-inthetardis @wcsteland @holmes-maev @rikkachloechan @katie27hp @daynaan @laterthantherabbit @Aliisa-Jones (link not working) @elenangzie @ccorpuz1214 @cutie1365 @hounds-of-the-fall @ryan–strick

Forward…

No old black and white movies playing on TV
No chatter from police scanners
No morning work calls
No intense tapping of laptop keys.

You left your headphones on your desk,
ready for you to listen to music or audio from old home movies.

You left your clutter and a half empty water glass.

You left unfinished projects, dreams.

You left us.

Your last text was that you were in pain
And planned to come home soon.

But you never walked through the door.

Those distinct, hard footfalls - gone.

Your deep bass voice - gone.

Your bear hugs -gone

Your smile…your laughter…

You filled this house with your presence, with your voice.

It seems impossible that you’re gone.

We are the only thing alive left of you.

Day by day I forgive you - and myself - a little more.

For not knowing you were so sick.

For losing a fight you didn’t know you were in.

The bottom line is, I have to go on.

You left a legacy - a legacy we created together - that I must continue to love, protect, and care for.

And I have to remember to love, protect and care for myself, even though sometimes I don’t want to; even though it feels like I’ll never stop crying and missing you.

I must grieve, but I must also live.