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rafescoke · 3 years

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Older ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Maybe falling in love with a Maybank wouldn’t be too bad.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual abuse!, alcohol, getting intoxicated, sexual harassment, swearing, sweet Rafe Cameron

A/N: I don’t think this is my best fic, but let me know if I should continue this mini series!! thank you so much for 500+ followers, ily <33

p.s; you know the drill.. send requests!

(Y/N) wondered if a boy like him would ever like a girl like her.

It’s the soft touches against her skin, you see, that got her all worked up at work. She had a bad day at school, getting in a fight with her brother over not washing the dishes piling up in the sink, and there he was;

In his blue plaid shirt, his hair messily parted and that beautiful smile of his. He laughed at something the girl in front of him had said, and (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart.

“Go. Table 7.”

“What? I’m on my break!” She huffed, picking up her half-eaten sandwich and motioning it to the manager. “I have 10 minutes left.”

“We’re short of staff today,” he grunted, trying to balance the tray and an iPad on both hands. “Please.”

“Do I get more pay this month?”

“I’ll think about it,” he grumbled, and handed her the tray as she wrapped the sandwich again. “Oh, can you tell your brother that he’s fired? He didn’t come for his shift again today.”

“Not my problem,” she mumbled, taking the tray into her hands before proceeding to the diners. Her eyes swept over the many tables, and stopped at the seventh table from the front.

Fuck.

She swallowed her saliva, trying to contain her nervousness as she walked towards the table. She hoped against hope he wouldn’t notice her and continue to talk to whoever she was in front of him, but she wasn’t that lucky.

“Hey,” Rafe said softly, looking up to her. (Y/N) smiled weakly, not wanting to pull any attention towards her and hurried up to serve them.

“Hey, um-” the girl before him stopped her, and (Y/N) turned to look at her with her usual server smile. She hates it. “The pasta’s cold, can I get a new one?”

“Come on, Dee, it’s not that big of a deal,” Rafe said, but (Y/N) tried her hardest to maintain the smile. She couldn’t care less about her pasta, and she wouldn’t even bat an eye if an animal had crawled into her meal.

“I’ll reheat it for you,” she smiled fakely, picking up the plate before walking back towards the kitchen. Her smile completely disappeared when she pushed through the door separating the dining area and the kitchen, and proceeded to the cook.

“Another bitch?”

“Another bitch,” she sighed, and watched as the cook laughed and placed the pasta in the microwave. “You know, John, I really wish I don’t have to work in a restaurant.”

“It gives money, so I ain’t complaining much,” he mumbled, fiddling with the buttons on the stove. “But you’re still so young, mija. Don’t stress yourself too much. Where’s the brother?”

“JJ? I don’t know. He didn’t even come to school today. I wish he’s a better brother.”

“He is,” he shrugged, watching the timer counted down to signal the end of the reheating process. “He’s just ain’t showing it. They’ll appear.”

“What’ll appear?”

“The love.”

(Y/N) laughed, flatting her tray against the metal surface to let the cook placed the reheated pasta. “There’s no such thing as love, John. It’s all made up for little girls to believe.”

“Are you not a little girl?”

(Y/N) smiled, muttered a ‘thank you’ before proceeding to table number 7. She took a deep breath and forced herself to form the most politest smile ever, and placed the pasta in front of the girl, or Dee, or whatever Rafe was calling her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, not looking at her, but (Y/N) couldn’t help but noticed the side glance Rafe had given her during their brief meeting, but she didn’t want to dwell so much on that thought, not when she needed to make an amount of money to help put food for her family.

“You’re back late.”

“Sorry dad, I was working,” she sighed, placing her house keys on the table. “Have you eaten?”

Luke swatted his hands, motioning that he’s content. (Y/N) sighed a breath of relief, not feeling like making him anything and was just asking out of politeness.

“Your pants are a little bit tight today.”

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes, the sudden wave of fear engulfing her. She bit her lips before turning to her father, “It’s the only pair I have left. The others are still in the laundry bag.”

“Hmm,” Luke hummed, his eyes still intently glued on the television screen. (Y/N) heard the soaring of a football game, and prayed it was his team that had won the match so that he wouldn’t be as cross.

“I’m going to my room, okay?”

“Wait-”

Her chest was heaving heavily now, being so afraid of her own father that she could feel her tears starting to form. She forced a weak smile, “Yeah?”

She didn’t realise how he had gotten up from his previous seat in front of the television, being so caught up with the warnings inside her head. He leaned onto her, smelling her scent, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re not out with any boys, are you?”

“No,” she whispered, and she gripped onto the hem of her work top. “Dad, can I please go?”

“Why are you so scared?” He continued, his pointer grazing against her ear to her cheeks. “I’m your dad, remember?”

“Dad?”

Luke pulled away from her and walked towards the television again when a certain blonde boy appeared from the front door, his eyebrows furrowed. JJ’s eyes followed his father’s movement, and ended at the sight of his sister.

The tightness in his body softened as he took a step closer to her, “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, wiping the hot tears away from her face and giving him a weak smile. “I’m just going to stay in my room, okay?”

“Okay,” JJ said, watching as she walked slowly towards the back of the house. He glanced at his father, silent as ever, and muttered something under his breath before making his way to his room as well.

JJ Maybank hates Luke Maybank more than anything else in the world, but he also loves him more than anything else in the world. He had wished for nothing else other than his father actually being a father figure for (Y/N), if not him. He could see how much she needed Luke to become some kind of a guardian.

Every time there was a PTA meeting, it had been John to come and see her teachers. John had joked a lot of times before, saying how he’s going to adopt her one day, and when JJ was just 14, he used to get so overprotective of his sister that he would pull a face and gesture some kind of a rude word at him.

But if that's what it takes for her to finally be safe, he’s willing to lose her.

“Hey,” JJ knocked on her door softly, and he waited quietly to hear her shuffle of movements. He waited a few more seconds, and when heard the lock unlocking, forced himself a smile.

“Do you want to go to the bonfire party tonight?” He asked, raising his eyebrows to motion how serious he was. JJ never liked bringing (Y/N) to see the other pogues, and he had tried to assure himself that it was because of how she’s a year younger, but he couldn’t deny the real truth;

(Y/N) knew about his huge crush towards Kie, and the last time she hang out with them resulted into him having to tackle her down before she could say anything to the girl.

“Is Kie not coming or something?” (Y/N) made a face, but JJ could see the happy glint in her eyes.

“Can you drop that topic already?” He sighed, “Are you coming or not?”

“Um-” she glanced at something behind her back, sighed, and nodded slowly. “Okay. I guess I could use some time off schoolwork.”

“Don’t stress too much about school,” JJ shrugged, “You’re still 17.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Can you go, now? And oh, you’re fired by the way.”

“They love me, they’ll hire me again,” JJ shrugged, and gave her another comforting smile before making his way back to his room. “You know you can always tal-”

“No, I don’t know,” she groaned playfully, closing the door against his face as JJ laughed. His heart soared, and he swore he would do anything in his will to protect his sister from their father, heartbreak, or whatever.

. . .

“I missed you!” Kie exclaimed, pulling her into a hug and giving her a kiss on her cheeks. “God, you’re taller than me now.”

(Y/N) glanced at her brother, to which he was motioning his thumb against his neck, trying to tell her that he would kill her if she says anything to the girl. (Y/N) laughed, “I missed you too, Kie.”

(Y/N) situated herself beside Pope, watching as he flicked through his Chemistry text book, and scribbled something a note on one of the pages.

“Isotopes has the same number of protons but different number of neutrons,” (Y/N) mumbled, pointing to false knowledge he’ve written. Pope looked at her, amazed, and let out the loudest laugh ever that JJ had to scream from the front for him to shut up.

“Shit, (Y/N),” he continued to laugh, erasing his mistake and jotting down the correct information. “And you’re younger. Do you hear that JJ?”

“What?” JJ yelled back, his eyes focusing on the road.

“Maybe you should be as clever as your sister,” Pope laughed, and Kie gave him a high-five from the front seat. He turned to look at her again, “Where’d you learn that?”

“JJ’s text book.”

Pope laughed, his head shaking at the thought of JJ sleeping while his sister sneaked into his room to steal his text book. He finally understood the reason why he was always in detention for not bringing his book.

“Stay close, and don’t wander away,” JJ warned, staring straight into her eyes. She laughed at his tone, but her smile disappeared when he pulled her again.

“I mean it, (Y/N).”

“Are you seriously turning into dad, now?”

“Don’t mention his name,” he sighed, fixing his hair and walking before him with his friends. “Just stay close, okay?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, already seeing how boring her night was going to be; trying to understand the inside jokes between JJ and his friends, not being allowed to drink any alcohol and is going to be constantly asked to fix her ribbed top so not much of her skin is exposed.

She sighed, following her brother, but as soon as they got further away she felt the need to just hang out, maybe searching for her friends and getting a drink for herself. She was never a fan of alcohol, so JJ really didn’t have to worry about her getting drunk.

“You’re (Y/N), right?”

(Y/N) looked up to a pair of gorgeous green eyes, and she felt her heart sink. She looked away, not expecting her best friend’s boyfriend, and sighed.

“What do you need, Carter? I’m looking for Emily too.”

“Oh, she’s not coming,” he shrugged, standing beside her. She felt the sudden warmth and scooted further, not wanting to allow any attention towards her. “Something about a stomach ache.”

“Why aren’t you resting with her?” She pulled a look, crossing her arms. She didn’t want to talk to him or even look at him, but he didn’t seem to get that note.

“And pass up this year’s bonfire party? Nah,” he sipped on his red cup, and leaned against her. She could feel his lips beside her ear now, “Wanna get a drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Come on,” he expressed, throwing his arms up into the air in fake exasperation. “It’s a party. You cannot enjoy a party without being drunk.”

“Hm,” she shrugged, still not interested. She thought about what else she could say to get him away from her. “Worth trying, I guess.”

“You are damn impossible to please, Maybank,” Carter laughed, showing his pearly white teeth. (Y/N) smiled at this, taking the statement into a compliment, and made to walk away. He grabbed her wrist before she could get away, and she sighed in annoyance.

“One drink,” he smiled. “And I’ll leave you alone.”

(Y/N) thought about this, long and hard, and the sudden thought of wanting to be free for once entered her mind. She gave him a small nod.

“One drink.”

“One drink,” he confirmed, and pulled her to the drinks section. (Y/N) waited for him to get her a drink, her eyes swarming over the sea of people dancing, some talking, some already kissing and some just standing. This was her third bonfire party in Obx, and the party didn’t get any boring.

“Here you go,” Carter appeared, placing the red cup into her hands. “Let’s chug it down together. Are you ready? 1, 2, 3!”

(Y/N) scrunched up her face at the strong taste of vodka, feeling her throat burning. It felt good though, especially when you are in need to forget some hesvy things in your mind.

“What do you say?” Carter smiled, “Want more?”

“I’ll try more,” she laughed, giving him the cup as he muttered ‘I told you so’ and came back with another cup. They counted together again, and (Y/N) never felt better after drinking an intoxicating drink.

She didn’t remember why she never liked alcohol, but at that moment, she felt like drinking her money and family issues away. She didn’t even realise when Carter had placed his arms around her, telling her humourless jokes that she laughed at anyways.

“Wanna go to my car?”

“Huh?” She looked at him, half-smiling and half-frowning. She was at her 7th cup now, but being a lightweight person, she felt like she was on her 30th cup. “What for?”

“Driving around town,” he smiled, standing up and offering his hand. “Wanna drive around with me?”

“Just you?” She mumbled, closing her eyes. She could feel his arms around her, trying to help her walk, but she didn’t have enough energy to push him away. If anything, she was glad he had brought her away from the loud music that made her dizzy.

“Where’s the car?” (Y/N) whined, feeling her arms hurting from the rough grip by Carter. She could hear the crunch of twigs under her feet, and when she finally had an ounce of power to see her surroundings, she saw the empty car park near the beach.

“Carter, I don’t feel so good,” she said, trying to push him away. The grip around her tightened, and she had never felt so panicked as she was at that time. She tried to calm down, still looking for anyone who can help her, but the parking lot was deserted.

“Carter, I can walk,” she tried again, but he didn’t let go. She understood the whole situation clearly now, and wished she had stayed with JJ and his friends instead of wandering around by herself.

“Hey, hey, hey.”

Carter stopped walking, cursing while he turned to look at the voice behind him. (Y/N) grunted, feeling her arms bruising, and she couldn’t even glance up to see who it was that saved her. She could feel her eyesight getting darker as she leaned on Carter for some type of balance.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business,” Carter groaned, still holding her by his side. “Don’t you have anything to do? Like golf, or something.”

“Nah,” the voice replied, and (Y/N) perked up at the way his voice sounded. It was all so familiar to her. . .

“Look, Cameron, just go, okay? I’m not in your business, so stay out of mine,” Carter huffed, walking backwards slowly. “And she’s with me, right, (Y/N), you’re with me?”

“Let her go, man,” Rafe sighed, “I’m making it easy for you. Let her go.”

“Come on, I’m not letting you take her with you,” he shrugged, “Rafe. I swear. You don’t want to mess with me.”

“Aren’t you a little bit too old for her?” Rafe raised a brow, “Aren’t you my age, or something?”

“Fuck!” Carter yelled, and (Y/N) gasped from the sudden pain coursing through her veins at the jerk. “Go and fuck off.”

“You’re not leaving me a choice, man,” Rafe said, and before anyone could process, Carter was down to the ground, yelling at Rafe for him to stop as he kept throwing punches after punches, his forehead creasing and his knuckles ripping.

(Y/N) groaned from the ground, unable to get up, and she swore he had drugged her. She was never this weak, not even when she was sick, and she hated how she couldn’t even lift a finger.

“Don’t fucking touch her again!” Rafe yelled, spitting on the groaning boy as he grunted against the pain, his knuckles all bruised up and bloody.

“Hey, you’re okay?” Rafe asked, helping her to her feet. (Y/N) nodded, still so weak, and wrapped her hands around his arms as he watched her limped.

“You know what? Let me carry you,” he sighed, looking at the previous space where he had had a fight with Carter. He was nowhere to be seen now, and Rafe didn’t think he could fight him off for the second time, not when he’s tired.

“I can walk,” she mumbled, trying to push him off, but even a second after he let her go she tripped onto the road, and grunted at her burning knees. “My knees, oh my god, I’m in so much pain!”

“Let me carry you,” he sighed again, squatting to her level. She looked so sad, pouting her lips and her eyebrows all scrunched down. She shook her head when he tried to hold her, crossing her arms.

“(Y/N), let me carry you.”

“I don’t even know you!” She spat, her eyes glassy and her cheeks red. Rafe didn’t know she would be like this when she was drunk, but he couldn’t deny the amusement he was feeling.

“Of course you know me,” he tried again, slowly wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “It’s Rafe.”

“I don’t know any Rafe.”

“It’s Rafael Cameron,” Rafe rolled his eyes, cringing at the sound of his full name. He never liked the name, saying how it made him look like some type of a knight in 1823, but it was one of the only memories left of his real mother.

“I know a Rafael,” she nodded. “But he don’t look like you.”

“(Y/N), let’s just go before some creep decides to kidnap you,” he pulled her up, to which she obliged at the sound of ‘kidnapping’. “I’ll send you to your house, okay?”

“No!” She pulled him close, hugging him tightly that he was too stunned to react. His arms weren’t even touching her, stopping midway, and he only hugged her back when she cried.

“He’s gonna be mad at me,” she whimpered, tugging on his collar. “And he’s going to beat me up and-”

“Wait, wait, who?” He pulled her off, watching as she looked at him with those eyes again. Rafe furrowed his eyebrows, his chest heaving. “Does JJ do-”

“Not JJ,” she cried, and pulled him towards a random car. “Can I please just stay with you until the next morning? Please.”

“Are you sure?” Rafe looked around, and he thought about Dee who was waiting for him at the party. He shook his head at the thought, not wanting to put her first. “We can stay somewhere else?”

(Y/N) nodded frantically, and Rafe thought about the truth behind all of her words. She was never this miserable, looking all happy when he sees her at the restaurant, taking orders with that goddamn smile and laughing at the unfunny jokes old men would give her just for some tips.

Without him knowing, the restaurant by the bay became one of his top favourite restaurants, but it wasn’t because of the food. Rafe never really liked their steaks, always preferring the one closer to the country club, but he was willing to put aside his cravings for that one certain waitress.

“Okay,” he nodded, leading her to the jeep parked a few cars away. She looked so tired, her hair messily tucked behind her ears, her makeup smudged, and Rafe felt a sudden wave of relief for being there in the parking lot to grab his phone in the car.

The drive was silent, and Rafe even thought that she had gone to sleep. When he looked at her from the corners of his eyes, he was surprised to see her silently staring at the dark view outside, unmoving.

He parked outside of the hotel he usually goes to when he’s in need for some alone time, checking the time on his phone before helping her out. She didn’t say a word to him, keeping her head down, only inching closer when they were on their way up to their room.

(Y/N) never been to a fancy hotel like this, only staying in a small hotel in Spain with her aunt 4 summers ago, so she was quite bewildered when she looked around the room. She bit her lips, staring at the one queen bed, and turned to look at him.

“Are we sharing a bed?”

“Oh, no, we don’t have to,” Rafe quickly said, trying to calm her down. “I think you should sleep it off. I’ll stay on the sofa.”

“Okay, thanks.”

But she couldn’t close her eyes. Every time she tried to sleep it off, she would think about Luke with his hands around her face, forcing her to look up to his eyes and whispering sweet-nothings into her ear. JJ never knew about this, and (Y/N) never wanted to tell him out of fear and disappointment, so she had been keeping the secret for a really long time.

“Rafe?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for bringing me here.”

“It’s nothing,” he huffed, and (Y/N) heard him shift. The sound of a pillow hitting the floor blared throughout the dark room, and (Y/N) felt bad about letting him sleep on the sofa, especially when he was the one who had brought her to the hotel.

“You can stay in the bed with me.”

“Really? I can’t do that.”

“Why?” She asked, because she really didn’t mind sharing a bed with Rafe Cameron. It wasn’t like she was going to attack him.

“Just because.”

“Is it because you don’t like me?” She asked, and she heard an amused laugh coming from the sofa.

“Trust me, you’re wrong on that one,” he replied simply, and (Y/N) had to think of what he said again.

Wrong?

“Is it because I’m a minor?”

“We’re only 2 years apart.”

“So what’s the problem?” She pressed, because she couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just sleep on the same bed as her. They didn’t have to be all pushed up to each other. . .

“Because,” he sighed, “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of stuff.”

“Rafe, I don’t understand,” she closed her eyes, her mind woozy from the back and forth fight with the boy.

Rafe sighed again, licking his lips before standing up from the sofa. “Okay, but I’m not a creep, okay?”

“So it is because I’m a minor,” she nodded to herself, and she felt a sudden wave of disappointment. If only she was a year older.

“Whatever,” he breathed, trying to get the best position under the covers. He felt her fingers and quickly pulled his hand away, his heart beating.

“You’re weird.”

“I just said I’m scared,” he shrugged, and finally settled comfortably. He felt so much better now, not having to pull his legs together and crossed his arms just to fit on the sofa.

“What if I do want you to sleep with me on the bed?”

“Shut up,” he groaned.

“No, Rafe, what if I do want you-”

“Shut up before I make you.”

(Y/N)’s eyes went wide, and she thought of the many times she had repeated this exact line in a movie and how she had romanticised her own scenario to that line. She never thought of Rafe Cameron as the protagonist, only imagining Timotheé Chalamet and no one else.

“You’re still drunk, okay?” He suddenly said, and (Y/N) bit her lips at his exasperated tone. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. I’m not Carter.”

“Okay,” she said softly, “I didn’t ask for you to fuck me, though.”

“Really? You’re begging for it right now.”

“I just want you to get comfortable.”

“Hm.”

“You’re full of yourself.”

“Yeah? You should see the eyes you give me at the restaurant,” he replied simply, and he could feel himself thinking of her slightly narrowed eyes, looking straight at him.

He shifted his position, placing a pillow against his front.

“Why didn’t you act on it?”

“Oh god, we’re still on this?” He grunted, “Go to sleep.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to fuck me?”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and before she could think about anything else to say to him next, he had pulled her shoulders so that she could look at him.

She squinted against the darkness, using the moonlight as a source of light to stare into his beautiful blue orbs.

“I would fuck you, but I won’t do it when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You are, because-” he grazed his thumb against her bottom lip, and she had to hold her breath. “You’re not this open to me when you’re sober.”

“Isn’t it more fun, though? To fuck when you’re drunk?”

“I’d only do that if you’re my girlfriend.”

“So can I be your girlfriend?”

“I’ll think about it tomorrow,” he smiled, and pushed her back to face the ceiling. “Now sleep.”

“What if I want to become your girlfriend now?”

“JJ will kill me.”

“Can you kill him back?”

“(Y/N),” Rafe sighed, being so tired of going back and worth with her on this. Of course he wanted to touch her, more than anything else in the world, but he couldn’t do it when she was in a state like this. “Go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good girl.”

“Okay.”

He waited a few more minutes, ready to answer any remarks, but what came after was only her soft snores. He sighed in relief, leaning on his arms as he stared at her. He watched as her chest heaved peacefully, feeling all kinds of emotions at once, and he finally realised the truth;

This time he wasn’t playing; Rafe Cameron would never bring a girl to a fancy hotel for nothing other than sex, but here he was; refusing her teasings, and keeping her safe. It finally hit him; he would bring (Y/N) anywhere if that’s the only way to keep her smile.

He shut his eyes, making a mental note to make fun of her drunk state in the morning.

#Part 2

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#drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey x reader #outerbanks #rafe cameron smuts #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x reader #outerbanks imagines #outer banks #outerbanks x reader #drew starkey imagines

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yeojaa · 4 years

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( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag. You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash. You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing. jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. idiots to lovers. fluff, angst, smut. the holy trifecta, babies! explicit, obviously.

tags / warnings. mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc. 12.2k of nonsense. pure nonsense, i tells ya.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her. i love you both sm!!! ✨💜

author note. the long-awaited fic is here!! i really hope you enjoy it. if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something? i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot. anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you! stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker. That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him. It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard.

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove. Sometimes, she’s by herself; often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste. They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique. Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be. You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit.

“He has no idea.” It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts. “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder. How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair? It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie.

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”. Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else. Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention. Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him. Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face.

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,” she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does. She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough. Zero tact, though. Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble. You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested. “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags. (God, what awful taste.) There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best. (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction. You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place. Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on. When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes. He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW. Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress is.

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect. It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?” He upspeaks. It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first. A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect. “What’s the item and the name it’s under?” You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine. Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

You’re floored. This is Jeon Jungkook? This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger? You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face. It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers. “I’ll grab it! The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly. He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends. He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears. There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend? I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.” Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off. “She said she was leaving on Friday.” Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made. “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall. You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.

You do feel bad. Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this. For hurting this stranger. (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality. He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip. He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet.

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off. Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in. (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.) As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth. “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend. Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid. Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours. Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say. Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation. “Oh, maybe. I’m sorry.” The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t. That’s a thing, right? Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?

God, you’re an altruist.

“It’s fine.” When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not. You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word. (You won’t.)

“Here it is!” Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands. If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing. You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand. He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying. You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start. Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,” you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands. It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card. The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently. You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder. It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum. (You either, but still.)

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers. “What?”

“You know— that!” She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago. “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,” you correct.

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response. There it is.

“What?” There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable.

“What?” It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery. You can read every emotion that runs through her expression: shock, displeasure, confusion.

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth. (She really does remind you of your little sister.) “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder. You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now. There was no way he didn’t.

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts. That’s all.” You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done. You’d want to know if you were him. Consider it an act of goodwill.

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind. What’s done is done. Now he knows, or something close to it. The chips would simply fall where they were meant to.

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him.

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift. She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway. Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding. It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship.

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening.

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter. “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression. “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.” You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person. Sensible.

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front. You suppose it’s your responsibility now. You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell.

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?” Upspeaking again. How cute.

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.” You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter. “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“ It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice. Um, I can come pick it up today?” There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back. “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out. He truly was a sucker.

“That’s fine. We’re open until six tonight.”

“I’ll be there before dinner.” As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough. “Before six, I mean. Um, is around five-thirty okay?”

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation. Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation. “Of course. We’ll see you then.”

He hangs up immediately.

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last. It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest. You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon. You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday. Somehow, you like it more. The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair. It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person. (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him. Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.

“O-oh. It’s you.” The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified. “I m-mean, just—” He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again. “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.” Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.

“That’s right,” you say evenly, expression neutral. It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary. Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room. You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?” He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store. You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again. He makes the same trip twice more. “Can I have it?” To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed. He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress. Good job, you think.

“Of course.” You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter. Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip. You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything. (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment. Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides. It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended. Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact. “May I have it, please?”

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand. You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable. Is he going to say thank you? Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems. “Why did you do it?” There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?” You know what he means. You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?” Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you. You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him; it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side. For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies. It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror. He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head. It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin. (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes. Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.” For once, he doesn’t sutter. The lisp doesn’t present itself, either. Was this the same Jungkook? You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?” He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name. How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit? It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?” The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no. You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly. It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.

“I mean like— talk talk.” The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else. His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.

“Sure, we can talk talk.”

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“W-what? No!” Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears. “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding. Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance. He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow. Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down. His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving. You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie. It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall. “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly. “Huh?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Um—” He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence. There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking. “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out. “You want to talk about… you?”

“That sounds bad.” The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk at dinner.”

He nods. You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy. Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?” He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden. Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure. (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.” Everything here is incredible. You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place. His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel. You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish.

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections. Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?” You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute. “So?”

“What did you want to talk about?” If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often. As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper.

“Oh.” Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth. He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle. You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting. He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected. It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline. “What?”

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot. You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip. Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.” It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you. You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel. Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you. You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable. A little different, sure, but altogether nice. Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake. You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not. His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does. (Seriously, how big are his eyes?) You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth. Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?” He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.

“What?” You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out. It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent. Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.” Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare. “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?” The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.

“That’s not my name.” The bite disappears past his teeth. You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook. Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do. Juvenile in a way but enticing in another. You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,” he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down. (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.) “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation. He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations. He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea. Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,” you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.” He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact. “You care about people. You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone. You want to do what’s right. Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey. He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts. He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up. He decorates his apartment with the most random things: limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates. He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years. All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on. (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.) He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his). He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,” he insists from behind his coffee cup.

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable.

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.” It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap. It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now. He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had. Youngin is good for him, though. You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips. When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone. “Girls are scary.”

You laugh. Cackle, really. You can’t help it. He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon. He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak. He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says. (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary. Death is scary. Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.” He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest. From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture; from him, it’s patient. “Girls aren’t scary. Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.”

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good. Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags. Like he’s living life in greyscale.

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze. Instead, he laughs. “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.” You’re adamant, insistent. He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft. An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.

You want to protect him, teach him to fly. Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes. He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it. He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.

“Fine,” he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long. It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused. It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days. You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse. If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton. He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew). He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it. (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?” It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso. It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm.

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him. He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for. To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings. “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is.

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence? (You wish you were joking.) It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.

“This one?” He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face. Medium-weight cashmere. Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist. It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,” you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels. “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law. You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.” He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.

Your response is a shrug. “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.” You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates. You know there’ll be something good on the menu.

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist. You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him. Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink. Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch. That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other. “Hey! You’re leaving already?” It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone. It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes. For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes. “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.” A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh? Well, that’s certainly something new. Good for him, you think.

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.” It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words. “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her. Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes). Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date. It’s a big deal.

“Yeah—“ Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky. “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“I will,” he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place. It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever). It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you. He’s going on a second date, after all. Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant. You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine. Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine. The two of you are friends. You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come. Baby boy was growing up.

“Y’know.” You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment. It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?” He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.

You wiggle your hand dismissively. “Second date and all that.”

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on. It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots. “Just stick around. I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door. “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,” you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake. It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook. This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook: Hey. from jeon jungkook: I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook: If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook: Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date. It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing. (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook: i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops. Of course. He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions. (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook: it’s fine! have fun! to jeon jungkook: turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up. Good, you think. About time he finds someone nice. You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact. He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“I want you to meet her,” he mumbles, like that makes it better. As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over. (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.) You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.” But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is. Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately. “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that. No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman. It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set. Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise. It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch. (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.” His vague response speaks volumes. The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery. When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway. “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!” Of course. It’s obvious. She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that. (He is.) “I’m not coming to dinner.”

“You’re already in the car,” he reasons.

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve. Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.” When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him. Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal. Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,” he repeats, almost pleading. You can’t look at him. You won’t. The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause.

“Fine.” You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off. You’re not actually mad. Just worried. You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand. It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person. You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that. Should, anyway. You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it. He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line. (Truthfully, it’s your fault. All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat? How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer: you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.

“What’re you doing here?” At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness. Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really). “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge. It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired. So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance. He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin. You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day. “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,” the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well. Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,” you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold. You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else. If you had to guess, it’s her perfume. It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses. You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter. You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare. “So?”

“W-what?”

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning. Something’s happened. Must have. There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?” You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him. He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression. He’s stalling, you can tell. You hate when he does this. You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small. “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced. What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges. You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual. Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned. (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.

“So.” You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves. You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest. He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs. Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.” The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said. Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look. It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?” It explodes out, a question that demands an answer.

He’s staring past your head, unblinking. You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp. “I c-couldn’t. It was just…” The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”

“Just—” There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot. He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise. He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket. “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean? Feel right?

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete. It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down. Didn’t he understand that? Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’” You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window. “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately. He doesn’t.

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

“You like her, right?”

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out. Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there. “So, you like her.” It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way; you don’t mean it in any way but supportive. You just want him to be happy. “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer. But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise. Hope, maybe? Fear?

“What?” You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight. He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer. (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest. His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair. He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer. Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,” he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.” It’s cruel. “You’re making a bad choice. You’re into this girl. Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements. “I’m not dumb.” There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask. It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay. Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question. You can’t blame her. You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.

“What?” It’s less snark, more sigh. You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter. “You’ve been in a bad mood all week. I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.” She’s right, of course. You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what. “Did something happen?”

You grit your teeth. An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,” she tries again, concerned.

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!” She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly. “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough. So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right. It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload. (Maybe it’d be helpful. Probably. But you’ve never found comfort in other people. At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.” Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on. “It’s fine. Really.” You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I just need to get some sleep.” And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action. It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.” You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater. He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,” he mutters, refusing to meet your stare. At least, you think he’s refusing. It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes. It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away. It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?” You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated. He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding. “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.” This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him. He hums a noise but offers nothing further.

This is how it’ll be then. Fine. If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go. He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth. “I— I don’t— I didn’t say that.”

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now. Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.

“W-what?”

“Tell me.” You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round. “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters. What have I got that she doesn’t?”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. You think he might say no, outright refuse. You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.

“You’re funny. You’re honest. You speak your mind.” You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people. He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him. “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t. You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen. As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.” He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again. “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”

There’s something thick in your throat.

“You make me want to try.” He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it. “Y-you make things not so scary.”

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you. He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself. You make me laugh.” He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.” You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit. Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs. Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words. They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism. “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here. Just a chance.” He’s got a peculiar look on his face. “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, he’s close. Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be. There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down. The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.

“You kind of ruined my life. I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense. You’d ruined his life? (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.) You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.

“I’m kidding.”

It feels like whiplash. You’ve created a monster.

“But you do owe me, I think. So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing. He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams.

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out. He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed. He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money. He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him). If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either. Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge. He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,” he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you. You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom. “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff. It’s adorable.

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends. You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head. You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups. Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together. Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects. Surely there’s more to this. Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?” You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”

“A playsuit?” You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in. Would it even fit? Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns. “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected. Or at least, you think it does. If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim.

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal. He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,” he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds. The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs. He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick. “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.

“Use your words, gorgeous.” As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck. He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob. Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh. He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be. The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.

“You like this, don’t you?” His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy. “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,” you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts. The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin. Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.

“Good girl.” Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips. You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall. Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips. “Such a good girl for me. My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she? Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard. Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate. It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest. Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it. Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear. You know he’ll catch you. “I want you.”

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same. Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm. The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,” he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer. Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am. I am. I am,” you chant, tears welling along your lash line. They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you. It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you.

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much. Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings @veronawrites @notmontae97 @papillonsgf i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

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kelieah · 3 years

Text

work things out

tom holland x pregnant!reader. angst + fluff. language. inspiration. main masterlist. tom holland masterlist. taglist.

not too long ago tom was out the whole day for interviews and press. usually you’d go with him lately but you weren’t feeling too well. given all the strict guidelines, you stayed at home in the apartment in LA that you and tom share. you can’t deny that it did get lonely from time to time, with how busy tom is but your relationship with him is still stronger than ever. it’s a joy, every time he’s off or gets to spend time with you. the both of you cherish it and make every second worth its while.

you both have been together for about four years now. met when you were 19 and he was 21. you truly couldn’t be happier. he’s great, the dates are great, the sex is great. you couldn’t complain. though it did get pressuring from time to time when the whole world relentlessly asked if the two of you are planning to engage, marry or even have kids. the topic has popped up in a couple of conversations between you and tom, but it was never really serious. yet.

yet, you say because you recently found out you’re pregnant. that’s why you’ve been feeling real sick lately and now you’re absolutely terrified to tell tom. usually you’d say luckily. but unfortunately, he’s home now, meaning you know you’d have to tell him soon. but how? tom mentioned that he’s wanted kids, but now? you doubt it. you pushed your insecurities and overwhelming thoughts away for awhile and decided to enjoy tom’s time off with him.

so here you are, a couple of days after his recordings. tom’s in the bathroom freshening up while you’re in the living room relaxing. you plan to tell him soon. eventually. tomorrow.

shaking off the nervous feeling, you smile softly as you watch the newly released interview of tom in esquire. he looked absolutely divine. hair perfectly molded, turtle neck enhancing his clean look. god, you’re in love with him. you giggle at some of his remarks and notice him walk over. “what are you watching, babe?” he hums and sits next to you on the couch, wrapping his arms around you.

“one of your interviews,” you reply and place an arm around him, running a hand through his hair. “i quite like this one, you look rather dashing if i don’t say so myself,” you tease in a british accent.

he chuckles and stuffs his face in the crook of your neck, “yea, yea.”

you watch this next clip and stifle a laugh at the image of tom and nicki minaj photoshopped horribly on a family stock photo. “nicki minaj has announced she’s expected her first child with her husband tom holland. best of luck to the happy couple. this actually really stressed me out,” tom’s voice rang from your ipad.

“oh god, that one. i honestly don’t know how or why the two of us were put together. no relevance,” he murmurs into your skin.

“i honestly don’t know either,” you snicker and continue to watch the video.

“so, that was a big relief for me. because i’m not ready to have kids. i’m not even ready to have a dog properly. anyway,” he said and shifted around in his chair.

those words repeated through your mind immediately and repeatedly, sending a chill down your spine. tom feels you tense up, “love? i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have said that in the interview i know—”

“tom? do you mean that?” you sit up a bit and pull away from his embrace.

a bit hurt from your sudden actions, tom’s face falls into a frown. “what?”

“y-you’re not ready to have kids?” you stammer and hug your knees to your chest.

“no,” he replies honestly and looks at you with eyes full of concern. his sharp and confirming reply drives a stake through your heart. you’re fucked now, you thought to yourself. “but i thought we’ve talked about this, sweetheart. right? after we get married,” he scoots closer and hesitantly pulls you back into his arms.

“yes i know— i know. but what if,” you begrudgingly comply and fall back into his chest, pressing your face up against his built. “what if we had a kid now?”

“it’d be really difficult that’s for sure. i’m barely home, and i’ve got many films coming up. press, premieres, and shows. you know? i have some auditions coming up as well, and i don’t know. what about you, baby? aren’t you graduating next year? how would you handle baring a child during school and work. honey?” he repeats himself, noticing how you became silent.

“tommy,” you manage to croak out after feeling a lump build up in your throat. you look up at him with teary eyes and a face flushed with embarrassment.

“yes, y/n?” he sits up and cups your face, swiping away a tear that rolled down your cheek with his thumb. “shit. i’m so sorry baby, but we have to think realistic here. with my career, your career. our schedules and all. we can’t, right?”

“i suppose,” you sniffle and purse your lips. “fuck tom, you’re going to hate me when i tell you this.”

“this?” he trails off, a hint of suspicion in his eyes as he had a feeling about what you were about to tell him.

“i-i’m pregnant,” you say cautiously and shut your eyes closed tightly.

if only you could see the look on his face. he jumps up and brings you with him making you squeal as he holds you up high. “what!? are you— are you actually!?” he cries out and pulls you back down, hugging you closely.

“yes,” you whine, bit surprised at his reaction as he sways you in his arms. “y-you’re not upset? you just said you’re not ready?”

he shakes his head and tenderly presses kisses along your shoulder and back up towards your lips. “just because i’m not ready doesn’t mean i don’t want to have kids with you. i’ll be ready. i’ll fucking, shit i’ll make myself ready. my sweet, love, darling. hell, i’d never. never be upset for you baring our child, never. never in a million years. are you, are you actually?” he asks once more for safe measures.

“yes,” you begin to cry out in joy and nod excitedly. “i-i took one of those pregnancy tests but to be sure i just took the whole fucking box. so i pissed on like five sticks and— and they were all positive, but i still wasn’t pleased so i went to the doctors and tom. i’m already three weeks,” she whimpers

“holy hell, has it really been that long since we’ve had sex!?” he exclaims and your jaw slacks. he laughs loudly and you shove him harshly down onto the couch. “i’m joking! just joking, oh darling. oh my love. i’m so happy i couldn’t express myself more, i don’t know what to say—” he rambles on while you straddle his waist. you place a finger on his lips and he instantly shuts up, carefully placing his hands upon your hips.

“i love you,” you sigh and lean down, placing your forehead against his.

“i love you more,” he responds and pulls your waist closer. “we can work this out. i’m sure you’ll be able to manage college, but work? maybe it’s time you quit that bloody job of yours with the asshole of a manager. i know you don’t want to depend on my money but angel, c’mon. been together for almost five years now and i’ve barely spent a dime on you.”

you sigh and nod reluctantly, “i know. i’ll quit the job. definitely don’t need the extra stress. but this doesn’t mean spoil me, tommy. you know that right?”

“why not!?”

“because! because well, you don’t need to. it’s waste.”

he lets out an offended gasp, “how dare you insult my future wife and child like that. spending money on you both, will never be a waste. you hear me?”

“tooooommy! i meant me, yes spoil our child but not me.”

“i’m not arguing about this, sorry darling,” he shrugs.

you slap his chest and huff frustratingly. “but, what about you?”

“i obviously can’t cancel the films, but i’ll take out press i don’t really need to do, you know? with covid still around, i doubt there’ll be any press tours for another year so that’s nothing we need to worry about. though, i think i can manage a way to work from home more. besides recording days, obviously. i’m an idiot, ignore me. anyway, and i won’t audition for any upcoming or new films until we’ve settled, yea?”

you take in his words and glance at him in complete adoration. “you’d really do all that for me? for us?” you whisper.

“oh darling, in a heartbeat. i’d do anything for you, for you both. we’ll work things out,” he tilts your chin down and kisses your forehead. “okay?”

you smile lovingly and nod. “okay, thank you.”

“love, don’t thank for me. this is all a given, you hear that?”

“yea, i hear that,” you sigh and curl up in between his legs, cuddling into his embrace.

“good, i love you new mum.”

you flush and hide your face into his shirt. he laughs loudly and wraps his arms around securely, pressing multiple kisses against your head. “i love you too, new dad.”

#kelly's drabbles #tom holland #tom holland drabbles #tom holland blurbs #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x pregnant!reader

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

Text

In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 27: Vortex

Chapter 26

Read on AO3

Vortex: a mass of swirling water that draws everything to it

——

In late August, with September right around the corner, Claire and Faith were about to experience their first hurricane. Claire had experienced all levels of terrifying weather with Uncle Lamb out in the field, including floods, sandstorms, mudslides, and nearly every other manner of natural disasters. Hurricanes, however, had eluded them. They’d only gone to South America one time, and they’d merely seen some heavy rainfall.

Claire had been keeping her eye on the news, seeing how hurricane Matthew was affecting other areas along the east coast. She shuddered to think of them even losing power, let alone anything actually disastrous happening. All news and weather outlets were assuring that by the time it hit the island, it would have lost most of its power, so the storm wouldn’t be devastating, but it would do damage nonetheless.

Claire was doing another scan of the weather channel (which Faith did not appreciate) before work when her phone rang. Jamie.

“Sassenach?”

“This is she.”

“Good morning, lass. Sleep well?”

“I did, is everything alright?”

“Aye, fine. Just wanted to check in. The storm is gonna hit tomorrow; wanted to make sure ye were prepared.”

“Prepared enough,” Claire said, throwing a bar and a yogurt into her purse. “I’ve gotten the bread and milk, as they say. Stocked up.”

“Aye, that’s good. Are ye prepared for losing power?”

“Flashlights are ready with spare batteries and all. Portable charger for the iPad.”

“What about fer you?”

“Oh, I have to be at the hospital before it starts and then stay. It runs on a generator so I’ll be good with a regular charger.”

“Wait, what d’ye mean, stay?”

“Well, I’m considered an emergency worker so I can’t take off. I’m going to have to sleep there if the roads are flooded or blocked with trees.” Claire zippered her purse as she flitted back into the living room, then started pulling on her shoes.

“Ye could be there for days, Sassenach.”

“I know.”

“What about Faith?”

The little girl in question barreled into her as if on cue, waiting for her goodbye. “One second, Jamie. Yes, time for goodbye hugs.” Claire crouched down and gave her daughter a squeeze and a kiss. “Be good for Mrs. Lickett. Yes? Okay, bye-bye.”

With one final kiss and a farewell to Mrs. Lickett, Claire was out the door. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“What’re ye gonna do wi’ Faith while ye’re at the hospital?”

“Oh,” Claire said, opening her car and sliding into the driver’s seat. “I’m dropping her off at the Abernathy’s with a few provisions before work tomorrow. After I’ve taped all the windows, of course,” she added wryly.

“She’ll be alright?”

Claire sighed as she started the car. “She’s going to have to be.”

Her voice wavered, and she cursed herself.

“She’s never spent the night away from home. Will she no’ get upset?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice.” She was not defensive or angry, but resigned, sad. She didn’t want to leave Faith at someone else’s house, but she could not very well ask Gail to live with her toddler and child in her small apartment for an indeterminable amount of time. The fact that they’d opened their home to Faith was kind enough. She couldn’t very well ask it of Mrs. Lickett, either. Her children were older, but she still shouldn’t be away from them for that long during a potentially dangerous storm.

Jamie was silent on the other end, and as Claire turned onto the main road, something clenched in her throat. He couldn’t be upset with her, could he? He couldn’t be judging her decision, condemning her for planning to dump her child off during a natural disaster? Logic told her that of course he wouldn’t, but she was so god damned insecure about it all herself that she could not be calmed.

“You still there?”

“Aye,” he answered quickly. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

Claire swallowed. “What about?”

He paused again. “Tell me to shut my gab at any point going forward,” he began uncertainly.

Claire’s brow furrowed. “Ehm, alright…”

“What if…what if I stayed wi’ her. In her own home.”

Claire was gobsmacked. Her mouth actually dropped open in surprise.

“Please tell me no if ye’re truly no’ comfortable, Claire. I mean it. I ken it may be too soon, and I understand. I just thought to offer — ”

“Jamie,” Claire cut him off. “It’s okay…I…” She blinked away tears. “Would you really be alright doing that?”

“Aye,” he said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Anything I can do to make it easier fer her. It’s gonna be scary.”

Claire swallowed thickly. “She’s heard thunderstorms before.”

“I’m sure. But this willna be like anything she’s ever experienced. And Gail is lovely, truly, she’s a blessing fer ye both, but she’s…she’s no’ you.”

“And she’s not you,” Claire said, finishing for him what he likely was thinking but would never say.

“Claire, I’d never presume —”

“Well I would,” Claire said. “There’s no denying you have the experience that Gail lacks, Jamie. And Faith trusts you. And I trust you.”

He was silent, likely processing what she said. Claire turned into the employee parking lot.

“Besides,” Claire said with a chipper tone that was only slightly forced. “It’ll be good for her to have you all to herself. You’ve never been alone with her before.”

She heard him chuckle. “Aye. Ye think she’ll like that?”

Claire put her car in park, and her heart swelled, warming her from the inside out. “I really think she will.”

——

Jamie arrived the following morning with a duffle bag and a backpack. The sky was already gray, the air thick with the oncoming storm, the wind picking up. He’d half expected the skies to open up on his way there.

The door opened, and his heart cracked. Claire’s sweet, lovely “hello” included a smile, but he could see that frantic look in her eye. She was close to tears. He greeted her gently and then addressed the bouncing, squealing thing below them.

“Ah, yes, hello, wean.” He cupped her head gently to stop her bouncing. “I’m happy to see you, too, lass. Can ye fetch ballerina Minnie Mouse? I’d like to see her if ye dinna mind.”

Like a shot, she was off, eager to please Jamie, and Jamie pulled Claire into his arms. She clung to him tightly, breathing deeply into his neck.

“It’s times like these,” she began shakily, “that I believe Frank was right.”

His brow furrowed. “Whatever d’ye mean?”

“That I should’ve given it up, that I still should.” She sniffled. “I don’t know if I can leave her for several days during…during what they’re saying it’s going to be…”

“It’s alright, Sassenach.” He kissed the top of her head, and then Faith emerged from her room, waving the stuffed animal above her head. “Ah, thank ye, lass. What about…” He wracked his brain, trying to remember any of the dozens of toys she’d shown him. “Daisy Duck? Can I see her?”

She was off again, and Claire laughed wetly against him.

“Listen to me, Claire Beauchamp.” Jamie pulled far enough away so that he could tilt her chin up and look her in the eye. “Ye’re a doctor because it is what God put ye on this Earth to do. Ye’re a damn fine one, from what I gather. Ye’re going to help lots of people in the next few days, people that might have been much worse of wi’out ye.”

“What about the baby that He gave me?” Claire said hoarsely. “The baby with…so much that she needs from me…”

“It’s not just you,” Jamie said, with the most careful combination of firmness and gentleness he can muster. “No’ anymore.”

Claire rested her forehead against his, breathing deeply. “It’ll be alright,” he assured her, Faith puttering back in with the next toy. He praised her quietly, tucking Daisy under his arm with Minnie. “I will do everything in my power to see that she’s alright these next few days.”

“I know,” Claire said, then pressed her lips to his. “I know.”

Faith was reaching up, bouncing again impatiently. Jamie handed her back down her toys; evidently, she did not like them out of place for very long.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Claire said, squeezing his hands. “I think I’d be beside myself if I left her away from home. Well,” she laughed dryly, “more so than I already am.”

“It is an honor to ease yer burden, mo ghraidh.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles fervently.

Claire led him around the apartment to show him one last time where everything was kept; Faith’s vitamins and nighttime medicine, snacks, candles, spare batteries, matches. Jamie had remembered, but he let her show him all of it again to ease her mind. He knew it helped her feel like she had more control over the situation.

“Once the power goes out,” she said, gathering her own duffle bag with her overnight essentials. “Either soybean butter and jelly, cold cuts from that cooler that’s still in the fridge for as long as they’ll keep, or the spaghetti-o’s. Just pretend you’re using the microwave or something and she’ll never know the difference.”

Jamie nodded seriously, though he’d remembered all that, too.

“And watch her with the fridge. She’ll keep it open and stare in there looking for something which is bad enough when there is power. Make sure she doesn’t let the insulated coolness out if you can help it. Though if it’s gone for too long it’s a moot point.”

“Right. Got it.” Jamie nodded curtly. A large gust of wind howled outside, rattling the windows.

“Jesus.” Claire shuddered.

“Ye’d better get going before ye get stuck in the oncoming downpour,” Jamie said.

“Right.” Claire froze in the middle of the living room, her eyes glued to Faith, sitting cross-legged with Angus’s head in her lap, calmly stroking his fur. Jamie’s heart strained, and Claire looked like she might cry again. She exhaled heavily and crouched down next to Faith.

“Hey, baby.” She cupped her little head and smiled. Faith kept her attention on Angus, and Claire gently tapped her nose. “Can you look at me, Faith?” She did not, and so Claire took her hands off of Angus and held them between hers. Somewhat annoyed, Faith looked up at Claire, obviously waiting for her hands to be released. “Hi,” Claire said. “Remember what we said? Quiet hands, quiet feet, and quiet mouth for Jamie.” She pointed to each mentioned body part. “And listening ears on.” Claire poked each of her ears, one after the other. “Mummy will be gone for a few days, but Jamie is going to play with you, and keep you safe. It’s all going to be okay. It might get very dark, or very loud, and there might not be any tellie. But Jamie is going to make sure you’re okay. Yes?”

Faith moaned impatiently, and it was unclear if she was listening.

Jamie is going to make sure you’re okay.

Jamie’s chest involuntarily puffed out, and his back straightened. He silently and solemnly vowed to do just that.

“I’m going to miss you, lovie.” Claire cupped both of Faith’s cheeks. “I love you.” She held up the sign, and Faith mirrored her as always, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m going to call every day. I’ll talk to you on the phone. I promise.” Claire pulled Faith in for a hug, squeezing her tightly. “Big goodbye hugs,” she whispered into her hair.

When Claire released her, she stood up with a heavy sigh. Jamie was holding her duffle bag, and he walked her to the door.

“Please be careful,” Jamie said. “Text me when ye get there.”

“I will.”

He kissed her deeply, pressing her tightly to him. When their lips parted, he looked into her eyes, those swimming pools of amber and honey. On his tongue was something he’d known, something he’d been burning to unleash from within him since April.

I love you.

Instead, he swallowed thickly and kissed her forehead. “Drive safe, Sassenach.”

With one final squeeze of his hand and a reassuring smile, she was gone. Jamie ran a hand over his face before peeking out the window to make sure she pulled out of the driveway. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her. Christ, he’d wanted to reply with it the second he watched that video; he’d wanted to tell her that day in the office, he’d wanted to tell her on the ferris wheel, the carousel, he’d wanted to tell her when she fell asleep and drooled on his shoulder halfway through The Godfather, he’d wanted to tell her when he’d finally positioned himself between her legs and entered her, and felt so completely fulfilled and complete, and every time he was in that position thereafter.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not until she was ready to hear it.

He knew she was scared; no matter how well this was going, he knew she was still worried and paranoid. He wouldn’t rush her.

A giggle pulled him out of that train of thought, and he realized that Claire’s car was long gone. It had also already started to rain, and it would definitely get nasty soon. He turned to see Faith grinning impishly down at Angus, who was licking Faith’s open palm over and over. This was something she did often, put her palm right at his snout and wait for him to oblige her. Jamie supposed she liked the tickling sensation. He smiled and made his way to the couch, sitting down and watching Faith with her loyal companion for a while.

Claire had given him a whole list of things that Mrs. Lickett usually does with Faith while Claire is gone for the day. There was play-doh, the big clunky legos (both good for fine motor), the flashcards for identifying signs, and of course coloring. On the list, Claire wrote that when Faith colored with Mrs. Lickett, Mrs. Lickett always — underlined several times — signed the color that Faith picked up. Color identification would be a big deal once she started school.

Something else that Jamie knew would come once school started was the school district-provided tablet for text to speech communication. Claire had been recommended speech therapies to get a head start on that, but she’d turned them all down, insisting that it was very important to her that Faith know how to sign before relying solely on the screen. And since Faith had proven capable, she’d stuck to that.

It amazed Jamie how Claire somehow just knew what was best for her child. Jamie saw all too often at the stables parents that had no idea what they were doing. Which was understandable and nothing to be judged about. But when he’d reach out, recommend additional services, hint that they might get more out of equine therapy if they approached certain things a different way, they didn’t want to hear it. It was hard to watch those kids regress because their parents weren’t willing to set their pride aside and admit they weren’t aware of something. But his reach only extended so far, and if he was going to sleep at night, he had to let those things off his conscience.

With Claire, if someone offered her advice, she could plainly tell them that she’d already researched that and had either tried it or decided it was not going to work, but thank you very much. Prompt speech therapy, for instance. If Jamie had a nickel every time Claire complained to him that yet another person had recommended Faith try it, he’d be quite the rich man. Prompt speech involved a lot of touching, and Faith would certainly not be okay with that. Even if it meant her daughter would never say a word, Claire would not put her through it. Not even an eval.

And Jamie admired the hell out of her for it.

After letting Faith continue with Angus for a bit, Jamie intervened and ushered her into the kitchen for some “structured play with learning benefits,” as Claire had referred to it. Faith, having never done any of the listed activities with Jamie, wanted to do every single one. They went on even longer than Jamie had anticipated she would sit still for because playing these games with Jamie was a novelty. They built a castle with a wall with her legos, made several snakes and desserts out of play-doh, colored, and worked on signs. Faith was not satisfied until every single card was flipped over and worked on. Jamie knew full well that she did not insist on such a thing with Mrs. Lickett. It made him grin smugly and melt at the same time.

It was pouring in earnest by the time Jamie finished getting through Faith’s stack of flashcards. Instinctually, he checked his messages from Claire, even though she’d told him hours ago by now that she’d gotten in safely. The wind was picking up, too, turning into a constant roar.

“Ye’re brilliant, Princess Faith,” Jamie said, giving her a thumbs up. “Ye did such great work today, lass. I’m so proud of you.”

She smiled cheekily and then reached for her crayons and princess coloring book again. Rain suddenly pelted against the kitchen window, the wind having changed direction to blast the water right into the glass. Faith dropped her crayon with a startled cry and clamped her hands over her ears. Jamie had to admit it even startled him.

“It’s alright, lass,” he crooned, getting out of his chair to kneel beside hers. He stroked her back soothingly. “Just the rain. It’s alright.”

She kept her eyes squeezed shut and her hands on her ears, so Jamie switched tactics. He scooped her in his arms, cradling her to his chest. He brought her out of the kitchen and deposited her on the couch. If the wind was blowing into the window in the back of the apartment, perhaps a similar noise would not happen in the front windows. He called Angus over when Faith still would not move or open her eyes, and after a few minutes of deep pressure, she at least opened her eyes. Jamie was then able to coax her into picking a DVD. They were on borrowed time until they lost power, so he thought it best to take advantage of the tellie while they still had it.

She ended up choosing a Winnie the Pooh movie, jabbing at it with her elbow, hands still on her ears. She didn’t even take them off to put the movie in the player, though she stood by and watched every move Jamie made as he did so instead. As the DVD started playing the previews before the “play” screen, Faith got behind Jamie and started pushing against his legs. He took this as his cue to walk, and he allowed her to push him into her bedroom. He knew immediately what she wanted. He smiled widely as he stepped into the room and picked up the enormous “Pooh Bear” that he’d won for her at the carnival. Faith hummed in excitement and bounced a little as Jamie carried the giant bear into the living room and deposited him on the couch. She skipped back into her room and Jamie gathered the rest of her Hundred-Acre Wood friends, arranging them around their giant leader.

A few minutes into the movie, Faith finally took her hands off her ears and began enjoying the movie in earnest. The wind continued to howl and the windows continued to rattle, but the movie drowned most of it out for now, as did Faith’s giggling and humming along to the little songs. At one point, she moved all of the little toys into Jamie’s lap and tipped over the giant bear so she could lay bodily on top of him. It really was practically a mattress underneath her. She nuzzled further in, humming contentedly and smiling broadly, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Jamie smiled down at her, her eyes fixed on the screen, and then he brought his legs up on the couch, cross-legged, so he could fit every toy she’d given him in his lap, holding onto them with as much care as he would if Faith herself was in his lap.

The power went out before the movie finished, close to the end if Jamie deduced correctly. Faith immediately sat up, nearly toppling off the couch because of her uneven position on the bear. Jamie felt dread settling in his gut, and he immediately wanted to kick himself. He’d made the wrong move, and he was about to pay dearly for it.

Faith slid off both bear and couch and marched right up to the tellie. She began pushing all the buttons on the tellie and the DVD player, the volume of her whining increasing. Jamie set aside her toys and approached her tentatively.

“Faith, it’s alright. Remember what Mummy said? That there might be no tellie?”

With a great wail, she began slapping her hands against the television screen, and Jamie grabbed her wrists.

“No, lass, ye canna do that. No hitting.”

She began screaming in earnest, jerking against him with all her might.

“I’m sorry, Faith. The tellie is all done. I’m sorry.”

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she continued to pull against his grip on her wrists. He swiftly picked her up under the arms and deposited her away from the electronics. She pointed at the tellie, bouncing impatiently, wailing all the while.

“Aye, lass. I ken. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” Jamie genuinely hated himself at the moment. He thought they’d have time before the power was gone, he thought that it would be good for her to be able to watch a movie that wasn’t downloaded to her tablet. He should’ve thought of this possibility, and he should’ve known that she’d be grossly unhappy if the movie was unable to finish. It would drive her mad for hours, knowing that the movie was sitting unfinished in the player. She couldn’t even get it out of the player to put away. One of her biggest OCD triggers had gone off, and it was his fault.

Jamie wracked his brain. Claire had said if she were melting down to either give hugs and cuddles, or to deposit her in her room and let her scream it out. That is if Angus didn’t do the trick. Jamie tried for the hug, but narrowly avoided a swinging fist. Clearly she blamed him for the tellie’s sudden malfunction. As she should, he thought miserably.

He called Angus over just as Faith started swinging her arms with abandon, and Jamie caught one of her fists before it collided with a picture frame on the table behind the couch. She pushed at his hand, punched his arm, pulled backward, but Jamie knew that if he let go, she’d dive right for trouble and possibly break something. Angus arrived just as Faith sank her teeth into the skin of Jamie’s hand.

He swore in Gaelic, and then he pinched her nose shut, causing her mouth to immediately open as a reflex. Jamie shook his hand, hissing in pain, but he didn’t skip a beat. He maneuvered himself to be behind Faith, and he scooped up the photos in her reach. He stood back and let Angus do his job, shoving his bleeding hand into the pocket of his shorts to avoid dripping anywhere else. At least if it stained, it wouldn’t be where anyone could see.

Angus kept hopping up on his hind legs so he could brush his snout against Faith’s screaming face, gently patting her chest with his paw before falling to all fours again. Every time, Faith pushed him away with an indignant yelp, but he kept trying until she sank to the ground with him, tightly squeezing his neck. Jamie sighed with relief when girl and dog were settled in a pile on the floor. He took the opportunity to put a bandaid on his hand before it soaked through his pockets.

When he returned after being in the bathroom for mere seconds, Faith’s screaming had been reduced to a heartbreaking, whimpering sobbing. Angus used his front paws to stop Faith from scratching and hitting her face or pulling at her hair, and he started licking her palms to keep them otherwise occupied. Jamie sighed and quietly made his way to the kitchen, where he could sit down and still see her through the doorway. He kept his eyes glued to her, his leg jiggling and his left hand tapping on his thigh. The urge to press her to him for comfort was painfully strong. Ignoring the urge to comfort was just as painful as it had been with her mother, all those months ago, before he’d ever really held her.

Jamie’s eyes must have glazed over, either with tears or weariness, because when he blinked, Faith was standing right in front of him, still weeping quietly.

“Hi, leannan. What d’ye need?” He restrained himself from touching her. Her hands were laced in Angus’s fur, sitting dutifully beside her. “What d’ye need, Faith? Show me?”

She inhaled slowly with a great tremor, and on the exhale, she put her arms up in front of her with a long, drawn out whimper.

I need a hug.

He heard her, loud and clear.

“Oh, lass…” Jamie’s voice broke, and he practically sprang forward. “Come here…I’ve got ye.” He scooped her into his lap and hugged her tightly, rocking gently. “It’s alright, now. Ye’re alright. I’ve got ye. Dinna fash, now. It’s alright.”

Claire had said that during a meltdown she wouldn’t want to be touched, but that perhaps after, she’d need to be held. Jamie had thought about it, then brushed it off. This was his fault. It was clear she’d blamed him for the mishap. She’d bitten him, swatted at him. She’d take her comfort from Angus until she was calm, and then she’d ask to be fed. That was what he’d thought.

But here she was, clinging to his shirt and sputtering into his neck, wetting his collar.

“I know, mo chridhe, I know…” he soothed. “I’m sorry, leannan. It’s alright. I’m sorry…”

He continued to whisper such platitudes, in both English and Gaelic, rocking her and holding her tightly. He knew how silly his train of thought had been. He’d seen with his own eyes this exact same pattern of kids coming back again and again despite how much it seemed like they hated their parents or guardian. He was always the first to assure a parent that it was never personal, that the child just could not see past their distress and only wanted to swat at whatever was in the way.

But even the thought of Faith resenting him had made him sick, however briefly it came to him. He couldn’t mess this up; god, he just couldn’t.

She burrowed in further, nuzzling her wet cheek against his neck, and then her hands came up to caress his beard stubble. Jamie smiled involuntarily. He knew she liked how that felt. He let her rub her hands and arms all over his cheeks, even shaking his head back and forth so she could feel it across her skin.

And then, after an indeterminable amount of time, she was quiet.

——

Claire [9:22]: Made it here alive. Just in time it would seem. Have a good day. xx

Jamie [9:25]: glad to hear it. stay safe. good luck. xx

Jamie [10:03]: cheerios and a banana for breakfast. made sure she had milk too.

Jamie [10:03]: not in the cereal, mind. I ken she doesn’t like that.

Jamie [10:37]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [10:37]: look at the size of that castle :)

Jamie [11:16]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [11:16]: “snakes. why did it have to be snakes.”

Jamie [11:16]: since i ken you’re too busy to answer, i’m just going to trust that you got that reference.

Jamie [11:17]: don’t panic, they’re made of play-doh. lol.

Jamie [11:56]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [11:56]: the art gallery we’ve created today

Jamie [12:32]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [12:32]: the gang’s all here for movie time. bet ye can’t guess what we’re watching ;)

Jamie [12:32]: got through a bunch of signs cards today btw. she did great. very proud.

Claire [12:46]: Thanks for all the updates. Faith looks so happy in all these. You’re amazing Jamie. Thank you.

Jamie [2:17]: power went out a bit ago. wee meltdown, but she’s alright now. eating soybean butter and jelly. already picked oreos for her treat.

Claire [2:18]: I saw the word meltdown. Do you need me to call? Are you okay? Any blood or bruises?

Jamie [2:19]: everything is fine. angus did a great job. i swear she’s perfectly content now. back to work missy.

Jamie [3:24]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [3:24]: needed to hold the flashlight while she did this so i couldn’t help. shame. i love puzzles. can’t believe how dark it got.

Jamie [3:24]: she’s got the headphones on now. wind is really loud. hope everything is ok by you.

Claire [4:04]: I’ll be able to call at 7:30. If she starts asking for me, tell her that.

Jamie [4:05]: aye aye captain

Jamie [6:02]: dinner promptly at six. spaghetti-os.

Jamie [6:55]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [6:55]: a wee faerie in her den.

——

Jamie tucked his phone back in his pocket after sending the latest message, smiling contentedly. The “faerie den” was a fort of sheets in the living room, tall enough for Jamie to sit up. Draped around the edges above their heads were battery powered string lights that Jamie had picked up a few days ago. He’d also blown up the air mattress that he’d known Claire had (with a battery powered air pump), put on a fitted sheet, and piled it with blankets and pillows from both Faith’s bed and Claire’s bed. Claire had told him to sleep in her bed, so he’d assumed the pillows would be up for grabs to do with as he pleased.

Faith was absolutely enamored with it. The smallness of the space made her feel cozy and safe, and it also made it easy to illuminate, so it was very bright in there in an apartment that was otherwise very dark. The worst of the storm was happening right at that moment, and it was dark as night at six in the evening in August. If Faith hadn’t been wearing her headphones, she’d be inconsolable at the sound of the wind, the occasional crack of a tree, the rattling of the windows. But she was blissfully unaware, petting her dog in her faerie den, tablet at the ready.

After Claire’s phone call, Jamie pulled out his flashlight and led Faith to the bathroom to brush her teeth. On their way there, she tried turning on every light switch they passed, growing increasingly distressed the more she encountered that would not work. When they reached the bathroom, she flipped the switch an uncountable amount of times and then started crying. No matter what Jamie did, she would not allow him to brush her teeth; she just sat on the floor with Angus and cried inconsolably. Jamie brushed his own teeth to the sound of her wailing, and she only got off the floor when Jamie pushed aside one headphone and she heard the words “faerie den” in her ear.

She calmed down very quickly after she was settled back in her bright little safe space. Jamie quickly shot Claire a text that teeth-brushing did not go very well, but that he’d snagged the Risperdal and dropper from the medicine cabinet so he could give it to her without reminding her that the lights weren’t working.

Apparently, she’d be sleeping in the fort tonight. Jamie had anticipated the possibility, which is why he’d included the mattress, blankets, and pillows. The question was whether or not he’d be sleeping in there.

The answer came shortly after when Faith had fallen asleep in his lap at the end of the movie she’d put on for them to watch on her tablet: Brave. Jamie couldn’t hear since she was using her headphones to continue to block out the storm, but he watched it playing, laughing when she did, pointing at the screen and signing to her occasionally. It was a whole new experience, watching her watch it rather than watching it with her. The only audio he got was from Faith herself, humming along to the music. It made his heart ache with love.

They were nestled in a veritable nest of blankets and pillows when Faith fell asleep in his crossed legs, head resting against his heartbeat. For a moment, he told himself he would simply stay in that position all night, that it would be worth it if it brought her a good night’s sleep after the chaos of the day. But then his hip started cramping in the open position, and he remembered he hadn’t given her Risperdal yet. So he had to move.

Cradling her like a tiny infant, he lifted her off his lap and laid her gently atop a free section of the air mattress. He commanded Angus to lay beside her and left the fort to put on the sleep clothes he’d brought in his duffle bag. Just as he got his shirt off, Faith started whining. He quickly finished dressing and crawled back into the fort.

“I’m here, leannan. I’m right here.”

Right. So he was definitely sleeping in there.

After coaxing her to take the dropper of her medicine, Jamie swiped a pillow off the air mattress. She began whining again.

“Come on, lass. I’m no’ going anywhere. See?” He settled in on his pillow, facing the air mattress and looking up at her. “Go back to sleep.”

She did, and Jamie flicked off three out of the four strings of lights inside the fort before laying down again, getting as comfortable as he could on the floor.

——

Jamie [9:02]: she’s asleep. we watched brave in the fort and she crashed. made sure she had her medicine.

Claire [9:11]: Of course you watched Brave. That’s the one she associates with you.

Claire [9:11]: I’m in bed now myself. These cots are not nearly as comfortable as my bed. Especially when you’re in it.

Jamie [9:11]: don’t start talking about me being in your bed. not when i can’t do anything about it.

Claire [9:12]: ;)

Claire [9:12]: Really though, I’m about to crash myself. Sleep well, darling. Give Faith a kiss for me.

Jamie [9:12]: what about me?

Claire [9:12]: I think you know exactly what you can give yourself. From me.

Claire [9:12]: ;)

Claire [9:12]: Goodnight, Jamie.

Jamie: [9:12]: goodnight sassenach

116 notes · View notes

2-cute-4-school · 4 years

Text

NCT Dream reaction : you give them a handmade gift

M.list

Genre : fluff fluff fluff

Word count : 2.5K words

Mark Lee

*sigh* my overworked baby, SM pls let him rest

he probably forgets to eat from time to time or just doesn’t time to

which breaks your poor little heart :<

so when Mark stays in the recording room until late in the night once again, you don’t go to him empty handed

you go to him with a handful of homemade cookies!!! ヽ(^◇^*)/

when you enter the studio, Mark’s slumped figure immediately straightens up, tired eyes lighting up at the sight of you

he turns in his chair and stretched out his arms to you with a puppy face and your heart :((( just :((((( melts :(((((((((( wow mark no need to kill us all with your babie culture

but who are you to say no to this angel with somewhat less appropriate thoughts but you didn’t hear this from me so you don’t hesitate to walk into his open arms

he lays his head on your stomach, nuzzling into you and cuddling up to you like a clingy koala bear as you run your fingers comfortingly through his hair, lightly massaging his head

with the serene atmosphere you almost forgot why you came so you pulled away from Mark, your heart clenching at his whine and bring the bag with the cookies out of your backpack and thrust it in his hands

he looks from you to the bag and back with eyes so wide and innocent your brain almost short circuited at the utter cuteness

he digs into it once you prompt him to, a soft ‘woah’ coming out from him once he was hit with the sight of freshly baked cookies

“daaamn these are so good, babe” your eyes shine with pride

as he sticks one in his mouth, munching delighted at it (◠‿◠✿) , he grabs you with an arm, sitting you on his lap like a baby that you are and prodding your lips with another cookie he grabbed out of the bag

“oh no, I made these for you, I don’t-”

he doesn’t let you finish your sentence as he pushes the cookie in your mouth, watching you fondly as you start munching on it and patting your head with a gentle hand

“you’re so much cuter when you’re not nagging”

*GASP*

the Disrespect

Huang Renjun

this baby probably also showers you in his own gifts such as paintings or drawing of you sooo

it’s only proper that you also gist him something made by you (°∀°)

you work your cute ass off to perfect the most adorable Moomin key-chain you can come up with *huff*

the day you finally deem it good enough to be shown to the top artist Huang Renjun you sweat buckets as you approach him

Renjun is busy on his iPad as you paddle over to him and stick the key-chain in his face with a dumb but proud smile “here”

Renjun turns to you with a blank face “what is this?”

●‿●

when I tell you the blood drained from your face and you died 50 times internally, your soul just left your body and you saw your life flash before your eyes ‘well life was good, time to say goodbye eyy’

you manage a loud and definitely not artificial laugh

“HAHAHA JUST AN UGLY THING I made I MEAN FOUND HAha ʰᵃ!!! Hey doesn’t it look like you in the morning?!”

that’s when you knew you gotta bolt the scene

but Renjun of course couldn’t let your embarrassment end there the grumpy little gremlin

he snatched the keychain from you and curled his other hand around you, gluing you to his side and you froze as you looked into his sparkly wide eyes ( Renjun’s eyes are galaxies fite me )

“you made this for me?”

“uh yeah”

warning : you were strangled to death by Renjun who deemed that a simple ‘thank you’ just couldn’t suffice, you had to die asphyxiated by his bear hug

“thank u thank u thank it’s so cute, I love it so much! I love you so much!!!”

“do you love me more than Moomin?”

warning 2 : he threw you away faster than he captured you in his deathly cute hug

“know your place, no. 2″

(¤﹏¤)

Lee Jeno

so Jeno is just a biiiiit upset at you maybe

okay maybe a bit more than just a bit

because you might or might have not broken his favorite cup which, mind you, was also a gift from you, when you were at the dorms

so now this overgrown baby gives you THE stinky eye and makes sarcastic and grumpy remarks with any chance he gets

and honesty as much as you love him, you’re ABSOLUTELY DONE with his pettiness :’)

that’s how you find yourself seated at your desk with a blank cup, acrylic watercolors and brushes spread everywhere as you squeeze every ounce of willpower to finish what you started

so after 2 mental breakdown, painted fingers and a veryyy dirty desk, you finished painting a cute design on Jeno’s new cup

you let it dry and didn’t waste another second to bring it to Jeno who still sulked at the dorms

once you were let inside, you trudged over to Jeno who was sat at the couch, refusing to get up and greet you with kisses as he usually did and slammed the cup on the coffee table in front of him

his frown turned into a confused puppy face so fast his duality amazed you once again, he lifted the cup gently, running the tips of his fingers gently over the paintings you worked so hard to complete for him

“are you still mad, nono?”

his silence was quite unnerving as you started to tire yourself out, your voice weakened by worry, but he lifted his head, looking at you with eyes so soft your heart fluttered wildly in your chest

“mad? you-you did this for me and you think I’m mad?”

he put the cup down much gentler than you and stood up from his seat, engulfing you in his arms, one of his hands squeezing you impossibly close to him and the other one cradling your head to his chest

“I think I just fell in love with you once again”

“if you fall in love just from a painted cup I should be more careful when I leave you alone”

he chuckled at your witty remark, kissing the side of his neck

once you broke apart, he placed his new favorite cup on the highest shelf and turned to you with a shit-eating grin

“i’ll put this here so maybe you won’t break this one too”

“sleep with an eye open tonight, lee” (☉‿☉✿)

Lee Donghyuck

so another overworked baby of mine bless his soul

his schedule is so packed so even though he’d cuddle with you until the end of times you actually didn’t get to do that as often as you’d like

and we all know how whiny lil cutie baby Haechanie can get when he doesn’t get what he wants :’))))

and since unfortunately you can’t be beside him all of the time like he wants you to, you decide the next best thing : you knit him a scarf !! you even stuck a tag made out of a soft material with a drawing of a smiley sun to one end of the scarf

he looks so shocked when you skip into his room and lovingly strangle him with the scarf

and you swear you could see his eyes glisten when you tell him you made it yourself and he remembers the bandaids that seemed to grow in number every day which you always shrugged of when he asked

although the tears may be from the lack of air ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

n e way, he looks so thankful as he wordlessly cradles your hands in his, bringing them up to his lips and taking the time to litter kisses over every single one of your small injuries, whispering a soft ‘i love you’ at the end

you swear your heart runs leaps through your rib cage

he just loves you so so much and would appreciate anything you give him

you bring his face back up and press a huge *smooch* on his lips and you both giggle in between your kisses

why so cute you lovebirds?!?

he brings the scarf everywhere he goes, to the dorms, to every show, concert, whenever he travels somewhere, no matter the season

it becomes his lucky charm

once, Renjun sends you a picture of your Hyuckie sleeping cuddled up to the scarf, his nose nuzzled into it

“you know I won’t let him forget about this. EVER” you smirk at Renjun’s text, typing back a reply

“pls do” ( ಠ◡ಠ )

Na Jaemin

this sweet boi hold close to his heart anything you give him

so there’s literally no reason to stress over the bracelet you decided to craft for him

but you being you of course you want to rip your hair out every time something doesn’t go your way ah the levels of patience are definitely soaring through the roof

you even swallowed your pride and asked Jeno for help (read as used him as a puppet) so you were sure you’d get the right size

so after doubting the colors, patterns, material, your entire life choices, you asked Jaemin to close his eyes the next time you met up

with extra shaky fingers, you wrapped the bracelet around his wrist and fumbled to tie it properly

“I’m not getting any younger over here, y/n”

“shut up, mommy jaemie”

he managed to slap the back of your head even with his eyes closed (>‘o’)>

so when you finally tied a sturdy knot with your chicken fingers, you let him open his eyes and beach let me tell you the way his entire face broke into a smile at the sight of the pretty bracelet around your wrist

the sun seemed to pale in comparison with his precious smile, jaemin lights up the world no question, there’s no way you can convince me otherwise

“oh my God, my baby spent time making me such a pretty gift, I must have saved a country in my previous life, come here, let me smooch you into next week (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ “

so that’s how you ended up trapped in Jaemin’s embrace FOREVER

he kept on complimenting you the entire day and made it his mission to boast to every member he could get is hands on about his pretty gift made by his even prettier baby, he’s such a sucker for you no joke whipped culture right here m’am

“Jaemin, the the threads are getting dirty, don’t you think it’s time to take it off-?”

“I’ll die wearing this ʘ‿ʘ“

Zhong Chenle

among all of his ultra expensive things he has, he is dead sure that you’re the most precious in his life

he often told you he’d give up every penny in his bank and all his fame as long as he got to keep you by his side

he regarded you as a ray of warm light when the world left him cold and he swore he’d fight off anything and anyone who dared to hurt you

so this is how he found himself a bit confused and extremely guilty over how he is supposed to fight himself, watch and learn baby

he never meant to upset you, especially over something you poured your blood, sweat and tears into perfecting it just for him

sure, you were aware the Chinese patters you sewed carefully into a pristine white material weren’t perfect, but the way he laughed in you face once you offered it to him toppled your negative emotions over

he wasn’t aware that you sewed it yourself when he made fun of it

“jeez, where did you get this from, Y/N, the clownery fair? even though you should report them for to costumer protection for its ugliness”

“maybe I should report you for being a bitchy prick” ʕ ಡ ﹏ ಡ ʔ

you glare at him and storm away, slamming the door

chenle, the most oblivious and babiest boyfriend : (Θ︹Θ)ს well shit

but of course you couldn’t stay mad at him for long when he sweet talked his way back into your good side basically every minute of the day after finding out from Renjun (this angry angel helped you bless his soul) how hard you worked to sew that

so even though you’re still sulking a lil bit

you accept to come over at his house and as soon as you enter his room you’re shook

where one of his posters once hung above his bed now stood your sewing project proudly

you stared in awe like （’◎’）

“but I though you said it’s ugly”

“that’s before I knew it’s made by you. Anything you did is directly promoted to gorgeous, admirable, incomparable-”

ヾ(＠⌒▽⌒＠)ﾉ

3 weeks later while cuddling

you : *GASP* “I’m so sorry for calling you a bitchy prick, baby”

Park Jisung

he is a giant as much as he is a baby and you agree with me even if you don’t

babies are fascinated by almost anything, especially colorful things

which means Jisung is also fascinated by colorful things ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ

so when you met and you pulled out a few origami figures of different, lively colors, Jisung : (✪㉨✪)

“woah, how did you do these?”

“they’re like basic origami figurines”

if he wasn’t amazed enough already

when you picked up a purple frog and pressed on its bottom and it jumped, Jisung jumped up with it

“WOAH, how did you do THAT?”

you didn’t have the heart to break his innocent awe and tell him it didn’t take longer than 5 minutes to make that frog

so you just settled for a shrug and a simple

“magic, Jisung, magic”

at that, he straightens up in his seat, his awestruck expression fading into a serious one as he grips your shoulders tightly （´＿｀）

“you’ve been lying to me, haven’t you?” ~(｡☉︵ ಠ@)>

“what do you mean, sungie?”

“you’re a wizard!!!!!!!!!”

*facepalm* *internal sigh* *whale noises because cuteness levels are just too high*

“uh, yeah sure, baby, whatever floats your boat”

you try to turn away to hide your growing smile, but jisung isn’t having it

“no, you can’t leave me like this!! teach me!!!1!”

he grips your sleeve and looks at you with such wide innocent eyes as if you’re another wonder of the world and you swear you melt on the spot

“well, you know, my services aren’t free” (¬‿¬)

“what do you want?”

“kisses?” ( jisung shutting down )

“k-kisses? kisses??!? i mean *clears throat and buffs up* yeah sure, that’s all? i can do kisses” ( this baby blushed after only mentioning it but okay boss baby go off I guess ) (*~▽~)

he could’t even be disappointed when he found out origami was nowhere near to magic when you spoiled him with kithes all evening *cue a red Jisungie*

#cznnet #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream #nct fluf #nct angst #nct dream scenarios #nct dream reactions #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct renjun #nct mark #nct jeno #nct haechan #nct jaemin #nct chenle #nct jisung

673 notes · View notes

eberles · 3 years

Text

Do You?

Vince Dunn

Request: @stfukie : 28 and 45 from the angst list with jj (or vince)

A/N: i chose to do this with vince, i hope that’s okay! sorry it took literally so long i couldn’t decide if i liked it but finally here it is!! 🥰🥰 italics=flashback

Warnings: angst, like 1 swear word

“Do you love me?” you had tears in your eyes and your arms were crossed over your chest. You felt drained, like everything had been sucked out of your body, but this conversation had been a long time coming.

“Y/N, what? I don’t understand why you’re asking me that.” Vince ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends showing his slight frustration.

“Just answer the question Vince, yes or no.” you already knew the answer, but for you to be able to move on he needed to say it. Your relationship wasn’t horrible not in the slightest, but the past few weeks there had been a slight tension sending you both onto a rocky path.

“I-I don’t know.” Vince put his head down in shame, he didn’t want it to come out like this. Or at all. He wanted nothing more than to feel the same way, and he thought he did but Vince couldn’t deny the fact he was struggling with it. “I do love you, but-”

“But let me guess, you’re not in love with me.” you were full on crying at this point even though you’d known the truth since he first said it, something about the way he said it.

“Okay next! Something that reminds you of them.” you smiled excitedly ready to pull out the gift you got for Vince. You guys were doing the new tik tok trend where you get stuff they like in favorite colors and what not. You pulled out a new gaming headset Vince has had his eye on and his eyes lit up when he saw it.

“This is awesome, thank you baby,” Vince had a slight pink blush to his cheeks when he pulled out a brand new ipad for you. Knowing yours broke just a few days ago and you’d been so upset about it because you weren’t ready to spend that kind of money on a new one.

“Oh my god! Vince, thank you. Ugh I love you.” you grinned even though you wanted to cry, it was just an ipad, but the fact he remembered you said yours broke and how upset you were about it just warmed your heart so much. Vince had a very shocked look on his face at your reveal and his smile faltered a bit.

“I-same, I love you too.” his words were hesitant and you felt a pit in your stomach that you tried to push down. You, of course, wanted to believe him but his tone and hesitation made it hard for you. Something didn’t feel right about the way he said it. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just agreeing with you versus actually meaning it for himself. You and Vince have been dating for about 9 months, it wasn’t that far out for you to have finally said those 3 words.

You brushed it off when he first said it not wanting to deal with it because you really just wanted to believe he meant it. You convinced yourself his hesitation was because he was nervous and taken aback. It’s been 3 weeks since that night and neither of you have even uttered the L word since. You weren’t sure exactly where to go from here but you knew it wasn’t fair for you to go on like this anymore.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you, but baby I wanna be with you.” Vince rushed over to you, grabbing your hands in his and pulling you closer to him. You turned your face away from him and ripped your arms from his grasp, pushing at his chest slightly.

“Are you kidding? You just admitted that you don’t love me!” you shouted through your tears, pacing around the living room of his apartment. Vince’s eyes were filled with tears and he was contemplating getting on his knees to beg for your forgiveness. “fuck you for toying with my emotions like that, vince.”

“I just move slower than you babe, I am falling in love with you. I can feel it, please don’t do this.” you weren’t sure if vince was trying to convince you or himself. He wasn’t ready to let you go just yet because he had love for you in his heart. He’d never cared for someone like he did you, he never went out of his way for anyone like he did you, he never wanted to be a better person for anyone except you. There was a wall built around his heart and he wasn’t sure at this point, if anything or anyone could tear it down, but he wanted it to be you. He wanted nothing more than to let you in, especially now.

“I have to go vince, I can’t be around you right now.” and with that you grabbed your belongings and made your way out of Vince’s apartment. You sat in your car crying for what felt like hours before you felt stable enough to drive on your own.

Vince made every attempt to reach out to you, he even went as far as having Sammy contact you for him. It was too hard for you though, hearing his voice alone would’ve sent you off the edge. You had every intention of reaching out to him but, everyday you worked towards forgetting him and how great you thought you were together. Trying to forget about the love of your life, the man you wanted to spend forever with was the hardest thing you’d ever have to endure.

••••••••••••••••••••••

It’s been 3 months since you last saw Vince and you were finally ready to take the best step and return to the cafe you guys used to frequent. It had always been your favorite cafe and you weren’t going to let anyone change that for you. Standing at the counter waiting for your latte, inhaling the fresh coffee scent-

“Y/N?” you gasped recognizing that voice anywhere, it hit you like a ton of bricks and every emotion you once felt for the man came rushing back without even looking at him. You turned around slowly meeting eyes with your ex boyfriend. “how are you?”

“Um, i’m sorry I can’t do this.” The tears came to your eyes quick and you tried to make a beeline for the door, but Vince grabbed your arm holding you back.

“I miss you, y/n, so much.”

“I miss you too, but we grew apart, and at this point i’m glad.” you wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and forgive him. Truthfully, everyday your heart aches for him and you didn’t know how much longer you could take it, but you had to hold your ground. At least for now.

#vince dunn #vince dunn imagine #vince dunn imagines #st louis blues

146 notes · View notes

jeon-googi · 3 years

Text

Flower Boy

— pairing: (ATEEZ) San x Reader

— genre: slice of life, Barista au

— words: 3k

— rating: SFW

— warnings: none~

— notes: HELLO! It’s been awhile, and I am so sorry for my lack of posting and writing. A lot of stuff has happened, from me graduating Uni early (whoo!), to a few deaths in my family, life has really gotten to me. It makes me very happy to see so many people still liking and reading my stories though, so thank you for all the kind comments and tags! I have a few stories in the works including a spin off of Soulmate! Until next time! (I rewrote a part of the ending and wanted to start off fresh with this so I hope you don’t mind!)

You smiled triumphantly, finally finishing the last stretch of your midterm paper, stretching your arms out in front of you in your cramped work space. It was nearing Spring Break and that meant the amount of school work was becoming borderline atrocious. Luckily, you planned well enough and weren’t experiencing the detrimental study cram like your roommate Irene.

“Irene c'mon you have to take a break!” You stood up, walking to her side of the dorm which somehow was even more destroyed than yours. Irene groaned as she rubbed her face, leaning back into her chair.

“Yeah a break would be nice…” she mumbled, her eyes red from lack of sleep. You smiled as you pulled her up trying to think of somewhere the two of you could go for a small break.

“There’s that new cafe nearby! The one Seonghwa from Psych works at?” You offered, gently tugging on your shoes near the door. Irene nodded as she followed suit, tugging on a light jacket. One of your friends from psych, Seonghwa, and a gaggle of his rowdy friends all somehow landed themselves a job at a new cafe by campus.

“You and Irene should totally come! Drinks on me.” He had offered one day.

The walk was short and sweet, the trees on campus starting to bloom gorgeous blossoms and the light sunny air put a pep back in both you and Irene’s steps. The cafe was a modern looking place, flowers adorning the outside patio. You also noticed the abundance of well dressed girls that filled the place as well. Shaking your head, you pulled the door open for both you and Irene, the bell above alerting the bustling baristas to your presence.

“Welcome to Cafe- Oh! Y/n and Irene! Welcome!” A boyish laugh sounded from behind the barista bar as you spotted Seonghwa’s tall figure operating the espresso machine.

“Hey Seonghwa!” You waved back as did Irene, filing into the line to the counter. From your spot, you could also spot familiar faces of his friends, Hongjoong his red haired best friend, and Yeosang from your literature class. You could understand now why so many girls were filling the small cafe, everyone here was absolutely gorgeous. You finally reached the counter where another boy leaned, making conversation with every customer, his figure so tall he had to lean down to operate the ipad for orders. Your heart sped up a little as you gave a wave to him, a large smile breaking his face.

God he was hot.

“Hey your Y/n right? Your friends with Seonghwa?” He asked, cocking his head in a boyish manner as he spoke to you. You nodded a bit lost for words, “Yeah and you’re...you’re San right?” You winced, hoping you got it right. He nodded happily and grinned, “That's me! Now what could I get you?” He asked with a sly wink. You fumbled for a quick order, something along the lines of an iced latte. As you reached for your card, San reached a hand out to stop you, his large hands surprisingly soft.

“No please it’s on me.”

You went to argue but he quickly passed the order to Seonghwa who shrugged and motioned you and Irene to a nearby vacant table. You and Irene quickly took your seats at the table, trying to ignore the glances of jealous girls at your interactions with the guys.

“They sure have a crowd going.” You mused, smiling as you spotted some of the waiters entertaining groups of girls. Irene nodded in agreement, her eyes particularly locked on the back on Yeosang’s head. You nudged her and she bashfully laughed it off, the two of you getting lost in conversation before a cough broke you both away. Again, San stood before you, grinning as he held two iced beverages he carefully placed on the table. You both thanked him gratefully as he kneeled down, placing his elbows on the table.

“So ladies what's the plan for today?”

It seemed to be in the cafe’s style that all the baristas and servers would make small talk with the customers, which you didn’t mind of course. You and San unexpectedly went back and forth, travelling from topic to topic. You found yourself getting lost in conversation with each other enough so that Irene interrupted the two of you.

“It’s getting a bit late isn't it Y/n? We still have some studying to do.” Irene said smugly, sliding her jacket back on her shoulders. Your eyes grew wide as you glanced at your phone, noticing you had been talking for a good while now.

“Oh shoot yeah, sorry San, I didn’t mean to keep you from your work-”

“No it’s no problem I had fun.” He brushed off your apology with a smile. You and Irene quickly gathered your belongings to leave, giving the baristas one last wave before exiting.

“Wait Y/n!” You heard a call from inside, stopping you in the middle of the door.

“Hm?” You asked, turning back to see a grinning San behind the counter.

“I work Mondays, Wednesdays, and the weekends. Come see me again!”

The hoots from the other boys behind the counter was enough to make your face turn a slight shade of red,

“We’ll see!” you called back before closing the door behind you.

After large study periods and quite a few tears, midterms passed as quickly as they began. The refreshing feeling of knowing you had an entire week to yourself was pure bliss to say the least. Irene had planned a trip with a few of her friends, and of course, felt terrible you wanted to stay on campus.

“Y/n c'mon it would be so much fun!”

You shook your head, “It’s okay Irene go have fun! I’m going to just relax here and do absolutely nothing.” you admitted with a content grin. She shrugged, and before you knew it, you were left alone. With so much spare time on your hands, you weren't sure what you wanted to start with. You had a few books you wanted to read, some recipes you wanted to try...or, you could also swing by San’s cafe as well. It had been awhile since you first visited and you couldn't deny the lingering effect he had on your mind. His black hair, smile, the way he rolled his sleeves up when making drinks. A blush stained your cheeks as you shook your head,

‘Here you are, thirsting over some guy you met once.’

But hey, one visit wouldn’t hurt right, and it just so happened to be the weekend.

Packing up a small tote bag with a book, your notebook, and a few pens, you headed out down the scenic route to the cafe. The flowers were even more in bloom than the last time you were there, gentle white daisies and yellow poppies. There was another tall man conversing with a family on the front patio of the cafe. He noticed you walk up and gave an energetic wave.

“Hey your Y/n right?” He smiled, a cute golden retriever air about him. You nodded, adjusting the bag on your shoulder, “Yeah, your in my stats class right? Let's see... Yunho?”

Yunho nodded happily, a large dopey grin on his face, “That's me! To be honest you came in on the perfect day-” Yunho politely excused himself from the family to make his way closer to you, your height differences astonishing this close.

“What do you mean-” You were about to ask before Yunho hushed you, glancing back towards the cafe and pushing you behind the cafe's hedge, out of the window's line of sight. He surveyed the front of the store before blowing out a breath.

“Whew alright he didn’t see us.” He said relieved.

“Who didn't see us?” You asked, also trying to peer your head over the bush.

“San. Ever since you came in, he has been looking forward to seeing you, and well, it’s been awhile since your last visit and he’s kind of depressed about it. Today has been the worst, but as luck would have it, you’re here!” Yunho rushed out quickly, giving you a smile of encouragement. You were a bit confused to say the least, but also a bit surprised.

“He wanted me to come back that bad? I thought he was just being nice-”

“San is nice to everyone, which makes him pretty popular. But the way he stared at you from behind the counter said it all.” Yunho admitted. “I’ve known him for awhile, and I’ve never seen him act like this. If you're not interested it’s totally fine I just wanted to let you know this will really make his day.” With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Yunho went back to entertaining the guests on the patio, leaving you with a pounding heart. It would be a lie to say it didn’t make you excited, you mean, you did find San very attractive and kind as well.

‘Lets just see how this goes..’

You walked back to the patio, opening the door gently, the bell alerting your arrival. There was no line like usual, so you had a clear shot from the door to the counter. San was behind the counter again as well, but his back was turned as he was finishing up some drinks for the few other customers inside. You approached the counter with a smile as you waited patiently for him to finish. He quickly turned around, not entirely too focused on who it was before him, but rather typing quickly on the Ipad. His voice was not in his usual tone as he started, “Thank you for waiting, what can I get started for you?”

You laughed brightly before moving yourself closer to the counter, his face being a few heads higher than your own so you could look up into his eyes,

“Hi San.”

San jumped back with a yelp, a few towers of paper cups falling with his flail, “Y/N? What are you doing here? Today? You showed up-er- here wow uh..” He stumbled over his words, a bright red flush dusting his cheeks. You couldn’t help the laugh that trickled out of your throat.

“I finally finished my midterms, sorry I wasn’t able to make it in sooner.” You apologized.

San shook his head quickly, “No no no don’t apologize it’s totally fine-” his hands nervously ran through his hair, pushing it back away from his forehead.

“I’m just glad-” he stopped to clear his throat, “I’m just glad you came back in.”

You smiled at that. San had a way of being so earnest, even at times like this.

“This time I am paying for my drink Mr.” you warned, already pulling out your card. San’s usual grin graced his features again as he held his hands up in surrender, “Fine you got me this time.”

You ordered another iced drink, and took a table near a large window within the shop, the sunlight not too harsh yet still warm against your skin. You heard footsteps approaching and you grinned, but looked curious when rather than San bringing your drink, it was Yeosang.

“Yeosang, hi.” You smiled. Yeosang gave you a polite smile as well, placing your drink down on the table as well as a warmed pastry.

“San got called into the back for a while, so he wanted me to bring this to you since he can’t come over and talk for awhile.” Yeosang said in his gentle voice. You laughed a bit at the situation, picturing in your mind no doubt San’s pouting face.

“Thank you very much Yeosang. Oh, and Irene wanted me to tell you she says hi.” The startled look on his face was perfect as he quickly excused himself back to the counter. You smiled and shook your head, pulling out your book to start your reading. Chapters in, you noticed the chair in front of you being pulled out. A tired San deflated once in the chair, allowing his head to hang back. You winced at the stiffness in your joints as you set your book down, watching the tired barista.

“Rough day?” you asked sympathetically, placing your chin on your hand. San shook his head as he sat up, leaning onto the table with his elbows. “Just busy. We’re training some new hires, so I have a lot to do.” He sighed but his smile easily came back.

“But I am glad you came by today.” He grinned. San’s eyes alway crinkled when he smiled like this, and he always had a laugh on his lips, in a way, you were a bit jealous he could uphold such an attitude. You both made small conversation, enjoying the time you guys finally had together. Before you knew it, the sun was beginning to set, casting the cafe in an orange hue.

Seonghwa emerged from the back, spotting you two chatting away at the table, “Sorry to interrupt but, it’s closing time guys!” He smiled, obviously eager to leave. Your eyes widened as you realized indeed, you were the last one in the establishment.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t realize-”

Seonghwa shook his head, “No you’re good. In fact since San was supposed to help me close, I’ll just have him walk you back to your dorm instead. I’d feel guilty just kicking you out like this.”

San whipped his head around, totally ecstatic over the fact one, he got to leave early, and two of course, walk you home.

“C’mon Y/n let's go!” He grinned, pulling your hand along with him. You laughed as you quickly collected your bag, giving a wave to Seonghwa.

The air outside was warm despite the night creeping in. You walked alongside San down the road to your university, an air of comfortable silence between you two.

“Why did you start working at the coffee shop?” You asked.

“It was always Seonghwa’s dream to have something like this, ever since we were in grade school. I just wanted to help make his dream..I don’t know a reality I guess?” San admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. You nodded, honestly in awe of such kind words.

“I’m sure he appreciates you very much.” You smiled up at him, causing him to turn away bashfully. He cleared his throat as he glanced back down at you, “Well I mean how about you? I want to know everything about you.”

The walk back to your dorm was filled with conversation with San, ranging from classes to hobbies and favorite foods. It was so easy to talk to him, you found yourself drawn into him with every word and you couldn’t ignore the fluttering of your heart anytime he said your name. Before you knew it, your dorm was in sight.

“Thanks again for walking me back. I appreciate San.” You smiled, toying with the strap of your bag.

“Of course! I didn’t want you to walk alone.” San grinned, slipping his hands into his pockets. The air grew stagnant, and both of you fidgeted in the silence, not quite wanting your time together to end.

“Y/n-”

“San-”

The two of your stopped, realizing you talked over each other so easily before breaking into giggling grins.

“You first.” San smiled.

“Well I just want you to know, I um...I really like hanging out with you!” You admitted, casting your eyes down to his shoes. “I really like hanging out with you, and I would like to keep hanging out with you. If you don’t feel the same way though I totally understand-”

“Can I kiss you?”

You stopped, your eyes quickly scanning up from the floor to San’s face, the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Can you what?”

San smiled, a boyish carefree smile, one that stirred butterflies in your stomach.

“Can I,” his hand found yours, holding it between the two of you, “kiss you?”

You felt yourself nodding before the words even escaped your mouth. San waited, his face only inches now form yours. His breath was shallow, and you found yourself a little giddy at how nervous he suddenly looked. He was only inches away.

“Yes, San-”

You were cut off by a gentle sensation on your lips. It was soft and tentative, like he was holding himself back. San’s hand cupped your cheek and your own hand rose to his chest. He pulled back, his breath light on your face.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as San chuckled, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you so naturally.

“I really like hanging out with you too, Y/n.”

Your face was pressed into his chest, the faint smell of coffee and pastries still lingering on him.

“But..” You could feel San shifting, leaning down so his face was closer to yours, “I’d rather hang out with you as your boyfriend.”

Your smile widened as you stared back at him, your hands softly travelling to hold his face. He gently leaned into your touch, his smile mirroring yours.

“I’d like that too.” You whispered back, your forehead resting against his. The two of you stayed like this, giggling and whispering between each other without care. Eventually San begrudgingly acknowledged he had to leave, but not without a few pouts.

“I’ll see you soon yeah?”

You nodded, your fingers slowly drifting apart.

“I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow.” You smiled, earning a large grin from San. It only took him two brisk steps to be in front of you again while you laughed.

“San you really gotta head home-”

“I just wanted to see you like this. One last time before I go.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Like how?” You watched as his hand returned to your cheek, stroking it gently.

“Smiling.”

“Smiling?”

“Smiling, because of me.”

On her trip, Irene grinned as she stared at her phone. It was a blurry selfie of you and San, looking all lovey dovey at the café, while half of Yeosangs face was in the frame.

‘Told you we’d get them together!’-Yeosang

Laughing she grinned and replied back.

‘About time :)’-Irene

#ateez #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #san imagine #san x reader #choi san #kpop imagines

43 notes · View notes

follow-your-fire · 3 years

Text

In your tender hands

Rating: Explicit/NC-17

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (Merlin)

Written for bottom Arthur fest 2020

@bottom-arthur

“You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”

“You did what?” Arthur nearly spits out his coffee, glaring daggers at his assistant.

Freya only rolls her eyes at the dramatic response. “You heard me. I booked you in for one hour when you take your break.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” He rubs at his eyes in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to squeeze a massage in? My break is one hour too, plus the commute, plus I want to have lunch.”

“You’re acting like I don’t know your schedule off the top of my head. How long have I been working for you?”

“Two years,” he replies automatically, taking a moment to appreciate the fact.

All in all, Freya is a wonderful assistant. Arthur knows she’s the only reason why he hasn’t had a mental breakdown yet. She’s punctual and diligent. Stubborn as hell and as ruthless as they come. It’s kind of a double-edged sword though. While she gets the job done - actually goes beyond her line of duty - she also takes great pleasure in bossing Arthur around. And of course, Arthur being the push-over he is, lets her get away with it.

So yeah, Freya is a godsent who saves Arthur from losing it on a daily basis. But she’s also the spawn of the Devil who loves to discover all the ways to drive him nuts.

“And four months,” she corrects. “So cut me some slack, Princess.”

Ignoring the jab - because really, Freya, it’s getting old - he comes back to his previous point of concern. “Then you should know that my schedule is fully packed today.”

“Not anymore,” she announces smugly, walking over to her desk to pick up the iPad before she returns to Arthur’s office. “I moved Masa to tomorrow at 11:15 and Cutforth to Friday at 2 pm, which gives you,” she does a quick count, “two hours and fifteen minutes for your break.” She closes the iPad, smiling victoriously. “Now, stop fretting and make sure you leave on time. I booked you for 12.:15. The commute is about fifteen minutes and you should be there at least five minutes in advance.” She grabs a pen and a post-it-note from his desk, scribbling quickly. “There,” she says, tearing the note off. “This is the address.”

“The enchanted cave,” he reads in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Shut up, Arthur. Merlin is the best there is. He put me back together after I lost my parents. He’s usually fully booked weeks in advance. You’re lucky that he has a soft spot for me and let me squeeze you in.”

Arthur turns more solemn at the mention of Freya’s parent’s untimely passing. It doesn’t make him any less confused, though.

“Sounds more like a shrink to me than a masseur,” he thinks out loud.

“He might as well be,” she laughs, affection evident in her voice, which softens Arthur’s irritation somewhat. “You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”

Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”

“I don’t have time for self-pampering,” he grumbles defensively.

“That’s exactly why you have to make the time!”

“That’s quite an oxymoron.”

“Shush.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Really, Arthur. You need to unwind.”

“I don’t-”

“Arthur,” she groans impatiently. “Go. Get. The. Massage. I’m gonna make sure you leave on time and I will check with Merlin that you actually turned up.”

“I think you’re confusing who’s the boss and who’s the subordinate here.”

“I think you’re full of shit and need to shut up and listen to someone smarter than you.” She turns on her heel and walks out of the office before Arthur has a chance to retort anything back. “Don’t be a prat, Arthur. For once in your life, do something nice for yourself.” And with that, she shuts the door behind her.

Arthur arrives at the place at 12:07, just in time to walk to the door as a woman walks out. He steps to the side, waiting for her to pass.

“Arthur?”

He snaps his head up from where he was blankly staring at the side-walk. “Oh. Hey, Mithian,” he greets when he recognizes one of his long-time friends.

“Don’t hey me and give me a proper hug hello,” she complains and doesn’t waste any time to rise on her tiptoes and wrap him in her arms. Arthur returns the hug with a smile on his face.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been great but how have you been? I haven’t heard from you in ages,” she scolds him gently.

“Been busy.”

“Aren’t you always,” she scoffs, sympathetic. “Nice to see you’re finally doing something for yourself,” she says, getting a confused look. “You’re coming for a massage, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am. My assistant made me.” Oh, shit. That shouldn’t have come out.

Predictably, Mithian bursts into giggles. “Figures.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, Arthur. Someone needs to look out for you if you don’t,” she explains, her eyes soft and a wave of affection washes over Arthur as he remembers his uni years and their brief but lovely time together as a couple.

Now that he thinks of it, Freya reminds him of Mithian a lot. It occurs to him he’s attracted to a certain type of person. Not necessarily in a romantic sense but more in general.

His sister is like that too. All fiery and strong-willed, calling Arthur names on a good day, but when it comes to it, she’s a protective mother-hen.

So is his best friend. Lance is usually calm and collected but doesn’t hesitate to call Arthur on his bullshit, in the most loving way, though. So does Gwen. Those two really rub off on each other.

What is it with him attracting people into his life who spend most of their time scolding or mothering him? He needs to look into it later.

“I still don’t see how this is supposed to help.” He shrugs indifferently.

“Oh, you’ll see. Just wait for it.” And good grief, she winks at him. “I need to get going. Let me know how it went. You have my number, right?” Arthur nods. “Great. Also, it wouldn’t kill you to get in touch here and there, you know?”

Sighing guiltily, he humors her. “I will.”

“You’d better. Okay, gotta go. Enjoy yourself!” She blows him a kiss and takes off.

He very much doubts he’s gonna enjoy himself but if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get to nap while the guy gets handsy with him. He could use an extra hour of sleep. God knows the five hours he’s come to consider his routine are not cutting it anymore.

He sighs in relief as he walks through the door to find a rather unassuming lobby. Given the name of the business, he expected the place to live up to its cringeiness but thankfully there are no tacky lights, no magical crystals scattered around, no candles in every corner, nor every surface. The only thing that can be considered a bit spiritual or whatever is the incense perched on the counter, right next to the business cards and leaflets. Thankfully, the scent is very subtle and doesn’t trigger a headache.

“Good afternoon! You must be Arthur,” says a voice to his left and Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin. He didn’t even notice anyone in the room with him.

As he looks over in the direction the voice came from, he finds a man, presumably his masseur - Mark, Matt? - standing in the door leading to what Arthur guesses is the massage room.

“Oh. Hey. Yeah, that would be me.” He turns to face the man, straightening his back. He must look out of place, clad in his suit, still wearing his tie.

The man approaches him with a smile. “I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you, finally. Freya talks about you quite a bit.”

Arthur reaches to grasp his hand when Merlin offers it, giving it a firm shake. “Don’t believe anything the little minx lets out of her mouth.” He attempts a joke, hoping his discomfort at being told his assistant talks about him is not too obvious.

He must succeed because Merlin is throwing his head back with a laugh. “She said you would say that,” he teases. “That’s alright. I like to make up my own mind.”

Arthur withdraws his hand and gives him a stiff smile. Outside of work, he has no idea how to make a decent conversation. Not upon the first meeting anyway.

Tilting his head inquiringly, Merlin asks, “You seem quite tense. Is everything alright?”

“It’s just... Look. I know you’re busy, Freya said so. And I appreciate you making time for me. But,” he huffs, knowing he’s gonna sound like a jerk no matter how he phrases it, “I don’t really care for massage much but Freya insisted. She can be fucking scary sometimes. Don’t tell her that though! And I just... I feel really out of place, okay?”

He expects to see Merlin’s expression sour, thinking Arthur is just a pompous douche. He wouldn’t even blame him. But, to his bewilderment, the man’s face is nothing but open, not a single trace of judgement.

“I won’t, I promise,” he says with humor. “If you don’t mind me asking - have you had a bad experience in the past?”

“More like no experience at all.”

For the first time, Merlin looks caught off guard. “You never had a massage?”

“No. I just never saw the point. And anyway, I don’t really have time to spare. The only reason I’m here is that Freya did some magic with my schedule and cleared it up enough to give me two hours off today.”

“Oh.” Merlin suddenly perks up. “In that case, I’d like to show you some of my magic, if you let me.”

Arthur’s brain short-circuits for a moment. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Or is he so tired he started hallucinating? Plus, his dry spell of six months is probably not helping either.

“Um... I... magic?”

“Yeah, you know...” Merlin sweeps his hand over the lobby. “The enchanted cave? Seems fitting?”

“Oh.” Arthur chokes out. “Right. Right...”

“Oh God, I just realized how cheesy that sounds,” Merlin reflects with a hint of embarrassment. “Anyway, I should stop talking. You didn’t come here for a chat, after all.” He steps to the side, gesturing towards the massage room. “I’d just finished setting it up before you came in, so it’s all ready for you.”

Arthur gets the hint and with a deep breath, he makes his way to the room. Unlike the lobby, it’s bathed in a soft yellow light and.... yup, those are candles alright. No crystals, though.

Merlin is right on his heels. “I’ll let you undress in private, to your level of comfort.You can hang your clothes here, or you can just fold them and put them on this chair.” He gestures to the chair in the corner. “After that, lie down on the massage table, on your stomach, this way around. You see the sheet over there? That’s for you to cover yourself with. I’ll be back in a few minutes when you’re ready. Do you have any questions? Requests?”

So many questions. He goes with the most concerning one. “Yeah, um, when you say my level of comfort...” He cuts himself off. Thankfully, Merlin picks up on it.

“Whatever works for you, really. I can even massage you with your clothes on, although...” He gives Arthur a quick once-over, “I can’t imagine it would be comfortable for you.”

Yeah, no. Definitely not. And he has to go back to work after and he’s sure that showing up in a wrinkled suit would earn him a few judgmental looks.

“But really, it’s up to you. You can keep your clothes on, or just your underwear. If you’d prefer to be completely naked, that works too.”

Arthur hopes the dim lighting of the room conceals his blush. There’s no reason why a man of 32 years should blush at the thought of being naked.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Merlin echoes with an encouraging smile. “Be back soon.”

Arthur releases a relieved breath when Merlin closes the door behind him. This whole thing is even more awkward than he expected. Merlin seems like an alright bloke, if a bit odd but Arthur supposes that comes with the job. He seems nice though, with all the reassurances and effort he put into making sure Arthur is comfortable.

He wonders how many male clients Merlin gets. So far, he knows that Freya and Mithian are swept away by him. Although it’s hard to tell if it’s because of his supposedly outstanding massage skills or his looks.

He groans internally and maybe even a bit out loud. Nope, don’t even go there. No hitting on your masseur. Yeah, that wouldn’t end well. Not with Merlin about to spend the next hour gliding his large hands over Arthur’s whole body.

A shiver runs down his spine and in an attempt to push his thoughts away, he begins undressing, starting with his tie. He hangs his jacket and shirt on the hanger by the door and the rest he puts on the chair, just as Merlin instructed. In no time, he’s standing there clad only in his underwear, debating whether to leave that on or not.

To hell with it. Merlin must have seen it all already.

He ends up ridding himself of his briefs too, face going aflame as he adds them to the pile on the chair and rushes to climb onto the table, settling on his stomach and doing his best to arrange the sheet Merlin provided for him so it covers him as much as possible.

A minute or two pass with him fidgeting in his position. Whether it’s from discomfort or nerves, he doesn’t know, but then Merlin is knocking gently on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah,” he calls hoarsely, grateful Merlin can’t see his face.

The door clicks open and Merlin walks into the room, speaking from somewhere to Arthur’s left. “You probably already figured but one hour allows for a full body massage. Is that alright with you? Or do you want me to forgo any areas? Or spend some more time on a specific one?”

Logically, Arthur knows these are all valid questions but they do nothing to help him relax. More like the opposite.

“Um, no, that’s... you can do whatever you want.”

“Alright. Any contraindications I should know about?”

“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.” Oh God, what did I just say? Stop trying to be funny, Arthur!

It draws a boisterous laugh from Merlin, easing some of Arthur’s tension. “Thanks for clarifying,” he says, catching his breath. “Any injuries?”

“No. I twisted my ankle playing football, but that was years ago.”

“Okay, good.” There is some rustling and thumping, then Merlin speaks again. “Do you care for any specific scent? I’ve got a variety of essential oils, energizing or calming. I have a special blend for stress relief if you’d be interested.”

Arthur winces a little at the fact he’s so easy to read. “Um... sure. But maybe not too much? I still need to go back to work after this.”

“Duly noted,” Merlin promises and busies himself with what Arthur assumes is mixing the oils or something.

Thankfully, he doesn’t take long, preventing Arthur from driving himself into a frenzy. He doesn’t know why he’s so flustered about all of this. So he never had a massage, so what? People do it all the time.

It’s just then that he notices that music is playing but it’s so soft it could almost escape his hearing. He focuses on listening in hopes of distracting himself.

“Okay, I’m all set. I’ll start with dry massage, working my way down from your shoulders. That alright with you?”

Yeah, he never had a massage but he’s pretty sure that asking for affirmation every two minutes isn’t how this usually works. It occurs to him that Merlin is doing this only for him.

He’s equal parts irritated and touched by it.

“Yeah.”

Gently, Merlin places his hands on his shoulders over the sheet. It’s just a simple touch, not even on his bare skin, but Arthur swears he can feel the heat of Merlin’s hands seeping into his own body and spreading throughout. He suppresses a sigh.

“I’ll start with medium pressure. Let me know if it’s too much or if you’d like me to go harder.”

Arthur hopes the whimper that makes it past his lips is not very audible. He clears his throat to cover it up.

Merlin doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses his hands into the tense muscles of Arthur’s upper back, finding all the right spots from the get go.

A guttural groan escapes Arthur before he knows it.

“Too much?” Merlin asks, stilling his movement.

“N-no. No, it’s... it’s good. Just didn’t... expect it.”

“Good. Let me know if it changes.”

He stays on that area for a few minutes, lingering when he finds a sensitive spot, working out the kink. It’s a curious combination of pain-pleasure and Arthur is not sure if that’s what it’s supposed to feel like, but he knows it leaves him all pliant and floaty, so it’s probably alright.

Merlin makes his way down the spine, to his lower back, then goes back up and pays the same attention to his arms and hands.

He walks around the table and starts working on the legs.

Arthur releases a shuddering breath. He just had a leg-day in the gym yesterday and damn, can he feel it. Merlin’s touch is like a balm on his sore muscles and he exhales as pain gives way to relief.

It’s not long before Merlin comes back to the head of the table, hands grasping at the sheet.

“I’ll move onto the oil part now, yeah?”

“Okay.” At this point, Arthur will take anything. Why has he never done this before?

Merlin pulls the sheet down to his lower back, folding it over and leaving his back and arms exposed. The air of the room is not chilly by any means but Arthur shudders all the same.

There is a slick sound as Merlin covers his hands with oil before bringing them to Arthur’s shoulders again, spreading the oil over the whole expanse of his back and arms. Although the pressure is not as hard now, with the oil easing the way, Arthur finds this part even more intense, Merlin’s touch nearly searing without any barrier between them.

He glides his palms, fingers and forearms over Arthur’s back with long, confident strokes, then switches to short, firmer ones, alternating between the two.

Arthur’s vaguely aware he’s all but melting on the spot, feeling almost detached from his body despite every nerve ending being on fire.

At some point as Merlin rubs at the tense muscles of his neck, he slides his hands into Arthur’s hair, at the base of his skull, rubbing in circular motions.

This time, it’s definitely a whimper that Arthur lets out, blushing furiously.

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Arthur,” Merlin instructs in a gentle voice. “You carry a lot of tension here. Plenty of people do but you even more so. Just let go.”

Against his better judgment, he does just that. As Merlin’s hands continue their ministrations, he lets out a series of little huffs and whimpers, unable to stop himself when he starts.

“That’s it. Just let go,” Merlin repeats and puts more force behind his touch, making Arthur’s noises grow in volume.

He both welcomes and mourns the loss when Merlin’s hands leave him in order to grab a hot towel and wipe the remaining layer of oil from his back before covering him with the sheet again.

“I’ll move to your legs now, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He’s surprised when Merlin touches his shoulder, prompting him to lift his head. “Since I’m finished with your back, you can have a pillow if you want. It might be more comfortable for you.”

Arthur doesn’t object in the slightest, taking the pillow Merlin’s holding and resting his right cheek on it, sliding his hands underneath. Yeah, much more comfortable.

“Thanks,” he mumbles almost sleepily and hears Merlin chuckle.

“You’re very welcome.”

Then, Merlin is exposing his left leg, tucking the sheet in the space between his legs and over his hip, revealing his left butt-cheek in the process. He doesn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed.

Merlin doesn’t waste time before coating his hands with oil again and bringing them to Arthur’s leg. He starts with his feet, then moves to his calf, then thigh until he’s worked all the way to his bum.

Arthur nearly jack-knives from the table as Merlin’s thumb presses into the middle of his cheek.

“Sorry! Was it too much?”

Arthur presses his face into the pillow to hide his flush. “I... ugh... I just... didn’t expect... that.”

“Oh,” Merlin quips. “I can skip that part.”

Jesus, Arthur, stop being such a sissy. It’s just a massage. A professional massage.

“It’s fine. You just... surprised me.”

“Sorry about that,” he says genuinely and resumes the massage, albeit more tentative than before.

Now that the initial shock is over, Arthur begins to appreciate the attention Merlin’s paying to that particular part of his body. He never knew how tense he was in... well.... there.

He whines a little when Merlin presses his thumb into a tender spot.

“Shit. I would’ve thought that going to the gym four times a week would make up for sitting on my ass several hours every day,” he grumbles more to himself.

“I think you’re doing an excellent job at the gym,” Merlin replies with humor, then promptly freezes, Arthur following suit. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. That was... very inappropriate. I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. Not that you don’t have a nice ass. I mean... oh shit,” he starts panicking, removing his hands from Arthur’s body. Funny enough, witnessing Merlin freak out makes Arthur strangely relaxed.

He responds with a huff. “Take it easy, Merlin. I appreciate the compliment. You can continue.”

“Are you... are you sure?” Merlin asks tentatively.

“I’m sure. You like my ass, so what? I’ve been working hard on it.”

Merlin laughs, a bit nervous, a bit relieved, and eventually listens, resuming the massage on the other leg, starting from his foot again.

Maybe the whole exchange should make everything weird but strangely enough, Arthur is even more relaxed than he was before. The realization that Merlin is only human, with no filter it seems, making it easier.

Merlin hesitates when he works his way up to Arthur’s bum again, but with no complaint in sight, he repeats what he did on the other leg.

When he’s done, he steps to the side of the table and lifts the sheet off of Arthur, holding it in front of himself like a screen. “Can you turn over, Arthur?”

Arthur gathers all his strength to prop on his forearms with the intention to do just that, but stills momentarily.

“Arthur?” Merlin questions when nothing happens.

“I... um....” Well, shit. How did I not notice I was sporting a semi?!

“What’s wrong?”

“I... might have a... situation,” he admits, face burning.

At first, Merlin is silent, then the realization dawns on him. “Oh. I see. That’s fine, Arthur. It happens more often than not,” he reassures but it doesn’t help much.

“But I... God, this is embarrassing,” he hides his face in his hands.

“I understand why you would think that, but I promise it’s alright. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just a natural reaction.”

It takes some more prompting but eventually, Arthur flips onto his back and closes his eyes as Merlin drapes the sheet over him again, the outline of his half-hard dick painfully visible.

“I can fetch you a blanket if it makes you feel better?”

“If you don’t mind,” he squeezes out without opening his eyes, only doing so when Merlin hands him the blanket and he rushes to throw it over his lower half. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”

He dares a look at Merlin and finds him smiling in empathy. “Not at all. It’s no big deal, Arthur.” He reaches for a bottle of oil and puts his hands on Arthur’s arm. “Just lie back and relax.”

Arthur does his best to do just that while Merlin massages his arm and hand before switching to the other one.

By the time he’s finished with them, Arthur’s calmed down considerably and, thank fuck for that, the embarrassment was enough to have killed any interest his dick might have taken in the situation.

He expects Merlin to announce the massage has come to an end when he finishes wiping his arms with a hot towel, but to his surprise, Merlin slides a chair behind him, sitting himself down, hands coming to cradle Arthur’s head. Arthur lifts it automatically, assuming that’s what Merlin wants him to do.

“You just relax, Arthur. Don’t help me by holding your head up. I’ll manage.”

It’s not an easy thing to trust someone not to drop your head but Merlin is nothing but cautious as he maneuvers it around to get to the spot he’s aiming for and Arthur finds himself giving up control completely. Head massage doesn’t sound like anything special but to his bewilderment, it’s the most relaxing thing ever. At some point, he even starts dozing off. At least he thinks he does because he nearly jumps out of his skin when Merlin says his name.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” he snaps his eyes open, looking up at Merlin upside down, seeing the other man smiling fondly.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“N-no?” he stutters, cheeks growing pink.

“Of course,” Merlin says in the way that screams he doesn’t believe him but humors him anyway. “Well, I’m all done here. How are you feeling?”

“Weirdly disconnected from my body,” he says with a grunt, attempting to sit up. “Shit, I don’t know how I’ll get any work done for the rest of the day.”

“What time do you finish?”

“Officially? Around five. Actually? Seven. Sometimes eight.”

“God, that’s disgusting.”

“You have no idea.”

“Thankfully, I don’t,” he agrees. “I’ll let you get dressed. Meet me in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?”

“Okay.”

It’s with sloth speed that Arthur puts his clothes on. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of Merlin’s busy schedule and can only hope he’s not stalling.

He squints at the bright light of the lobby when he emerges from the massage room. When his eyes adjust, he spots Merlin walking towards him with a glass of water. “Here, have some water.”

“Thanks,” he accepts without objection, just because he’s barely standing. He doesn’t know what Merlin’s done to him but it feels like his body doesn’t even belong to him. He has no idea how he’s gonna drive back to work without driving himself into a street-lamp.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks when he’s chugged down the whole glass, reaching for his wallet.

“Oh. It’s already paid for. Freya used your credit card when she booked you in.”

Arthur blinks at him blankly. How dare Freya pay for something that Arthur hadn’t even agreed to yet?!

Yeah, as if she would ever take a no for an answer.

He sighs, pulling out a twenty pound bill regardless. “She would, wouldn’t she. That little shit,” he grumbles under his breath. “At least let me tip you,” he holds a hand with the bill to Merlin.

“Actually, she included the tip, too,” he says sheepishly, giving Arthur a crooked smile.

“Bloody hell,” he huffs indignantly, then takes a deep breath. “Whatever. Just take it.”

“But-”

“Merlin. Take. It. You’ve done a great job,” he insists, holding eye contact.

Merlin still hesitates at first but resigns eventually. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Okay. Thank you, Arthur,” he smiles appreciatively as he accepts the money. He bites his lip, seemingly in thought, then turns around and plucks one business card from the pile on the desk, grabs a pen and writes something down. “Here,” he turns to Arthur, holding the card to him. “If you ever feel like coming back for another massage.”

Arthur takes the card, noticing that Merlin wrote another number on in besides the one already printed. “Thanks but... I’m sure Freya has the number.”

“This is my personal number,” Merlin explains and Arthur’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m not always able to pick up the phone here but if you text me on my personal number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, that’s very... um... I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Merlin mumbles, fidgety. Arthur finds it both amusing and confusing.

“Well, I should get going. Thank you again.”

“Oh! Of course, don’t let me keep you,” he rushes to say. “See you next time?”

“Yeah.” As non-committal as he sounds, he finds he means it. Something’s telling him he’ll be back sooner or later. Probably sooner.

“Take care of yourself, Arthur,” Merlin calls as Arthur opens the door on his way out and his heart skips a beat at the genuine tone.

He turns around to give the man one last smile before the door shuts behind him.

“So? How was it?” Freya advances on him as soon as he comes back. He slumps into his chair, sitting upright when Freya places a box of takeout in front of him.

“Fine.” Freya is not impressed. “It was good, okay?” he adds, opening the box to reveal his all-time favorite pad thai and all but inhales the food.

“Told you,” she says smugly, ignoring Arthur’s glare. “Gonna go again?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s convincing.”

“Shut it, Freya,” he shoots back. “I got his business card. I’ll give him a call when I feel like it.”

“I can do that for you.”

“Nope, thanks. I’m sure I can manage to make a phone-call myself, even without an intervention of my obnoxious assistant.”

Freya throws a balled-up napkin at him. “Ungrateful prat,” she retorts and stomps out of his office.

“I heard that!”

Arthur lasts exactly four days and two hours before giving in and taking Merlin up on his offer to text him on his personal number to book another appointment. He didn’t expect to snap so quickly but after waking up the next day after his massage, refreshed and chirpy, feeling as though he had a brand new body - who could blame him, really.

Hey, Merlin. It’s Arthur. I was wondering if you had a slot available this week?

There, simple and straight to the point. Freya said that Merlin is usually booked out weeks in advance but asking never hurt anybody.

His phone chimes with an incoming message about ten minutes later.

Hi, Arthur! Nice to hear from you again. :)

Sure thing. Did you have a specific day and time in mind?

Nope, he didn’t. He was willing to adjust his schedule just to squeeze in an hour.

Not really. Freya implied that you’re usually fully booked so I thought I’d leave that up to you.

She’s over-exaggerating ;) I can make time.

Oh, God, he’s one of those people. Emojis and shit.

Oh. Okay, then. Thursday work for you?

It does :) What time?

This is... unexpectedly easy. He should have never let Freya bullshit him. But that’s what she does. She’d do anything to get her way and make Arthur do whatever she wants. No Christmas bonus for her this year!

Is 6pm too late?

As a matter of fact, he never finishes before six. Hell, he never finishes before seven. But maybe his friends are right. Maybe he should make time for himself once in a while. It won’t kill him, will it?

Thought you didn’t finish work until ungodly hour :D

He’s already typing out a reply but Merlin beats him to it with another message.

And it’s not too late. I’ll write you down for 6, then ;)

Oh. That easy, huh?

Thank you, he sends first, then rushes to add an explanation. I can make an exception once in a while. He hesitates with the next part but decides to throw caution to the wind, just this time. It’s worth it.

He regrets it as soon as he hits send, but doesn’t get a chance to wallow in it for too long before Merlin’s reply comes.

Oh no, now there are expectations I need to live up to :O

Jk. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself last time. See you Thursday ;)

Red to the tips of his ears, he types out a quick see you before pocketing his phone, busying himself with the remaining paperwork in hopes it will calm down his racing heart.

He’s not that lucky.

On Thursday, he wraps up his work just before 5:30, hoping it’s enough time to get through the traffic.

It is, as it turns out.Though he’s cutting it close, parking the car just two minutes before six.

“Sorry, I underestimated the traffic,” he rushes to apologize when he bursts through the door, finding Merlin lounging peacefully on the sofa, swiping through his phone.

As soon as Merlin lifts his eyes to meet Arthur’s, his whole face lights up with a wide smile. “Hey! No problem at all. You’re my last massage for today, so no rush.”

“Thanks but it’s already late. I don’t wanna keep you any more than needed.”

Merlin dismisses his worries with a wave of a hand. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble. Come on in,” he smiles encouragingly and Arthur dutifully follows him to the massage room. It looks exactly the same but Arthur feels much more at ease than last time, now that he’s familiar with it.

“Thank you again for finding time for me,” he says gratefully because it feels like he hasn’t said it enough.

It earns him an indulgent smile. “I was happy to do it. It’s no trouble, really,” Merlin repeats and Arthur takes the hint.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes. “You know the drill by now, right? I’ll be back in a few.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Merlin nods his head in acknowledgement, leaving the room to give Arthur privacy.

Similarly to last time, Arthur hangs his suit and shirt and folds the rest of his clothes, laying face down on the table and covering himself with the sheet. As promised, Merlin knocks on the door a couple minutes later, entering when Arthur gives him a go-ahead.

“Any requests today?”

He suppresses the urge to crack an inappropriate joke. “Not really. Same as last time is good.”

“Alright,” says Merlin and he starts the massage exactly in the same way he did last time, humming appreciatively when he rubs at Arthur’s shoulders.

“You’re not nearly as tense as before. Both literally and figuratively,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “I felt really good when I woke up the next day. All loose and relaxed.” He clears his throat, cringing at his wording. “And I was just nervous because it was my first time, I guess. Now that I know the ropes, it’s easy to just...”

“Let go?” Merlin finishes for him and... is that smugness he hears?

“Y-yeah,” he replies, feeling silly all of sudden.

“I’m glad to hear that. Glad I could help.”

“Me too.”

They remain silent after that. While Merlin doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary - or rather, anything that would be different to last time - Arthur can sense a shift in the energy in the room. In Merlin. In himself. He might be imagining it but he would swear that Merlin’s hands... linger - which is kinda a stupid thing to say, this is a massage after all, touch is a crucial component here - but... yeah... that’s what it feels like.

Every touch of Merlin’s hands on his body feels amplified, Arthur nearly vibrating in response to... he has no idea what he’s responding to. He only knows it feels good.

It feels right.

When Merlin asks him to flip onto his back, he’s relieved to find that the humiliating experience from last time is not gonna be repeated - no awkward boners today, ladies and gentlemen!

He hisses through his teeth when Merlin presses into a tender spot of his arm.

Merlin’s immediately apologetic. “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive here.”

“ ‘s fine,” he mumbles drowsily. “I might have overdone it in the gym today.”

“When did you have time to go to the gym?”

“Before work. Around five.”

“God, that’s disgusting. Why would you do that?” Merlin sounds truly appalled which only amuses Arthur.

“I’m too tired by the time I finish work. At least this way, I get a bit of a boost in the morning.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“Shut up, Merlin. Without the gym, I wouldn’t have the ass you like so much.”

He snaps his eyes open in panic and finds Merlin gaping at him in shock.

“I... I did not... ugh...”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that, I swear! I’m just really tired, basically falling asleep. I just talk shit when I’m like that.”

Forget the boner. This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him.

Funnily enough, his stammering helps Merlin fight through his shock and now he’s more entertained than anything.

“No filter, huh? I can relate,” he brushes the whole thing off and resumes massaging over Arthur’s arm, softer this time and Arthur would moan appreciatively at the soothing effect the touch has on his sore muscles but given his previous faux pas, he doesn’t think it’s the right time for it.

Merlin works his way down to his hand, paying special attention to the spot at the base of his thumb that is always so stiff after spending hours and hours every day typing on his laptop.

A weird thing happens after that. Same as the last time, Merlin slides his fingers in between Arthur’s, squeezing and pulling until he hears a cracking sound of the joints. That is all well and good but instead of pulling away, he remains with their fingers interlaced. It almost feels... almost feels like they are holding hands.

Arthur opens his eyes again to give Merlin a questioning look but Merlin is staring at their joined hands instead, an expression on his face that Arthur can’t really decipher but if he were to guess, he would almost call it... longing.

Merlin must realize what he’s doing because his eyes widen as they lock onto Arthur’s, panicked and so blue.

“Sorry!” he blurts out, pulling away and ducking his head as he makes his way to the other side to repeat the process on the other hand.

Arthur feels the air around them grow thicker. He doesn’t know what happened exactly and doesn’t dare ask.

He can tell Merlin keeps himself in check as he finishes with his other side and it’s not long before he moves to the head massage.

After all of that, it’s really hard for Arthur to relax but he does his best as to not make things even more awkward.

He’s equally relieved and disappointed when Merlin’s hands disappear, signaling that their session has come to an end.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?” Merlin asks stiffly.

“Okay,” Arthur agrees, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding when Merlin shuts the door behind him.

Since he knows he doesn’t have to rush because he was the last client today, he takes his time putting the clothes on and mentally prepares himself for facing Merlin in a few moments.

It takes all of his courage to maintain eye contact when he leaves the room, coming to the desk where Merlin’s already waiting for him with a glass of water.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t finish the whole glass, his stomach too unsettled for that and pulls out his wallet.

“I know for sure Freya didn’t pay in advance since I booked the massage myself this time,” he comments in what he hopes is a light-hearted tone. It works because it draws a chuckle from Merlin.

“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, going quiet again but shaking himself off at Arthur’s expectant look. “Oh! Sorry, it’s seventy pounds.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow in surprise. While he wouldn’t know anything about the regular massage price, it doesn’t seem too much considering how popular Merlin is. According to Freya, anyway.

He plucks out two fifty dollar bills and hands them over. Merlin blinks at him in confusion. “Um... that’s a bit--”

“Just take it. You deserve it. You’re good and you went far and beyond to make time for me even at the late hour.”

“It was no tr--”

“Merlin, will you shut up and take the bloody money?” he nearly whines at the man’s stubbornness, relieved when Merlin eventually gives in.

“You’re so bossy,” he shakes his head almost fondly.

“Goes with the territory. I’m the CEO after all.”

“In that case, that was a lousy tip for a CEO.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

And just like that, the tension has disappeared and they are back to their easy banter.

“I’m just teasing,” Merlin reassures unnecessarily, a dopey smile still in place. “Let me know if you wanna do this again, yeah?” He sounds unsure, although why, Arthur has no idea.

“Actually, if you really don’t mind, could we make it a weekly thing?”

“Oh,” Merlin says with surprise. “Sure. Thursday again? Or do you want a different day?”

“Thursday is good. Six o’clock?”

“Yeah. Yeah, works for me.”

“Brilliant,” Arthur smiles back. “I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Looking forward to it.” The way Merlin’s face softens further shouldn’t make Arthur’s stomach do flip-flops but for some reason, it does.

Oh, no. Abort, abort!

“Yeah. See you,” he mumbles and all but runs to his car.

Arthur lets out a girly squeal when Freya slams a pile of papers onto his desk.

“Why haven’t you gone see Merlin again?” she asks accusingly and... wait, what?

“Excuse me?”

“I thought you liked the massage. That you felt better after. I thought you’d go back.”

Well, not that it’s any of her business but...

“I’ve been like four more times since,” he argues back, watching Freya’s furious expression turn confused.

“No, you haven’t. There’s no way you could have altered your schedule yourself without me noticing.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, annoyed that he, the fucking CEO, has to explain himself to his assistant. “Yes, I have. I’m going today, actually. I go every Thursday after work. Well, I finish early, so I can be there at six. Which, by the way, you could have done the first time around. I truly don’t understand why you’d rather mess with my appointments to get me a rushed massage on my break instead of simply booking one in the evening.”

If anything, Freya grows even more confused. “You’re lying.”

Arthur positively bristles at the insult. “I’m not!”

“You so are. Merlin doesn’t work evenings. And he doesn’t work weekends. His last bookings are for 4 o’clock. Hence why I had to book you for your break.”

He’s already preparing a come-back to defend himself when the words finally sink in. He snaps his mouth shut.

Then why... why did Merlin agree to Thursday evenings? That doesn’t make any sense.

“Are you sure you’ve got that right?” he asks instead because... because if it’s true, it puts many things into perspective.

Like the fact that Merlin literally beams every time Arthur shows up.

Or the fact that his touch seems to linger, seems to grow more and more intense with every visit. Like he’s enjoying touching Arthur.

At first, Arthur thought it was just his imagination, but upon checking the time when he got to his car only to find Merlin had extended the massage by at least ten or fifteen minutes, it was obvious that he wasn’t making it up.

Most importantly, it would explain why Merlin started texting Arthur randomly, usually on Fridays to ask how he was doing, if he felt alright and so on.

It would even explain why he would sometimes text on the weekend too.

It did not explain why Arthur indulged in the texting.

It did not explain why it was the highlight of his days.

“I’m sure,” Freya replies, confirming his growing suspicion. When he doesn’t react, she turns concerned. “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

She hesitates. “You’re not lying.” A statement, not a question, but he still answers it.

“No.”

“Oh,” she breathes, out of words.

“Do you...” He clears his throat. “Do you know why Merlin would make an exception for me?”

The glint in her eyes suggests that she might have a good idea about that, but doesn’t say so. “I think you should ask Merlin that.”

Yeah. Yeah, he should.

He will.

“You seem very... serious today. What happened?”

“Why did you agree on 6pm Thursdays?” he asks directly before he loses the nerve.

“Huh?” Merlin blinks at him.

“Freya told me you don’t do evenings. Why would you let me impose on your time?” God, he feels so stupid.

“Oh,” says Merlin. “Well, first of all, you’re not imposing.”

“But-”

“Second, working for yourself has a lot of perks. Like that I can do with my time as I see fit.”

“So you decided to spend it on me.”

“More like spend it with you.”

Spend it with-- oh. Oh.

“What? Why?”

Unexpectedly, Merlin snorts. “You don’t know?”

No. No he doesn’t.

“No.”

“Oh, my, you’re a right dumbass.”

“Excuse you?!”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, apparently running out of patience. “I simply like you, okay? At first, I agreed because you seemed like you could use some relaxation. Quite a bit of it, really.”

Arthur bites his lip, hesitating with the next question. “And then?”

Merlin sighs, shoulders sagging almost in defeat. “And then I just liked seeing you.”

Arthur takes in a shaky breath, both startled and excited by the admission. “Why didn’t you just ask me out, then?”

Merlin laughs, but there’s very little humor in it. “That’s hardly professional, Arthur.”

“That’s what worried you?”

“Of course it did! It does! Jesus, Arthur, you have no idea,” he shakes his head, “no idea how much I have to hold myself back when I have my hands all over you.”

Arthur swallows audibly, noticing for the first time how dry his throat has gotten. Well, here goes nothing.

”What if... what if I don’t want you to hold back?”

Merlin stares at him with his mouth hanging open, his gaze roaming over Arthur’s face in search of something. Probably a confirmation.

“Arthur, that’s not--”

“It’s 6:02,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“It’s two minutes past six. You should have started with the massage by now.”

Initially, Merlin doesn’t respond, looking as though Arthur’s talking in a different language. When Arthur holds his eyes, hoping to prove his point, he resigns on any further arguments.

“Come on in then,” he instructs tiredly and Arthur follows him to the room. He’s shedding his jacket even before they get there. He hangs it and starts taking off his tie just as Merlin turns around to face him.

“Okay, I’ll let you--” He cuts himself off when Arthur pulls the tie over his head, throwing it on the chair and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Don’t bother,” he says, too pleased with himself when Merlin stays rooted to the spot, openly staring.

“Uh...” Is all he manages when Arthur gets rid of the shirt, exposing his chest (which - it’s not like Merlin’s never seen it before anyway) and begins working his belt and trousers open. Soon, he’s pulling them down together with his briefs, stepping out of his shoes in the meantime.

As he straightens up, completely naked, he takes a few seconds to appreciate the way Merlin looks at him, his jaw practically hitting the floor. Lips twisting into a smug smile, he turns to the table to climb on it, settling on his stomach as he does every time, except now he doesn’t bother covering himself up with a sheet.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he calls with barely concealed amusement when Merlin doesn’t move an inch.

“Uh... yeah. Yeah, let me just...” he stutters, reaching for the sheet.

“Leave it.”

“W-what?”

“No point.”

“But--”

“Merlin,” Arthur says darkly, “leave it.”

Thank fuck, Merlin actually listens and abandons the sheet in favor of grabbing a bottle of oil, pouring some in his hands with trembling fingers.

“Arthur...” he tries one more time, hesitant.

“Merlin,” Arthur returns. “Shut up.”

He hears Merlin exhale shakily and then, the familiar sensation of oil-slicked hands takes over all of his senses. He sighs in relief when the touch causes his body to go completely lax as it always does.

Merlin’s hands are unusually tentative, like he’s still not sure he’s got Arthur’s permission to touch him - like this - after what he admitted to him. It’s for that reason that Arthur starts making deliberate noises of pleasure, humming softly, or outright groaning and moaning when Merlin arrives to a particularly sensitive spot.

Above him, Merlin begins making noises of his own, but he sounds more pained than anything. Out of curiosity, Arthur turns his head to the side to peer at Merlin, just to be able to see what expression is on his face right now.

He doesn’t get that far because all of his attention is stolen by the very visible, very prominent bulge pressing against the front of Merlin’s trousers.

“Shit,” he utters before he can stop himself, feeling his dick twitch helplessly where it’s almost squashed between his body and the table.

Immediately, Merlin freezes on the spot, his breath hitching.

“I... Arthur...”

Arthur lets out another moan at witnessing Merlin’s obvious desire for him and returns his head to the previous position.

“You can do my legs now,” he says suggestively, but it sounds more like an order. For a moment, nothing happens. Merlin doesn’t withdraw his hands but he doesn’t move either. Arthur is about to impatiently prompt him to action but in the end, Merlin goes willingly, moving around the table until he’s standing at Arthur’s feet.

He covers his left leg with oil and proceeds to massage it from the foot up, almost as if nothing unusual is happening.

It’s not until he makes his way past the knee, to the hamstrings and inner thigh, that Arthur feels him falter, the pressure letting off and in a desperate attempt to urge Merlin on, he spreads his legs further apart.

Behind him, Merlin makes a choked off sound, his grip on Arthur’s thigh tightening.

“A-Arthur,” he says like a prayer and Arthur feels himself grow harder the lower Merlin’s voice drops.

“Go on,” he orders and this time, Merlin recovers faster, sparing barely a few seconds before he starts rubbing his thigh in circular motion, slowly working his way up, up, all the way to his ass - his very exposed ass.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, barely audible, but Arthur hears him all the same. He knows what he’s asking and in lieu of an answer, he digs his knees into the table to push his hip up and back, groaning when the movement provides friction to his now fully erect cock.

“Do it,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.”

Merlin makes an indescribable sound and then his slick fingers are dipping tentatively between his cheeks, brushing against his entrance.

Arthur feels his pulse quicken, heat spreading throughout his whole body at the single touch.

“Gods, Arthur, the sounds you make...” Merlin praises, rubbing at his opening in tiny circles.

“Merlin,” he returns, attempting to spread his legs further apart. Merlin all but growls at the display and then he’s bending over to pepper kisses over Arthur’s naked shoulders, even as his fingers press against him more insistently.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Arthur,” he mumbles into his skin and Arthur trembles at the soft-spoken words.

“Fuck me,” he moans, hitching his hips up. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Shit, Arthur, you can’t just.... can’t just say stuff like that.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just hurry up and get on with it,” he tries to sound irritated but it falls flat when a whine is torn out of his throat as Merlin enters him with one finger.

“Shit. Shit...”

“Payback,” Merlin laughs, kissing just behind his ear.

“Merlin, I swear to God...”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” he retorts with fondness and starts pumping the finger in and out.

Satisfied when Merlin actually listens, Arthur is able to relax again, offering himself to Merlin’s skilled hands.

He is nothing but gentle as he works Arthur open, adding more oil before a second finger joins the first, then a third one.

Under him, Arthur’s rolling his hips against the table, seeking as much friction as he can because Merlin’s taking too bloody long, checking on him every two fucking minutes. Just as he’s about to call him out, the fingers brush against his prostate, successfully stealing all the words out of his mouth, together with his breath.

“Fuck,” he grips at the edge of the table, struggling to breathe.

Merlin chuckles at his reaction. “You like that?” he asks smugly, totally unhelpful and unnecessary and hits that spot again.

“Would l-like it better if you f-finally got your dick in m-me,” he trips over his tongue, panting.

“Impatient,” Merlin clicks his tongue but before Arthur can tell him where he can stick it (pun intended), Merlin’s fingers leave him.

His breath hitches at the sudden emptiness and in hopes of speeding up the process, he gathers his strength to hitch himself up until he’s on all fours. He expects Merlin to climb up behind him but instead, there’s a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to twist to the side.

“Not like that,” Merlin explains, nudging him until he’s turned over completely, facing him. “I want to see you.”

Arthur wants to crack a joke, call Merlin sappy and whatnot, but he can only blush.

“Oh.”

“Can you sit on the edge?” Merlin instructs, helping him to get into position. He manages just fine by himself, sitting on the side of the table with his legs hanging off. He watches, mesmerized, as Merlin rids himself of his T-shirt and trousers in under ten seconds, feeling accomplished at seeing him so impatient himself even though he chastised Arthur for it only minutes ago.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, hearing the blood rush in his ears. Merlin gives him a dark look, clearly disapproving of his tone, and takes the final step until he’s standing between his open thighs, grabbing him by the hips and pulling forward.

The movement is so sudden that it sends Arthur flat onto his back, hips hanging off the table. Merlin nudges him to wrap his legs around him and braces himself against the edge with his hands.

“You’re such a bloody tease,” he chides with a shake of his head.

“Shut up, Mer-- fuuuck,” he nearly chokes as Merlin’s cock breaches him without a warning, sliding in fully with one push. “Shit.”

“Okay?” Merlin checks with a quake in his voice, proving he’s not as collected as he makes himself to be.

“Y-yeah. Just move already.”

Merlin chuckles. “So bossy.” Then proceeds to do just that. He pulls back almost completely before pushing back in, again, and one more time until he’s settling into a rhythm.

It takes Arthur a couple more minutes to catch his breath but when he does, he focuses on meeting Merlin halfway, although the position barely allows it.

“M-Merlin.”

Merlin snaps his hips almost violently at hearing his name tumble from Arthur’s lips in that tone and Arthur moans loudly when he drives directly into his prostate.

“Fuck! Fuck, Merlin. R-right there.”

“God, Arthur. It‘s so good. You’re so good.”

Arthur keens at the praise, urging Merlin to go faster.

Instead, Merlin halts all the movement, earning a desperate whine from Arthur. He chuckles at the reaction and leans forward to slide his hands underneath him to pull him up until he’s sitting up, their chests close enough to touch.

“Arthur,” he whispers in the space between them before there’s none because suddenly, Merlin’s crashing their lips together, unexpected and so good. He swallows the surprised sound from Arthur’s lips, licking into his mouth.

Arthur moans in agreement, wrapping him in his arms and deepening the kiss.

Merlin grabs him by the hips again and starts a new rhythm, his thrust shorter but harder.

Arthur whimpers against his lips, squeezing Merlin between his thighs. He gives up any effort to help Merlin out and decides to kiss the living hell out of him while Merlin plows his ass.

It works just fine and it’s not long before Merlin’s thrusts grow erratic and uncoordinated.

“A-Arthur,” he chokes out between kisses. “I’m gonna...”

Instead of replying, Arthur takes his lips in another kiss and clenches around his cock, drawing a hiss from him.

“Arthur!”

“Yeah, come on,” he encourages and clenches his ass again.

Merlin manages two, three, four more thrusts before he stills, buried to the hilt and spills himself inside Arthur. He presses his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, panting against the sweaty skin while his hips continue their subtle grinding motion.

Arthur presses a kiss to his temple, sliding his fingers through the dark locks, marveling at the silkiness.

Merlin lifts his head to peer at him from under his lashes. His pupils are blown wide, overtaking all the blue of his irises. There’s a lovely flush to his cheeks and the way his fringe sticks to his sweaty forehead is almost endearing.

Arthur’s never seen him like this and he wants to appreciate the view but doesn’t get much time because then, Merlin is untangling his legs from around him and slides to his knees in front of Arthur. He gives him a little smirk before opening his mouth wide and swallowing his cock.

“Nngh!” Arthur yelps with surprise, throwing his head back in unexpected pleasure.

“Shit, Merlin.”

Merlin hums around his cock and starts sucking him in earnest. It feels so good he can’t even feel embarrassed when he feels Merlin’s come leaking out of him and to his shock, he also feels Merlin’s fingers slide into him again, hitting his prostate with deadly precision. “Merlin!”

It barely takes another half a minute before Arthur’s screaming himself hoarse as his orgasm overtakes him and he comes in Merlin’s mouth. Still, Merlin’s mouth doesn’t leave him, working him through his release instead until he’s whimpering from over-sensitivity and pulling at his hair to pry him off.

Merlin releases his cock with an obscene sound that echoes in the small room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up between Arthur’s open legs.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks and Arthur can’t help but laugh.

“Are you for real?” Merlin just blinks at him. “We should have done that ages ago, instead of the massage.”

Merlin groans in annoyance. “That’s not the nature of my business, Arthur!”

His irritation only amuses Arthur further. “You could make an exception for me,” he teases, pulling Merlin closer and Merlin goes willingly, although the scowl is still on his face.

“That depends on how much you’ll tip me,” he shoots back.

“Oh, I’ll tip you all you want, Merlin.”

Merlin slaps the back of his head gently. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Hmm. But I think you like it,” he says smugly, pulling him into another kiss, letting out a moan when he tastes himself on his lips.

“You’re awfully confident for someone who just got fucked on a massage table.”

“You mean for someone who just talked his masseur into fucking him on a massage table.”

“I think manipulated is better-fitting.”

“Or seduced.”

Merlin scoffs. “You did not seduce me.”

“Oh, really?” he teases. “I’d say you gave it up pretty easy after seeing me in my birthday suit.”

“I did not!”

“You did, though.”

“Your mind is misleading you.”

“Whatever you say,” Arthur concludes dismissively, then gives Merlin a wicked grin. “Next time, you’re gonna lie down on this table and I’m gonna ride you.”

Unsursprisingly, Merlin all but chokes on thin air. “That... uh... sounds... agreeable.”

“I’ll say.”

“You’re so annoyingly confident.”

“Just because you make it so easy.”

“Arthur.”

“Merlin,” he huffs. “Shut up. And kiss me again.”

And for once, without a single protest, Merlin does just that.

OMFG, Merlin! You DIDN'T!

Huh?

Don't "huh" me! You know bloody well!

Apparently not.

You fucked my boss!

!!! JFC, I can't believe he told you! :O

I sent him your way so he got that stick out of his ass. Not for you to replace it with your dick!

He didn't. His limp did, jsyk.

He could have hurt his leg or something...

And he brought me coffee. He'd never brought me coffee before! I've never seen him in such a good mood!

Your welcome :-*

*You're

That's disgusting. I'm never getting a massage from you ever again!

Oh, well... it was worth it :-p

*Freya has left the chat*

#bottom!arthur #merthur #top!merlin #massage #bottom arthur fest

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renaxwrites · 4 years

Note

Hello! May I ask scenario about the Nekoma manager at the national training camp (where Miya, Kageyama, Hoshiumi etc.)? She was called there as the best manager. And Atsumu fall in love with her.

Nekoma Manager Pt. 2

- (Atsumu)

a/n: lol y’all probably thought this would be a short scenario but nope I like to write long stuff hehe so here ya go!! I hope you enjoy it 💘 pt. 1 pt. 3 pt. 4

Life as the Nekoma manager was steady. Hectic, and practically babysitting twelve hyper menaces, but steady. You had become the team’s backbone, the one they would turn to to make sure things were up to par.

At this point in time, it was pretty evident that your analytical talent had begun to shine through. It had gotten to where coaches from other teams would seek you out to ask for quick guidance, whether it be for a specific player, a play they used, or on the team’s connectivity overall. Many knew you by name.

On one particular day, came a couple of surprises.

“Alrighty boys, huddle up! There’s a couple of announcements to be made,” the coach boomed. The team quickly circled around you and the coach.

“As you know, the All-Japan Youth Training Camp is coming up. Luckily, we’ve been fortunate enough to have one of our members be extended an invitation!” the coach beamed. The players excitedly began to exchange looks, as if they already knew who it was. You were curious as well, with a few possibilities running through your mind as to who it could be.

“Now, this member hasn’t been with us too long, but they have definitely made their mark on the team, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that I am very proud that their talent is being recognized. So, without further ado, go ahead and give your congratulations to y/n!!”

It took you a second to process, and within that one second the whole team managed to suffocate you into a giant group hug.

“Congrats y/n-chan!!” “You’re the best, you deserve it!!” “We love you y/n!!” “Remember us when you’re famous!!”

Once they release you and allow you to finally breathe, there was one more surprise.

“Congratulations, kitten. The team is so fortunate to have you as a manager, and as both a thank you and congratulations, the team decided to pitch in and get you this,” Kuroo hands you a thin wrapped box.

The team is eager for you to open it, and inside you find a sleek, brand new iPad along with an Apple Pencil.

You tear up, “This is for me? You guys didn’t have to!”

Lev pipes up, “All of us felt bad about your hand cramps and paper cuts from hand-writing all your notes. You always care for us, so we wanted to do something for you.”

You’re speechless, a tear slipping in gratitude. Instead of thinking of what to say, you take the iPad out of the box and tell everyone to scooch in for a team selfie.

“Everyone say Nekoma!” “NEKOMAAA”

You made it your wallpaper.

A few days later, you’re on the train on your way to the training camp. Just as you worry about being alone in the sea of people, you spot a familiar face.

“Tobio-kun!”

The blueberry-haired boy turns toward the sound of your voice. “Oh, hello y/n-san. Where are you on your way to?”

You look down at your directions. “I’m on my way to the youth training camp! I actually got invited to help manage. They want me to analyze their players, kinda what I do now, but a little more intense. I hope I’m going the right way though,” you nervously laugh.

Kageyama reassures you. “Oh, I’m on my way there as well. Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure we’re going the right way...this should be interesting for the both of us then.”

Turns out, you did go the right way. You’re soon met with the coaches in charge and introduce yourself, eager to get started.

Once the formalities were out of the way, one coach began to introduce you. “This is y/n, who is not only Nekoma’s manager, but one of the best in volleyball analytics we’ve ever seen so far. She has the same level of authority of any of us coaches. She is here to benefit your growth, therefore, if she wants you to do something, you need to do it. Understood?”

Everyone in the line nodded. Soon, you were going down the line of players, having them state their name, year, school, and position. You had uploaded pictures of each player that the coaches provided, and jotted down the general info underneath. God, this new tablet was so convenient.

Things were running smoothly until you reach the last player in line, a confident one with a lazy smirk plastered on his face.

Atsumu Miya. Second year. Inarizaki High School. Setter.

You’re scribbling out a couple of footnotes when you hear, “So, you’re our personal cheerleader for the most part, right? Well, you don’t have to critique me too much, since I was number one high school setter and got ‘best server’ at the Inter-high. Just in case you wanted to write that down too,” you look up to meet a sly wink and grin.

You put your tablet down at your side and the other hand on your hip. Everyone had their eyes on you before, but they were definitely paying attention now.

“Atsumu Miya, is it? Listen. This not only goes for you, but for all the players here. I may know a couple of you personally, but the second drills start, I’m observing each of you as if I’m seeing you for the first time. So anything you’ve done before stepping foot in here, you need to leave at the door. I’m going to analyze every single one of you with the same level of intensity to be fair. So I’m more of a coach than a cheerleader, I think.” Your statement wiped the smirk off his face, but there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You turn and walk back to the coaches, who now give the vibe that they take you even more seriously. The main coach turns to you and suggests, “On that note, I think we should start our warm ups. How should we start?”

You think for a moment, and propose, “I think we should do some across-the-floor serves just to get them warmed up, and so I can see them individually.”

“Alright, you heard her! Let’s line up and begin!”

The first day came to a close, so you began to help some of the boys pack up the equipment. You’re taking down the net with Kageyama and Chigaya, who had reunited. They’re careful with their words as they bring up the earlier incident. “You know, if he ever bothers you again, just let us know.” “Yeah, it won’t sit right with us knowing if you’re ever uncomfortable.”

You wave your hand in dismissal. “I’ll keep that in mind, but it’s okay. I can handle it.”

Out of nowhere you hear, “Just know if you ever want me to teach him, let me know. I’ll clean up that little filth. Only real scums disrespect women.” You turn around to find Sakusa tenderly looking at you, only to turn to Miya’s direction and stare daggers into his figure.

“It’s okay boys, I’m fine, really. If I ever feel uncomfortable with anyone here, I’ll be sure to report it to someone. Okay? I do appreciate you all,” you reassure them, just in time to have the coaches summon you to start their strategy meeting.

Later on at dinner, you’re sitting with the coaches, exchanging funny and wild stories of things you’ve seen at matches. Kageyama and Chigaya sit together, eating and making idle chit-chat, when Atsumu goes and pulls up a chair to join them.

“So, Kageyama. You know y/n, don’t you?” Miya inquires.

Kageyama finishes chewing. “Yeah, Like they said, she’s Nekoma’s manager. She’s a pretty good friend to both myself and Karasuno. Really nice. I’m not surprised she got invited here. Extremely accurate in what she does.”

Miya chuckles. “You seem to know her pretty well. Do ya know if she’s single, too?”

That catches Kageyama off guard. “Well...uh...I’m not sure. I think so, it might have been mentioned at the summer camp...I don’t think we should talk about her business like that, what’s it to you?”

Once again, Miya has a lazy grin on. “Relax, it’s just general curiosity. At what I said to her this morning, it was only to get a feel for her vibe. That’s the first time a girl genuinely challenged me, most girls usually flirt when I talk to them. Now that I know she wasn’t, I’m kind of interested. She’s got that spunk ya hardly find, ya know?” He looks at you thoughtfully.

Kageyama snorts. “Yeah, good luck at that,” Chigaya shakes his head.

The next couple of days go by. Miya may have seemed to be joking, but he was actually serious when he said he was interested.

At first, it was innocent. He apologized for what he said, and made sure to let you know that he takes you seriously in your position. He then began to take good note of your critiques, immediately correcting anything that you suggested needed to be improved.

At some point, his interest began to grow. The two of you began to converse a little more, starting to get to know each other a little more personally. It was then he would offer you sweet compliments and subtle flirtations. These would go over your head, thinking he was just being polite, but the rest of the players deemed it obvious, and began to be a little protective.

There were times when a slight spark was shared. When Atsumu would accidentally brush against you, or when you would adjust his hands to make sure they were in the correct position for the drill. You didn’t want to put too much thought into it, but you could feel yourself blush every time. You usually would counter it by saying something sarcastic. But if only you knew that your playful teasing was watering Atsumu’s growing feelings.

“Y/n-san, have you ever been on a date before?”

You’re caught off guard from Miya’s question, and look of from the plays you were studying.

“Nope.”

“Really? You mean to tell me that someone as feisty and exasperating as you has never gone out with anyone?” you can hear the teasing in his voice. And a hint of something else, too.

You roll your eyes and push his shoulder with yours. You fail to notice how he leaned in a little more than before.

“No, Miya-kun. As hard as it is to believe, no one has ever had the courage to ask me.”

He presses his shoulder to yours in return.

“Well, what if someone at this camp wanted to take you out? What would you say to them?”

You feel his intense gaze on you, so you turn and stare just as deeply back.

“I would tell them that they need to beat Nekoma in order to take me on a date.”

He smirks, his eyes lingering on your lips for a split second. But it was long enough for you to notice. “Sounds like a deal to me, then.”

You raise a brow, “Oh? And who’s asking?”

Atsumu gets up and begins to stretch. “Just curious, is all.”

The camp had come to a close, and you were all bidding your good-byes. Kageyama and Chigaya offer to walk along with you back to the train station. You begin to walk out the doors when you hear someone call out your name.

You look back to see Miya raising his hand to you in farewell.

“Just so you know, y/n-chan, I plan on beating Nekoma very soon. Start thinking of somewhere you’d want to eat!”

You giggle and wave your hand in return. “We’ll see, Atsumu Miya.”

#haikyu!!#haikyuu!! imagines #miya atsumu #atsumu miya x reader #nekoma #all-japan intensive training camp #rena imagines

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yet-another-fan-girl9 · 4 years

Text

Inhuman (1)

Summary: All beings in the universe have a soulmate except for Midgardians. People can hear their soulmate in their heads. For almost five hundred and fifty years, Loki believed that he had no soulmate until 1513 when a Midgardian princess was born. Will fate be kind to them or will the universe tear them apart?

Warnings: violence, language, hella historical inaccuracies (I tried to do research but then got lazy), maybe some AOS season 2 spoilers(?)

Word Count: ~3400

A/N: Yay! The re-write is here! I changed it so now there are flashbacks and stuff and the chapters are longer! I’m also posting this chapter a day early because of reasons. Anyways, enjoy!

[New York, New York, March 2024]

‘Soulmates?’ You had never heard of the concept.

‘We are destined to be together. The universe made it so.’

You shot up in bed, a light sheen of sweat covered your body. Loki’s words replayed over and over in your head. You hadn’t heard his actual voice in so long but it was still as clear as if he was speaking to you now. It had been twelve years since you had seen him in Germany and he had tried to take over.

‘We are destined to be together.’

The words echoed in your mind. ‘Destined’ huh? Well, if you’d learned anything from the past four hundred and eighty-six years that you were not with Loki, it’s that the universe does a shit job at keeping you together. You ran your fingers through your hair, easily smoothing out the tangled mess. It was too early to think about Loki.

You slipped out of the silk sheets that covered your king-sized bed in your two-level, top floor Upper East Side penthouse. You were very proud of how far you had come. The view was amazing. You could see some of Central Park from one side and the stereotypical New York skyline from another.

As you walked out of your room, you caught your reflection in one of your full-sized mirrors. And that was definitely a nice view. When you came out of Terrigenesis almost five hundred years ago, you quickly discovered that you were now the blueprint for a perfect person. Straight, white teeth, surprisingly tameable hair, and clear, unblemished skin were some of the visually obvious changes. In addition to your perfected looks, you had increased senses, healing, strength, endurance, and your favorite, pain tolerance. Oh, and don’t forget you basically look twenty-five forever.

You checked your phone while you made breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. There were a couple of emails from your employees on their latest jobs. You opened one from Max, your right-hand man. You were reading over some job offers he had handpicked for you when you got a text from the man himself.

Bringing up some donuts!

Max was the only person from work to have access to your penthouse. He was your best friend. The two of you had met when you were at Afterlife nearly fifteen years ago. He was an Inhuman as well. All of your employees were Inhumans, using their specialties to carry out their jobs. Max had the power to change surfaces. It was a strange power, but he had learned to make it very useful. He could cause his pursuers to slip on the suddenly ice-like ground or climb up a glass skyscraper.

“Hello, bitch! I brought donuts!” Max called from the elevator.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Max walked in holding the goods. He always wore eccentric color-coordinated outfits. Even the times you saw him in stealth mode, he had to have some lace or frill somewhere. Today he wore a mixture of neon green and pink with matching eyeliner.

“Are Cosmo and Wanda disguising themselves as your clothes?” you asked.

“Haha,” he deadpanned. “I knew you were going to say something like that. You’re so fucking funny. Soo…” He plopped the three large donut boxes onto your kitchen counter. “Have you heard of the Avenger’s new quote-unquote recruit?”

“Um, I think it’s your job to keep tabs on heroes.” You opened the nearest box and happily pulled out your favorite donut.

“Okay. Number one: I’m not speaking to you as your right-hand, right now, but as your friend.” He held up his finger. “Number two: it’s not really a job if I do it in my free time anyways. You’re paying me to do something that I do on an hourly basis.”

“You stalk the Avengers on an hourly basis?”

“No? Anyways, number three: it’s Thor’s brother. It’s your Loki.”

“What the fuck?” you choke on your donut. Max was the only person who knew you that you and Loki had a history. And that’s all he knew. Nothing about soulmates or all that shit. “What the fuck, Max? Did you try to use donuts to soften the blow? Stop laughing.”

“I-I wish I had caught that reaction on camera,” he said in between fits of giggles.

“Haha,” it was your turn to deadpan. “Fuck, man. I guess we just have to double our efforts to keep ourselves off of their radar.”

“Do you think they’ve forgiven him for New York?” Max composed himself.

“I mean, they must have if they’re letting him join the team.” You chanced another bite of your donut.

“But lots of people haven’t.”

“Lots of people still haven’t forgiven Barnes,” you pointed out. You didn’t know when or why Loki had attacked New York. That Loki was nothing like the man who you had grown to love back in the 1500s. But you were nothing like that girl either.

“Have you chosen a new job from the list I sent you?” he changed the subject.

“No, not yet, and you have a little…” you motioned to the corner of your mouth.

Max got the hint and wiped some powder off of his mouth. You noticed the sprinkling of grey that was mixed into his curly black hair. He displayed the last fifteen years proudly while you remained unchanged. Max was the closest you’ve been to someone in a long time, and just like everyone before him, you would outlive him. But you would remember him. You remembered everyone. You remembered everything.

Right now, you thought of Agnes, your first real friend. She was your handmaiden and you had met right before everything went to shit. She had helped you cope after you underwent Terrigenesis, although you hadn’t known what it was back then. She had helped you run away and even died for you. You had only known her for nine years, but you compared everyone to her. Max held second place, right after Agnes.

“I think we should take the Senator’s offer,” Max said, jolting you out of your memories. He pulled up the offer on his iPad. “One million to off his upcoming competition.”

“Damn,” you whistled. “He’s desperate, isn’t he? Is there a deadline?”

“No, but I assume we should get it done quickly.”

“Send over the info.”

🌹

You shoved the flower into Jake Morano’s mouth. Blood from the bullet wound in his forehead trickled down until it turned the perfect, white rose red. You snapped a quick photo on your burner phone to send to the Senator as confirmation. With a huff, you looked around the apartment. Mr. Anderson had put up a fight, although it didn’t do anything to deter you and Max. A few glass awards were in pieces on the hardwood floor, family pictures were shattered, and the wall behind you held a couple of bullets from Anderson’s gun.

“All good?” Max asked from his location by the computer. He was deleting all footage of you being there. And everything else, just to be safe.

“Yep.” You walked over to him, your boots making a satisfying clicking on the ground, and proudly displayed the picture of the dead body. “Got the confirmation picture for the Senator. How’s it coming?”

“Almost… there. We’re good to go.”

The two of you left in your favorite black Lamborghini. Unfortunately, you actually had to drive places now that Gordon was dead. You followed his advice, though, and bought a plane along with four other sports cars, a helicopter, and a couple of motorcycles. You knew how to operate every single one of them. What else were you supposed to do except for establishing your contract killing empire?

🌹

Loki stood in the middle of his assigned room with his hands on his hips. It certainly was much nicer than the last prison the Avengers had kept him in. They may say it wasn’t a prison but the twenty-four-hour surveillance from Stark’s new AI said otherwise. Even though it was nicer than the shitty glass cylinder from twelve years ago, it was empty. Thor had shown Loki the few things in his room: books, photographs, and his own goddamned merchandise.

Would Loki have his own merchandise one day? Everyone was redeemable as shown by Romanoff and Barnes. Maybe there would be plastic replicas of his helmet? No, Loki thought that was stupid. Only heroes got merchandise and heroes had to show up to events and sponsor health drinks or whatever the fuck they do. Heroes had to be nice.

Nothing good ever came from being on Midgard. Most recently, there was his father dying, although what followed was worse. Before that was the attack he had been forced to make on the city. And the first time he had ever come to Midgard had ended with disappointment and heartbreak.

Loki sighed and waved his hand to conjure green and gold accents, sheets, and blankets. At least there was color in the room now. No doubt the AI had reported that he had used his magic. He hoped it had also told them that all he did was improve the room, he didn’t need anyone talking to him at the moment.

“Good afternoon, Reindeer Games,” the AI echoed through the room. Loki glowered at the sound of Stark’s nickname. “There is a meeting in Conference Room Five that the entire team is required to attend.”

Loki hadn’t the faintest fucking idea where the conference rooms were. He left his room and caught sight of his brother and the Valkyrie. The God of Mischief followed the pair down to where the meeting was taking place. Did he really want to go? If he wanted to be part of the team he would have to. He preferred the Revengers, though. While it had lasted. It was smaller.

Everyone was sitting around the long table. Of course, Loki would be the last to arrive. Stark and Barton both glared at him when he entered. Understandable. Romanoff remained impassive, but Loki knew she would bash his head in the first chance she got. Rogers had to remain positive that Loki could be redeemed because if the Norse God could redeem himself, then so could Barnes. Bruce had warmed up to Loki on the journey to Midgard. None of the newer members of the team outright hated him, but they were still cautious around him.

Loki found himself sitting in between his brother and Bruce. Stark went up to the screen at the front and everyone fell silent.

“This is Jake Morano.” The screen turned on to show a dead man with a rose stuffed in his mouth. “He was going to run for Senator against this guy.” The screen changed. “This guy is William Anderson, a very corrupt Senator. In the last month, Morano began to gain a lot of support including a sponsor from us. Well, a sponsor from me in the name of the Avengers.”

“Are you implying that Anderson killed Morano?” Rogers asked.

“I’m saying that Anderson hired someone to kill Morano.” The screen changed again to display multiple bodies left with a rose in their mouths. “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. do a quick search of bodies with roses found in their mouths and we found a shocking amount of similar deaths. The first ones dating back to the nineteen twenties. More recently, some of the deaths have happened at the same time on opposite sides of the globe. Deaths include, but are not limited to, shooting, stabbing, poisoning, drowning, burning, missing organs, being found stuck in a wall, and looking like a suicide. They all have a white rose soaked in blood in their mouths.”

“Are you sure it isn’t a serial killer?” Wilson questioned.

“Yeah, it’s probably not the same guy,” Romanoff pointed out. “Especially if it goes back to before Steve looked like that.”

“It’s gotta be an organization,” Barnes guessed. “Been around for a while, a couple of deaths happening at the same time, and one constant MO.”

“Loki?” Everyone looked at the God of Mischief when Stark said his name. “You’re technically a part of this team now. What’s your opinion?”

“Barnes is probably right,” Loki said after a moment’s hesitation. “The locations are all over the place and there are many different ways the victims met their demise.”

They nodded and Loki returned to silence.

“Alright, game plan.” Stark clapped his hands. “We have to get Anderson into an interrogation room. Round one is the good cops: Steve and Sam. When he doesn’t crack, and he won’t, we up the intensity. Nat and the Manchurian Candidate will do some intimidation. If he still doesn’t crack we can send in Wanda, or even Reindeer Games if she’s not comfortable, to search his mind.”

“Are all Midgardian politics like that?” Loki heard the Valkyrie ask Thor after the meeting. Thor only shrugged so she turned to Bruce.

“I mean, I haven't been here in a while but it’s always kinda been fucked up.”

Only an hour after the meeting, Anderson took out one million dollars in cash. Stark tracked him to a small cafe where he was going to, no doubt, pay the assassin. The team rallied, but of course, Loki wasn’t going. Apparently, he wasn’t ‘cleared’ yet. The only other people staying behind were the Valkyrie, Thor, and Barton due to a recent injury.

Loki went to his room to sulk, although he told everyone he was thinking. He didn’t want to be here. Maybe he wanted to go somewhere that reminded him of home with tall buildings that reached the sky…

🌹

"Hello, (Y/N)." Loki’s voice was as smooth as it was in your head, but it was different. The only way you could describe it was that it was solid. It felt less intimate. Like he could bless others with his words, but it was more special because he was here.

"Loki," you breathed.

"You look more beautiful than I ever could imagine." He stepped closer.

You touched your hair self-consciously. There were multiple knots, and it probably looked like one of those bird nests the dogs always knocked out of trees. You had woken up in a hurry and your hair being trapped in the hood of your cloak probably didn't help.

Then it occurred to you that you were wearing only your nightgown, and you tightly wrapped your cloak around yourself. Loki wouldn’t hurt you, but no man has seen you in an outfit so revealing. Still, you took another step closer.

"I do not know what to say." Fortunately, your voice didn’t shake or waver as you had feared, but Loki could probably feel your nervousness.

You both took a final step closer. You reached up and cupped Loki's face in your hand which tingled slightly when you made contact. You admired his sharp features and bright blue-green eyes. Then you shivered in the cold winter air. Loki noticed and pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him and felt a shiver, a different, better shiver, shoot through your body.

“You’re real.” Your soft voice was almost lost in the biting wind. “I was so scared that I was dreaming.”

Another goddamned dream about Loki? You groaned into your pillow and pushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face. Why now, all of a sudden? Was it because he was so close? Just a few hours upstate in the Avenger’s compound.

Pushing the dream aside, you stretched and got ready for the day. You had sent the photo to the Senator, who you had learned was very fucking corrupted, and he replied with a location. That changed your plans a bit, you hadn't physically met a client in decades, but it was for the better for multiple reasons.

The first reason was that the cafe he had chosen was next to a flower shop where you got your supply of roses. The second reason was that it meant his apartment would be empty. While you went to get the money, and eventually kill Senator Anderson, Max was going to rob his house. It wasn’t something you’d usually do, but honestly, the shitty asshole deserved it.

Your lips were painted red and you wore your usual boots and a leather jacket. Your regular hair was hidden behind a pink and green wig, courtesy of Max. A baseball cap and large sunglasses further hid your appearance. Though if somebody knew your face, the hat and glasses did nothing. There were multiple knives hidden on your body as well as a handgun tucked into your waistband and a pocket pistol in your, well, pocket.

As you walked into the cafe, Izzy, the auburn-haired florist, nodded to you. She had Botanokinesis, plant manipulation, so your supply of white roses was never low. Every once in a while, Izzy would take a job but she had told you she was very happy in her shop.

You noticed the Senator immediately. He still wore a suit and the sunglasses did nothing to hide his identity. There were two young women behind the counter and you suspected that the four other ‘customers’ were too buff not to be the Senator’s security. Anderson had his back to the door which meant you would have to get past his security to get out. You zeroed in on the black briefcase on the ground by his feet.

“Senator,” you greeted and sat down across from him.

“You can’t possibly be the one I talked to,” the asshole replied. “You’re just a girl.”

“Well of course I couldn’t be,” you rolled your eyes behind your heavily tinted glasses. “My boss is too busy and smart to meet you in public.” He didn’t notice your sarcasm. You pulled out the burner phone and showed him the messages as proof. “Now, I’m also busy so if we can get this over with?”

“Sure, darling.” He put the briefcase flat on the table and pushed it towards you.

“Open it.” Even though small boobie traps wouldn’t hurt you much, it wasn’t a piece of information you wanted to give him.

Anderson sighed and complied. Then you turned it around to quickly inspect the contents. One thousand one hundred dollar bills. Hello Mr. Franklin. You nodded in satisfaction and comically rubbed your hands together to inconspicuously grab a knife that was hidden up your sleeve.

“Thank you, Senator. That will be all.”

You closed the case, stood up, and plunged your knife deep into his left carotid artery. As his security descended upon you, you pulled the knife out and his neck satisfyingly squirted blood. The Senator collapsed with his hands clutching his wound desperately. The pool of blood rapidly grew underneath him.

The two baristas screamed behind the counter and the Senator’s security drew their guns. You flipped the small table for cover as bullets pierced the cafe’s window behind you. Perfect. Just a bit more.

You pulled out the handgun from your waistband and with practiced ease, shot three of the four goons. The last one got the bloodied knife to the face. You elbowed the already damaged window and it finally broke, raining glass down on you. Ignoring the small cuts, you jumped out of the cafe through the window as a familiar red and gold suit landed in front of you. Why the fuck were the Avengers here? What about Loki?

You darted into Izzy’s shop and she played her part well, screaming that you had run out the back when you had actually gone into the side room. You listened as the Avengers followed her directions. One person, maybe it was the Black Widow, stayed behind to help calm down the seemingly hysterical Izzy. If she wasn’t so happy at her shop and she didn’t want to work directly for you, she could be a great actress.

You rolled back the rug on the ground to reveal a metal trapdoor. You entered the code to unlock it and climbed down into the darkness. Behind you, you heard the trapdoor’s magnetic lock click back into place. Two centuries ago, you had tunnels dug underneath Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens for easy getaways. If you went… that way, you would end up in Sandra’s souvenir shop which was a couple of blocks away from your penthouse.

With a million dollars in one hand and a handgun in the other, you walked down the concrete tunnel.

Taglist:

@kaithehero @liliannyah @andreasworlsboring101 @oatballsoffury @aberrant-annie

#inhuman #loki x reader #loki x soulmate reader #loki #mcu #marvel #avengers #Captain america #steve rogers #iron man #tony stark #hawkeye #clint barton #natasha romanoff #black widow #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch

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thebonerpit · 4 years

Photo

~*~ Santa’s Little Helper ~*~

Starker, no powers au, 2016 words, fluffy, cheeky, Christmas-y fun (that was intended to be just smut but ended up like this... if people like it I might do a pt.2)

This was hell. Tony was in hell. And hell was decorated like Santa got drunk and threw up Christmas cheer over every available surface.

Pepper wanted Morgan to get her picture with Santa, and absolutely refused the idea of Tony just hiring someone to come the house and do it there. Something about going to a mall Santa was more “authentic”, she said. Tony was sure she just wanted to torture him while she was away in LA with her new boyfriend. So unfair.

Which is why he was currently standing in a line with hundreds of other miserable parents and screaming, sugar-filled children waiting to hand his daughter over to a stranger who probably smelled like cheese and stale beer and hope she didn’t start crying. Joy. As they finally rounded the last corner, Tony could see the scene in front of him. Jolly old Santa (who, to be fair, looked perfectly pleasant and not drunk), a big Christmas tree, and… hello there.

Tony’s gaze was immediately locked on what appeared to be an elf, currently bending over to scrape a small child off the floor and back on to Santa’s lap. His legs were encased in some obscenely tight green leggings, and the curve of what looked like an absolutely perfect ass was barely visible under the edge of a bright red tunic. He even had a little pointed hat with a bell, and what looked like plastic elf ears attached to the edge of it. But when he turned around, that’s when Tony was really dumbstruck. He was beautiful. Young, far too young for Tony to even be considering but hey, who ever said Tony made good choices? He had huge brown eyes that matched the brown curls peeking out from under the hat, and an adorable round face that made him look perfectly innocent and sweet.

Tony wanted him.

He seemed distracted by trying to wrangle all the children ahead of them so he didn’t look up until Tony and Morgan were next in line.

“Welcome to Santa’s Village, may I get your—uh… your…”

Tony smirked.

“Your name! Your name, please. Um. Sir.”

“Tony Stark,” he said, still smirking at the flush on the boy’s cheeks as he typed it into the iPad. He was trying to hard to be professional, bless, but Tony could tell he was attracted to him. Tony knew the effect he could have on people, but most of the time their adoration was an annoyance more than anything. Now, it seemed, he couldn’t get enough. The boy looked back, purposely avoiding Tony’s gaze, and focused on Morgan. This seemed to help and he easily switched back into elf mode.

“And you must be…” he said, bending down to smile at the young girl clinging to Tony’s leg.

“Morgan H. Stark, and I’m here to see Santa Claus,” she stated proudly. The boy laughed and extended his hand.

“Lovely to meet you, Morgan H. Stark. My name is Peter, and I’m one of Santa’s elves.”

Morgan’s eyes went wide as she shook his hand (or rather, his fingers).

“Do you make toys?”

“I sure do! Do you have a special toy you want to ask Santa for this year?”

“Uh-huh!” Morgan said, nodding her head vigorously. She looked like she was about to go on but Peter quickly shushed her.

“Shh, that’s gonna be a secret between you and Santa, ok? And then he can tell me what to make for you!”

Morgan nodded again, looking very serious. Tony was absolutely charmed. This boy – Peter – was so good with her, and it honestly warmed his cold, black heart a little. Peter stood back up and the flush on his cheeks returned when he looked at Tony again.

“It will just be a minute, sir, apologies for the wait.”

“Of course. Peter, was it?”

“Um, yes… yes sir.”

“And what is a lovely elf like you doing working in a place like this?” It was terribly cheesy but Tony just couldn’t help himself, and he was rewarded by Peter flushing even deeper and ducking his head.

“I… school. Um, I mean… I’m in school? Not right now, of course. Winter break. But… I kinda needed the extra money.”

“He means that he doesn’t want to have to resort to eating the on-campus hot dogs anymore because they keep giving him really bad—”

“MJ!” he screeched, startling the people around them in line.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, and then turned to the girl beside him and glared at her until she rolled her eyes and moved away.

“Where do you go, Columbia?” Tony asked. Peter looked adorable when he was embarrassed but Tony didn’t want him to stop talking because of it.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “first year. Biochem.”

“Biochem? Impressive. Yeah I’ve been there a few times… pro-tip, the cafeteria sells discount sandwiches at the end of the day. Might be a better choice than hot dogs.”

Peter looked up, all wide, brown Bambi eyes, and smiled.

“Uh… thanks, Mr. Stark. For the tip.”

God, there were SO many inappropriate jokes just begging to spill from Tony’s lips but they were all saved by Morgan tugging on Tony’s pant leg.

“Daddy, daddy, look, it’s my turn!”

“So it is, wingnut,” Tony said, petting her hair with one hand but still completely focused on Peter’s face.

“Come with me, Morgan,” Peter said, holding out his hand for her. She followed him over to where Santa was perched on his throne (did Santa really need a throne that big?) and he helped her up on to his lap. The other elf, MJ, seemed to be working the camera so Peter stood off to the side and gave Morgan an encouraging thumbs up. Tony watched, a smile creeping across his face, as Morgan explained in great detail what she wanted for Christmas this year. Santa looked a little dumbfounded but Tony assumed it wasn’t every day a child asked for a fully programmable robot cat that can also turn into a repulsor-powered rocket ship that she can ride around the yard. And no, Tony did NOT give her that idea whatsoever…

Unfortunately, Santa then started asking her other questions and although Morgan wasn’t a shy child, she didn’t like going into situations unprepared. She started looking visibly uncomfortable, squirming away and ducking her head, and Tony was just about to step in when Peter scooted forward and knelt down beside her.

“Hey Morgan, you did such a great job! How about we get a photo, and then you can pick a candy from the toy chest ok?”

Morgan still looked displeased but she nodded, and Peter nodded back. However, as soon as he went to leave she made a little noise and reached out to grab him.

“No. You stay.”

Peter swallowed and looked over his shoulder at MJ, who just shrugged.

“Sweetheart, elves aren’t supposed to be in the photos, ok? It’s just for you and Santa! It’ll just take a few seconds—”

“No!” she said, much more forcefully this time, and Tony could see her eyes starting to tear up.

“I… um…”

Tony Stark to the rescue, once again.

“It’s fine,” he called out, waving a hand at Peter from behind the camera, “you can stay.”

“A—are you sure, sir? I don’t want to intrude…”

“You’re not intruding, you’re saving me from having to explain to my ex why our daughter is in tears in what’s supposed to be a heartwarming Christmas memory.”

This got a little laugh out of him, and he looked down at Morgan who was still clinging to him, her hot little hand pressed into his.

“Ok. Alright. How about I just sit here, Morgan, is that ok?” He sat on the top step, just to the side of Santa’s throne, where he could still hold her hand. He arranged his legs gracefully underneath him and Tony once again thanked whatever god made those green leggings. “Can you give us a big smile?”

Morgan seemed appeased, and when MJ called out “say Santa!” she grinned widely. A perfect photograph. Pepper would be happy.

Peter led her over to the toy chest and while she started rummaging through for a candy, he walked over to Tony with his festive green and red iPad.

“The photo should be ready in a few moments. How would you like to pay?”

Tony handed over his black card which made Peter’s eyes widen briefly, but he processed it without a word, handing it back to Tony and definitely not shivering as their fingers brushed.

“Thanks, by the way,” Tony said casually as he put the card back in his wallet, “for avoiding what could have been a meltdown of epic proportions. Morguna is a great kid but her screams would probably break every pane of glass in this building.”

“Oh! Oh, it’s no problem sir, it’s what we’re here for. And I apologize again for having to be in the photo… we might be able to edit me out if—”

“Nonsense. It just makes it extra festive, right? And I can’t say I mind having the option to look at you on my mantel instead of an old fat man with a beard.”

Peter giggled – god, Tony could never get tired of that sound – and bit his lip.

“Th-thank you,” he said quietly. The bell on the end of his ridiculous hat jingled as he looked over to where Morgan was still digging into the candy stash. Tony took that moment to quickly scribble a note on one of his business cards and wrap it in a few hundred dollar bills, which he slid into one of Peter’s pockets on the front of his tunic. The sensation made Peter’s head whip back around, bell jingling even louder, as he stared open-mouthed at the money.

“Oh, sir, I can’t… we don’t accept tips…” He started to take the bills out but Tony stopped him with a warm hand pressed over his thin wrist.

“It’s not a tip, then,” Tony said, rubbing one thumb along Peter’s smooth skin. “Consider it a donation to your ‘no more hot dogs in 2020’ fund.”

Peter’s chest was practically heaving under Tony’s hand, and he watched as he swallowed thickly before looking up at him through those sinful lashes.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “thank you so much, sir.”

“Hey, it’s the holidays,” Tony said, leaning in just a little closer until he could see the gold sparkling in Peter’s big brown eyes, “Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark,” Peter replied breathlessly.

“I FOUND A CHOCOLATE SANTA!” Morgan yelled.

Tony groaned inwardly but turned to look at his daughter, smiling brightly and wielding a foil-wrapped chocolate Santa.

“Good job! Let’s go bite his head off, ok?”

Morgan cackled as Tony leaned down and scooped her up, hoisting her on his hip. He turned back to Peter who still looked like he might hyperventilate at any moment and offered him a crooked smile.

“Bye, Mr. Elf!” Morgan said, waving as Tony carried her out of the gates and back into the crowded mall. He purposely didn’t look back, even though he could feel Peter’s eyes boring holes into his skull. He just had to be patient.

+++++

Peter (10:59 p.m.): Hi Mr. Stark. Thank you again for the tip. It was WAY too much. But thank you.

Tony (11:01 p.m.): I see you found my card, too.

Peter (11:03 p.m.): I did… I’m free on Thursday. Or Saturday. Or any day, honestly, I’ll get MJ to cover for me because yeah I’d really really really really like to go on a date with you.

Tony (11:05 p.m.): That sure is a lot of really’s. I feel so special. Pick you up on Saturday at 8pm. Wear those tights for me, ok?

Peter (11:07 p.m.): NO.

Tony (11:08 p.m.): Don’t make a grown man beg, sweetheart.

Peter (11:10 p.m.): … I can wear them under my pants.

Tony (11:11 p.m.): Oh, you really are a Christmas miracle. Can’t wait, sweet thing. See you soon.

#starker #starker fic #tony x peter #tony stark/peter parker #tbpwrites #i was SURE the first thing i wrote for this fandom would be absolute filth #but here we are #christmas fluff #who am i??

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buckyscrystalqueen · 4 years

Text

A Christmas Gift: Part 1

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 5,050

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What about him?” Steve asked as he and his friends stood outside an empty U-Haul in New Jersey, waiting to find the perfect person for their next YouTube video. Tony shook his head as he scanned the lot full of early Christmas shoppers, locating a woman a few spots down and a row over that was looking between three or four different pieces of paper and a cell phone that had a kids pink unicorn sticker upside down and sideways on the back in a rust covered car.

“Them?” Sam asked as he gestured to a couple coming down the row they were in, but Tony shook his head as he glanced at an older model car seat in the back.

“Her.” He said simply as he gestured to you as you wiped tears off your face and ran your fingers through your hair to hold your slowly shaking head. “I know that look. I know that desperation… She’s the one.”

“I’ll go talk to her.” Bucky said as he put out his cigarette and took one of Tony’s YouTube channel cards from his ‘boss’.

“I’m coming, too.” Tony said as he pushed off the side of the truck and headed over with Bucky, who was usually responsible for the main camera work since he wasn’t a fan of being in front of it. You startled and looked over at the two men when they knocked before cranking down your window with a shake of your head.

“I’m sorry, I’m not leaving yet…”

“No, we’re looking to help you.” Bucky said gently as he leaned on the hood of your car to see you while Tony crouched down beside the window.

“Who you shopping for, sweetheart?” He asked softly.

“My daughter.” You sighed as you shook your head and glanced at her wish list. “Lord, my little girl, and her big hopes and dreams.” You looked back over at him and shook your head as you showed them the list. “She’s trying to bankrupt me asking for a pony, and an iPad, and cell phone, and some fancy expensive doll… And she’s only four, so I’m in for a world of hurt from here.”

“Just her?” Tony clarified, which made you startle the slightest bit.

“Just… her. I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Tony.” He laughed as he took the business card from Bucky and handed it to you. “Tony Stark. I’m a YouTuber. My camera guy, Bucky.”

“OK…”

“We’re shooting a video today, and we want to make someone’s Christmas a little more special, and you are that person.”

“Wait… what?!”

“But here’s the problem. Target never lets us film in their store long without kicking us out, and… well I rented this U Haul and while we could shop in Wal Mart, I don’t think it’s gunna fill that truck, and that’s what I need to do. So I think we’re gunna have to take it into the city.”

“Oh, no.” You said with a shake of your head. “No, I can’t let you do that. I can get a few things…”

“And I feel the need to be Santa Claus today.” He interrupted. “Please? I can’t promise a pony, but I can promise to make this Christmas a special one for your daughter. So, as long as you don’t mind, Bucky’s going to ride with you so your parking in the city, and your gas there and back is paid for, and he can get some back ground information so we know where we’re going once we’re there.”

“And so we know you actually go to the city so we’re not just standing around waiting.” Bucky laughed. You sighed and shook your head as you set the list down on your lap.

“You really don’t have to do this.”

“We know.” You looked between the two of them and over at the U Haul with a shake of your head.

“I’m not gunna end up a statistic on the five o’clock news, right?”

“No, we promise.” Bucky said. “I keep telling him we need to approach these videos a little different, but no one listens to the camera man.” You smiled and nodded your head as you started to clear off your passenger seat.

“OK, fine. But I will put up a fight. And I have to make a stop first if I’m leaving Jersey. I have to pick up a few things for my side job and that store will close before we get back.”

“Alright, we’ll follow you.” Tony said as he stood up and gestured for his friend to get in. “Don’t go kidnapping my camera man, you hear?”

“Pretty sure I should be the one concerned with that.” You laughed as you moved your purse and papers off the seat beside you, and put your seatbelt on. “Just know, I have pepper spray.”

“Oh, I would so prefer if you keep that exactly where it is, and not spray it anywhere near me.“ Bucky requested as he got into your little five speed rust bucket and moved the seat back so his long legs would fit. “I’ve been sprayed with pepper spray by my ex, who is the solid definition of crazy, and it’s not pleasant. Wait for this SUV.” You nodded and slowed down on the other side of the white vehicle, while Bucky pulled an old, bent notebook out of his pocket. “OK first, your name?”

“(Y/N).” He nodded and wrote out your name, repeating it back to you in one long, monotone note that made you smile.

“OK, and baby girl’s name and age.”

“Anna Lee. And she is four going on sixteen.”

“Anna Lee.” He said with a nod and a glance over at you. “I like that. Is it a family name?”

“No, it’s from a song, actually. Ever heard of The Band?”

“Which band?”

“No, the band is called, The Band. Here, listen.” He nodded and look ever at you as you grabbed a mix CD from the visor and put it in the player. You skipped to the track you were looking for as you pulled into the next shopping mall parking lot. “Please don’t steal my car, I’ll be right back.”

“Nope, I wanna see, too.” He said as he unbuckled and glanced over at the SUV that pulled in beside you. “What is this place?”

“It’s a crystal store.” You said as you grabbed your purse and a reusable shopping bag. “I make jewelry when Anna Lee goes to bed. Mala beads, necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings. I make candles, too. And usually I sell them here.”

“Namaste!” Your best friend, Wanda called out before glancing over her shoulder to see who it was. “Oooo girl! Who is this… why do you have a camera crew?”

“Wrong place, wrong time, apparently.” You sighed as you kissed Wanda’s cheek. “I’ll explain later. I need two things. One, I need to pick up my stuff, and two, I need you to relieve the baby sitter when you close because I’ll apparently be in the city until God only knows.”

“Wait, what is going on?” She asked as two of Tony’s guys flirted with Natasha, the woman that worked at the register.

“Some YouTube thing.” You said with a swipe of your hand. “Can you pick up Annie?”

“I can pick up Annie.” She said with a nod as she gestured for you to follow her to the back room. “Just don’t be gone all night, galavanting in the city. And you better check in every half hour so I don’t have to obsess over thoughts that you are dead on the side of the road or sold into sex slavery or something.”

“I highly doubt that these guys are going to sell me into sex slavery.” You huffed as you peeked into the large box with your name on it. “Please tell me you found the rhodochrosite beads.”

“Girl, who do you think I am?!” She laughed as she pulled open the top. “The list of holiday requests…”

“Oh, damn it.” You sighed as you glanced at the list of products she had sold in her store that she needed wire wrapped. “I’m never going to sleep again.”

“I’m sorry, hunny. I can still come over and help…”

“No, it’s fine.” You sighed as you put the beads in your hand back in the box and the list on top of it. “I’ll do it. I’ve done it every other year, I’ll do it again this year.”

“That’a girl.” She cheered as you picked up the box with a grunt.

“I’ll see you tonight. Bring the invoice and… fuck it, take her to McDonalds. Just leave the receipt on the table and I’ll pay you tonight, love.” She nodded and agreed as she held open the back door to help you. You said good bye to her and Natasha and smiled at one of Tony’s guys who was holding open the main door for you. Bucky grabbed the trunk for you and took the box from your hands, distracting you from the large bag one of the guys was carrying out of the store. You headed back around to the drivers side with a heavy sigh and sat back in your chair.

“OK, so let’s get back to Anna Lee. Just follow the SUV.” Bucky said as he got back in your car and pulled out his notebook again.

“OK, do you know how much I hate all of this?” You asked as you looked through your papers to pull Annie’s list out of your bank statements.

“OK, I’m guessing this is pony.”

“The first one? Yea, that’s pony.” You laughed as you glanced over at the list. “Then iPad and iPhone are next, then coloring books, and new crayons. Then what’s the next one?”

“Name? Nama? Maybe…”

“Nanea.” You laughed. “She’s the cute, Hawaiian, 1940’s, Junior Citizens Service Corps American Girl doll out of the catalog that my lovely mother signed me up for that I can’t seem to unsubscribe from since Annie has fallin’ in love with these hundred dollar dolls… I was going to try to pass the Target version off but I know that wouldn’t work.”

“So iPad and American girl.” Bucky said as he texted Steve the first two things. “What’s this last thing?”

“A man friend for mommy.” You sighed as you reached out and took the list from him. “Was on the list last year, and it’s what she’s wished for the last two birthdays. My little girl.” You sighed as you looked at the list at a red light. “I don’t deserve her.”

“She sounds like an angel.”

“She is.” You said as you carefully folded the list back up to put in her baby book with the year before’s. “Sweetest, most patient kid ever. She comes to work so I can keep my costs down, and she just sits with her toy of the day or a coloring book on the bus and plays quietly, or sits in the doorway of the room I’m cleaning and watches her show or a movie on my phone, or reads her books. For a four year old, she is an absolute gift from God.”

“What else does she like?”

“She loves to read, and practice her counting, numbers, and letters, and she’s pretty advanced for her age, which is nice. She loves Disney, and her massive collection of stuffed animals. She likes playing with the Legos my mom gave her from when I was a child, which is about as motherly as my mother can be toward her only grandchild because God forbid her daughter have a daughter out of wedlock… Do you smoke?” You looked over at him as he continued to write, but he nodded his head and leaned back to grab his cigarettes.

“Bad habit.” He said as he held out his back to you before you could open the one you secretly kept in your door.

“You’re telling me.” You agreed as you took his lighter from him and lit your cigarette. “I don’t smoke much other than one with my coffee, one after I drop my school bus off in the morning and in the afternoon, and one after I tuck Annie in. And every once in a blue moon when I’m running errands without her, I have one.”

“Yea, I wish I could live off five a day.” Bucky said as you both cranked open your windows a crack. “My friends are all idiots that stress me out and I don’t need that kinda stress in my life. Already got enough. So I smoke.”

“What’s your stress from? Bad girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend, but we’re not here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you.” You huffed and stuck your tongue out at him. “What else does she like?” You sighed and shrugged.

“She colors a lot. Not a fan of being outside but that’s probably because I live in a bad neighborhood. She plays games on my phone. She likes Mommy’s crystals. I don’t know, she’s just a regular kid.”

“And what about you?” Bucky asked as he pulled out his phone and took pictures of his notes to pass along to Steve.

“What about me?”

“What do you like to do?” You scoffed around your smoke and shook your head at him.

“I lost the ability to do anything for myself when I got pregnant.” You told him with a glance over at him. “Every dime I have goes to that little girl. She gets all the new clothes, all the new toys, all the new games. She wants Frozen shaped Mac’n’Cheese or name brand Gushers, she’s gunna get it, and I’m going to survive with holes in my bra straps another day because they still work to pay for her to have her snack. I work three jobs for her, from way before sun up to way after sun down and live in the smallest apartment known to man kind because the rent was cheap. She is my world.

So my interest right now include mermaids, and fairies, and unicorns. And my days off are spent in a kiddy pool on my pathetic excuse for a patio playing mermaids, or playing tea party and dress up, or watching Doc McStuffins for the hundredth time because Annie wants to be a doctor right now. Either that or a mermaid or a crystal witch hippie like me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because she is my little girl.” Bucky studied the side of your face as you took the last drag of your cigarette and tossed the butt out the window. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“What about her father? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Prison. Found out I was pregnant, and he went into a bank, pretended to rob it, and shot a man that worked there just so he didn’t have to pay child support. Jokes on him.” You said with a smirk as you looked over at him. “He still has to pay in federal lock up. Unless he pulls whatever kind of stunt he’s pulling now so that he’s in solitary and not working to make sure his support doesn’t go through to try and ruin Christmas and her birthday like he has since she was born. Asshole.”

“God, you just have your work cut out for you, don’t you?” You nodded your head and glanced down as your mix CD started over, reminding you about your daughter.

“This is how I came up with Anna Lee.” You said as you found the track again and turned it up so he wouldn’t ask anymore questions about you on the drive. As he listened, Bucky pulled out his phone to text Tony directly to let him know that he had picked the right person for his Christmas video give away. He relayed everything you had told him, picking out even more details about your daughter than you had given originally, and about your lifestyle. Because the video wasn’t just about making Christmas for a kid, it was about making Christmas special for an entire family.

“I’m from Nazareth.” You said at the end of the song as you slowed to pay the toll. You glanced over at him as Bucky handed you a twenty, and continued. “Pennsylvania. My parents still live there. I get my love of 60’s music from my dad. The Band was one of his favorites. I knew when I was a child that if I had a little girl, she’d be named Anna Lee because of that line of someone staying to keep Anna Lee company. Just didn’t know as a kid what that meant, but I still fell in love with the name all the same.”

“It’s a beautiful name.” Bucky said as he took his change back from you. “Not one you hear every day.”

“I like that about it, too.”

“Just stay behind the SUV. You don’t have to wait for the U Haul.” You nodded and changed gears to speed up to keep up with the other driver. Driving through the busy streets always made you a little nervous, and the Christmas crowd made that even worse, but thankfully, you didn’t have far to go before you were parking in an above ground lot behind the SUV and next to an empty double spot the U Haul was able to fit in.

“We’ve had these spots reserved for a week.” Your passenger said to you before you even asked the question. “So, we need you to have Anna Lee’s list in hand.” You nodded your head and pulled out the list that would go in a baby box in your closet for her after today. You got out after him and locked the doors, while the little group collected behind the U Haul to introduce themselves and go over the game plan they had been making.

“So this is how it’s going to play out.” Tony said as he showed you a walking map on his phone with pins in places you were going to go. “We’re going to go in a giant circle. But most of us are not going to come back after each trip. We have fold up carts that we’ll put the bags in, and then Clint, and Bruce will run it all back to the U Haul where Scott will be hanging out, keeping an eye on it, since we’re going to be spending a lot of money and people are extra sticky fingered around the holidays.”

“OK.” You said as you glanced over at Bucky as he held out a mic pack for you.

“Needs to clip to your collar on the inside or on your jacket if you don’t plan on taking it off, line goes under your shirt, and the battery fits in your back pocket or it can clip to the back of your jeans.” You nodded your head and turned around to feed the mic up your shirt to your collar as Tony continued.

“Now, I usually do this ‘anonymously’ by supposedly grabbing people off the street, but I have to have people consent to being filmed on film for legal reasons before I can even begin, and I need them to be mic-ed up for that. Which is what we’re doing here. But once that’s done, what we’re gunna have you do is walk about half way down the block while I do my intro. And Bruce will give you the signal to walk toward me. When you pass me, be looking at Anna Lee’s list, and act startled when I get your attention. I may jump in front of you, I may grab your arm. It kinda just happens. And I apologize in advance. Just please don’t scream. It draws a lot of attention and it doesn’t look good.”

“I won’t scream.” You giggled with a shake of your head as you got Annie’s list out.

“Perfect. Now, I need you to confirm to the camera that you are OK with being on camera, in those words. Not just yes or OK, or sure…”

“I am OK with being filmed for Tony Stark’s YouTube channel and his Christmas video. No matter how much I oppose having money spent on me…”

“OK, that’s not what I wanted.” Tony laughed as Bucky smirked at you behind his camera. “But it will work. Now, one last thing. Some stores have an issue with our bigger camera, but I have Wade, our unofficial, smooth talking, ’legal guy’ that talks to managers. Try to stay close, and keep your back more to walls so that other people are not on camera. And if the big camera gets kicked out, we switch to much more subtle little ones. Just so you know what’s going on. And we’re starting with the American Girl store.”

“We also film everything and do a lot of editing so don’t worry about swearing or having to redo takes.” Bucky said as he leaned the camera away from his face a bit. “And I’ll let you know if there’s audio issues so don’t worry about the microphone and the cord.”

“Alright, we ready?” Steve asked as he clipped his mic pack to his belt. You nodded and took a deep breath as you purposely unwrapped your scarf to keep it away from the mic and followed the group down to the street. With Annie’s list in hand, you did what you were told and walked down the block to wait for the signal. You knew what was coming but your hands still shook.

“Stupid.” You mumbled when Bruce gave you the signal. You took a deep breath and carefully stepped around Bucky where Bruce was pointing so that you were passing by Tony where you needed to be.

“Miss! Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa.” Tony said as he gently took your shaking arm and turned you back around so you were facing the camera. “Hi, I have a very important question for you. Who made this Santa list for you today?”

“Oh. My daughter, Anna Lee.”

“Anna Lee. Well my name is Tony Stark. I rented a U Haul truck this year and we’re doing a Christmas video shopping spree for one lucky child this year where we fill the truck with toys for them. And a list written to Santa in glitter crayon on pink paper with stickers to boot, screams special little girl.”

“What?! No, you can’t…”

“Well Santa told me that this was the list I was looking for.” Tony interrupted with a smile, glad you were playing along. “It’s been decided by the spirit of Christmas. So what’s first on the list?” He asked as he looked at the list with you.

“Well Annie really wants an American Girl doll so that’s where I was headed first.”

“Then American Girl it is!” Tony said as he smiled over at you before looking at the camera. “Let’s fill this U Haul for Annie!” Tony stood there long enough to get a thumbs up from Bucky before turning toward you with a smile and handing you back the list. “You did good.”

“Thanks.” You said with a small smile as Bucky came up next to you as Tony looked at his app.

“Just so you know, the microphone picks up your voice even if your not in front of the camera and records it… and I can hear it all in my headset. Which is also very stupid.” Your face flushed red as he held the camera by his side and followed the rest of the group down the street.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“Relax.” He laughed. “We can edit it out in post. No big deal. Just be mindful, OK?” With one more apology, the group turned the corner and grabbed a pair of taxis to head a few blocks uptown to stop number one. You got the quick run down on how you were supposed to enter, but that was it instruction wise. You headed through the door of one of the flagship American Girl Place stores, and couldn’t help but smile that you were standing in a store that you had wanted to see since you were a child and got your own doll.

“So which doll does Annie have her heart set on?” Tony asked as he moved you and himself just enough so that you were out of the way and in front of a wall.

“Oh, that would be Nanea. She’s…”

“First one to find Nanea without disrupting the mom’s gets a thousand dollars.” Tony said with a smirk. His friends took off a brisk walk and you glanced over at Tony. “You’re in on that too.” He said as he gestured to the store.

“Oh boys. If this is how the day is going to go, you’re in for a world of hurt.”

“Follow her.” Tony said as he pushed Bucky in the direction you went. You beelined through the crowd, past Sam and Steve who didn’t realize that Nanea wasn’t a WellieWisher doll and were searching the boxes, Bruce, who was trying to go through boxes in a round about with a bunch of other moms and girls, and Scott, who looked completely lost trying to find some kind of sign to point him in the right direction. Being a mother, and a frequent reader of the magazine, you knew exactly what you were looking for. You headed upstairs, slowed along the side wall in the middle display of all of the dolls that were sold in the historic line, before very gently reaching up to grab a box on the bottom of the third round display in.

“Found it.” You said softly as you smiled at the doll that was going to make your daughter’s whole world. Tears welled in your eyes as Bucky lowered his camera to just watch you for a moment before shooting a text to the group that the doll had been found and where and putting the camera back up on his shoulder.

“She’s a lucky girl.” He said softly, making you look up at him as you hugged the box to your chest.

“I remember opening this box when I was a little girl. It was magical. And now I get to make it magical for her, too.” You looked at him and not the camera and smiled softly. “Thank you for doing this.”

“So who are these other dolls? They all have stories, right?” Steve asked as he looked around at the section you were in.

“They do.” You said as you held the doll to your chest. “I know some of them. Julie is a hippie who stands up for girl’s rights, Melody stands up for the civil rights movement, Nanea survived Pearl Harbor, Kit was Great Depression, Samantha is an orphan, Rebecca is Jewish, Addy escaped slavery, Kaya is a Native American, Josefina lived in 1800’s New Mexico, and Maryellen lives in a time of conformity in the 50’s and she just wants to stand out. Then you have Joss who is deaf in one ear, Blair the chef, decorator, farmer, etcetera, and lastly my personal favorite, Luciana, the aspiring astronaut. Wow, I know all of them.”

“You know a lot about these dolls.” Steve said as Tony stood next to Bucky, just watching.

“I do. I had a doll when I was younger, Molly, World War II. I loved the lessons that these dolls taught, and I love that they are still teaching girls about our history. And they all have clothes and props and stuff to help reinforce those stories. Like I had a little chalk board and work books, and a desk for Molly. It’s really cute.”

“Well then obviously, Annie needs them all.”

“What?!” You snapped as you whipped around to Tony, who was smiling as if he didn’t just drop a bomb.

“One of everything the doll has.” He told his friends, who scattered across the room to grab a doll and all the accessories they had in their section. “Pay attention to the little boxes!”

“No. No, you really don’t have to do that.” You tried as he looked at Nanea’s shelves and grabbed her clothes and accessories packs.

“You agreed to this, sweetheart.” Tony said in a sing song voice as he grabbed a couple shopping bags from a woman and started to fill them. “We’re doing this for Anne…”

“Anna Lee.” You and Bucky corrected at the same time.

“Anna Lee.” Tony repeated as if committing her full name to memory. “Look, they’re historic so she can learn. And besides that, you have to look at it this way. I know we’re not gunna be able to fill a 26 foot U Haul today. I knew that going into it. But thanks to money that I get from my followers, and money that comes from selling sweaters and t-shirts, and shit, I know I have roughly one million dollars to spend on Anna Lee. And in order to get more content to be able to do this for someone else, I need to go all out. And I need you to participate as well.” You nodded your head as his friends started putting their finds in the shopping bags, and Tony gently pushed your shoulder. “Make it fun! Enjoy spoiling your kid. Just pretend you won the lottery and spend my money. Because you kinda did.”

“OK, OK.” You sighed as you took two shopping bags from him with a scowled smile. “Fine. They make furniture, clothes, pets, and accessories, too. And other dolls for younger kids, and ones that you can find to look like your kid…”

“Well then lead the way.” Steve said with a smile as the guys picked up the first round of bags. You looked over at Bucky with a heavy sigh, and he gave you a smile and a small nod.

“You got this.” With a roll of your eyes, you lead the pack of boys around, picking out and assisting them on picking the best pieces the store had.

Part 2

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #A Christmas Gift

19 notes · View notes

lovinlikeloki · 3 years

Text

The Lone Wolf

Masterlist // 02

Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4k

The door slides open and I shift back, startled.

I hear a man's voice as I sit up, "Had to put a little coffee in him...," the door slams and Scott wakes up, "but he should be good."

"You got coffee without me Wanda?" I growl, standing up, my eyes burning at the sudden light, "You really are a witch."

Scott gets out of the van and I follow behind him.

"What time zone is this?" he groans.

"Come on," the blond man I heard speak before says before lightly pushing us both away from the van, "Come on."

Scott then steps forward, realizing that standing before him is Captain Steve Rogers. Which is cool I guess, I mean he's an avenger, he fought in world war two, he fought aliens, he fought robots. He fought leis.

(With him)

He begins shaking Rogers's hand vigorously, before speaking in disbelief, "Captain America."

"Mr. Lang," Rogers replies, making Scott begin to fanboy a bit.

"It's an honor. I'm shaking your hand too long," he realizes, before dropping him hand to look at everyone. "Wow! This is awesome!"

He points at Rogers, smiling, "Captain America," he says, realizing he's looking at Wanda, "I know you, too. You're great!"

He then looks back at the Captain with a grin on his face, choosing to then, for some reason, grope his biceps, "Jeez."

The captain looks over his should to the Falcon for a second, possibly regretting his decisions. Scott then continues his rambles.

"Ah, look, I wanna say, I know you know a lot of super people, so...thinks for thanking of me."

Really? Wow- really? He's on the team? I'm glad I decided to come because no offense to Scott, but he's a bit of a plonker.

Scott then looks to who I assume is Falcon, pointing, "Hey, man!"

"What's up, Tic Tac?" Falcon quips, they must know each other already.

Scott seems a bit more hesitant now, "Uh, good to see you. Look, what happened last time when I..."

Wilson interrupts, "It was a great audition, but it'll," he laughs, "it'll never happen again."

Someone seems to finally notice me when Rogers nods to me, "Hey Wanda, who's this?"

"Fianna MacBhfloscaidh at your service," I smirk, holding my hand out for him to shake. He gets a simple up down before I let go, not wanting to be even close to a repeat of Lang.

"And what do you do?" Falcon asks.

"I'm a hyper sentient lycanthrope with the ability to transfigure from a homo sapien to a canis lupus," I reply.

"You what?" Scott asks, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

"I'm basically a werewolf with complete control over when I shift and how I act," I explain.

"Okay..." Rogers says, probably still a bit confused. But he moves on nonetheless, "They tell you what we're up against?"

"Something about some psycho-assassins?" Scott says, saying it more as a question.

"And possibly some of your own team," I add on.

Rogers nods, "We're outside the law on this one. So if you come with us, you're wanted people."

Scott shrugs, "Yeah, well, what else is new?"

When Rogers looks at me I simply grin, "Yeah, well it's always nice to be wanted."

"Fianna, not by police," Wanda scolds and I smirk at her.

The Captain shakes his head at me, though I can tell he's amused.

"We should get moving," a long-haired guy in the back pipes up. I didn't even realize he was there.

"'Got a chopper lined up," the blond who let us out the van chimes in.

Before anyone can respond the airport PA begins to sound some sirens before a man speaks through it in German. I'm just able to make out what he's saying.

"They're evacuating the airport," long haired man informs those who don't speak German.

"Stark," Falcon says, but we all been knew.

"Stark?" Scott questions, well maybe not all.

Rogers pauses for a second before telling us to suit up.

Wanda takes my hand and pulls me to her, "This is going to be a rough fight, Volchitsa, but not the one we're preparing for. Don't waste your energy, and don't get knocked around too much."

(She-wolf)

"I can't handle myself Wanda, it's you I'm worried about," I say as she loosens her grip.

"You know that I have this, right?" she asks sarcastically, allowing a red orb of magic dance along her fingers.

"And you know I have this, right?" I mock back, turning my nails to claws.

"I guess we can both hold our own," Wanda says.

"But that doesn't mean we don't have each other's backs," I say, turning my claws back to nail.

"Of course, I watch your back, you watch mine."

"Good, because I can't lose you. We already lost him, we can't lose each other. ...We're gonna stay in contact after this, right? Because I need you in my life."

"We'll definitely stay in contact malen'kiy. I need you just as much as you need me."

(Little)

With that I put on my green face mask and prepare to kick Avenger Ass.

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

I'm in the terminal with Falcon and the long-haired dude, who turns out to have a metal arm, which is pretty cool.

"So," I begin, "Do you guys have names or am I gonny be calling yous metal arm and falcon?"

"Sam," Falcon divulges.

"Bucky," long-haired dude discloses.

"Okay, cool. I'm Fianna, but you already know that..." I trail off, "Where are we at with the Quinjet?"

"Still looking," Sam says, still scrolling on the little iPad on his arm, I don't really know what it is.

"We found it," Sam then announces over the comms, "Their Quinjet's in hangar five, north runway."

After that announcement the three of us start sprinting down the terminal. Well I say sprinting, Sam and I were sprinting, Bucky was going about it as if it's a light jog. That would make sense if he's somehow Bucky Barnes, super soldier from WWII which is what I've pieced together. But what do I know? I'm a kid who's just along for the ride.

We're running along when there's a thud on the glass roof above us. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something red and blue crawling along it.

"What the hell is that?" Bucky asks.

"No clue," I retort.

"Everyone's got a gimmick now," Sam grumbles.

We keep running until this guy smashes through the glass and kicks Sam to the side, I throw a couple punches at him before he pushes me away. I slide for a second before stopping myself and standing up, by this point Bucky is already handling it, he throws a punch that the guy stops.

He pulls it to the side a bit before saying, "You have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude."

Wow, clearly he's just a kid. A nerdy kid.

Sam takes his surprise as a chance to grab him and fly away.

"You good?" Bucky asks me.

"I'm fine," I assure, "You?"

"Gonna take more than a kid in tights for me."

With that we start running after Sam and the guy, who is putting his hand on Sam's mouth saying, "You have the right to remain silent!"

Sam lets go of him and flies away but the kid thwips out some kind of string to keep himself in the air. He keeps chasing Sam while Bucky and I tail them both.

The kid is thwipping this string all over the place as he goes after Sam, Sam shooting behind him every few seconds to try and get rid of him. He lands for a second and Bucky takes this as an opportunity to throw a big sign at him and we then hide behind a pillar.

I brave a look and Bucky is just quick enough to pull me back as the kid throws the sign back, quipping, "Hey buddy, I think you lost this!"

Sam does a flying kick to knock the kid off his perch which works. For about two seconds, then the kid thwips out his string and then throws some of it on Sam's wings, causing them to fail and Sam to go crashing through a kiosk-like thing.

The kid immediately has Sam... I think webbed would be the right word, to a railing while he sticks to the side of a pillar. Bucky and I begin to catch up with them when I hear the kid begin to geek out again.

"Those wings carbon fiber?" he asks.

"Is this stuff coming out of you?" Sam retorts, which is a fair question, if not a gross one.

Instead of answering the kid continues his rambling, "That would explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio which, gotta say, that's awesome, man."

This kid is super inexperienced, judging by his conversations, rambling, and just sitting on his ass during a fight.

"I don't know if you've been in a fight before but there's usually not this much talking," Sam puts an end to his tangent.

"All right, sorry. My bad," the kid says, swinging himself at Sam as Bucky and I try to shield Sam. This leads to us crashing through the glass railing and falling to the floor.

"Ahh, you prick!" I complain as he webs my arms to the floor.

He then, annoyingly, begins monologuing again, "Guys, look, I'd love to keep this up, but I've only got one job here today and I gotta impress Mr. Stark, so, I'm really sorry."

Just as he's about to web us up even more Redwing, Sam's little drone, latches onto him and pulls him through a window and far from us.

"You couldn't have done that earlier?" Bucky askes, annoyed.

After a beat, Sam responds, "I hate you."

"God, are all the Avengers kids?" I sigh, turning my nails to claws and getting the stupid webbing off of my arms before turning to the other two.

"No, just him. And he's not even an Avenger, god knows where Stark picked him up," Sam tells me.

"Wait, how'd you get out of this shit?" Bucky asks me.

"These," I reply, showing my claws before tearing the webs from him and Sam. "Now let's get back to the others."

We keep running and link up with the others, all running towards the Quinjet.

"Come on!" Steve yells, we're almost there when a yellow laser makes a large crack in the ground in front of us. We look up and see a maroon person, I believe his name is Vision.

"Captain Rogers, I know you believe what you're doing is right. But for the collective good, you must surrender now." He announces.

Does he think that Steve's just gonna say, 'Oh, well the red guy said it, so that's what I'm gonna do!' or something? Because that is crazy.

And, with the help of Vision's stalling the whole Iron gang gets together opposite us. Stark and Romanoff already there, Vision slowly descending, Iron Patriot flying in with someone in some gothic Hello Kitty getup, and finally the Spider-Child swings in.

"What do we do, Cap?" Sam asks.

"We fight," Steve says monotone. Clearly these guys don't want to fight their friends, but me? I've got no ties to the other team, I'm not gonna go easy on anyone.

We start walking towards them and Romanoff seems hesitant, "This is gonna end well," she says sarcastically before the other team starts towards us too.

We start to pick up the pace a bit and the other team mirrors, but the Spider-Kid isn't confident in himself, pointing out the obvious, "They're not stopping."

Stark lays it out to him simply, "Neither are we."

Everyone kind of pairs off, fighting a single person and I seem to be a bit out of place. Because of this I decide to team up with Scott, who's briefly fighting Black Widow... yeah, he'll need the help.

Scott is trying to dodge and throw punches and so while she's distracted I try to go for a kick to her side. She sees this and counters, grabbing my leg and throwing me sideways. I land on all fours and quickly scramble to my feet as Clint begins to fight Romanoff which is clearly a better match.

Not knowing where to go I choose to follow Cap and fight the Spiderling and I'm just in time to see Cap slice a web with his shield. The kid decides to throw in his 2 cents when Cap puts his shield back on his arm.

"That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all," he laments.

"Look, kid, there's a lot going on here that you don't understand," Cap tries to reason.

"What and she does?" he points to me.

"That's not the point, a pháiste," I roll my eyes, "Stark has you confused about the stakes here."

(Child)

"Mr. Stark said you'd say that," the kid reveals before shooting webbing at Steve's shield and leg, pulling him so that he falls, then showing at Steve's arms to pull him closer before kicking him in the face.

I run to the shield, picking it up as the Spider continues, "He also said to go for your legs."

Before I can hand the shield to Steve, the kid webs up his hands, pulling back and they both strain in the tug-of-war. Steve uses this to his advantage as he turns around and pulls him away. I hand Steve the shield and he hides behind it for a second as the boy tries to grab it again with his webs. Instead, I grab the webbing and pull him towards us and Steve hits him bang on the head with his shield. The kid scampers away, again trying to get the high ground as he gets on top of a boarding tunnel.

"Stark tell you anything else?" Steve teases.

"That you're wrong. You think you're right. That makes you dangerous," the teen shrugs before attaching a web to the top of the boarding tunnel and swings down, trying to web us up again. The Captain kicks him back into a pillar with a wheel under, part of the boarding tunnel, and the kid falls.

"Guess he has a point," Cap shrugs, throwing his shield at the pillar and it breaks, making the tunnel fall and nearly crush the kid before he catches it.

The kids struggles with the tunnel as Steve says, "You got heart, kid. Where you from?"

"Queens," is what the breathless teen gasps out.

Steve smirks at the kid, "Brooklyn," he shares before running off. I look at the struggling kid for a second, about to run off too before my morals get the better of me. Stupid morals.

I go to the edge of the tunnel and hold it up for the kid to get out, he look at me and the eyes of his mask widen a bit. I roll my eyes at him.

"Come on, I don't have all day," I sigh, and his hesitance disappears. He scrambles out and I drop the tunnel.

He gives me a quick once over before blurting, "Wow you're really strong."

"Yeah, guess I am."

"Why are you helping them?" he takes me by surprise.

"Why are you helping them?" I counter.

"I got an identity to keep secret. Besides, I needed an upgrade," he tells me, no hesitation.

I look at him for a second, "Family takes care of family."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks.

"Means this isn't my fight, but I'm gonna fight it anyway," I then walk up to him, my face a foot away from his. "And I'm real helpful in this fight."

"Why's that?"

"I know your weakness."

"Oh yeah? And what is it?" he asks confidently, even though I can see through his tough guy façade.

"It's something your precious 'Mr. Stark' forgot," I say, batting my eyelashes, "You're a teenage boy, Spider-kid."

I lower my face mask and kiss the cheek of his mask. I smirk at him, walking away backwards, winking before turning around and sprinting towards the fight. I pull up my face mask over my nose and when I get to there I hide with Steve and Bucky.

"We gotta go, that guy's probably in Siberia by now," Bucky tells Steve, finally cluing me in on where our final destination is.

"We gotta draw out the flyers," Steve automatically takes charge, "I'll take Vision, you get to the jet."

"No," Sam protests, "you get to the jet!" he demands Steve, "Both of you! The rest of us aren't getting out of here."

"As much as I hate to admit it, if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it," Clint agrees.

"This isn't the real fight, Steve," Sam continues.

Steve looks at me expectantly, but I shake my head, "Steve, this isn't the fight we have to win, only you do. We'll be fine."

"All right, Sam. What's the play?" he gives in to out pleas.

"We need a diversion. Something big," Sam says. So turns out we don't have a plan. We have a concept. Could be worse, I guess.

"I got something kinda big," Scott tells us, "But I can't hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half, don't come back for me."

Bucky looks at us in bafflement, "He's gonna tear himself in half?"

"You sure about this, Scott?" Steve ignores his friend.

"I do it all the time," Scott says, before immediately backpedaling, "I mean, once. In a lab. Then I passed out."

I'm really starting to doubt this plan but there's no time because I hear Scott chanting and then a loud grunting noise. When I look for the source I'm in shock.

"Holy shit!" I yell because Ant-Man just turned into Giant-Man.

Or as Iron Patriot says is, "Okay, tiny dude is big now. He's big now."

Everyone kinda slowly comes out of their hiding place to watch this craziness.

"Guess that's the signal," Steve says.

"Way to go Tic Tac!" Sam praises and Scott waves around War Machine as he attempts to distract the Team Iron.

"Give me back my Rhodey," Stark says sternly before Sam sends a flying kick his way and Scott throws Rhodes away without a second thought.

I run with Steve and Bucky, if only so that I can offer them a few seconds more of time in case someone chases them. While I'm running with them Scott breaks off the wing of a plane, throwing it at Stark.

"Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they'd like to disclose? I'm open to suggestions," Stark quips, clearly on edge about Ant-man's ability to grow that big.

I look to Steve and Bucky before deciding that this was the moment I needed to give them cover, because what distraction isn't complete without another distraction to make sure it's completely working.

"Not exactly on your side Stark, but I'll volunteer as tribute," I snark, shifting to a wolf.

'Let me handle this one Lu. But any useful advice will be appreciated,' I think.

'You've got it, Boss,' Lu responds.

"Okay, uh, can someone handle the wolf girl? Vision? Underoos? Anyone?" Stark asks in desperation, hoping there was a free hand available to take me on.

T'Challa begins to make his way to Bucky when Scott stands in his way, "You wanna get to them? You gotta go through me," Scott says.

Scott then kicks and completely destroys the massive wooden crates that T'Challa was standing on. He falls to the ground and Scott begins to grab at him when he starts getting shot at by War Machine's blaster things, the Spider-boy swinging behind him attached with a web.

The spider hero snaps his webbing before latching another onto Scott, wrapping it around the giant's arm and kicking him in the face. I'm unsure of how to help so I become Scott's defense on the ground, anyone slips by him or attacks from below, I'll handle them.

Rhodes is hit and drops onto a piece of equipment, causing him to start shooting at Scott again. I take this as a chance to run towards him, tackling him away as Scott decides to crush the thing he was perched on.

Rhodes flies away and the spider thing just acts as a complete pest, climbing around Scott's helmet distracting him until Vision pushes into him, making Scott lean on the plane behind him for support. I shift back as he steadies himself and tries to snatch Vision when he just becomes intangible and floats through Scott.

"Something just flew in me!" Scott yells.

Vision uses his laser beam to make a support tower collapse, thus trying to seal the entrance to the hangar, but Wanda uses her powers to hold it up for as long as he can.

"You got this Wanda!" I encourage, but War Machine shoots a sonar beam towards her, making her overlook her powers and clutch her ears.

"You prick!" I yell at him, running to her aid, but she ushers me away, urging me to continue to fight.

I dash back to the fight where three flyers circle Scott.

"Hey, guys, you ever see that really old movie, Empire Strikes Back?" The Spider-Teen asks as he avoids Ant-Man's attempts to grab him.

"Jesus, Tony, how old is this guy?" Rhodes asks.

"I don't know I didn't carbon-date him," Stark admits, "He's on the young side."

Well if that isn't the understatement of the year.

I try to swipe at the arachnid superhero as he swings low, but he evades my claws.

"You know the part where they're on the snow planet," he means Hoth, "with the walking thingies?" he means the AT-ATs. What? I know my Star Wars. Shut up!

I catch his drift seconds too late as he's already tangled Scott's legs. Shit, I don't usually deal with this shit.

"Maybe the kid's onto something," Stark ponders.

"High now, Tony. Go high," Rhodes yells. They go through with the plan and all I can do is run back, I can't stop it from working but I can stop myself from getting crushed.

They're plan works but the Teenage Mutant Nerdy Spider gets whacked by Scott's hand which sends him flying. In another moment of moral transparency I rush to where he's falling and catch him.

Damn... guess he's falling for me already.

I run a little further away from the fight and lay him down as Scott transforms back into regular size man, asking if anyone has any orange slices. I look at the boy I saved, shaking my head before rushing aside a bit so that I can deal with the wave of pain I feel coming on.

Stark flies down to the spider, turning him before catching the hands the the boy tries to throw.

"Same side. Guess who. Hi. It's me," Stark snarks as the kid calms himself.

"Aw, hey man," the kid gasps. "That was scary. Yeah."

"You're done, all right?" Stark confirms, "You did a good job. Stay down."

"What? I'm good, I'm fine," the boy assures at the same time.

"Stay down," Stark repeats.

"No, it's good I gotta get him back," the teen complains.

"You're going home, or I'll call Aunt May!" Stark threatens, "You're done."

"Wait," the teen doesn't give up as the armored man flies away, "Mr. Stark, wait," he groans, trying to stand, "I'm not done. I'm not...," he stumbles, "Okay, I'm done. I'm done."

#peter parker x oc #peter parker x reader #spiderman x oc #spiderman x reader #peter parker #fianna macbhfloscaidh #the lone wolf #the lupine saga #nyx writes #jynx writes #pyre writes

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maviemesregles · 4 years

Text

Once I was an Eagle

Aaaaaand, I'm back! I know it's been bloody ages since the last update but I needed a break. I also had been busy with other ficlets so OIWAE was put on pause. But the story is back and I do hope you like this instalment. I really, really like this chapter.

I am absolutely horrible at answering the comments (which I'll fix, promise) but I do see each one of them! I LOVE reading what your thoughts are, whether you liked some moment or a particular turn of phrase, I appreciate it all. No matter if it's one word, emoji, or a big analysing comment. Thank you lovies for staying here with me. <3

Anne, you’re my gem 💜 @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur

Read on AO3

Chapter I: The beginnings

Chapter II: Sassenach

Chapter III: Catharsis

Chapter IV: Lovestruck. Part I

Chapter V: Lovestruck. Part II

Chapter VI: Flecks of Sun

Chapter VII: Mince pies & baubles

Chapter VIII: Home

Blood pounded in Claire’s ears muffling the music and the howling wind outside. Jamie’s face blurred as the tears gathered at the brink of her lower lashes. She inhaled deeply, blinking furiously to get rid of the swell of moisture in her eyes. Closing them Claire could feel Jamie moving towards her, gently touching her arm, voice concerned.

“Claire, was it too early? Did I-”

He could not finish his sentence because she dissolved into ugly crying. Clinging to him, gasping for air and in general being an awful mess.

“Shh, mo graidh. Shh. Tis alright.” His hands wrapped around Claire in a familiar way, thumb circling the tender skin at her nape softly.

“I.. I’m going to ruin your shirt.” Sniffing, voice muffled by his aforementioned shirt Claire leaned back to look at the mess she created. Her running nose and damp cheeks imprinted a mascara-black wet blot on green fabric. She could hear Jamie chuckle as he picked her up and sat down with Claire curled on his lap.

“I dinna care one bit about the shirt, lass.” Lips gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. Claire sighed though still gasping for air. The comfort of Jamie’s warmth made her body become limp.

“I’m not crying because I am sad,” Claire whispered, hand cupping the back of his head. “I... I’m crying because I’m happy, Jamie. Happy to live with you.”

Dropping a kiss on the bridge of her nose, he smiled.

“Aye. Me too, my Sassenach.”

* * *

It was the beginning of what seemed like an endless hunt for what would become a perfect flat for us. We spent about three weeks chasing an ideal place, checked at least ten flats scattered all over Edinburgh but none of them was quite what we were looking for (not far away from my work; with a park nearby to allow Jamie to go on his morning jogs. And it needed to have a large living room and be pet-friendly.)

Jamie (bare-chested, skin still flushed from the shower) was performing his magic by preparing the scrambled eggs I loved so much while I sat on the windowsill, feet in fuzzy socks propped up the wall. As I scrolled through rental ads on Jamie’s iPad I felt the pressure of upcoming headache from all this searching. And suddenly, there it was. The place that we were looking for.

A stone-built ground floor house had a spacious kitchen and a huge living room adorned with an old fireplace. The ceilings were so high I thought there is no end to them. “Canna wait to hear yer voice inside these walls” Jamie smirked at me as we followed behind the agent chirping away about how great this flat is. “Whatever do you mean?” I quirked my brow at him. He leaned closer, whispering into my ear, his warm breath tickling the little hairs on my nape. “Weel, those sounds ye make when I-” Giggling, my elbow pressed into his ribs, stopping him before any dangerous and inappropriate (for the agent) revelations could occur.

Grand windows allowed the sun to slip into every little corner of the flat and made it breathe with light. There were two bedrooms with hardboard wooden floors and a small study fully equipped with bookshelves. French doors in the kitchen opened to a garden with a southern exposure was the last deciding straw for me. It had everything we needed. Adso would be welcome to live here, it was a fifteen minute drive from my work and there was a park just across the street. Although it was rather pricey, Jamie ignored my hissing remark “Almost four grand quid? Fucking insane,” and said that we should sign the rental agreement. I kissed him senseless allowing the feeling that this is us now, our own place fill me up.

The rental price had changed our plans a little bit. Forcing us to spend a couple of days moving small furniture and other possessions Jamie and I owned to our new accommodation by ourselves. At the end of it all, sweaty and tired, we sat on the boxes in the empty living room, watching the snowfall outside the huge windows.

“Are ye happy, Sassenach?” Jamie gently pulled me by the wrist to his side. My hands cradled his face as I stood up and found myself a prisoner between his thighs.

“Of course I am, James Fraser,” thumb caressing the apple of his cheeks I glanced around. “Only I have no idea how we are going to organize this mess.” It feels like between the two of us there are millions of boxes and bags, packages. I’ve brought the plants I owned (the only three I managed not to kill), a box full of uncle’s Lamb belongings, an enormous contemporary art painting Geillis got me for my 30th birthday two years ago. Adso had his belongings too, a scratching post, litter tray and his own little blanket. Adso himself was being babysat by Geillis while I and Jamie tried to sort out our moving. Jamie was currently sitting on a stash of my medical books destined for the study.

“We’ll manage, a nighean ” His hands patted my hips, bringing me closer. Planting a soft kiss on the washed fabric over my sternum, Jamie looked up. “We canna do more than our best.”

My stomach had the quite opposite opinion of doing our best and rumbled loudly.

“God, I’m starving” yawning I reached for the cellphone.

Later, full and warm with chicken ramen, curry with prawns and wok-fried greens we had just enough strength in us to unpack most of the carton boxes that said “Kitchen”. In that hour and a half, we managed to laugh, listen to Jamie’s Dire Straits playlist on his phone and argue over ridiculous things. Putting away a bitty family of my mugs and cups Jamie dropped my favourite mug Frank bought me a very long time ago and I never could get rid of it. It was massive and bright yellow, with Friends on it. It was my all-time binge-love TV show. It shattered in yellow pieces atop the counter and floor. I didn't mean to snap. But we both were bone-weary from a long day of moving back and forth, of a week packing before, exhausted from all the searching catching up with us. Suddenly I felt my chin quiver at the sight of my beloved, now broken mug.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach.” Jamie bit his lip, trying to reach me with his hand over the island counter but I shrugged away.

“Why are you so bloody clumsy, ” I mumbled, kneeling to pick up broken ceramic bits. Jamie rubbed his face, clearly wanting to say something, but instead he bent to help.

Annoyed just by him breathing next to me at that moment I dropped collected pieces straight into the bin. When he tried to sweep the floor from the dusty mug remains I snapped.

“Oh, please, just move away, or you’re going to break something else.”

I regretted the words right after I’ve said them but blood was already pounding in my ears and there was no way back.

“I said I’m sorry,” Jamie muttered, looking visibly irritated himself now. “It’s just a mug, I’ll buy ye a new one.”

The tension crackled with its force.

“I don’t want another bloody mug! ” I barked at him trying to busy myself opening a new box. “Frank gave it to me. It was my favourite one.”

Time seemed to stop for a second as Jamie slowly licked his lips looking me straight in the eyes.

“Frank?”

Unable to hold his gaze anymore I turned my back to him staring out of the window.

“Don’t you start playing a jealous boyfriend on me,” I grunted, telling myself to calm down. You know he doesn’t mean it bad.

He grumbled and I could hear him retreating to the living room.

“Why are ye bitching about it, Claire?” He hissed and I thought I could feel his words crawl inside me like a poisonous snake.

“What?” I followed him to the room (aka the mess) full of boxes.

“Nothing.”

“Repeat what you just said,” I demanded.

He didn’t. Instead, we spent the next hour in different rooms unpacking. Or pretending to. I wasn't able to do a proper job and stopped on one box. As the sweat cooled off on my skin and the urge to cry faded away I plodded down the hallway towards the bathroom. Passing the living room I caught a glimpse of Jamie placing my candles (that he hated) on top of the fireplace. The sight gave my heart a painful (and guilty) squeeze. Deciding that taking a shower, putting fresh PJs on and making us both a nice cup of tea would make both of us feel better.

I turned on the hot water. It was blissful and caused me to go limp. Engrossed as I was I did not hear Jamie come in. Shedding his clothes wordlessly, he stepped into the shower behind me. Cupping one breast, he dropped a kiss on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry I snapped, Claire. And I’m sorry for ye wee mug.”

Turning to face him, I nodded and kissed his jaw softly.

“I am sorry, Jamie. I was unreasonable and acted like a jerk.”

Our earlier argument was mended when his lips sealed on my neck, leaving me breathless. Moments later I cried out as I sagged against the tiled wall, him still inside me.

We slept on a makeshift bed that Jamie constructed from his mattress and two blankets just right in front of the fireplace. We laid, limbs entwined, among the boxes and bags, hands lazily tracing hills and valleys of each other bodies. “I love you,” I whispered before my mind drifted away into the realm of Morpheus.

* * *

Weeks later our flat finally started looking like somebody really lives here. With all our mismatched furniture, collection of books (mine mainly botany and poems, and Jamie’s classics and fantasy), with a horrid motorbike engine of Jamie’s (the one he used to drive in his uni days). No matter how much I asked him to throw that away he squealed like a girl protecting her virtue, not letting me come near that metal monstrosity. We agreed to put it away in the second bedroom which initially became a storage room.

One evening as I rocked my hips atop of him Jamie smirked that we marked each room in this flat. “ Aye, we did” I said mimicking him as I yanked my scrub top off over my head. Jamie made my body go limp against the shower tiles; he drew mewling sounds out of me on the kitchen table; my moans bounced off those high ceilings in the living room; his laboured breathing filled our bedroom and crawled up the walls. I gasped at the feeling of him in the storage room when Jamie announced his evident desire for a quickie; and he groaned “Oh, Claire” following his meandering Gaelic cursing as his hands tangled in my curls while I kneeled down unzipping his jeans.

Every time I showed up at work Geillis would never forget to ask me with a wink “So, my darling, how’s yer wee ginger? Loves ye well? I TOLD YE. Yer fucking glowing like a candle, Claire.”

Living with Jamie was a whole new experience. Now I had the luxury to wake up to his sleepy face and mussed curls every day. He would make the most miserable facial expression as I switch on the table lamp, grunting and burying himself under the layers of blanket. James Fraser was definitely not a morning person. “Five in the morning is torture,” he mumbled sleepily as I pressed a goodbye kiss to his forehead. “Normal people sleep at this time, ye ken. Go, save yer humans, Sassenach.” Squeezing my hand he turned to snooze immediately. But as soon as I got to work my phone would beep with his text message every morning “Have a great day, a nighean. Love ye.”

Any other morning I had a chance to stay in bed longer he’d wake me up with his hands, his mouth and his body molding into mine much like matching puzzle piece. I could not remember life without him anymore. Without his perfect morning coffee for me; without our banter or seriousness full talks in the darkness of the night, his hands on my hip, thumb carving the shape of my pelvic bone; without lazy evenings on the couch with Netflix and takeaway, my head resting on his chest, Jamie’s hand wrapped around my waist, and Adso curled on his lap.

Every day I had a pleasure of observing his fucking gorgeous post jog body. But like any other couple, we shared our bit of things that drove us crazy. Jamie had this annoying habit to turn the TV on so loud I had to scream like a banshee from the kitchen to get his attention. He also seemed to be very dedicated at the task of leaving the puddle of water on the bathroom floor after showering. I would not even want to mention his morning cologne spraying session that left a suffocating smell in the hallway. But, I myself was far from perfect. I had to endure him rolling his eyes at me and making disgusted faces as he plucked my hair out from the shower drain. Also, Jamie was patient with me and my attempts to cook and never protested eating ordered food. He would often volunteer for the task seeing me struggle with slimy spaghetti. But all those things did not matter as each night I fell asleep saying “I love you” lulled by his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek.

It had gotten to the point where I found that I could not live without him. So when Jamie had to leave to Inverness for three days I cursed at his business the whole day. Without him, I felt like the part of me was torn away and even Adso purring by my side couldn’t remedy the feeling. That’s why now I shamelessly found my place on Jamie’s lap, sparkling rosé in my hand. Our kitchen was filled with laughter, chats and instrumental indie playing from Google Home speaker Jenny and Ian gave us as a gift. The food was rich and tasty, the wine was pleasantly chill and Jamie’s left hand on my hip too much to handle. We haven’t made love for three days and I was positively flushed with desire. My skin was on fire - a mix of alcohol, laughter and Jamie.

“So, Claire, I do hope ye like yer wee rug?” Angus tried to wink at me sipping his red. I rolled my eyes and looked over my shoulder to have a look at his present again. It was a door rug in a bright green colour with a white cat on it that said: “Don’t forget to pet my pussy-cat”. He shoved it into my hands grinning. I was taken aback and did not know what to say. Meanwhile, Jamie broke into almost hysterical laughter, as I stood mouth agape. “Ye do have a cat, no?” Angus snorted and I only managed to nod as he welcomed himself inside our flat.

“Very thoughtful present,” I said, saluting my glass to Angus.

Untangling myself from Jamie’s embrace I excused myself to the bathroom. I washed my hands and caught sight of my face in the mirror. Cheeks pink coloured I splashed cold water on my face, feeling the drops run down my neck. Hair drawn back in a sweaty knot. When Jamie opens the door there is a trail of loud raucous laughter coming from the kitchen follows him.

“I’ll be right back,” I said thinking he came to get me. But the next moment the latch on the door clicked closed. His lips sought mine and he tasted of whisky leaving the burning sensation on my lips. His hands reached under my sweater, tracing the small of my back and then soft skin on my belly.

“I love them all, but I swear if they dinna leave soon, I’m going to have to kill all our guests” Jamie breathed out heavily as my hands fumbled with his belt, tugging at the stubborn zipper of the jeans. He cursed something in Gaelic that I did not understand when my fingers found his hot flesh.

“I might kill them myself,” I agreed, gently biting at his earlobe. My mouth fell open when Jamie snaked a hand between us, curling and tasting me with his fingers exactly right.

“Christ, Claire” He muttered under his breath, fingers damp from his exploration. But our moment was rudely interrupted by Murtagh unceremoniously knocking on the door. “What are ye doing there, ye wee beasties? We need more booze.” Grunting in annoyance Jamie slid his belt back in and reached to pull my rolled sweater down. Kissing him chastely, we made it out back to our guests.

Over the next several days, we both were swirled into the routine business of life seeing each other mostly in the evenings. I’ve been extra busy at work and Jamie still had to finish important tasks at the brewery. Both of us exhausted, we barely managed to order takeaway, with me falling asleep on the couch as soon as the food was finished as a new episode of Peaky Blinders played. Jamie would carry me to the bedroom. He crept in beside me covering us both with a quilt. We would touch fingertips and sleep holding each other until the sun came uninvited, crawling inside the room. There was a silent agreement between us and the sex was at bay. There was a day when Jamie’s hands glided over my hips, finger drawing patterns at the panties waistband. Sleepily, I mumbled that I’m gross and disgusting and in need of a shower and shave. The other day I managed to pull off my sexiest face and slowly pull down my knickers I turned to find Jamie had fallen asleep soundly, mouth slightly agape. Chuckling, I picked my discarded underwear and slid under the blankets next to his starfish sprawled body.

Standing in the locker room at the hospital I’ve snapped a photo of myself. I turned myself provocatively displaying my ass to look as if I spent days in the gym (I did not of course) but nonetheless Jamie seemed more than fascinated by this body part of mine. Sending him the picture with capslock text “TONIGHT FRASER” I retreated back to work. All morning and lunch I spent thinking of the upcoming evening. Geillis took me out of my thoughts by grabbing my hand in the hallway.

“Claire, are ye alright?” Her eyes examined my face worriedly. “Ye look as pale as the wall behind ye.” I shook my head, reassuring her it’s nothing but a bit of nausea.

“I’m fine, Geil.” Running a palm over my clammy forehead I felt the imminent need to vomit. “It’s probably that sushi I had for lunch with Joe. I told him it did not look good.”

Giving me judgmental-mother look and shaking her head Geillis still made me sit down and close my eyes.

“Ye work too much, lass. Jamie needs to take ye on a holiday.”

The perspective of vacation sounded like an unreachable luxury at the moment but under Geillis’s superior look I agreed to go home earlier tonight. It started to rain hard outside when I crossed the threshold, dropping the bags of groceries down. Deciding that I might as well cook today instead of having takeaway again I strolled down the kitchen feeling slightly wamble and dizzy. After taking Pepto-Bismol and hoping it’ll help calm down my disgruntled stomach I opened a can of cat food, summoning Adso. But my cat was nowhere in sight. I’ve checked every nook and little corner, under the bed and couch. In the storage room as last time Jamie closed the cat in there by accident. My furry baby seemed to have vanished into thin air and I felt an oncoming wave of worry mixed with nausea. The open window in our bedroom hit me with a realisation. Eyes swelling with tears I dialled Jamie.

“Christ, Sassenach, I must have forgotten to close the damn window and the cheetie ran away.”

He promised to find him. I spent the evening googling stories of cats running away and cried some more thinking of my poor Adso alone in the cold rain, scared and hungry. I was sure I would not see my cat again. It was around midnight when the front door opened, Jamie’s footfalls startling me from my broken sleep on the couch. I rubbed my puffy eyelids as Jamie stepped inside the room.

His clothes were soaking wet, face painted with tiredness. But the smile on his lips was an encouraging sign. Unfolding his jacket Jamie stroked Adso’s grey ear who was nestled against his chest.

“Jamie! Oh, I can’t believe you did it.” I jumped up, taking Adso into my arms. He was wet and dirty, paws leaving marks on my skin. “Where did you find him?”

Taking off the jacket, Jamie leaned down to receive my kiss on his cheek.

"Here, you must be freezing cold." I reached for the bottle of whisky, pouring him a glass. When he gulped it down and his cheeks turn into baby-pink he told me.

“Ye’d never believe it. I spent hours just driving over the neighbourhood, mistaken at least three cats for him, but he was nowhere. And then I had an idea, it was crazy but possible.” Jamie ran his hands through his damp curls. “I drove to yer old place. And there he was, sitting in front of the door of yer old flat.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Cradling Adso I reached for the towel I had just in case Jamie managed to bring him home. “Why did you run away, you silly?”

“I’m sorry, Claire. 'Twas my fault, I left the window open.” Jamie patted my thigh gently, looking guilty.

Lening in to kiss him, I traced his cheekbones with my fingers.

“You found him, Jamie. It’s all fine.”

* * *

Jamie woke to the sudden absence of Claire in the bed, her side of the blanket looking like a messy ball at the end of the bed. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. Glancing at the clock that showed three in the morning Jamie called out her name. When no response followed, he swung his legs down the bed, worry caused a cold feeling in his stomach as he walked to the bathroom.

“Sassenach, are ye al-” The words stuck in his throat seeing her small figure, curled on the floor next to the toilet. “Christ, Claire, what happened?” He kneeled down, cradling her head into his lap. His heart was pounding away in his ribcage, fear filling every fiber of his being. She looked pale as a paper sheet, sweaty curls stuck to her skin. Shaking her head weakly, she mumbled as quiet as he ever heard her “I’m okay.” But she was decidedly not okay. Her eyes closed then. Jamie picked her up, rushing to the car outside and mentally thanking all existing Gods that the hospital was just fifteen minutes away. Jamie was there in precisely seven minutes.

#she's back #once i was an eagle #maviemesregles #ann writes #jamie and claire #outlander #outlander fanfic #james fraser #claire beauchamp #modern au #outlander fic

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